Storm Warnings [112-4.0]

By:  Mercedes Lackey

Synopsis:

In Storm Warning, the first volume of the Mage Storms trilogy,

Mercedes Lackey returns readers to a war-ravaged Valdemar at the moment
when Queen Selenay is attempting to effect a fragile new alliance with
the neighboring kingdom of Karse.  It is a venture that must not fail
if either realm is to have any hope of surviving the coming
confrontation with the massive armies of the ancient and enigmatic
Eastern Empire.

But Karse and Valdemar have been enemies for generations, and their
peoples are filled with prejudice and mistrust that may be impossible
to overcome.  Even the young Karsite representative to the Valdemaran
court finds it difficult to accept that the Heralds aren't "White

Demons" and that the Companions aren't "Hellhorses," as most Karsites
have for so long believed.  Only the vile deeds perpetrated on both
kingdoms by Ancar of Hardorn and the subsequent emergence of the armies
of the Eastern Empire in the wake of his defeat forced these two
so-different lands into an uneasy coalition.

For the Eastern Empire, which has long been isolated and shrouded in
spell-fueled obscurity, is ruled by a monarch whose motives are unknown
and whose magical tactics may prove too powerful a match for even the
most advanced sorceries practiced by the Western kingdoms.

Forced to combat this mysterious and deadly foe, not only must two
traditional enemies unite, but the Companions may at last be forced to
reveal secrets which they have kept hidden for centuries ... even from
their beloved Heralds.


NOVELS BY MERCEDES LACKEY

available from DAW Books

THE MAGE WARS

THE BLACK GRYPHON

THE WHITE GRYPHON

THE SILVER GRYPHON

THE BOOKS OF THE LAST HERALD-MAGE

MAGIC'S PAWN

MAGIC'S PROMISE

MAGIC'S PRICE

VOWS AND HONOR

THE OATH BOUND

OATH BREAKERS

KEROWYN'S TALE

BY THE SWORD

THE HERALDS OF VALDEMAR

ARROWS OF THE QUEEN

ARROW'S FLIGHT

ARROW'S FALL

THE MAGE WINDS

WINDS OF FATE

WINDS OF CHANGE

WINDS OF FURY

THE MAGE STORMS

STORM WARNING

STORM RISING

STORM BREAKING

DARK OVER NOVELS

(with Marion Zimmer Bradley)

REDISCOVERY

forthcoming from DAW Books in Hardcover

BOOK StormONStorm Warnings Book onE OF The mage sTORMs

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Copyright 0 I994 by Mercedes R. Lackey.

All rights reserved.

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Any resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

First Printing, August I994

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Emperor Charliss

One

Emperor Charliss sat upon the Iron Throne, bowed down neither by the
visible weight of his years nor the invisible weight of his power.  He
bore neither the heavy Wolf Crown on his head, nor the equally
burdensome robes of state across his shoulders, though both lay nearby,
on an ornately trimmed marble bench beside the Iron Throne.  The thick
silk-velvet robes flowed down the bench and coiled on the floor beside
it, a lush weight of pure crimson so heavy it took two strapping young
men to lift them into place on the Emperor's shoulders.

The Wolf Crown lay atop the robes, preventing them from slipping off
the bench altogether.  Let mere kings flaunt their golden crowns; the
Emperor boasted a circlet of elect rum inset with thirteen yellow
diamonds.  Only when one drew near enough to the Emperor to see his
eyes clearly did one see that the circlet was not as it seemed, that
what had passed at a distance for an abstract design or a floral
pattern was, in fact, a design of twelve wolves, and that the winking
yellow diamonds were their eyes.  Eleven of those wolves were in
profile to the watcher, five facing left, six facing right;

the twelfth, obviously the pack leader, gazed directly down onto
whosoever the Emperor faced, those un winking yellow eyes staring at
the petitioner even as the Emperor's own eyes did.

Let lesser beings assume thrones of gold or marble; the Emperor held
court from his Iron Throne, made from the personal weapons of all those
monarchs the Emperors of the past had conquered and deposed, each
glazed and guarded against lust.  The throne itself was over six feet
tall and four feet in Width; a monolithic piece of furniture, it was so
heavy that it had not been moved so much as a finger-length in
centuries.

Anyone looking at it could only be struck by its sheer mass-and must
begin calculating just how many sword blades, axes, and lance points
must have gone into the making of it.... None of this was by chance, of
course.  Everything about the Emperor's regalia, his throne, his
Audience Chamber, and Crag Castle itself was carefully calculated to
reduce a visitor to the proper level of fearful respect, impress upon
him the sheer power held in the hands of this ruler, and the utter
impossibility of aspiring to such power.  The Emperors were not
interested in inducing a groveling fear, nor did they intend to excite
ambition.  The former was a dangerous state; people made too fearful
would plot ways to remove the cause of that fear.  And ambition was a
useful tool in an underling beneath one's direct supervision, but risky
in one who might, on occasion, slip his leash.

There was very little in the Emperor's life that was not the result of
long thought and careful calculation.  He had not become the successor
to Emperor Lioth at the age of thirty without learning the value of
both abilities-and he had not spent the intervening century-and-a-half
in letting either ability lapse.

Charliss was the nineteenth Emperor to sit the Iron Throne; none of his
predecessors had been less than brilliant, and none had reigned for
less than half a century.  None had been eliminated by assassins, and
only one had been unable to choose his own successor.

Some called Charliss "the Immortal"; that was a fallacy, since he was
well aware how few years he had left to him.  Although he was a
powerful mage, there were limits to the amount of time magic could
prolong one's life.  Eventually the body itself became too tired to
sustain life any longer;

even banked fires dwindled to ash in the end.  Charliss' rumored
immortality was one of many myths he himself propagated.

Useful rumors were difficult to come by.

The dull gray throne sat in the midst of an expanse of black-veined
white marble; the Emperor's robes, the exact color of fresh-spilled
blood, and the yellow gems in the crown, were the only color on the
dais.  Even the walls and the ceiling of the dais-alcove, a somber
setting for a rich gem, were of that same marble.  The effect was to
concentrate the attention of the onlookers on the Emperor and only the
Emperor.

The battle-banners, the magnificent tapestries, the rich curtains-all
these were behind and to the side of the young man who waited at the
Emperor's feet.  Charliss himself wore -robe with dagged sleeves,
trews, and slate-gray velvets, half Court-boots, made on the same looms
as the crimson robes;

in his long-ago youth, his hair had been whitened by the wielding of
magic, and his once-dark eyes were now the same pale gray as an
overcast dawn sky.

If the young man waiting patiently at the foot of the throne was aware
of how few years the Emperor had left to him, he had (wisely) never
indicated he possessed this dangerous knowledge to anyone.  Grand Duke
Tremane was about the same age as Charliss had been when Lioth bestowed
his power and responsibility on Charliss' younger, stronger shoulders
and had retired to spend the last three years of his life holding off
Death with every bit of the concentration he had used holding onto his
power.

In no other way were the two of them similar, however.

Charliss had been one of Lioth's many, many sons by way of his state
marriages; Tremane was no closer in blood to Charliss than a mere
cousin, several times removed.  Charliss had been, and still was, an
Adept, and in his full powers before he ascended the Throne.  Tremane
was a mere Master, and never would have the kind of mage-power at his
personal command that Charliss had.

But if mage-power or blood-ties were all that was required to take the
Throne and the Crown, there were a hundred candidates to be considered
before Tremane.  Intelligence and cunning were not enough by
themselves, either; in a land founded by stranded mercenaries, both
were as common as snowflakes in midwinter.  No one survived long in
Charliss' court without both those qualities, and the will to use both
no matter how stressful personal circumstances were.

Tremane had luck; that was important, but more than the luck itself,
Tremane had the ability to recognize when his good fortune had struck,
and the capability to revise whatever his current plan was in order to
take advantage of that luck.

And conversely, when ill-luck struck him (which was seldom), he had the
courage to revise plans to meet that as well, now and again snatching a
new kind of victory from the brink of disaster.

Tremane was not the only one of the current candidates for the
succession to have those qualities, but he was the one personally
favored by the Emperor.  Tremane was not entirely ruthless; too many of
the others were.  Being ruthless was not a bad thing, but being
entirely ruthless was dangerous.  Those who dared to stop at nothing
often ended up with enemies who had nothing to lose.  Putting an enemy
in such a position was an error, for a man who has nothing to lose is,
by definition, risking nothing to obtain what he desires.

Tremane inspired tremendous loyalty in his underlings; it had been
dreadfully difficult for the Emperor's Spymaster to insinuate agents
into Tremane's household.  That was another useful trait for an Emperor
to have; Charliss shared it, and had found that it was just as
effective to have underlings willing to fling themselves in front of
the assassin's blade without a single thought as it was to ferret out
the assassin himself.

Otherwise, the man on the throne had little else in common with his
chosen successor.  Charliss had been considered handsome in his day,
and the longing glances of the women in his Court even yet were not
entirely due to the power and prestige that were granted to an Imperial
mistress.  Tremane was, to put it bluntly, so far from comely that it
was likely only his power, rank, and personal prestige that won women
to his bed.  His thinning hair was much shorter than was fashionable;

his receding hairline gave him a look of perpetual befuddlement.

His eyes were too small, set just a hair too far apart; his beard was
sparse, and looked like an afterthought.

His thin face ended in a lantern jaw; his wiry body gave no hint of his
quality as a warrior.  Charliss often thought that the man's tailor
ought to be taken out and hanged; he dressed Tremane in sober browns
and blacks that did nothing for his complexion, and his clothing hung
on him as if he had recently lost weight and muscle.

Then again ... Tremane was only one of several candidates for the Iron
Throne, and he knew it.  He looked harmless;

common, and of average intelligence, but no more than that.

it was entirely possible that all of this was a deeply laid plan to
appear ineffectual.  If so, Charliss' own network of intelligence
agents told him that the plan had succeeded, at least among the rest of
the rivals for the position.  Of all of the candidates for the Iron
Throne, he was the one with the fewest enemies among his rivals.

They were as occupied with eliminating each other as in improving their
own positions, and in proving their ability to the Emperor.  He was
free to concentrate on competence.  This was not a bad position to be
in.

Perhaps he was even more clever than Charliss had given him credit for.
If so, he would need every bit of that cleverness in the task Charliss
was about to assign him to.

The Emperor had not donned robes and regalia for this interview, as
this was not precisely official; he was alone with Tremane-if one
discounted the ever-present bodyguards-and the trappings of Empire did
not impress the Grand Duke.

Real power did, and real power was what Charliss held in abundance.  He
was power, and with the discerning, he did not need to weary himself
with his regalia to prove that.

He cleared his throat, and Tremane bowed slightly in acknowledgment.

" I intend to retire at some point within the next ten years."

Charliss made the statement calmly, but a muscle jumping in Tremane's
shoulders betrayed the man's excitement and sudden tension.

"It is Imperial custom to select a successor at some point during the
last ten years of the reign so as to assure an orderly transition."

Tremane nodded, with just the proper shading of respect.

Charliss noted with approval that Tremane did not respond with toadying
phrases like "how could you even think of retiring, my Emperor," or
"surely it is too early to be thinking Of such things."  Not that
Charliss had expected such a response from him; Tremane was far too
clever.

"Now", Charliss continued, leaning back a little into the comfortable
solidity of the Iron Throne, "you are no one's fool, Tremane.  You have
obviously been aware for a long time- that you are one of the primary
candidates to be my successor.

Tremane bowed correctly, his eyes never leaving Charliss' face.  " I
was aware of that, certainly, my Emperor," he replied, his voice
smoothly neutral.

"Only a fool would have failed to notice your interest.  But I am also
aware that I am just one of a number of possible candidates."

Charliss smiled, ever so slightly, with approval.  Good.

Even if the man did not possess humility, he could feign it
convincingly.  Another valuable ability.

"You happen to be my current personal choice, Tremane," the Emperor
replied, and he smiled again as the man's eyebrows twitched with
quickly-concealed surprise.

"It is true that you are not an Adept; it is true that you are not in
the direct Imperial bloodline.  It is also true that of the nineteen
Emperors, only eleven have been full Adepts, and it is equally true
that I have outlived my own offspring.  Had any of them inherited my
mage-powers, that would not have been the case, of course..  .

He allowed himself a moment to brood on the injustice of that.  Of all
the children of his many marriages of state, not a one had achieved
more than journeyman status.  That was simply not enough power to
prolong life-not without resorting to blood-magic, at any rate, and
while there had been an Emperor or two who had followed the darker
paths, those were dangerous paths to follow for long.  As witness the
idiot Ancar, for instance-those who practiced the blood-paths all too
often found that the magic had become the master, and the mage, the
slave.  The Emperor who ruled with the aid of blood-rites balanced on a
spider's thread above the abyss, with the monsters waiting below for a
single missed step.

Well, it hardly mattered.  What did matter was that a worthy candidate
stood before him now, a man who had all the character and strength the
Iron Throne demanded.

And what was more, there was an opportunity before them both for
Tremane to prove, beyond the faintest shadow of a doubt, that he was
the only man with that kind of character and strength.

"Your duchy is in the farthest west, is it not?"  Charliss asked, with
carefully simulated casualness.  If Tremane was surprised at the
apparent change of subject, he did not show it.  He simply nodded
again.

"The western border, in fact?"  Charliss continued.

"The border of the Empire and Hardorn?  " "Perhaps a trifle north of
the true Hardorn border, but yes, my Emperor," Tremane agreed.

"May I assume this has something to do with the recent conquests that
our forces have made in that sad and disorganized land?"

"You may."  Charliss was enjoying this little conversation.

"in fact, the situation with Hardorn offers you a unique opportunity to
prove yourself to me.  With that situation you may prove conclusively
that you are worthy of the Wolf Crown."

Tremane's eyes widened, and his hands trembled, just for a moment.

"If the Emperor would be kind enough to inform his servant how this
could be done-?"  Tremane replied delicately.

The Emperor smiled thinly.

"First, let me impart to you a few bits of privileged information.
Immediately prior to the collapse of the Hardornen palace-and I mean
that quite precisely our envoy returned to us from King Ancar's court
by means of a Gate.  He did not have a great deal of information to
offer, however, since he arrived with a knife buried in his heart, a
rather lovely throwing dagger, which I happen to have here now."

He removed the knife from a sheath beneath his sleeve, and passed it to
Tremane, who examined it closely, and started visibly when he saw the
device carved into the pommel-nut.

"This is the royal crest of the Kingdom of Valdemar," Tremane stated
flatly, passing the blade back to the Emperor, who returned it to the
sheath.  Charliss nodded, pleased that Tremane had actually recognized
it.

"Indeed.  And one wonders how such a blade could possibly have been
where it was."  He allowed one eyebrow to rise.

"There is a trifle more; we had an intimate agent working to rid us of
Ancar, an agent that had once worked independently in Valdemar.  This
agent is now rather conspicuously missing."

The agent in question had been a sorceress by the name of
Hulda-Charliss never could recall the rest of her name.  He did not
particularly mourn her loss; she had been very ambitious, and he had
foreseen a time when he might expect her value as an agent to be
exceeded by her liabilities.  That she was missing could mean any one
of several things, but it did not much matter whether she had fled or
died; the result would be the same.

Tremane's brow wrinkled in thought.

"The most obvious conclusion would be that your agent turned," he said
after a moment, "and that she used this dagger to place suspicion on
agents of one of Ancar's enemies, thus embroiling us in a conflict with
Valdemar that would open opportunities for her own ambitions in
Hardorn.  We have no reason for an open quarrel with Valdemar just yet;
this could precipitate one before we are ready."

Charliss nodded with satisfaction.  What was "obvious" to Tremane was
far from obvious to those who looked no deeper than the surface of
things.

"Of course, I have no intention of pursuing an open quarrel with
Valdemar just yet," he said.

"The envoy in question was hardly outstanding; there are a dozen more
who are simply panting for his position.  The woman was quite
troublesomely ambitious, yes; however, if she uses her magics but once,
we will know where she is, and eliminate her if we choose.  No.  What
truly concerns me is Valdemar itself.  The situation within Hardorn is
unstable.

We have acquired half of the country with very little effort, but the
ungrateful barbarians seem to have made up their mind to refuse the
benefits of inclusion within the Empire."

Charliss felt a distant ache in his hip joints and shifted his position
a little to ease it.  A warning, those little aches.  The sign that his
spells of bodily renewal were fading.  They were less and less
effective with every year, and within two decades or so they would fail
him altogether.... One corner of Tremane's mouth twitched a little, in
recognition of Charliss' irony.  They both knew what the Emperor meant
by that; the citizens of what had been Hardorn wanted their country
back, and they had organized enough to resist further conquest.

"In addition, Charliss continued smoothly, "this land of Valdemar is
overrun with refugees from all the conflict within Hardorn and from the
wretched situation before Ancar perished.  Valdemar could decide to aid
the Hardornens in some material way, and that would cause us further
trouble.

We know that they have somehow allied themselves with those fanatics in
Karse, and that presents us with one long front if we choose to fight
them.  Valdemar itself is a damned peculiar place .... " "It has always
been difficult to insinuate agents into Valdemar," Tremane offered,
with the proper diffidence.  Charliss wondered whether he spoke from
personal experience or simply the knowledge he had gleaned from keeping
an eye on Charliss' own agents.

From beyond the closed doors of the Throne Room came the soft murmur of
the courtiers who were waiting for the doors to open for them and Court
to begin.  Let them wait-and let them see just whose business had kept
them waiting.

They would know then, without any formal announcements, just who had
become the Emperor's current favorite.  The little maneuverings and
shifts in power would begin from that very moment, like the shifts in
current when a new boulder rolls into a stream.

"Quite."  Charliss frowned.

"In fact, that Hulda creature was once one of my freelance agents in
the Valdemar capital.

I was rather dubious about using her again, despite her abilities,
until I realized just how cursed difficult it is to work in Valdemar.
As it was, her progress there was minimal.  Most unsatisfactory.  She
was never able to insinuate herself any higher than a mere court
servant's position, and she had more than one agenda and more than one
employer at the time."

The corner of Tremane's mouth twitched again, but this time it was
downward.  Charliss knew why; Tremane never knowingly worked with
someone who served more masters than he.

"Why did you trust her in Hardorn, then?"  the Grand Duke asked in a
neutral tone.

"I never trusted her," Charliss corrected him, allowing a hint of cold
disapproval to tinge his own voice.

"I trust no agents, particularly not those who are as ambitious as this
one was.  I merely made sure that this time she had no other employers
and that her personal agenda was not incompatible with Mine.  And when
it appeared that she was slipping her leash, I sent an envoy to Ancar's
court to remind her who her master was.  And to eliminate her if she
elected to ignore the warning he represented.  That was why I sent a
mage, an Adept her equal, with none of her vices."

"Your pardon," Tremane replied, bowing slightly.

"I should have known.  But-about Valdemar?  " Charliss permitted his
icy expression to thaw.

"Valdemar is peculiar, as I said.  Until recently, they've had next to
no magic at all, and what they had was only mind-magic.  There was a
barrier there, according to my agents, a barrier that made it
impossible for a practicing mage to remain within the borders for very
long."

"But how did Hulda-" Tremane began, then smiled.

"Of course.  While she was there, she must have refrained from-' using
her powers.  A difficult thing for a mage; use of magic often becomes a
habit too ingrained to break."

Charliss blinked slowly in satisfaction.  Tremane was no fool; he saw
immediately the solution and the difficulty of implementing it.

"Precisely," he replied.

"On both counts.

And that was why I continued to use her.  In business matters, the
woman's self-discipline was remarkable.  As for Valdemarthough they
have begun again to use magic as we know it, the place is no less
peculiar than before, and many of the mages they seem to have invited
into their borders are from no land that my operatives recognize! Well,
that is all in the past; what we need to deal with is the current
situation.  And that, Grand Duke Tremane, is where you come in."

Tremane simply waited, as any good and perfectly trained servant, for
his master to continue.  But his eyes narrowed just a trifle, and
Charliss knew that his mind was working furiously.

A current of breeze stirred the tapestries behind him, but the flames
of the candles on the many-branched candelabras, protected in their
glass shades, did not even waver.

"Your Duchy borders Hardorn; you will therefore be familiar with the
area," Charliss stated, his tone and expression allowing no room for
dissension.

"The situation in Hardorn grows increasingly unstable by the moment.  I
require a personal commander of my own in place there; someone who has
incentive, personal incentive, to see that the situation is dealt with
expeditiously."

"Personal incentive, my Emperor?"  Tremane replied.

Charliss crossed his legs and leaned forward, ignoring the pain in his
hip joints.

"I am giving you a unique opportunity to prove, not only to me, but to
your rivals and your potential underlings, that you are the only truly
worthy candidate for the Wolf Crown.  I intend to put you in command of
the Imperial forces in Hardorn.  You will be answerable only to me.

you will prove yourself worthy by dealing with this situation and
bringing it to a successful conclusion."

Tremane's hands trembled, and Charliss noted that he had turned just a
little pale.  How long would it take for word to spread of Tremane's
new position?  Probably less than an hour.

"What of Valdemar, my Emperor?"  he asked, his voice steady, even if
his hands were not.

"What of Valdemar?"  Charliss repeated.

"Well, I don't expect you to conquer it as well.  It will be enough to
bring Hardorn under our banner.  However, if during that process you
discover a way to insinuate an agent into Valdemar, all the better.  If
you take your conquests past the Hardorn border and actually into
Valdemar, better still.  I simply warn you of Valdemar because it is a
strange place and I cannot predict how it will measure this situation
nor what it will do.  Valdemar can wait; Hardorn is what concerns me
now.  We must conquer it, now that we have begun, or our other client
states will see that we have failed and may become difficult to deal
with in our perceived moment of weakness."

"And if I succeed in bringing Hardorn into the Empire?"

Tremane persisted.

"Then you will be confirmed in the succession, and I will begin the
process of the formal training," Charliss told him.

"And at the end of ten years, I will retire, and you will have Throne,
Crown.  and Empire."

Tremane's eyes lit, and his lips twitched into a tight, excited smile.
Then he sobered.

"If I do not succeed, however, I assume I shall resume nothing more
than the rule of my Duchy.

Charliss examined his immaculately groomed hands, gazing into the topaz
eyes of the wolf's-head ring he wore, a ring whose wolf mask had been
cast from the same molds as the central wolf of the Wolf Crown.  The
eyes gazed steadily at him, and as he often did, Charliss fancied he
saw a hint of life in them.  Hunger.  An avidity, not that of the
starving beast, but of the prosperous and powerful.

"There is no shortage of suitable candidates for the Throne," he
replied casually, tilting the ring for a better view into the burning
yellow eyes.

"If you should happen to survive your failure, I would advise you to
retire directly to your Duchy.  The next candidate that I would
consider if you failed would be Baron Melles."

Baron Melles was a so-called "court Baron," a man with a title but no
lands to match.  He didn't need land; he had power, power in abundance,
for he was an Adept and his magics had brought him more wealth than
many landed nobles had.  His coffers bulged with his accumulated
wealth, but he wanted more, and his bloodlines and ambition were likely
to give him more.

He also happened to be of the political party directly opposite that of
Tremane's.  Tremane's parents had held their lands for generations;
Melles was the son of merchants.

Melles was, not so incidentally, one of Tremane's few enemies, one of
the few candidates to the succession who did not underestimate the
Baron.  There was a personal animosity between them that Charliss did
not quite understand, and he often wondered if the two had somehow
contracted a very private feud that had little or nothing to do with
their respective positions and ambitions.

Melles would be only too pleased to find Tremane a failure and himself
the new successor.  This meant, among other things, that if Tremane
happened to survive his failure to conquer Hardorn, he probably would
not survive the coronation of his rival, and he might not even survive
the confirmation of Melles as successor.  Melles was the most ruthless
of all the candidates, and both Charliss and Tremane were quite well
aware that he was a powerful enough Adept to be able to commit any
number of murders-by-magic, and make them all appear to be accidents.

He was also clever enough not to do anything of the sort, since his
political rivals would be looking for and defending against exactly
that sort of attack.  Melles was fully wealthy enough to buy any number
of covert killers, and probably would.  He was too clever not to
consolidate his position by eliminating enough rivals that those
remaining were intimidated.

That was, after all, one of the realities of life in the Empire;

lead, follow, and barricade yourself against assassins.

And the first in line for elimination would be Tremane-if Melles were
named successor.

Charliss knew this.  So did Tremane.  It made the situation all the
more piquant.

interestingly enough, if Tremane succeeded and attained the coveted
prize, it was not likely that he would remove Melles.  Nor would he
dispose of any of the other candidates.

Rather, he would either win them over to his side or find some other
way to neutralize them-perhaps by finding something else, creating some
other problem for them, that required all their attention.

Charliss had used both ploys in the past, and on the whole' he
preferred subtlety to assassination.  Still, there had been equally
successful Emperors in the past who ruled by the knife and the garrote.
Difficult times demanded difficult solutions, and one of those times
could be upon them.

The entire situation gave Charliss a faint echo of the thrill he had
felt back at the beginning of his own reign, when he first realized he
truly did have the power of life and death over his underlings and
could manipulate their lives as easily as the puppeteer manipulated his
dolls.  It was amusing to present Tremane with a gift of a sword-with a
needle studded poisoned grip.  It was doubly amusing to know that
Melles, at least, would recognize this test for what it was, and would
be watching Tremane just as avidly from a distance,

perhaps sending in his own agents to try and undermine his rival, and
attempting to consolidate his own position here at court.

The jockeying and scrabbling was about to begin.  It should produce
hours of fascination.

Charliss watched Tremane closely, following the ghosts, the shadows of
expressions as he thought all this through and came to the same
conclusions.  There was no chance that he Would refuse the appointment,
of course.  Firstly, Tremane was a perfectly adequate military
commander.  Secondly, refusing this appointment would be the same as
being defeated;

Melles would have the reward of becoming successor, and Tremane's life
would be in danger.

it took very little time for Tremane to add all the factors together to
come to the conclusions that Charliss had already thought out.  He
bowed quickly.

"I cannot tell my Emperor how incredibly flattered I am by his trust in
me," he said smoothly.

"I can only hope that I will prove worthy of that trust."

Charliss said nothing; only nodded in acknowledgment.

"And I am answerable only to you, my Emperor?  Not to any other,
military or civilian?"  Tremane continued quickly.

"Have I not said as much?"  Charliss waved a hand.

"I am certain you will need all the time you have between now and
tomorrow morning, Grand Duke.  Packing and preparations will probably
occupy you for the rest of the day.  I will have one of the Court Mages
open the Portal for you to the Hardornen front just after you break
your fast tomorrow morning."

"Sir."  Tremane made the full formal bow this time; he knew a dismissal
even when it was not phrased as one.

Charliss was very pleased with his demeanor, especially given the short
notice and the shorter time in which to make ready for his departure.
There were no attempts to argue, no excuses, no plaints that there was
not enough time.

Tremane rose from the bow, backing out of the room with his eyes
lowered properly.  Charliss could not find fault with his posture or
the signals his body gave; his demeanor was perfect.

The great doors opened and closed behind him.  Alone once again in the
Throne Room, Emperor Charliss, ruler of the largest single domain in
the world, leaned to one side and chuckled into the cavernous
chamber.

This would be the most enjoyable little playlet of his entire reign,
and it came at the very end, when he had thought he had long since
exploited the entertainment value of watching his courtiers scramble
about for the tidbits he tossed them.

But here was a juicy treat indeed, and the scramble would be vastly
amusing.

Charliss was pleased.  Entertainment on this scale was hard to come
by!

Firesong's Vale two

Steam curled up from the water as An'desha gingerly lowered himself
into the soaking~ pool of Firesong's miniature Vale.  A Vale in the
heart of Valdemar-no larger than a single Gatheringtent.  I would not
have believed that such a thing was possible, much less that it could
be done with so little magic-yet here it is.

It was amazing how much could be created without the use of any magic
at all.  Most of this enchanted little garden had been put together by
ordinary folk, using non magical materials.

There were only two exceptions; the huge windows, and the hot pools.
The windows were not the tiny, many-paned things with their thick,
bubbly glass, that An'desha had seen in all of the Palace buildings,
which would not have done at all for the purpose.  These eight windows,
two to each side of the room, went from floor to ceiling in a single
flawless triangular piece.  Each had been made magically by Firesong,
of the same substance used by the Hawkbrothers for the windows in their
tree-perching ekeles.  He had also created a magical source for the hot
water for the pools.  The rest, this garden that bloomed in the dead of
winter, and the pseudo-ekele above it, was all built by ordinary folk,
mainly due to Firesong taking shameless advantage of the Queen of
Valdemar's gratitude and generosity.

Firesong felt that if he must remain here as the Tayledras envoy to
Primitive Valdemar, then by the Goddess, he would have the civilized
amenities of a Vale!

Valdemar.  An'desha had never heard of this land until a Year ago.  As
a child and even a young man among the Clans, he had not heard of much
beyond the Walls; indeed, the only places beyond the Walls he had
learned of as a youngster were the Pelagiris Forest and the trade-city
of Kata'shin'a'in.  The Shin'a'in as a general rule cared very little
for the world beyond the Plains; only Tale'sedrin of all the Clans had
any measure of Outland and out clan blood.

In some Clans-such as An'desha's-such foreign breeding was occasionally
considered a minor disgrace-not a disgrace for the child, but for the
Shin'a'in parent.

"Could he not draw to him a single woman of the Plains?"  would come
the whispers, or "Was she so unpleasant that no Shin'a'in man cared to
partner her?"  So it had been for An'desha, child of such an
alliance-and perhaps that was why his own Clan had never so much as
mentioned the lands outside the Dhorisha Plains.

Perhaps they had feared that talking about the lands Outside would
excite an un-Shin'a'in wanderlust in him, a yearning for far places and
strange climes.

Well, I found both-without really wanting either.

The blood-path Adept who had flamboyantly named himself Mornelithe
Falconsbane had never heard of Valdemar, either, until the two
white-clad strangers from that land had come into the territory of Clan
k'Sheyna of the Hawkbrothers.

An'desha had been a silent, frightened passenger in his own body, which
Falconsbane had usurped by magic and trickery.

With the Adept possessing him, he had learned just who those strangers
were and something of their land.  He'd had no choice in the matter,
since he was a hidden fugitive within the body that Falconsbane had
stolen years ago.

He should have died; that was what always happened before, when
Falconsbane took a body.  But he hadn't; perhaps the reason was that he
had fled, rather than trying to resist the interloper.

A prisoner in my own body.... He closed his eyes and sank a measure
deeper into the hot water.  So odd ... the memories of those years of
hiding, when he had no control over the actions of his own body, seemed
more solid and real than this moment, when the body he had been born
into was once again his.

An'desha's had been only the last in a long series of bodies
Falconsbane had appropriated as his own.  All that was required, or so
it seemed, was for the victim to be gifted with mage ability and to
have been a descendant of a mage called Ma'ar.  If those remote
memories were to be trusted, Ma'ar had lost his first life-or body,
depending on your point of view-in the Mage Wars of so long ago it made
An'desha dizzy to think about the passage of years between that moment
and this.

He slipped down to his chin into the hot water, and closed his eyes
tighter, letting the steam rise around his face.  His face now, and not
the half-feline face of Mornelithe Falconsbane.

His own body, too, for the most part, though it was more muscular now
than it had been when Falconsbane helped himself to it and tried to
destroy the original owner.

Falconsbane had made a hobby of body sculpting" trying out changes on
his daughter before adopting them himself.  He had indulged in some
extensive modifications to An'desha's body, changes An'desha had been
certain he would have to endure even after Falconsbane had been driven
out and destroyed.

But his own actions, risking real soul-death to rid the world of
Falconsbane, had earned him more than just his freedom.

Not only had he regained his body, most of the modifications had
vanished when the Avatars of the Goddess "cured" him of what had been
done to him.

There were only two things they could not give him again;

the original colors of his hair and eyes.  His hair was a pure, snowy
white now, and his eyes a pale silver, both bleached forever by the
magic energies that Falconsbane had sent coursing through this body,
time and time again.  So now, when An'desha gazed into a mirror, it
always took a moment to recognize the reflection as his own.

At least I see the face of a half-familiar stranger, and not that of a
beast.  However handsome that beast had made himself.

The hot water forced his muscles to relax some, but he feared he would
have to resort to stronger measures to release all the tension.

This place is so strange.... Let Firesong wallow in being the exotic
and sought-after alien; An'desha was not comfortable here.  The only
people he really knew were Nyara, the mage-sword Need, and Firesong,
the Tayledras Adept.  Of the three, the only one he spent any time at
all with was Firesong.

Nyara was very preoccupied with her mate, the Herald called Skif-and at
any rate, it was hard to face her, knowing she was the offspring of his
body when Falconsbane had worn it, knowing what his body had done to
hers.  Now that the crisis was over, Nyara seemed to feel the same way;
although she was never unkind, she often seemed uncomfortable around
him.

As for the ancient mage-sword that housed the spirit of an irreverent
and crotchety sorceress, the entity called Need had her nonexistent
hands full.  She was engrossed in training Nyara, helping her adjust to
this new land.  Need was quite used to adjusting to new situations; she
had been doing so for many centuries; in this, he had nothing in common
with her.

After seeing changes over the course of a few hundred years, I would
imagine that there is very little that surprises her anymore.

And as for Firesong-He flushed, and it wasn't from the heat of the
water cradling him.  I don't understand, he thought, his logic getting
all tangled up with his feelings whenever he so much as thought about
Firesong.  I just don't understand.  Why this, and why Firesong?  Not
that the Shin'a'in had any prejudice about same-sex pairings, but
An'desha had never felt even the tiniest of stirrings for a male before
this.  But Firesong-oh, Firesong was quickly becoming the emotional
center of his universe.  Why?

Firesong.  Ah, what am I to do?  Is he my next master?

His thoughts circled, tighter and tighter, like a hawk caught in an
updraft, until he physically shook himself loose.

He splashed warm water on his face and sat up straighter.

Don't get unbalanced.  Concentrate on ordinary things;

deal with all of this a little at a time.  Think of ordinary things,
peaceful things.  They keep telling you not to worry, to rest and
recover and relax.

He opened his eyes and deliberately focused on the garden around him,
looking for places that might seem a little barren, a trifle
unfinished.  He had discovered a surprising ability in himself.  It was
surprising, because the nomadic Shin'a'in were not known for growing
much of anything, and Falconsbane had been much more partial to
destroying rather than creating when he had been active.

I never thought I'd be a gardener.  I thought that was something only
Tayledras did.  He loved the feel of warm earth between his fingers;
seeing a new leaf unfold gave him as much pleasure as if he had created
a poem.  Though the plants were cold and alien, in their own way they
were like him.  They struck a chord in him the way open sky and waving
grass inspired his ancestors, and the scent of fresh greenery renewed
him.  An'desha had an affinity with ornamental plants, with plants of
all kinds now, and a patience with them that Firesong lacked.  The
Adept enjoyed the effect of a finished planting, but he was not
interested in creating it, nor in nurturing it.  Though Firesong had
dictated the existence of the indoor garden, planned the general look
of it, and sculpted the stones, it was An'desha who had filled it with
growing things, and given it life.  In a sense, this fragile garden was
An'desha:

body, mind, and soul.

An'desha had not confined his efforts to the indoor garden surrounding
the pools, hot and cold, and the waterfall that Firesong had created
here.  He had extended the plantings to cold-hardy species outside the
windows, deciding that as long as the windows were that tall, there was
no reason why he couldn't create the illusion that the indoor garden
extended out into the outdoors.  So, for at least the part of the year
when the outside gardens were still green, this could have been a shady
grotto in any Tayledras Vale.

The illusion was not quite perfect, and An'desha studied the
intersection of indoors and outdoors, frowning slightly.

he had matched the pebbled pathway between the beds of ornamental
grasses indoors and out, but the eye still saw the windowpane before
the vegetation outside it.  He moved to the smooth rock edge of the
pool and laid his chin down on his crossed arms to study it further.

There must be a way to make the window more of an accidental
interruption to the flow of the gardens, the sweep of the Planting.

bushes, he decided.  If I have some bushy plants in here, and more that
will outline a phantom pathway beyond the glass, that will help the
illusion.  with just a little magical help, he'd accelerate the growth
of a few more cuttings, and he'd have them at the right height in a
week or two.

If I use evergreens, perhaps I can even take the edge off the
transition between indoors and outdoors even in winter.

He had worried when Firesong came up with these clever ideas that the
original "owners" of this bit of property might object to all the
changes.  Firesong's little home was in the remotest corner of a vast
acreage called "Companion's Field," and the horselike beings that
partnered the Heralds of Valdemar could very well have objected to
their privacy being invaded.

But they didn't seem to mind the presence of the Adept and his
compatriots; in fact, they had contributed to the landscaping with
suggestions of their own that made the ekele blend in with the
surroundings, just as any good ekele should.  From outside, the mottled
gray and brown stone of the support pillars blended with the trunks of
the trees masking it, and the second story was hidden among the
branches.

Firesong had chosen this particular place after he had heard of a
legend that told of a Herald Vanyel, supposedly Firesong and Elspeth's
ancestor, try sting with his beloved in this very grove of trees; after
that, nothing would do but that his own ekele be here as well.

Firesong had insisted on building his "nest" in Companion's Field in
the first place, rather than in the Palace gardens, precisely because
he did not want any hint of the alien buildings of Valdemar to jar on
his awareness.

Strange.  I would have thought that Darkwind would be the one to feel
that way, not Firesong.  Darkwind was a scout;

at one point, he could not even bear to live within the confines of a
Vale!  But Darkwind dwells quite comfortably in the Palace with the
Queen's daughter, and it is Firesong who insists on removing himself to
the isolation of this place.

Then again, Firesong, was a law unto himself; he could afford to
dictate even to a Queen in her own Palace how he would and would not
live.  Firesong was the most powerful practicing Adept in this strange
land, and he did not seem to have a moment's hesitation when it came to
exploiting that fact.  Eventually Elspeth and Darkwind might come to be
his equals in power, but he had been a full Adept from a very tender
age, and had a great deal more experience than either the k'Sheyna
Hawkbrother or the Valdemaran Herald.

And perhaps he has isolated himself for my sake, and not his own.  That
could very well be the case.  An'desha stared into the tree-shadows on
the other side of the window, and sighed.

He, more than anyone else, knew just how tenuous his stability was. For
all intents and purposes, he was still the young Shin'a'in of fifteen
summers who had run away from his Clan in order to be schooled in magic
by the Shin'a'in "cousins," the Hawkbrothers.  For most of his tenure
within Falconsbane's mind, he had no more than brief glimpses of what
Falconsbane had been doing.  He had no real experience of those years;
he might just as well never have lived them.  In a very real sense, he
hadn't.  Most of the time he had been hidden in the darkness, snatching
only covert glimpses of what Falconsbane was doing.  I was afraid he'd
sense me watching through his eyes-and what he was doing was
horrible.

If he chose, he could delve into Falconsbane's memories now; mostly, he
did not choose to do so.  There was too much there that still made him
sick; and it all frightened him with the thought that Falconsbane might
not be gone after all.

Hadn't he hidden within the depths of Falconsbane's mind for years
without the Dark Adept guessing he was there?  What was to keep the far
more experienced and practiced Adept from having done the same?  He had
only Firesong's word that Mornelithe Falconsbane had been destroyed for
all time.

Firesong himself admitted he had never before seen anything like the
mechanism Falconsbane had used for his own survival.

How could Firesong be so certain that Falconsbane had not evaded him at
the last moment?  An'desha lived each moment with the fear that he
would look into the mirror and see Mornelithe Falconsbane staring out
of his eyes, smiling, Poised to strike.  And this time, when he struck
at An'desha, there would be no escape.

Firesong was teaching An'desha the Tayledras ways of magic, and every
lesson made that fear more potent.  It had been magic that brought
Falconsbane back to life; could more magic not do the same?

But by the same token, An'desha was as afraid of not learning how to
control his powers as he was of learning their mysterious ways.
Firesong was a Healing Adept; surely he should be the best person of
all to help An'desha bind up his spiritual wounds and come to terms
with all that had happened to him.  Surely, if there were physical harm
to his mind, Firesong could excise the problem.  Surely An'desha would
flower under Firesong's nurturing light.

Surely.  If only I were not so afraid.... Afraid to learn, afraid not
to learn.  There was an added complication as well, as if An'desha
needed any more in his life.  The first time he had voiced his
temptation to let the magic lie fallow and untapped within him,
Firesong had told him, coolly and dispassionately, that there was no
choice.  He must learn to master his magics.  Falconsbane never
possessed a descendant who was anything less than Adept potential.

That potential did not go away; it probably could not even be forced
into going dormant.

In other words, An'desha was still possessed of all the scorching
power-potential of Mornelithe Falconsbane, an Adept that even Firesong
would not willingly face without the help of other mages.  The power
remained quiescent within the Shin'a'in, but if An'desha were ever
faced with a crisis, he might react instinctively, with only such
training as he vaguely recalled from rummaging through Falconsbane's
memories.

On the whole, that was not a good idea.  Especially if the objective
was to keep anything in the area alive.

To wield the greater magics successfully, the mage must be confident in
himself and sure of his own abilities, else the magic could turn on him
and eat him alive.  Falconsbane had no lack of self-confidence;
unfortunately, that was precisely the quality that An'desha lacked.

I cannot even bear to meet all the strangers here, and it is their land
we dwell in!  Stupid of course; they would not eat him, nor would they
hold Falconsbane's actions against him.

But the very idea of leaving this sheltered place and walking the
relatively short distance to the Palace, crowded with curious
strangers, made him want to crawl under the waterfall and not come out
again.

So he remained here, protected, but cowering within that protection.

He found it difficult to believe that no one here would hold against
him the evil Falconsbane had done.  He had such difficulty facing those
stored memories that he could not imagine how people could look at him
and not be reminded of the things "he" had done.

And I don't even know the half of them ... the most I know are the
things he did to Nyara.  The truth was, he didn't want to know what
Falconsbane had done-never mind that Firesong kept insisting that he
must face every scrap of memory eventually.  Firesong told him, over
and over again, that he needed to deal with every act, however vile,
and mine it for its worth.

He decided that he had stewed enough in the hot water;

any more, and he was going to look like cooked meat.  There were no
helpful little hertasi here in Valdemar to attend to one's every need-a
fact Firesong complained of bitterly-but An'desha had grown up in an
ordinary Shin'a'in Clan on the Plains.  That was a place where if a
person did not do things for himself-unless he was incapacitated and
needed help-they did not get done.  He had brought his own towels and
robes to leave beside the pool, with extras for Firesong when he should
reappear, and made use of those now.

This hot pool was the mirror image of a cold one on the other side of
the garden.  It had a smooth backrest of sculptured rock, taller than
the user's head; hot water welled up from a place in the center of the
pool, and a waterfall showered cooler water down from above, from an
opening at the top of the backrest.  The whole was surrounded by
screening "trees" and curtains of vines; Firesong did not particularly
care if someone wandered by and got an eyeful, but An'desha was not so
uninhibited.

Firesong's white firebird flew gracefully across the garden looni as he
climbed out of the pool and dried himself off.  It landed beside the
smaller, cooler pool that supplied the waterfall, in a bowl Firesong
had built for it to bathe in.  It Plunged in with the same enthusiasm
as the humblest sparrow sending water splashing in all directions as it
flapped and rolled in the shallow rock basin.  When it finally emerged
from its bath, it looked terrible, as if it had some horrible feather
disease, and its wings were so soaked it could scarcely fly. it didn't
even bother to try; it just hopped up onto a higher perch to preen
itself dry with single-minded concentration.

Hawkbrothers usually had specially-bred raptors as bond birds but in
this, as in all else, Firesong was an exception.

An'desha got along quite well with the bird, whose name was Aya;
especially after he had coaxed some berry bushes the bird particularly
craved to grow, blossom, and bear fruit out of season in this garden.
Aya was happy here; he did not seem to miss the Vales at all.

Even the firebird felt more at home here than he did.

He recognized the fact that he was feeling sorry for himself, and he
didn't much care.  The firebird paused in its preening, as if it had
read his thoughts, and gave him a look of complete disgust before
shaking out its wet tail and turning its back on him.

Well, let it.  The firebird had never had its body taken over by a
near-immortal entity of pure filth, had it?

He dried his hair and wrapped himself up in his thick robe, then went
off to one part of the garden he considered his very own.

in the southwestern corner of the garden, near the window, he had
planted a row of trees screening a mound of grass off from the rest of
the garden.  In that tiny patch of lawn he had pitched a very small
tent, tall enough to stand in, but no wider than the spread of his
arms.  it wasn't quite a Shin'a'in tent, and it certainly wasn't
weatherproof, but that hardly mattered since it was always summer in
this garden.  Here, at least, he could fling himself down on a pallet,
look up at a roof of canvas, and see something that resembled home. And
as long as he made no sound, there was no way to know whether or not
the tent was occupied.  Firesong had made no comment about the tent,
perhaps understanding that he needed it, even as Firesong needed some
semblance of a Vale.

A strand of his own damp white hair tangled itself up 'in his fingers
as he pushed open the tent flap, and he shook it loose impatiently.
White hair-he looked Tayledras.  just as Tayledras as Firesong or
Darkwind.  There was no way that anyone would know he was Shin'a'in
unless he told them.  Was there a reason for that?  Firesong had told
him it was because of the magic, but if the Star-Eyed had chosen, She
could have given him back his native coloring.  For a little time, at
least.

He sat down on the pallet; it was covered with a blanket of Shin'a'in
weaving-a gift from a Herald, who'd bought it while on her far-away
rounds-and it still smelled faintly of horse, wood smoke, and dried
grasses.  The scent was enough, if he closed his eyes, to make him
believe he was home again.

If the Star-Eyed could remake my body, couldn't She have taken away the
magic, too?

Magic.  For a long time, he'd wanted to be a mage.  Now he wished She
had taken his magic away, but there was always a reason why She did or
did not do something.

He stared at the canvas walls, glowing in the late afternoon sun coming
through the windows, and chewed his lower lip.

If She left me with magic, it is because She wants me to use it for
some reason that only She knows.  Firesong keeps saying it's my duty to
do this, to Her as well as to myself.  He felt a flash of hot
resentment at that.  Hadn't he risked everything to defeat
Falconsbane-not just the pain and death of his body, but the
destruction of his soul and his self?  Wasn't that enough?  How much
more was he going to have to do?

Then he flushed with shame and a little apprehension, for he was not
the only one to have risked all on a single toss of the dice.  What of
those who had dared penetrate to Ancar's own land to rid the world of
Ancar, Hulda, and Falconsbane?

If Elspeth had been captured, she would have been taken by Ancar for
his own private tortures and pleasures.  Ancar had hated the princess
with a passion that amounted to obsession and, given the depravities
that Falconsbane had overheard the servants whispering about, Elspeth
would have endured worse than anything An'desha had faced.

Then there was Darkwind.  Falconsbane hated Darkwind k'Sheyna more than
any human on the face of the world, and Only a little less than the
gryphons.  If Darkwind had been captured, his fate would have been
similar to the one Elspeth would have suffered.  And as for
Nyara-Nyara's disposition would have depended on whether or not King
Ancar had recognized her as Falconsbane's daughter.

If he had, he would have known she represented yet another way to
control the Dark Adept, and she might have been kept carefully to that
end.  But if not-if Ancar had given her back to her father-She would
have been wise to kill herself before that happened.

In her case, it would not have been hate that motivated atrocity, but
the rage engendered by having a possession" revolt and turn traitor.
Motivation aside, the result would have been the same.

As for Skif and Firesong, the former would have been recognized as one
of the hated Heralds and killed out of hand; the latter?  Who knew?
Certainly Falconsbane and Ancar would have been pleased to get their
hands on an Adept, and given enough time, anyone could be broken and
used, even an Adept of the quality of Firesong.

No, he was not the only person who had risked everything to bring
Falconsbane down, so he might as well stop feeling sorry for himself.
Still, it hurt.

That was precisely what Firesong would likely tell him, if Firesong had
been there, instead of teaching young Herald

Mages the very basics of their Gift.

Firesong.... Once again, a wave of mingled embarrassment and desire
traveled outward in an uncomfortable flush of heat.  Somehow Firesong
had gone from comforter to lover, and An'desha was not quite certain
how the transition had come about.  For that matter, he didn't think
Firesong was quite sure how it had happened.  it certainly made a
complicated situation even more so.

Not that I needed complications.

He flung himself down on his back and stared at the peak of the tent
roof.  How did a person sort out a new life, a new home, a new
identity, and a new lover, all at once?

It only made the situation more strained that the new lover was trying
to be part of the solution.

Would it be easier if Firesong had been nothing more than a concerned
stranger, perhaps even a tentative friend, as Darkwind or the two
gryphons were?

He's being awfully patient, I suppose.  Anyone else would have given up
on me by now Surely a stranger would have blown up at him more than
once, have cursed him for his timidity, and consigned him to the ranks
of those that could not be helped because they would not help
themselves.

on the other hand, sooner or later Firesong's frustration was going to
overcome his patience.  He wouldn't be able to be impartial; he made no
secret of the fact that he wanted, badly, for An'desha to reach his
potential as a mage so that the two of them could enjoy a relationship
of two equal partners, the kind that the gryphons had.

But is that what I want?  Part of him longed for it with all his heart.
Part of him shied away from the very idea.  Firesong frightened him
sometimes; the Healing Adept was so very certain of himself and what he
wanted.  Sometimes I don't think he's had a single doubt in his life.
How could I ever have anything in common with someone like him?
Powerful, charismatic, blindingly intelligent, and handsome enough to
be a young god, Firesong was everything An'desha had imagined he could
be, back in that long-ago day when he had run away from his Clan.  No
longer; he had endured too much, and he could never be that naive or
hopeful again.

But Firesong was all those things.  He would never lack for bed
partners.  An'desha could not imagine someone like Firesong being
willing to wait around on the mere chance that a frail Shin'a'in
half-breed might, one day, regain some of the spirit he had lost.  Why
should he?  Why should he waste precious time that way?

And yet-He's kind, he's patient.  In fact, Firesong had been coaxing,
courting, and cajoling him with a gentle awkwardness that seemed to
bespeak a distinct lack of practice in those three skills.  Then again,
why would he ever need to coax or court anyone?  He could have anyone
he wanted, I'd think.  They must be throwing themselves at his feet,
over there in the Palace.  So it was all the more confusing that
Firesong was Willing to take the time to lead An'desha along like a
spooked and frightened colt, time he could, without a doubt, spend more
pleasurably elsewhere, with other people.

His thoughts muddled together at that point.  He didn't want to
consider all the ramifications of this.  He didn't want to think that
Firesong meant everything he had said in the dark of the night.  He
certainly didn't want that kind of devotion.

Did he?

This was getting him nowhere.  Rather than face further uncomfortable
thoughts, he rose from his pallet and took himself back out into the
garden.

The firebird had preened all the water from its feathers, and busily
fluffed them, holding its wings away from its body in order to make
certain that they dried fully.  The bird paid no attention to him as he
passed it and went to the far side of the garden, and the wrought-iron
staircase that led to the second floor and the ekele he shared with
Firesong.

He climbed the stairs and emerged in the middle of the central room of
the ekele, a room intended for socializing.  This room looked exactly
like the "public" room of any Tayledras ekele; it was light and open
despite little free floor space, furnished with a number of flat
cushions for sitting and lounging, a pair of perches for bond birds and
some low tables.  The floor was a herringbone pattern of two different
hardwoods, amber and pale honey.

An'desha passed through this room to reach his own room, one draped
with cloth against all the walls, and gathered up in the middle of the
ceiling, supposedly to resemble a Shin'a'in tent.  Firesong's idea, and
he couldn't spoil Firesong's pleasure by telling him it no more looked
like the inside of a Shin'a'in tent than the Palace gardens looked like
a Vale.  It contained the chests that held his clothing, the few
personal possessions that he had managed to accumulate, and a more
comfortable bed than the pallet in the tent in the garden.

He didn't use the bed much, except to lie on and think.

He pulled aside the cloth covering the windows on the outer wall, and
looked out into the branches of the tree just outside.  He found
himself wondering if that story Firesong had heard was true-and if it
was, how had it ended?  In tragedy, or in happiness?

And how could it matter to me, either way~ Oh, I think too much.

He turned back into the room, dropped the robe, and pulled out a shirt
and breeches from the chest that held his clothing, pulling them on and
trying to ignore the slightly odd cut.

These were not Shin'a'in, and there was no getting around the fact.
They would never feel exactly right.

But it was clothing, and it worked very well; it didn't matter if it
felt like Shin'a'in clothing or not.

He turned back to the window

And suddenly, out of nowhere, the fear came again.  Not one of the
stupid, personal fears, but something much, much greater.  He clung to
the windowsill with both hands as the sunlight turned as chill as a
blizzard sweeping across the Plains, and his teeth chattered as he
shook from head to toe,

unable to move.  scarcely able to draw a breath.  His stomach clenched;
his jaws locked on a cry of anguish.  His heart thundered in his ears
and he wanted only to run, mad with terror, until he couldn't run any
farther.

Something is wrong.... Then, abruptly, the fear left him gasping for
breath as it always did.

But the message remained.

Firesong sat under a crocus-patterned lantern in the gathering dusk,
scratching the crest of his firebird.  The bird weighed down his other
arm its eyes closed with pleasure, and Firesong's eyes were distant as
he concentrated on An'desha's hesitant words.

, ". - - it was the same as the last time," An'desha concluded,

the memory of that terror calling up a chill all over again.

"That's three times now, and the circumstances I was in were different
all three times."

Firesong nodded slowly, brushing a lock of white hair back behind his
neck.  The firebird slitted one sleepy eye in disapproval, until
Firesong's hand came back to scratch his crest again.

"I don't think this is coming from within you," he said, as a
night-blooming flower beside An'desha released perfume into the air.

"I believe your own impression is right;

there is a menace approaching that we are not yet aware of, and this
feeling of fear of yours is a presentiment."

An'desha sighed with relief; the first two times that this had
happened, Firesong had been inclined to think it was nothing more than
a delayed reaction to all that An'desha had been through.  Still, he
was troubled.

"F-F-Falconsbane had no such prescience," he stammered.

Firesong only shrugged.

"Falconsbane never wished to know the future," he pointed out.

"He assumed it would follow the course that he set.  And you are not
he; the Star-Eyed could well have granted you such a gift along with
all else."

A very real possibility and, if so, it was yet another "gift" he wished
that She would take back.  His face must have reflected that thought
since Firesong smiled slightly.

"The most likely direction for threat is east, of course,"."  he
continued.

"This Empire that the Valdemarans fear so much is rich with mages; I
think it likely that they will not end their conquest at the Hardorn
border."

As An'desha sat there dumbly, Firesong expanded his speculations.

The Empire was a good prospect; the Adept was right about that.  But
An'desha could not rid himself of the surety that the danger was not
coming from the Empire.

This was something more than mere warfare; something much, much
worse.

When I was still hiding in Falconsbane's body, and the two Avatars of
the Star-Eyed came to teach me the way toward freedom, did they not say
something about this?

Now that he came to think about it, he believed that they had.  He had
been guided by a pair of spirits, who had once been fleshly.  One had
been a Hawkbrother, the other, a Shin'a'in shaman.  They had helped and
taught him how to gradually insinuate himself into his enemy's mind in
such a way that Falconsbane thought the thoughts directing his actions
were his own.  They had also taught him how to gain access to the
memories of Falconsbane's many pasts.

At least once, and perhaps more often, they had hinted that if he
succeeded in regaining the use of his own body again, there was an even
greater peril to be faced.

if only he could remember what they had said!  But he had been too busy
worrying about his own survival to pay much attention to vague hints of
terrible danger to come.  He'd had quite enough terrible danger on his
plate at the time!

Firesong continued his speculations concerning the threat of this
Empire, and he tried in vain to suggest that the cril might be coming
from elsewhere.  Finally, he just gave up.

when Firesong had the bit between his teeth about something, there was
no hope for anyone else to get anything in.  it pwoausnbdest to just
nod thoughtfully and let him continue to

But inside, his thoughts had a c rc e around in worried, dizzy spirals.
The danger was not from the East, but from where?  What could be worse
than an army, full of powerful mages and larger than anything Valdemar
had ever seen, bearing down on the border?

If only he could remember.... Karal

Three

Karal patted his horse's damp neck nervously and tried not to be too
obvious about watching the Valdemaran Guards out of the corner of his
eye.  The horse fidgeted and danced in place as it picked up his
unease, and he dismounted to hold it by its halter, just under the
chin.  It snuffled his chest but calmed as soon as he got down on the
ground beside its head; a light, warm breeze played across both of
them, gradually drying the horse's sweating neck.

He continued to stroke it, his nose full of horse scent, the familiar
aroma calming his own nerves.  Nothing really bad had ever happened to
him when he was around horses, and he kept reminding himself of that,
holding it to him as if he held to a luck-talisman.

This was a good little gelding, and someone had trained it well before
tithing it to Vkandis Sunlord.  The sun shone on a ]perfect, glossy
coat, skin without scars or disease, an eye bright with intelligence.
Karal had no idea why the gelding's first owner had sent it in as part
of his tithe, but it was obviOUSlY someone who took his duty to the
Sunlord seriously, sending "the first and best fruits of his labor" as
the Writ urged, rather than trying to cheat as so many did, sending
only the unwanted and unusable.

"good thing for both of us that they did, Trenor.

The gelding was too small and light to go to the cavalry, and too
nervous for a scout or skirmisher, so it had gone to the Temple.  Karal
had known quality horseflesh when he saw it, and requisitioned this
youngster the moment his master and mentor suggested that he was
entitled to a mount of some kind from the Temple herds.

This gelding was a lovely bay, otherwise perfect except for the slight
flaw of high-bred nerves, and he'd named it after his little brother
Trenor, who danced in place in much the same way when he was nervous.
Trenor the gelding was, without a doubt, the best piece of horseflesh
currently in the novices' stables, and every time he rode the gelding,
Karal gloated a little under the envious eyes of his fellow novices.
None of them were mounted nearly as well as he, although the horses
they had requisitioned might look more impressive than little Trenor.
They were gentlemen for the most part, and were certainly above
choosing their own mounts-assuming any of them could tell a spavined
breakdown from a sweet little palfrey like this one.  And none of them
would have stooped to asking for his advice.  Doubtless, they had sent
servants down to the stables, with orders to select beasts "suited to
their station."

Well, they paid the penalty of pride in their rumps, every time they
rode, for the rest of the horses in the stables were a collection of
sorry misfits.  Most of them were showy pieces, huge creatures with
long manes and tails, rejected from some noble warrior's string.  Yes,
they were lovely to look at, shiny and high-stepping, but they had iron
mouths, bad tempers, or gaits that were pure torture to sit.

Not that all these traits were incurable.  Karal could have settled an
iron mouth or a bad temper quickly enough-but why should he, when his
fellow novices neither asked for his help nor deserved it?  Let the
others suffer."  Sunlord knew they'd made him suffer in other ways all
through his training.

But that was behind him now.  By the time he completed this assignment
as his mentor's secretary, he would be a full Priest of Vkandis, and
the equal of anyone in Karse save the Son of the Sun herself.  No one
could deny him that rank, no matter what his antecedents were.

He squinted up at the sun in the cloudless sky above.  We are all equa
n I d d hi If Oh surely, and cows will take to the air and soar like
falcons any day now!

Trenor tried to dance, this time with impatience, but Karal held him
steady, and soothed him with a wordless croon.

How long had it been since he'd seen the human version of this
fidgeting bundle of nerves?  Three years?  No, it was only two.

But if this Valdemaran escort doesn't show up, he may be grown before
we ever see home again!

It was an exaggeration, of course, but it felt as if he had been
standing here for days beneath the carefully dispassionate gaze of
these two young men in their blue and silver uniforms.

He and Ulrich waited on a stretch of newly-cut road that was only a few
leagues long, one of the tangible evidences of peace with Valdemar.
These bits of roadway linked Karse and its former enemy, bridging the
distance from a Karsite road to a Valdemaran one, and giving real
traffic a place to cross.  On the Karsite side was a gatehouse and a
pair of guards where the old road joined the new one.  On the
Valdemaran side were facilities and guards nearly identical to their
counterparts at the Karsite border-crossing behind him, except for the
color and cut of the uniforms.  The Valdemaran version seemed rather
severe to Karal, accustomed as he was to the flowing scarlet and gold
of the Karsite regulars, with the embroidered sashes of rank, feathered
turbans, and brocaded vests.  Plain tunics, plain breeches, only the
tiniest bit of silver trim and braid ... these men might have been
mistaken for someone's lowest-rank servant, a stable sweeper or horse
boy

Like I was ... even Father dressed more handsomely than these men do.

Karal's father had never worn such unadorned clothing in Karal's
memory; the Chief Stableman of the Rising Sun inn Could boast
beautifully embroidered garments from the hands of his loving wife and
daughters.  His pay might be meager enough, but he could put on a show
fit to match anyone of his own station and even a little above.  The
clothing Karal had worn before the Sun-priests came for him had been
plain enough, but he had been a stable sweeper, and anyway, he had only
been nine.  Not nearly a man, and in no way needing to prove his worth
the way a man did.

I wish that there was some shade here.  The sun that was kind in the
mountains, countering the chill of the breezes, was a burden here.  His
dark robes soaked it up and released none of the heat.  But the
situation was too new, too delicate, for any real amenities for the few
who wished to cross from Valdemar to Karse.  All brush and trees had
been cut back from the road for a distance of twenty paces, so that the
guards at either gatehouse had a clear view of anyone coming or going.
Karal could understand that.  This was not a job he would care to have,
himself; the guards at the Karsite side were clearly nervous, and the
ones here probably were as well.  This was only the second time that he
had seen a real Valdemaran up close, one of the Hellspawn
themselves-No, not Hellspawn.  Her Holiness, the Son of the Sun, High
Priest Solaris has said that was all a fiction created by corrupt
priests.  They are not Hellspawn, they never were.  just people,
different from us, but people.

Hard to undo the thinking of a lifetime, though, and if it was hard for
him, it must be incredibly difficult for people like the officers in
the Army.  How must that be, to go to sleep, only to wake up the next
day and find that your demonic enemies had become, by Holiest decree,
your allies?

To learn that they were not demonic at all, and never had been?

To discover that a terrible war that had killed countless thousands
over the course of generations should never have taken place and could
have been ended at any time?

Karal sighed, and his master Ulrich dismounted from his mount, a placid
and reliable mule.  Ulrich was no horseman, and moreover, he was a most
powerful Priest-mage.  He might need to work magic at any time, and
needed a riding beast that would stand stock still when the reins were
dropped, no matter what strangeness it heard or saw.  The mule-which
Ulrich called "Honeybee," for she was sweet, but had a sting in her
tail in the form of a powerful kick when annoyed-was older than Karal,
and looked to live and carry her master for the same number of years.
Karal liked her, trusting her good sense to bring Ulrich through any
common peril.  Storms didn't spook her, uncanny visitations could not
make her bolt, she knew when to fight and when to flee, and she was
surefooted and wise in the way of trails and tracks.

But she was boring to ride, and while he could not have wanted a better
mount for his master, she was the last one he would have chosen for
himself.

"Patience, Karal, " Ulrich said in an undertone.

"Our escort is probably on his way this very moment, and will be
surprised to see us waiting.  We are early; it is not even Sunheight
yet.  You may worry when it lacks but a mark or two before
Sundescending.

Karal bowed his head in deference to his master's words.

Ulrich was surely right, yet" It seems ill-mannered, sir, to have us
cool our heels at the border-crossing, when you are the envoy from Her
Holiness, he said doubtfully.

"And to send only a single escort-it seems a deliberate slight to me.
Should we not have many guards, perhaps a Court Official, or-/ Ulrich
raised his hand to halt his Young protege in mid thought.

"We are two, coming from the south, wearing the plain robes of some
sort of priest"" he pointed out.

"If the Queen sent an escort of a score of her Guards, what would the
obvious inference be?  That we are envoys of Her Holiness, of course.
There are perils along the way, not the least of which are those who
will not believe that the war between our lands is over."

Ulrich waited Patiently while Karal thought out the rest of the perils
for himself.  Mobs of angry border people, or even a single, clever
madman could plan to kill old enemies; assassins hoping to eliminate
the envoys and thus the alliance were a real possibility.  Even
mercenaries could try to slay the envoys, hoping to start up the war
again and thus ensure continued employment.  For that matter, the
threat need not come from a citizen of Valdemar; it could come from
someone from their own land, hoping to rekindle the flames of the "holy
war against the Hellspawn."

Karal shook his head mournfully, and Ulrich just chuckled.

"That, my son is why I am envoy and you are a novice.  I requested that
we be met by but a single escort, though I also requested one who could
be trusted completely.  I fear that it takes Years of being steeped in
deception and infamy to recognize the Possibility for both."

Ulrich patted Honeybee's neck, and she- sighed.  Ulrich nodded at the
mounts, at their own equipage.  At the moment he and Karal were wearing
only the plainest of their robes for travel.

"As we are, with a single escort-yes, we are dressed well, and clearly
Priests from a foreign land, but we could be from any foreign land.
Unless we have the misfortune to come across someone who has seen a
Sun-priest, we should meet with no one who will recognize our robes or
our medals.

Valdemar is awash with foreigners these days, many of them being
escorted to Haven even as we.  I think that we shall not draw undue
attention to ourselves."

Karal did not answer his mentor, but in this case, he thought privately
that, for once, Ulrich might be wrong.  He took another covert look at
the Valdemaran guards, compared the Sun-priest with them, and came up
with an entirely different answer than Ulrich's.

They were both dressed with relative modesty, compared to the
magnificent garments they would don once they were in the capital city
and the Palace, but there were still a myriad of ways that anyone who
had ever seen a Karsite would know who and what they were.

They both wore their Vkandis-medals on gold chains, first of all, round
gold disks blazoned with a sun-in-glory-and how many people of moderate
importance ever wore that much gold?  For that matter, was there
another sect that used that particular blazon?  Their garments had a
cut peculiar to Karse; certainly Karal had never seen any foreigner
attending Her Holiness who wore anything like the Karsite costume.

And if they were of moderate importance, why send an escort at all?

Oh, I suppose I worry too much.  Ulrich is right; if what we have heard
is true, there are foreigners arriving daily who are so outlandish that
we shall not even attract a second glance.

Ulrich was certainly not particularly remarkable; many novices passed
him by every day, thinking him a Priest of no particular importance. He
was, in fact, utterly ordinary in looks and demeanor-of middling
height, neither very young nor very old, neither handsome nor hideous,
neither muscular nor a weakling.  His gray hair and beard and
perpetually mild expression belied the sharpness of his eyes, and his
expression could change in a moment from bemused and kindly to
implacable.  These Valdemarans seemed to be of no particular physical
type; one of the guards was lean and brown, the other muscular and
blond.  Not so with the two Karsites, for both were typical of anyone
from their land; Ulrich could easily have been Karal's hawk-faced
father; they were two from the same mold, dark-haired, dark-eyed,
sharp-featured.

superhaps that was all to the good, too.  Outsiders mighstinacs side
Karse knew that the Sun K arma le tdhoaut bttheedy awneyroenree I ao
tuetd.  B e t t c r a n d b e t the r, in f a c t,

priests were not required to be celibate or chaste, though many of them
swore such oaths for various reasons.  So if he and Ulrich appeared to
be father and son-it might be that no one would think they were priests
of any kind.

Karal rubbed his temple; all this thinking was giving him a headache.
Ulrich patted his shoulder with sympathy as the guards continued to
ignore them.

"Don't worry about it too much young one," the Sunpriest said, with a
kindly gleam in his black eyes.

"Try to get used to the new land first, before You devote any time to
learning about intrigue and hidden dangers.  There will be enough that
is strange to you, I think, for some few days."

The Sun-priest-the Red-robe who was once one of the feared and deadly
Black-robe priests of the Sunlord, a wielder of terrible power and
commander of demons-looked back down the road they had come and
sighed.

"You have seen so many changes already in your short lifetime, I should
think You will cope better with this new place than I. To you, this
must seem like a grand new adventure."

Karal choked back a reply to that; little as he wanted to be sent off
into this voluntary exile, he wanted still less to be sent home in
disgrace.  But he did not think of this as a "grand new adventure.  nor
any kind of an adventure; at heart, he was a homebody.  His notion of a
good life meant achieving some success as a scholar, perhaps finding a
suitable partner among the ranks of the female Priests, growing older,
wiser, and ]rich in children and grandchildren.  Yes.  he had seen
Changes aplenty since he had been taken from his own family at nine,
and being subject to having his world turned upside down before he was
twelve had not made him any readier for it turn again at thirteen,
fourteen, fifteen, or now, at shiaxvt'eneigi.

In fact, most of the time lately he was just plain bewildered, and
there were moments when the stress was so great that he feared it was
visible to anyone who looked at him.

Is there not some barbarian curse that wishes your life be interesting?
If so, then he should find the barbarian who had visited such a curse
on him and persuade him to remove it!

He found excitement enough in books for anyone's lifetime.

At nine, he had been his father's apprentice; a horse boy and stable
sweeper, and supremely content with his position and the world.  He
loved horses, loved everything about them, and looked forward to rising
to take his father's job when he was old enough.  He had three sisters,
two older and one younger, to tease and torment as any small boy would,
and a little brother who toddled after him at every opportunity with a
look of adoration on his chubby face.  There was always food enough on
the table, and if it was plain fare, well, there were folk enough who
had not even that, and he knew it even then.  He had been happy as he
was.  He had not wanted any changes that he could not foresee.

By now he had seen enough of other families to know how idyllic, in
many ways, his own had been.  Both his parents were as ready to praise
as to reprimand, and no matter what mischief he had been into, he could
count on forgiveness following repentance.  His Father was proud of
him, and was teaching him everything he knew about horses and
horseflesh.

His world was full of things and people he loved; what more did any boy
need?

There was only one cloud in all their lives-the annual Feast of the
Children, when parents were ordered to bring their children to the
Temple to be inspected by the Sunpriests.

The examinations began when a child was five, and ended when he was
thirteen.  The Feast always brought suppressed terror to every parent
in the town, but it was especially hard on Karal's father and mother,
for both of them had had siblings who were taken away by the Priests,
and were subsequently burned for the heresy of harboring
"witch-powers."

There was always the fear that one of their children might be taken-and
worse still, might be given to the Fires.

Even those who were not thrown to the Fires never saw their homes and
families again, for that was the way of the Sunpriests.

So it had "always" been.

For four years, the Priests had passed Karal over and his father and
mother had begun to lose a little of their fear, at least for his sake,
if not for the sake of his Younger siblings.  Even a double hand-he
began to feel a cocky certainty that the Feast would never

Flames from the Priest's servants fmuleaonf
smpourne-stoghairmvtkhaanndiasn occasion to claim when the inspection
was over.

But then, the year he was nine, his world and his certainty
shattered.

A new Priest came to the Feast; a new Priest in black robes,

rather than red, a Priest who watched him with narrowed eye sand
claimed him for the Sunlord.

One moment he had been standing with the others in a neat line; the
next, a heavy hand came down on his shoulder, and two servants seized
him before he could react, ushering him into the Temple, pushing him
past the altar into the rooms beyond, where the townsfolk were never
permitted, only those belonging to the Temple.

He didn't remember much of that day, or even of the following week,
which might have been due to shock, or to the potion the Priest gave
him to drink when he launched into hysterical tantrums.  He had been
the only child chosen from his town.  and there was no one else he knew
to share his ordeal and his exile.  He vaguely remembered a long ride
inside a dark wagon, which paused now and again so that another
blank-eyed, stranger-child could join him on the bench.  No spun-sugar
for him or for them; only a bitter cup, a long period of shadow~
haunted daze, and then the awakening in a strange and hostile place-the
so-called Children's Cloister, where he and the others would live and
study until they were accepted as novices or given duties as
Servants.

Or until someone said they had witch-powers.  He shuddered cold
creeping over him for a moment, as if the sun had lost its Power to
warm him.

"II time, Karal came to accept what he could not change.  He Was told
that he would never see his family again; that he was reborn into a new
and greater family, the Kin of Vkandis.

They allowed him time to rebel, one chance to attempt to run away. This
was unsuccessful, as were all such attempts as far as he ever learned. 
A terrible creature of flame caught him at the gate, and chased him
back to the Cloister.  He never made a second attempt, though he heard
that others did; he resigned himself to his fate.

Then began the lessons, hour after hour of them.

Most of the children did not master much more than the barest skills of
reading and writing; those were sent, at ten, to become Servants. Some,
a fraction of the rest, were taken off by the Priests for "special
training" that had nothing to do with scholarly pursuits.

Some few of those were given to the Flames, later, as witches.  Karal
and the rest were required to attend the burnings, and he was told that
the ashes were returned to their families as a mark of the disgrace to
their bloodline.  The three burnings he had witnessed still gave him
nightmares.

For some reason, Karal did well in scholastic pursuits and did not
again attract the attention of those who meted out "special training."
He found a pure pleasure in learning that was as great as his pleasure
in anything he had ever experienced.

He soon outstripped most of the others who had originally been
"collected for Vkandis" with him.  This gained him admission to another
group of young pupils-the offspring of nobles and the well-to-do, sent
as their parents' tithe to Vkandis, children who had the advantage of
tutoring from an early age.  These had never before been forced to
share teachers or quarters with those of the lower classes ... they
resented this new development in their lives, and needed someone to
take their displeasure out on.

And that had opened him to a new series of torments-not overt, but
covert.  He pleased his teachers, and the young nobles could not cause
him trouble in his classes, but outside those classes, he was fair game
for any prank they could invent that would not call down the wrath of
their Keeper on them.

He shook his head, driving away the unpleasant memories for now.  None
of that mattered, then or now.  I have to remember that.  What mattered
was that he had graduated into the ranks of the novices with high
honors, despite the opposi d by that same Black-robed
ttiaoknenofbythaemoctnhteRrr,sthuedewnatss,sealneedtewhen the time came
to be Priest who had singled him out at the Feast of the Children.

Only now he knew what those ebony robes meant.  His new mentor was a
Priest-mage, a user of magic in Vkandis' name, and a summoner of
demons.

He would have been terrified, if Ulrich hadn't immediately shown his
kindly nature.  And every morning since that day, he had offered up a
paean of gratitude with his other prayers that it had been Ulrich who
had chosen him.  His Master had rank enough that not one of his fellow
novices dared to torment him further, though they could, and did, shut
him out socially.

Not that he cared.  His Master was a scholar, and set him scholarly
tasks that suited his nature.  When his Master learned of his
background and his love of horses, he suggested he find himself a mount
early enough that the horses and mules were not all picked over. Ulrich
made certain he had time out, every day, to spend at least a mark or
two with his beloved gelding, Trenor.  For a week or two, everything
was Well; he thought for certain that the future was again
predictable.

He had already suffered two upheavals in his life-being torn from his
family and being shoved, will-he.  nill-he, into the ranks of those
born far far above his station.  Now he suffered the third, but this
time, the entire Kin of Vkandis "suffered" along with him.

Vkandis-the God Himself-selected a woman to be the sOn of the Sun in a
fashion that brooked no denial of the validity of her claim to the
position.  That woman, High Priest Solaris, Proceeded to set the entire
established hierarchy on its side, declaring things that had been
established orthodoxy for generations to be perversions of Vkandis'
Word and Will.

And Ulrich not only approved, he was in the thick of it all, as 'one of
Solaris' most trusted aides and assistants.  So, perforce, was his
protege.

Not that I was unhappy about that initially-not when one of the first
things she did was to order that all novices and under--novices were to
be permitted the same contact with their families that Army recruits
had!  Until that moment, no one taken by the Priests was ever permitted
any contact with his family, even the most casual.  Now he was able to
write to them, even visit them twice a year, something that would have
been unthinkable under the old Rules.

In fact, when Solaris appointed Ulrich as her special envoy to
Valdemar, she had taken the effort to order that Karal also take a week
of special leave to see his family before he left with his Master.  And
when had a Son of the Sun ever concerned himself with something as
trivial as the needs of a mere novice?

He stroked Trenor's neck soothingly, smiling to himself.

The very first time he had gone home, the entire fortnight had been a
wonderful visit.  His mother had been so proud of him-and his father
had been beside himself with pleasure.

His son was secretary to a powerful Priest!  His son was privy to all
the secrets of the high and privileged!  His son would see people and
situations his father could only dream about.

But that had come later; no sooner had Solaris staged her internal
revolution and he had returned from his first Familial Visit, than
Karse acquired a new enemy, in the person of King Ancar of Hardorn.
Ancar staged a major attack on the border; not in living memory had
there been anything in the way of a concerted attack from Hardorn.  The
shock of the attack had reverberated throughout the entire country; to
be honest, most Karsites were used to scoring small covert victories
and raids against Hardorn and Valdemar, not having a concerted attack
staged on their own borderlands.

The skirmishing had become all-out war, with Karse very much the weaker
of the two.  Not even the Black-robe Priests and their magic could
counter Ancar, his army, and his mages.

Solaris had predicted this.  Very few had believed her.  Now, with her
star in the ascendant, she made the most unprecedented move of all.

She recruited a new ally; one not even Ulrich could have predicted.

Valdemar.  Valdemar, home of the White Demons and their Hellhorses.
Valdemar, land of Hellspawn, land that had given shelter to the heretic
Holderkin, sworn enemies of Vkandis And once again, Vkandis showed by
signs that could not be counterfeited that He approved.

Suddenly, by decree Of Solaris and Vkandis Himself, Valdemar had become
the abode of the slightly misguided, noble-minded allies of Karse.  It
was nothing short of a miracle that Solaris managed to get just enough
cooperation out of her own folk to rush the alliance through.  It was
just in time just barely in time to keep Ancar of Hardorn from
squashing Solaris and Selenay like a couple of insects, and their lands
and peoples with them.

As Ulrich's secretary, Karal had been in the midst of everything, from
the initial plan to the complex negotiations to the investiture of a
woman from Valdemar as a Vkandis Priest.

left him breathless, and so bewildered before it was all over that all
he could do was to hold onto his sanity with both hands and watch with
wide and often confused eyes.  Now, with the advent of peace, it was
harder than ever to encompass the notion that the Evil Ones were now to
be allies of Karse,

"I believe our escort is here," Ul-rich said, breaking into Karal's
thoughts.

He looked up" shading his eyes with his hand, staring past the gate and
the two Guards to the roadway beyond.  For a moment" he saw nothing
against the glare of the sun on the dust of the road.  Then he caught a
glimpse of movement; his focus sharpened, and he spotted a rider coming
around a far-Off bend in the road.

The man could hardly be missed even against the sun glare;

he was clad all in white, with a horse as white as the clouds in the
sky above him.

This was no ordinary traveler; the quality of his clothing Was very
high-white garments were expensive to keep pristine The garments he
wore had the feeling of a uniform about them; Karal knew that the
colors of Valdemar were silver, blue~ and white.  Was this Royal livery
of some sort?  As the man drew nearer still, Karal noted the extreme
quality of his tack, specially dyed and constructed of the same colors
of silver and blue that the Guards wore.

The Guards themselves were Waiting for the man with a deference they
had not shown the two Karsites, which in itself was interesting.  Did
this mean their escort was of higher rank than an envoy, or did it mean
that no one had told these two Guards anything at all about Ulrich and
his young secretary, not even that they were Solaris' envoys?

Well, it probably didn't matter at this point.

The man paused at the Gate, but he did not dismount; instead, he leaned
over the neck of his mount to talk to the two Guards.  Now Karal stole
a moment to admire the horse he rode.  The head was quite broad across
the forehead, which argued for high intelligence.  Aside from
that-which some might consider a flaw, though Karal would not agree
with them-the beast was breathtakingly beautiful.  He had never seen a
horse so perfectly white as this one, which gleamed as if someone had
just washed it-and how on earth did the Valdemaran manage to get that
silver sheen to the horse's hooves?  Not paint, surely-paint would
damage the hoof and deform it.  No one but a fool would paint the
hooves of a horse like this one.

As the rider spoke with the Guards, the horse shifted slightly, as if
to watch the two Karsites.  Its movements were as graceful as the horse
itself was beautiful; it arched its neck so that its flowing mane fell
just so, for all the world as if it knew how stunning it was.

Perfect.  That was Karal's thought, and he reveled in the fact that he
would be spending the next several days in the company of such a
beast.

After a brief consultation with the Guards, the man in white beckoned
to them.  Now that he'd had his fill of watching the horse from afar,
Karal was perfectly willing to mount Trenor and rein in behind Ulrich;
he'd had enough waiting around to last him for quite a while!

It probably isn't going to be the last time I have to stand around and
wait, though.

The escort had blond hair going to gray at the temples, a good, square
jaw, deep-set, frank, hazel-colored eyes, and a nose that had obviously
been broken more than once in the past.  He sat his horse rather
stiffly, which struck an odd note, given the grace of the horse
itself.

The man hesitated for a moment, then held out his hand to Ulrich as
they approached the gate.

"Envoy Ulrich?"  he said, as his horse stood rock-steady beneath him,
showing no more inclination to shy away from strange beasts than if the
horse were carved of pure alabaster.

"I am your escort.  Call me Rubrik, if you will."

It has blue eyes, Karal saw, with a surge of disappointment.

Most blue-eyed, white creatures were stone deaf.  Was this the flaw in
this otherwise perfect mount?  Certainly deafness would account for the
horse's apparent calm.

Ulrich took the man's hand and shook it, as Honeybee eyed the blue-eyed
white horse dubiously, probably expecting a nip or a kick from it.

The man's Karsite was excellent; much better than Karal's Valdemaran.
He had very little accent, and when he spoke, there was no sense that
he was stopping to translate mentally before saying anything.

"You speak our language very well, sir," Ulrich replied with grave
courtesy, "and I hope you will accept my apology for not returning the
compliment, but the truth is, I am nowhere near as fluent in your
tongue as you seem to be in ours.  This is my secretary, Karal.  " The
man held out his hand to Karal, who followed his mentor's example and
shook it.  Rubrik's clasp was firm and warm, without being a "test."
Karal decided cautiously that he liked this Valdemaran.

Rubrik squinted up at the sun once he had released Karal's hand.

"You have come a long way, and as I am sure you realize, there is a
longer journey still ahead of you, Envoy," he told Ulrich.

"Weather in Valdemar is still not so settled that I'd care to wager on
clear skies for more than a day.  I'd like to make as much distance as
we can while the weather holds, if You've no objection."

Ulrich shook his head.

"No objection whatsoever," he replied.

"You are limited only to the number of leagues our two beasts are able
to travel in a day; my secretary and I are good riders, and have no
trouble spending dawn to dusk in the saddle, if you like."

Karal winced at that; he was not so sure of his endurance as Ulrich
seemed to be.  Hopefully, the man would not take him at his word.

Rubrik smiled warmly.

"Your High Priest Solaris has chosen her envoy well, my lord," was his
only reply.

"If you would follow me?

The trio passed the silent Guards, went through the open gate, and for
the first time in his life, Karal entered a foreign land.

Karal had expected to feel-something-once he was across the border and
in a new land.  Some kind of difference in the air, or in himself. He'd
expected that this alien place would look different from Karse somehow,
that the grass and trees would be some odd color, that the people would
be vastly different.

There was no reason to have expected anything of the sort, of course
but emotions don't respond well to logic, I suppose.

As they rode northward all the rest of the day, there was literally no
way of telling that they were not in Karse.  The hills were virtually
identical to the ones they had just traversed;

covered with the same trees, the same grass.  The scents in the air
were the same; sun-warmed dust, the occasional perfume of briar-roses
blooming beside the road.

The few people that they encountered were not really all that different
either, except that it was obvious they were not Karsite.  Their
clothing was different; plain in the extreme, severely styled, in muted
grays, browns, and tans.  Mud-colors, really; no Karsite would ever
wear such nothing-colors unless he were too abysmally poor to afford
anything else, or unless he intended to do some truly filthy task and
didn't want his proper clothing ruined.  Even for work in the fields
most Karsites wore good, strong saffrons and indigos-but not these
folk.

They passed a number of folk cutting hay, one herding swine and another
with a flock of geese, a few weeding fields of cabbages or other
vegetables.  The animals turned to watch the trio pass; the people
themselves blatantly ignored the travelers, turning away from the road,
in fact, in stiff and disapproving attitudes that bordered on
rudeness.

"Holderkin," Rubrik said, after the third or fourth time that someone
deliberately turned his face from them.  The escort sighed and shook
his head.

"I'm sorry about this.  They don't like those of us who represent the
Queen, much-hardly more than they like you Karsites.  I do believe that
if there was any way to manage it, they'd create their own little
country here, build a high wall around it, and shut Valdemar and Karse
outside forever and aye."

Ulrich laughed at that, and his eyes crinkled up at the corners with
sympathetic good humor.

"In that case, sir, I think my land well rid of them.  I am marginally
familiar with them, in a purely historical sense.  They seem to have
made themselves something of a thorn in your side.  " Rubrik shrugged
ruefully and rubbed the side of his nose.

can't say that no good has come from them-the Queen's own, Lady Talia,
is of Holderkin breeding.  But aside from that, they are a damned
unpleasant people, and I've had occasion more than once to wish them
somewhere far, far away."

Karal kept silent through this exchange, watching their escort, and
trying to deduce why the man rode so stiffly.  How was it that someone
who seemed to be such a clumsy rider had such a fine mount?  How was it
that the mount was so used to the rider that the horse itself actually
accommodated the rider?

Finally, as Rubrik turned to point out a wedge of geese flying
overhead, pursued by a goshawk, the answer to all those questions came
to him.

Rubrik's right arm moved stiffly; he could not seem to raise it above
his shoulder.  There was a 'dead" quality to the right side of his
face.  And although his right knee stuck out woodenly, his left leg
showed the perfect form of an experienced rider.

Rubrik was injured somehow-or he'd had some kind of brainstorm.  He was
partially paralyzed; the stiffness of his right side and the little tic
in the corner of his right eye were the last clues that Karal needed.

Rubrik would have to have such a mount, one trained to cOmPensate for
his weakness, if he was to be at all mobile.

Karal's admiration for the stunning horse increased a hundredfold, for
a horse so trained must be as intelligent as One .  Of the legendary
Shin'a'in beasts.

His admiration turned to more surprise when he realized that Rubrik's
horse was not a gelding as he had assumed, but a full stallion.  A full
stallion-one which showed no interest in Honeybee who, although a mule,
was still a mare?  What kind of training could ever give a horse that
kind of self control?

He would have asked just that question if Ulrich had not engaged their
escort's attention completely, asking about some complex situation at
the Valdemaran Court.  A good half of the names Ulrich bandied about so
casually completely eluded his secretary, although Karal recognized
most of the rest from all the correspondence he had handled over the
past few weeks.

I guess there was a lot more going on in those private conferences than
Ulrich led me to believe.  Not that that should surprise him!

He suppressed his own curiosity and simply listened to the two men
talk, for this, too, was part of his job-to learn as much as he could
by listening.

Eventually, either Ulrich tired of asking questions, or the envoy
decided that he wanted to think about what he had learned before he
asked anything more.  By this time, the last of the farmlands were
behind them; if anyone used the hills on either side of the road for
anything, it was probably to harvest timber and for grazing.  Silence
fell on the party, broken only by the sounds of wildlife out in the
forested hills, And by the sound of the hooves of their mounts.

That was when Karal noticed something else.  While Trenor and Honeybee
had perfectly normal, dull, clopping hoofbeats, the sounds of the white
horse's hooves striking the ground had a bell-like tone to them.

Maybe the Valdemarans did treat the beast's hooves in some way; how
else could they be silver and have such a musical sound to them?

The road they were on generally followed the contour of the land
itself, staying pretty much in the valleys between the hills.  Once in
a while Karal caught a whiff of he-goat musk, or spotted the white
blobs of grazing sheep among the trees.  Forest rose on either side of
the road; tall trees that had been growing for decades at least.  In
places the limestone bones of these hills showed through the thin soil;
the trees themselves were mostly golden oak with a sprinkling of pine
or other conifers, and the occasional beech or larch.

What the forest lacked in human inhabitants, it made up for in animals.
Squirrels scolded them as they passed, and songbirds called off in the
distance, their voices filtering through the leaves.  jays and crows
followed them with rowdy catcalls, telling all the world that
interlopers were passing through.  Once a hawk stooped on something
right at the edge of the road, and lumbered up out of the way just as
they reached the spot, with a snake squirming in its talons.

The road met the path of a wide river as the sun westered and sank
below the level of the treetops.  Karal caught glimpses of the water
through the screening of trees, reflecting the light in shiny bursts
through the brush.

By this time, despite his master's assertion that the two of them could
stay in the saddle as long as need be, he was getting saddle sore and
stiff.  His buttocks ached; his back and shoulders were in knots.  He
began to wonder just when this Rubrik intended to stop-or did he want
to ride all night?

There was no sign of a town or village, though, so there didn't seem to
be any place they could stop.  I don't mind camping out-but Ulrich is
too old for that sort of thing, he thought, a bit resentfully, but
telling himself that concern for his master was more important than his
own aches and pains.

We don't have tents, we don't even have proper blanket rolls.

Surely this man isn't going to expect the envoy of the Son of the Sun
to sleep in leaves, rolled up in his own cloak like a vagabond!

"There's a village I expect to reach just after sundown Rubrik said,
startling Karal.  It was almost as if the man had just read his own
thoughts!

"If you don't think you can make it that far, please tell me, but I've
made arrangements there for a Private suite for you two."  He made an
apologetic grimace.

"I hope this doesn't seem boorish, but I would rather that no one know
your exact origin or your mission here until we reach Haven.  and the
best way to keep quiet is to keep the two Of You away from people who
might be a bit too curious about visitors to Valdemar.  " Ulrich waved
jaway any apologies.  ""Those are my thoughts, Precisely," he
replied.

"The fewer folk who even know there are tWo Priests traveling here, the
better.  That was why I requested that Queen Selenay send only a single
escort.  But I must confess, I am not when we met you."  He shook his
head at his own weakness, then shrugged.  "we are still used to riding
most of the day, but I have just begun to realize that "most" of the
day is not the same as 'all' of the day.

"If it helps any, I have requested that a hot dinner be served in the
suite as soon as you arrive, Rubrik answered with an engaging smile-
"And hot baths to follow."

wouldn't say no to a bottle of horse-liniment as well, sir," Karal
ventured, a little shy at inserting himself into the conversation.

That I can suPPly myself-muscle-salve, and not horse" liniment, young
sir, the escort said, turning to look at him, as if surprised that he
was back behind his master.  Perhaps Rubrik had forgotten him.

Karal was far more pleased than offended for if that was what had
happened, it meant that he had acheved his end of being "invisible."
Ulrich had told him that a good secretary would develop the knack of
vanishing into the background;

that would make him less intrusive, especially to people who might be
nervous about a third party being present at a delicate negotiation.

rik," "That would be very much appreciated, my lord rubrik," Karal
replied, ducking his head in an aPPrOximation of a bow.

But Rubrik shook an admonishing finger at Karal.

"Not my lord," youngling," he chided gently, "Just "Rubrik."

there are no titles Among Heralds,with the sole exception of the Lady
Elspeth, the Queen's daughter.  My father was something of a landowner,
a kind of ffarmer

"Ah?  That clearly caught his masters attention.

what did he farm, if I may ask?

"Root crops, mostly, though he had some herds as well," f them off on a
dis That set the two 0 the Valdewas the ready ansfarms and farmers in .
bo mostly cuss ion of the condition of rikis turn for questionsp mar
and Karse, and it was Rub it had affected the Y-arab out the weather,
and whether or notunterparts.

sites as badly as it had their Valdernaran cO nforrnatioll 'd if Rubrik
realized how much.  i Karal wondere th the way ]he phrased his
questions.

he was giving withe road before them.  Karal lisT he moon rose,
silvering tened and made mental notes for later.  if all that Rubrik
told them was true, Valdemar had been suffering from truly horrible
weather until very recently-storms and disturbances out of season that
were somehow connected with the magics Ancar of Karse had been
working.

"But now that weive got a few mages doing weather-working, things are
getting back to normal.  In time to save the harvests, we hope," Rubrik
concluded.

if he hoped for a similar statement from Ulrich, he was not going to
get one.

"Vkandis has always cared personally for the welfare of His people,"
Ulrich replied, and Karal was very glad that it was dark enough that he
did not have to hide a smile.  That was certainly a double-edged
statement, and quite entirely the truth as well!  It could be taken by
an outsider as the simple pious mouthings of a Priest-but the bare fact
was that Vkandis did care personally for the welfare of His people.
What His Priests could not deal with, using the powers of magic He had
granted them, He might very well take care of Himself.  Karse had not
suffered more than inconvenience from what Ulrich called "wizard
weather," precisely because Priests who could control the weather had
been sent out to make certain that people, crops, and property were
safeguarded properly.

If Rubrik was taken aback by this bland statement, he said nothing.
Instead, he described some of the damage that had occurred in Hardorn,
which was evidently much worse than that in Valdemar or what had been
prevented in Karse.

Ulrich had taught his pupil that unshielded use of powerful magic
disrupted the weather, but Karal had never had that lesson demonstrated
for him.  Now he heard what had happened, and he was appalled at the
level of destruction that had taken place.  And Ancar had done nothing
to prevent it.

"Ah, look!"  Rubrik said, pointing ahead of them.  Karal squinted
against the darkness and thought he saw lights.

"There's our inn at last.  We'll be there in less than a mark!"

"And it won't be too soon for me," Ulrich sighed, with feeling.

Nor for me, Karal added silently.  His behind hurt so much he was sure
that he had saddle-sores, something that hadn't happened since he was a
child.  The lights in the distance grew brighter and more welcoming
with every moment, and the aches in his legs and back grew more
persistent.  No one had ever warned him that being the secretary to an
envoy was going to involve this kind of work!  I hope this is the last
time I ever have to ride like this for as long as I live!

Rubrik

Karal didn't get his wish, of course.  He did, however, get possession
of a bottle of muscle-salve that had such near-miraculous properties
that he suspected magic, or the talents of a Healer-Priest in preparing
it.  When he woke the next morning, his aches were mostly gone, and the
little pain that was left eased as he rubbed in a new application of
the salve.  It had a sharp scent somewhat like watercress, not
unpleasant, but nothing he recognized.  Ulrich helped himself
shamelessly to the potion as well, leaving the jar half empty.

They met in the courtyard of the inn, in the thin gray light of false
dawn.  Rubrik was already waiting, his cloud-white horse saddled and
ready to ride.  Rubrik himself looked quite disgustingly rested.  One
sleepy stable boy presented them with their mounts, already saddled,
and a cook's helper, powdered with flour, came out from the kitchen
with a tray of buttered rolls and mugs of hot tea.  Karal was glad he'd
used that salve after he helped Rubrik to mount and climbed aboard
Trenor.

"Stiff" simply wasn't an adequate description for how he felt when he
tried to actually make his muscles do some work.  That reminded him of
how little salve was left in the jar in his saddlebag-between himself
and Ulrich, it wasn't going to last more than another day or two.

The kitchen helper reappeared with a pair of cloth bags, and handed
them to Rubrik, who slung them over his saddlebags.  " Our noon meal,"
their escort explained.

"I hope you don't mind eating on the road, but I want to make as much
time as Possible."

Ll,ely.  Which means we']] probably be riding even longer today.
Somehow he managed not to groan.

"Excuse me, sir, of he said instead, anxiously.

"But that salve you gave me last night worked very well-so well I don't
have much left.

And-" "And there's more where that came from, young man," Rubrik
replied with a wink.

"It's very common in Valdemar; I have more, and I can make sure to get
more when we stop for the night."

"I can tell already that we both will require it," Ulrich put in, with
a rueful smile.

"I purloined some of it myself.  Perhaps you are used to riding all
day, but we are not as sturdy as you.  I fear the scholars' life has
left both of us ill prepared for this situation."

Karal smiled at his mentor, grateful for Ulrich's little comment.

It made him look like less of a weakling.  After all, how did it look,
that a man who was half-crippled could ride longer and harder than a
fellow half his age?

They left with the rising sun, completely avoiding any of the other
guests at the inn by leaving before anyone else woke up.  They didn't
stop until late morning, and by that time Karal and his master were
both ready for another application of salve.  How Rubrik managed such a
pace, Karal could not fathom.  Once they had stopped last night, he'd
demonstrated his own physical weakness by needing help to dismount.  On
the ground, he had limped along with the help of a cane, his bad leg
frozen with the knee locked, so that he had to swing it around from the
hip, stiffly, in order to use it at all.

This morning he'd needed help to mount as well-help that Karal had
provided, since the stable boy had vanished as soon as the lad brought
their horses to them.  Rubrik's horse had also helped on both
occasions, much to Karal's surprise, by lying down so that Rubrik could
get his bad leg swung over the saddle with a very little assistance.
Karal bit his lip to keep from commenting or asking questions, since
this went far beyond any horse training he had ever seen.  Rubrik saw
his expression, though, and simply smiled, without offering any
explanation or inviting any inquiry, so Karal said nothing.

Once the sun actually rose, it looked as if (despite Rubrik's warnings)
they were going to have another day of good weather.  The sky held dark
clouds to the east, but not many were close.  it would probably be
fairly warm later in the day, but the cool of morning was still in the
air and riding would be very pleasant.

provided my calves aren't tying themselves into knots by the time we
stop next.

The second day was a repeat of the first; steady riding with brief
stops to stretch, relieve themselves, and eat something.

By the afternoon of this second day, the steep and forested hills
gradually changed to gentler slopes; the fields beside the road showed
signs of agriculture.  They began to meet greater numbers of people,
both on the road or working in the fields beside it, none of which
looked anything like the surly Holderkin of the first day.  These
people, at least, wore clothing of bright and varied colors, and most
were cautiously polite, waving or calling out a greeting as the three
of them rode past.

There was curiosity in their expressions, but they kept their distance
when Rubrik did not stop or encourage any closer approach.  No one
seemed terribly concerned or alarmed over their appearance, which eased
at least one of Karal's anxieties.  He was not anxious to be driven out
of Valdemar by that mob of angry peasants he had envisioned.  He'd had
uneasy moments yesterday, when the Holderkin turned to stare with open
hostility, just before averting their faces just as pointedly.

As some of his anxieties disappeared, more surfaced, however.

All his life he had heard stories about the Hellspawn of Valdemar, the
White Demons and the Hellhorses they rode.

Did Rubrik wear white, and ride a white horse, as an honor to the White
Demons?  Surely all those tales had not been made up out of whole
cloth.  Certain Karsites-the Black-robe Priests in particular-had
enough experience with real demons to know them when they saw them!  So
where were the creatures out of the tales his mother and every other
mother told her children?  Where were the demons that would eat him if
he wasn't good?

Magic isn't stopped by borders or boundaries, he thought, watching
Rubrik's back cautiously.  Our Black-robe Priests could control demons,
so it stands to reason that the people here have mages who can, too. So
where are they?  If this escort of ours intends to impress us with the
power of Valdemar and the Queen's mages, now would be the time to trot
out a few horrors.  He wouldn't want to frighten anyone in a really
populated area, after all.  He'd want to make sure we were the only
witnesses to his private show.

But they rode up to yet another inn after sundown, tired to the bone,
without any sign of horrors, monsters, or, truly, any magic at work at
all.  So now, were they being insulted by not being shown any magic at
all?

By the time they reached the promised inn, Karal was so bone tired that
it was all he could do to stay awake.  The hot bath waiting for them
did help the aches and cramped muscles ' but once he'd climbed out of
the tub and rubbed more Of that salve into himself, he could barely
keep his eyes open.

He ate, but only because he was starving as well as exhausted.

He helped his master Ulrich to bed, but he didn't recall falling into
his own cot at all.  He simply woke there to the sound of knocking on
the door.

Once again, they rose before sunrise, leaving the inn behind them still
shrouded in darkness.  This time the breakfast included fresh berries
as well as bread and whipped butter, but otherwise the routine was the
same.

Ulrich didn't seem upset by what seemed to Karal to be unseemly haste
in getting them north, so Karal held his peace as they ate their meal
in the saddle and set out into the gray of predawn.  It did occur to
him that if it was Rubrik's intention to keep their very existence a
secret without going to extreme lengths, such as riding at night and
sleeping by day in hiding places, this was a good way to accomplish
that intention.

Certainly they hadn't had a chance to speak to anyone in the two days
they'd been in this land!  They arrived so late at their inns last
night and the night before that no one would think twice when they ate
in their rooms and went straight to sleep without going to the taproom
to socialize with the rest of the guests.

And if it was Rubrik's plan to keep them from noticing pertinent
military details about Valdemar-well, Karal, for one, was too tired by
now to take note of much of anything.  He wasn't likely to have known
how to tell if something was strategic or not.  Ulrich was exactly what
he appeared to be, a scholar.  The Priest had spent his life in
studying magic and the Writ and Rules of Vkandis; Karal was at the
beginning of those very same, intense studies, and the very thought of
having time to study military strategy as well made Karal want to
laugh.

Then again, how could Rubrik possibly be sure of that?

True, he was only sixteen, but that was the age many young men were
commissioned as officers in the Army.  He could be a military spy; a
successful spy presumably would look like something harmless.

Like some Priest's rather young, green, and confused secretary, I
suppose.

He knuckled his foggy eyes and stifled a yawn, while Trenor walked
briskly behind Honeybee.  What was truly mortifying was that Ulrich,
who should -have been in worse shape than he was, actually seemed fresh
and alert after his night's sleep.  He talked at length with Rubrik, in
Valdemaran this time, supposedly in order to refresh his memory and
increase his proficiency.  Karal listened while their escort rattled on
about the people who lived along this road, what crops they grew, what
beasts they herded.  Pretty boring stuff, but it did sharpen his
Valdemaran.  And for the first time in any language study, they did
have a reason to ask "how far to the Palace?"

The landscape gradually flattened until, by afternoon, there was
nothing on either side of the road but farm country, and the terrain
had turned to gentle, rolling hills.  Trees lined each side of the road
as a windbreak, and more trees were planted in ~windrows between each
plowed or fallow field.  A warm breeze crossed their path; warm enough
to make him sleepy all over again.  He caught himself nodding more than
once, jerking awake as he started to lose his seat.

They couldn't avoid people now; every time they stopped to rest, there
would be some curious farmer or passing merchant who wondered who they
were and what their business was, Rubrik was friendly, but
close-mouthed, describing them only as "foreigners."  For most people,
that seemed to be enough of an explanation.

"Been a mort'o foreigners, lately," said one old man, as he drew water
from his well for their horses.  Rubrik agreed and did not elaborate,
so the old man's curiosity went unsatisfied.

Karal and Ulrich politely pretended that they had not understood him.

But Karal watched their escort closely all during the afternoon after
that.  He set himself a mental exercise to keep himself awake, trying
to determine what choosing this man as their escort meant to their
status, and hence, their ongoing mission.  Of course, this was not
technically anything he needed to worry about, but Ulrich would
probably be asking him questions, sooner or later, to see what he had
reasoned out for himself.

So while Ulrich talked in Valdemaran about the weather, the corn
harvest, the other "foreigners" that had been in Valdemar because of
the war, Karal watched and listened and thought.

While "crippled" Rubrik might look unsuited to this position, he was
certainly bearing up under all this hard riding better than the two
"able-bodied" people he was escorting.

He didn't need all that much help, really; just what Karal or the
occasional common horse boy could provide.  His white mount took care
of the rest.  His command of Karsite was excellent, as Ulrich had
already noted; how many people were there in Valdemar who were fluent
in Karsite?  There couldn't be many.

Rubrik was well-versed enough in the current situation in the
Valdemaran Court that he had been able to answer most of Ulrich's
questions so far.  This business of hurrying them on their way could be
a very clever means of making certain they didn't do anything really
impolite-or politically unfortunate.

Limit the contact, and you limit the chance of mistakes.

After all, they were the first envoys from Karse to Valdemar in
hundreds of years-and no one in Valdemar had any idea how they were
likely to react.

We could just as easily be two of the "old sticks" that Solaris
complains to Ulrich about; stiff-necked and stubborn and ready to make
a stupid fuss about anything that might possibly be considered
heresy-fighting the things she has restored to the Writ and Rules
because there've never been Rules like that in their lifetime.  Someone
like that would probably cause an incident as soon as he got even half
an excuse to do so, just out of sheer spite.  He can't be sure yet that
we aren't like that, and the Valdemaran Court would plan on it if they
have any foresight.

rUbrik probably was the best man for this job.

This third day out, Karal found himself warming to the man.  Rubrik
could have been sitting around wallowing in self-pity, recounting past
glories to uninterested passersby on Temple steps somewhere; instead,
he was performing an important duty, perhaps freeing someone more
able-bodied for some other task, certainly seeing to it that he and
Ulrich had someone in charge of their journey who was not only
competent, but fluent in their language, and at least marginally
friendly.

As the sun sank on their third day of travel, it also occurred to Karal
that finding someone who fit the criteria of "competent, fluent, and
friendly" in the case of a former enemy must be a rather difficult
task.  Perhaps, rather than trying to figure out if the choice of
Rubrik had been meant as an insult, he should assume it was a
compliment and should be grateful that they had him!

Exhaustion impaired his reasoning fairly quickly after that.

AS the lights of the next village neared, Karal found himself thinking
of nothing more than the bed he expected to fall into.

Soft bed, clean sheets, a hot bath ... sleep.  Not in that order, of
course.  Food.  Lots of fat feather pillows.  Sleep.  Some more of that
salve.  Sleep.

They rode into the courtyard of the inn Rubrik had chosen.

The courtyard was lit with lanterns and torches, the windows glowed
from the candles within, and wonderful aromas of cooking meat and
baking bread drifted out through the open door.

A stable boy helped Rubrik dismount, then moved to hold Honeybee and
Trenor as Rubrik limped into the inn to arrange for their lodging.

but he hurried right back out again, a serving-boy hovering at his
elbow, just as Karal helped his master dismount, and the stormy look on
his face made Karal's heart sink.  Rubrik was angry, and was keeping
his temper carefully in check.

Something must have gone wrong here.

Is it us?  Has someone recognized that we're Karsite, and refused to
grant us shelter?  It was a real possibility-and the opening for a
potentially damaging incident before their mission had even begun!

"I'm afraid this place is already full up," their escort said
apologetically, while Ulrich steadied himself with one hand on
Honeybee's shoulder.  The flickering light from the torches did nothing
to mask his chagrin and annoyance, and Karal felt his own face fall,
but Ulrich seemed undisturbed.

"This idiot of a landlord claims that he misunderstood the day; it's
not a deliberate insult, I insisted on seeing the register, and they
really have let out all the rooms.  They can give you dinner while I
see about some alternate arrangements, if you don't mind waiting for me
to manage something."

"I do not see that we have much choice in the matter," Ulrich replied,
with a philosophical shrug.

"Personally, I simply can't ride any farther.  No journey ever proceeds
exactly as planned, and after all, the world does not arrange itself to
suit our particular whims."

Rubrik grimaced, the torchlight turning his face into an ugly mask for
a moment.

"In this case, it should have," he said, annoyance overcoming his
chagrin, "since I specifically stopped here on my way to the border to
arrange rooms for us on this date.  I-well, it doesn't matter.  I
managed to throw a good fright into the innkeeper himself, and he'd
rather slit his own wrists now than inconvenience us further.  I do
have a private parlor for you to dine in, and I threw out the dice game
some of the innkeeper's cronies were playing to get it, too.  If you'll
follow the boy, he'll see that you're served, and I'll see what I can
arrange."

Ulrich nodded as graciously as if this were all his idea, and put
Honeybee's reins into the hands of the stable boy  He brushed off his
riding robes, shook out a few wrinkles, and followed the serving-boy
inside.

Karal trailed along in Ulrich's shadow, through the door into the inn
itself, and crossed the crowded taproom.

Across the very crowded taproom.  Every bench was full, every table
loaded with full and empty plates and tankards.

The floor underfoot was sticky with spilled drink, and there was just
enough room for the servers to squeeze in between the patrons.  He was
just as glad they weren't going to eat in here; the room was hot and
stuffy, and his nose was assaulted with far too many odors at once to
make his stomach happy.

on top of that, it was noisy, and the babble was all in Valdemaran;

it made him feel three times the foreigner, and between the confusion
and his exhaustion, he found his grasp of the language slipping away.

The boy brought them to a door on the other side of the crowded room,
opened it quickly, and motioned them inside.

Even if he had tried to say something, he could not have been heard
above the babble.  Ulrich went in first; Karal followed on his heels.

The very first thing he noticed was the relative silence as the boy
closed the door behind them.  His ears rang for just a moment.  The
walls must have been incredibly thick for that much of a difference in
the noise level.

The "private parlor" was a smaller version of the larger room, without
the noisy crowd or the heat.  The table in the middle of the room
showed signs of the dice game Rubrik had presumably disrupted; a
scattering of gaming counters and a few empty cups, which the boy swept
aside as he gestured anxiously for them to take their seats.  He
produced a pitcher and a pair of cups, and poured cold fresh ale for
both of them before vanishing out the door.

He returned in moments with two girls behind him, both of them bearing
laden trays of food.  At this point, Karal would have eaten the scraps
usually thrown to the dogs, but it looked as if Rubrik must have given
this innkeeper a stout piece of his mind, for the repast the two girls
spread out on the table was a fine one, and there was enough there for
half a dozen people.  Platters steamed temptingly as the servers
uncovered them, watching the faces of the two Karsites anxiOuslY for a
hint of approval.

Karal approved of it all, and couldn't wait to tuck into it.  A tasty
broth, thick with barley and vegetables began the meal, and a berry
tart with a pitcher of heavy cream concluded it.

Karal didn't realize how hungry he was until he wiped up the last of
his berry-flavored cream with a bit of crust, and looked up to see that
he and Ulrich had done a pretty fair job of decimating a meal he had
thought would serve six.

He hadn't been paying any attention to anything except the food in
front of him.  Now he looked around the room, following Ulrich's
faintly ironic gaze.

There were no windows in the plastered white walls; this room must have
been in the very center of the building.  There was plenty of light,
though, from a series of lanterns around the walls, in addition to the
candles on the table.  There was no fire in the cold fireplace, but it
was hardly needed in this warm weather.

Besides the table and half a dozen stiff-backed, wooden chairs, there
were three couches upholstered in brown leather placed on three sides
of the room, couches of an odd shape.

They had no backs, and only one fat, high arm.

"I think perhaps this room is used for other games than dicing, "
Ulrich said quietly, still wearing that ironic little smile.

Karal blinked at him for a moment, then stared at one of 'the couches
again-And blushed, the blood rushing to his face and making him feel as
if he was sunburned.  He was not the naive' horse boy he'd been when he
was first taken from his parents.  Between what he'd learned among the
other novices, and the odds and ends he'd picked up while serving
Ulrich, he had an amazingly broad education in worldly matters.  Oh, he
knew what those couches were for, now that Ulrich had pointed it out.

Still, a couch was a couch, and Rubrik still wasn't back.  He shoved
away from the table, the chair legs scraping on the polished wooden
floor, and got up.

"I don't think anybody's going to bother us until Rubrik returns,
Master Ulrich," he said, gesturing to the couch nearest the table.

"I think you ought to get a little rest while we wait.

I certainly intend to."

Ulrich's smile widened a little, and he rose, a bit stiffly, from his
own chair.  He took the couch that Karal indicated, lowering himself
down onto it with a grimace, and took a more comfortable, reclining
position.  Karal waited until his master looked settled, then chose one
of the other two couches and sat gingerly down on it.

The cushions were certainly soft enough, and a faint musky perfume
rising from them as he lay down confirmed his guess as to the purpose
they usually served.  Small wonder they were covered in smooth leather;
that kind of leather was easy to clean, easier than fabric.

on the other hand, he was not going to sit around on one of those
straight-backed wooden chairs until their escort returned, while there
was something a lot more comfortable in the very same room.

Besides, while he and his master were in here, the careless innkeeper
was not able to use the room for any other purpose.

Karal found himself almost hoping that Rubrik would not be able to make
any other arrangements.  These couches would not make the most
comfortable beds in the world-unless you were accustomed to sleeping in
certain positions-but they weren't the floor, or a pile of hay, or the
ground under a tree.  They certainly were softer than the pallet he'd
been given in the Children's Cloister.

He didn't think he dared sleep, though, much as his body cried out for
rest.  They were alone and unarmed, and it could be presumed that the
innkeeper was not altogether happy with their presence here, whether or
not he knew anything about who or what they were.  So Karal decided
that this very moment was a good one to review his Valdemaran
vocabulary, including all the tenses of all the verbs, in alphabetical
order.

He had gotten as far as the third letter of the alphabet when Rubrik
returned.  His arrival woke Ulrich, who had been dozing.

The priest sat up slowly and moved more stiffly than he had when he
went to sleep.  Karal frowned; that was not a good sign.  Not only
because it meant his master was very, very tired, but because Ulrich
generally suffered from stiff and aching joints when the weather was
about to change for the worse.

"I have good news of a sort," Rubrik began.

"I have ex cent accommodations for you-the problem is that you might
Wish to decline them.  Your host-is actually a hostess.  She is the
local Commander of the Guard; as it happens, this village is her home,
she has her command-post here, and she has offered her guest room to
you."

ulrich considered this for a moment, as Karal blinked, and tried to
imagine a woman in a position of military command.

Women were not even permitted to serve with the Karsite army as
Healer-Priests; only men could serve with soldiers.

The old laws said that women who took on the "habit and guise" of men
were demons, to be controlled or destroyed-whichever came soonest.
Female mercenaries captured by the Karsite Army had fared rather badly,
historically, something that Ulrich had never tried to conceal from his
pupil.

For that matter, in Karse, the law still forbade women to hold property
on their own; all property, whether it be land or goods, must be owned
by a male.  By Karsite standards, this Commander was doubly shocking.

On the other hand, Her Holiness had been making it clear that the days
of laws forbidding women to do anything were numbered.  Vkandis had
made His will clear on the subject.

I guess that eventually we'll even have women fighters in our Army,
given the way that things are going.  Somehow, he did not find that as
horrifying as he should have.  Maybe he was just tired.

Maybe being around Her Holiness Solaris had taught him he'd better
never underestimate the competence of a woman.

"If the lady in question is not offended by us, I fail to see why we
should take offense at her offer of hospitality," Ulrich said,
finally.

"I would be very pleased to meet our hostess.

I have never met a female warrior face-to-face before.  I believe the
experience will be enlightening."

He rose carefully and smoothed out the front of his riding robe with
both hands.  Karal scrambled to his feet, realizing belatedly that
Ulrich had just accepted the unknown woman's invitation.

"I did tell her precisely who and what you are," Rubrik replied, with a
twitch of his lips.

"Since she is the local Commander, I had to inform her anyway.  She
said something similar about you, sir."

"No doubt," Ulrich replied dryly, but followed their guide out the
door, through the taproom (which was still just as noisy and crowded as
it had been when they entered), and back into the night, with Karal
trailing along behind.

Evidently someone had already seen to their mounts, either stabling
them at the inn or bringing them on ahead, and

Rubrik had (correctly) judged that, weary as they were, neither Ulrich
nor his secretary were ready to climb back into a saddle again.
Instead, they left the courtyard of the inn, turned into the street,
and walked the short distance along a row of shops and homes to the
large house at the end.  The narrow two-storied buildings seemed
abnormally tall and thin to Karal; each had a workshop or store on the
ground floor, and living quarters above.  The house at the end of the
street differed in all ways from those lining it; this building had no
commercial aspect to it, and it was as broad as three of the others.

it wasn't as big as the homes of several high-born nobles that Karal
had seen, nor even as large as the inn, but it was quite sizable
compared to its modest neighbors.  The main door was right on the
cobblestone street, with a single slab of stone as a step beneath it.
Torches had been lit and placed in holders outside the white-painted
door to light their way, and a servant opened the door before Rubrik
could knock on it.

The servant ushered them into a wood-paneled hallway, lit by candle
lamps  It was less of an entryway, and more of a waiting-room. They
were not left to wait for the lady on the benches however; as soon as
the servant shut the door, he directed them to follow him down the
wide, white-painted hall to a room at the end.

Karal expected a lady's solar, or a reception room of some kind, but
what the servant revealed when he opened the door was an office;
businesslike, with no "feminine" fripperies about it.  Their hostess
was hard at work behind a plain wooden desk covered with papers; she
nodded at the servant, who saluted and left.  Rubrik gestured to them
to go in, following and closing the door behind them.

The lady set her papers aside, and looked them both over with a frank
and measuring gaze.  Karal flushed a little under such an Open
appraisal, but Ulrich only seemed amused by her attitude.  If she was
as high an officer as Rubrik had indicated~ there was nothing of that
about her costume, at least not as Karal recognized rank-signs.  Their
hostess wore the same Guard uniform that they had seen before, with
perhaps a bit more in the way of silver decoration.

Personally, she was quite attractive, and could have been any age from
late twenties to early fifties.  She had the kind of face that remained
handsome no matter the number of her years, a slim and athletic build,
and an aura of complete confidence.

This was someone in complete authority; someone who knew that she was
good at her work, and did not bother to hide that fact.  Karal was
intimidated by her, and he realized it immediately.  The only other
woman who had ever had that effect on him was Solaris, and the Son of
the Sun was relatively sexless compared to this Valdemaran commander.
He was very glad that he was not the one that most of her attention was
centered on.

"Well," she said, slowly, lacing her fingers together.

"I've faced your lot across the battlefield, my lord Priest, but never
across a desk.  I hope you'll understand me when I say that I find our
situation a great improvement."

"I, too," Ulrich replied smoothly.

"Few Valdemarans would have such understanding, however, I think.  Or
is it forgiveness?  " "Huh."  She smiled, though, and nodded.

"I don't know about your Vkandis, sir Priest, but my particular set of
gods tells me that past battles are just that; past.  I am something of
an amateur historian, actually.  I like to know the causes of things.
Some day, I expect, I'll have the leisure to sit down with one of your
scholars and find out just what started this particularly senseless war
between us in the first place.  For now-" she waved one hand at the
door, presumably indicating the house beyond it, "-allow me to do my
part to cement the peace by offering hospitality."  Her brow wrinkled
for a moment, then she recited, in heavily accented and badly
pronounced Karsite, "To the hearth, the board, the bed, be welcome.

My fires burn to warm you, my board is laden to nourish you, my beds
soft to rest you.  We will share bread and be brothers."

Karal's jaw dropped.  The very last thing he had ever expected to hear
from this woman was the traditional invocation of peace between feuding
hill families!

She smiled broadly at his open-mouthed reaction but said nothing.

Ulrich, for his part, remained unperturbed, although Karal thought he
saw his mentor's lips twitch just a little.

"For the hospitality, our thanks.  Our blades are sharp to guard you,
our horses strong to bear you, our torches burn to light your path. Let
there be peace between us, and those of our kin He then added to the
traditional answer, "And I do mean 'kin' in the broadest possible
sense."

"I know that," she replied.

"If I hadn't, I wouldn't have offered you the blessing."  She nodded,
as if she had found Ulrich very satisfactory in some way.

"Well, I think I've kept you standing here like a couple of raw
recruits long enough.

You've covered a fair amount of ground today, and I won't keep you from
your baths or beds any longer.  You'll find both waiting in your room,
and my servant will show you the way And with that, the servant opened
the door again, and she nodded in what was clearly a dismissal.

it occurred to Karal that a real diplomat might have been offended at
her blunt speech and curt manner, but he was just too tired to try to
act like a "real diplomat."

Then again, anyone who would be annoyed at a soldier acting like a
soldier is an idiot.  No, she didn't mean anything more or less than
she said.

Instead of trying to analyze the encounter, he followed the servant,
who led them to another room on the same floor, but on a different
hallway.

It was tiled, floor and walls, with white ceramic, and contained two
tubs, one a permanent fixture, and one smaller one obviously brought in
so that Karal would not have to wait for his bath, both with steam
rising from them.  He and

Ulrich had shared bathhouses often enough; they both shed clothing with
no further ado.  The servant came to collect their clothes as soon as
they had both gotten into the tubs, indicating by pantomime that their
beds lay in the next room.

Karal soaked his sore muscles, then wrapped himself in one of the
towels and followed Ulrich into the bedroom.  Valdemaran sleeping robes
were laid out for them, a nice touch, he thought_ He found his baggage,
rubbed in his salve, and fell into the cot in the next room in a
complete fog.  Once his head touched the pillow, the fog became total
darkness that did 'not lift until the servant woke them in the
morning.

Solaris

After three days of what could only be described as endurance riding,
Karal was finally getting used to the pace.  He was also getting used
to Rubrik, and it seemed that their escort was getting accustomed to
them as well.  His formal manner loosened a bit, and during the fourth
day of travel, he began to talk with Karal directly.

At that point, Karal had to revise his opinion of their escort sharply
upward, for Rubrik was even more of a scholar than he had guessed.  He
spoke four languages besides his own, and his rattling on about the
geography, husbandry, and economics of the places they passed was no
mere prattling to fill empty ears.  He knew this area and the
conditions in it as well as its own overlords did.

And that only made Karal more curious than before.  Who was this man,
that he had so much information at his very fingertips?  Surely he had
not memorized it just to impress or occupy them.

When they left the home of the lady Guard Commander, clad in riding
gear that had been freshly washed and cleaned by the lady's servants,
gray skies threatened rain.  The rain did not actually materialize in
the morning or even the early afternoon, but toward late afternoon the
clouds thickened, and the wind picked up.  Ulrich's joints hurt him
quite a bit at that Point, so they actually stopped early for once, at
least two marks before sunset.

Their stopping place was yet another inn, this one with a courtyard
surrounded on three sides by the inn itself, and on the fourth by the
stable.  A gate in the middle of the stable led into the courtyard, and
this arrangement cut the wind completely.

Ulrich descended from his saddle with a gasp of pain, and Rubrik was
concerned enough to ask the Priest if he thought he would require the
services of a Healer.

"Not unless your Healer can give me the body of a man three decades my
junior," Ulrich replied with a ghost of a smile.

"No, this is simply the result of old age.  I shall retire to my bed
with a hot brick and some of your salve, and with luck, this rain will
move on so that we can follow suit as soon as possible."

But the rain didn't move on; in fact, no sooner had Karal seen his
master settled into a warming bed than it began to drizzle.

The taproom of the inn was mostly empty; the miserable weather was
probably convincing people to stay by their own hearths tonight.  There
was a good fire in the fireplace, though, quite enough to take the
chill out of the air, and on the whole it was a pleasant place, all of
age-and smoke-blackened wood.

Heavy beams supported the ceiling, and below their shelter, gently
curved tables and benches polished to satin smoothness were arranged in
an arc around the fire.  As the drizzle turned into a real
thunderstorm, Karal found a perch at a window seat table and watched
the lightning dance toward the inn through the tiny panes of a leaded
window.

"Impressive, isn't it?"

The eyes of Rubrik's reflection met his in the dark and bubbly window
glass.  The man smiled, and Karal smiled tentatively back.

"Would you prefer I left you to your meditations?"  Rubrik asked
politely.

Karal shook his head.

"Not really," he replied.

"You can join me, if you like.  I've always been fascinated by
storms;

when I was a boy at an inn like this one, I used to sneak away and hide
in the hayloft to watch them move in."

"And let me guess-you used, as an excuse to go to the stable in the
first place, that the horses were frightened by the thunder and needed
soothing, no doubt," Rubrik hazarded, and grinned, taking the seat on
the other side of the table.

"My father never believed that one, either, but his stable-man was
always on my side and backed me up with specious tales of how I had
kept the prize mounts from hurting themselves in a panic."~Karal
realized that at last their escort had just let something fall about
his own past.  Up until now Rubrik had been very closemouthed about
anything of a personal nature.  His father's stableman.  So that means
he comes from a well-to-do family, if not of noble blood.  So his
father was no mere farmer as he implied.  He responded in kind.

"My father never minded too much; there's less work at an inn during
bad weather.  It's a lot easier for people to stay at home, watch their
own fires, and drink their own beer.  And of course, once the few
travelers who wanted to try and beat the storm got in, no one else
would arrive until it was over, so we stable boys didn't have much to
do either after we'd dealt with their beasts."  There.  It was out.  If
Rubrik was going to be offended by his low birth" That's probably the
only time you didn't have much to do," Rubrik said, with a
conspiratorial grin.

"I've always felt a little sorry for inn folk during wonderful weather.
They never get a holiday like the rest of us do.  It hardly seems fair,
does it, that in the very best of weather, when everyone else is out
enjoying themselves, people in an inn have to work three times as hard
tending to the holiday-makers?  I would guess that storm watching was
the closest thing to a holiday You ever got."

Karal chuckled and brightened.

"I never thought about it, actually.  It wasn't as bad as you might
think, so long as you like horses.  Father never made it easier on me
than it was for the other horse boys but he was a good and just
taskmaster."

He clasped his hands together on the tabletop and stared out at the
rain.

"I never really saw the heavy work, when it came to that; I wasn't old
enough for anything other than light chores, like grooming.  The
Sun-priests took me at the Feast of the Children when I was nine, so I
was never big enough to do heavy work."

Rubrik looked at Karal for a moment, then stared out at the lightning.
The silence between them grew heavy, and Karal sensed that he was about
to ask something that he thought might be sensitive.

Probably something about us, about Karse and the Sunpriests.

That's not a problem; Ulrich already told me what I can't say.  No
reason to avoid his questions, especially not if the information he
wants is common knowledge at home.  I think he's been looking for an
excuse to talk to me alone, figuring that I will be less wary than
Ulrich.  He felt himself tense a little.  He would have to be very
canny with this man.

it would be easy to trust him; hard to remember to watch what he
said.

Rubrik coughed politely.

"I-ah-suppose you realize we have all kinds of stories, probably
ridiculous, about the reasons why the Sun-priests took Karsite
children-and what they did with them afterward-" Karal only sighed,
then rested his chin in his hand.

"The stories probably aren't any worse than the truth," he said at
last.

Rubrik nodded and waited for him to go on.  Encouraged, Karal told him
all about his own childhood, what there was of it-how the Priests had
taken him, how he had been educated, and how, finally, Ulrich had
singled him out as his protege.

He told their escort about the Fires, too, and caught an odd expression
on his face, as if what Karal had told him only confirmed something
horrible that he already knew.

"The children taken are either extremely intelligent, intelligence that
would be wasted in a menial position, or are children with the
God-granted ability to use magic, of course.

Ulrich told me later that I had both qualifications, but my ability to
use magic is only a potential, rather than an active thing.  He called
me a'channel,"but I've never found out what that means, exactly.  I was
absolutely terrified that at some point I'd start showing witch-powers
like my uncles did, and a Black-robe Priest would come for me and that
I'd end up going to the Fires," he concluded.

"But I never did-though in one sense, I suppose, a Black-robe Priest
did come for me."

Rubrik waited for him to say something; out of pure ms chief he held
his peace.  Finally the man gave up.

"Well?"he said.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Karal grinned; at least this would be one thing he could surprise the
man with.

"Ulrich was a Black-robe-that is to say, a Demon-Summoner-before Her
Holiness Solaris made the Black-robe nothing more than a rank.  And
now, of course,

there aren't any Fires.  The Cleansing ceremony has gone back to what
it used to be.  Ulrich and I found the original Rite in one of the
ancient Litany Books."  He didn't make Rubrik ask for the answer this
time.

"It's a Rite of Passage, that's what it originally was, before it was
perverted; children who are about to become adult bring something
symbolic of their childhood to be burned as a sign that they are ready
to take on adult responsibilities.  Ulrich says it's easy to change
holidays and rituals to suit a purpose, since they're usually
subjective anyway.  Harvest festivals and fertility rites are coming
back, too, the way they were a long time ago."

Rubrik took all this in thoughtfully.

"Solaris has made many changes, then?"

"Her Holiness certainly has!  Mostly she has reversed changes that had
been made by corrupt Priests seeking nothing more than power," Karal
corrected.  He wasn't certain why, but for some reason he felt that
point needed to be absolutely clear.  Solaris was not some kind of
wild-eyed revolutionary, despite what her critics claimed; what she had
done in the Temple thus far was restoration, not revolution.

"Ulrich is not precisely certain how long things have been wrong, but
we know that it has been several centuries at the least.  True miracles
ceased, and the illusions of miracles were substituted.  The
God-granted power of magic that should have been devoted to the
well-being of Vkandis' people and to His glory was perverted into the
use of that power to bring temporal power and wealth to the temple and
the Priests.

And Vkandis is very real, not an imaginary God like some people havel"
Rubrik smiled, but not mockingly.

"I know."

Oddly enough, Karal believed him.

"Ulrich believes we will know the date the corruption started when we
learn just when the rank of Black-robe Priests was created.  They were
the heart and soul of the corruption."

Lightning lashed the top of a tree not too far away; Karal winced at
the thunder but enjoyed the atavistic thrill it sent UP his spine.  And
I am glad to be in here, and not out there.

"I thought you said that Ulrich was a Black-robe," Rubrik replied,
slowly.

"Your robes are still black, in fact."

"he was," Karal agreed.

"His duty in the former days, according to the Writ and Rule, was to
summon demons on the orders of the Son of the Sun and send them against
the enemies of Karse.  It was not a duty he took any pleasure in.  He
also frequently brought danger down on himself by refusing to
counterfeit miracles."  He turned his head a little so that his eyes
met Rubrik's.

"He showed me every counterfeit he knew, so that I would not be taken
in by the tricks of the higher-ranked Priests," he told the man, whose
eyes widened at his serious tone.

"And that alone might have gotten him burned had I betrayed him.  Some
of the tricks were so simple anyone who paid attention could have seen
through them-but that's the power of belief."

He turned his attention back to the storm.  There were other things
Rubrik might do well to learn about Ulrich, but Karal would rather that
it was his master who told the Valdemaran.

Besides, how could I tell him about the times that Ulrich returned from
a summoning, troubled and heart sore-how he hinted that the definition
of "enemies of Karse" was becoming broader and broader?  No, that
should come from my master and not from me.  I do not want this
Valdemaran to think that I am in the habit of betraying my mentor's
confidences.

"You said something about Solaris changing all that, Rubrik ventured,
after several long moments filled only by the boom of thunder and the
pounding of rain on the roof.

"Was that when she became the head of Vkandis' religion.

Karal nodded, and smiled a little.  This was the part of the tale he
really enjoyed.

"That was what gave her the office, in fact.  It was a miracle-a real
one, and no fakery.  I was there, I saw it myself.  For that matter, so
was Ulrich, and he is certainly an expert at spotting something that
was not a Godproduced miracle.  I do not believe that there is any kind
of fakery, either slight-of-hand and illusion, or magic masquerading as
a miracle, that he cannot detect."

It had been a very strange day to begin with; the day of the Fire
Kindling Ceremony at Midwinter, when all the fires of Karse were relit
from the ones ignited on the altars of Vkandis.

it should have been bitter cold " It was the strangest Midwinter Day I
have ever seen," he said slowly.

"Hot-terribly hot and dry.  Hot enough that the Priests had all taken
out their summer robes for the Fire Kindling Ceremony.  There was not a
single cloud in the sky above the city, but outside the city the sky
was covered with dull gray clouds, from horizon to horizon.  Ulrich and
I were at the front of the Processional; Solaris was no more than three
people away from Ulrich."  He closed his eyes for a moment, picturing
it, and chose his words carefully, trying to set the scene for his
listener.

"We Priests and novices surrounded the High Altar in a semicircle; the
beam of sunlight-called the Lance of Hope-shining through the Eye in
the ceiling above us slowly moved toward the pile of fragrant woods and
incense on-the Altar.  The golden statue of Vkandis-In-Glory, wearing
the Crown of Prophecy, shone like the sun itself behind the Altar, and
Lastem-the False Son-stood beside it, ready to kindle the flames by
magic if the sunlight didn't do the trick promptly enough."

Rubrik nodded.

"I take it that this was a fairly common practice?  " Karal snorted
with disgust.

"I never once saw the False Son bring forth a single true miracle.  For
that matter, he was so feeble in magic that the most he could do was to
kindle flame in very dry, oily tinder.  Well, that day, he never got
the chance for his deceptions."

He turned toward Rubrik, and lowered his voice like a true
storyteller.

"Imagine it for yourself-the crowd of worshipers filling the temple,
the golden statue of Vkandis shining behind the Altar and the False Son
standing beside it like a fat, black spider.  The Processional ended
just as the beam of sunlight crept up to the Altar platform; Solaris
was no more than five paces away, watching, not the False Son, but the
beam of light, her face mirroring her ecstasy."

Was that a little too florid?  No, I don't think so.

"Most of the important Priests only looked bored, though, on what
should be an important day for them, the Holiest of all of Vkandis'
Holy Days.  They couldn't wait to get back to the Cloister and the
feast that waited there for them."  Ulrich and a great many of the
low-ranked Priests avoided the feast when they could.  It was little
more than an occasion for those in favor with the Son of the Sun to
lord it over those who were not.  Hardly Ulrich's choice of a way to
spend a Holy Day.  He preferred to spend his rare free time reading.

"The beam of sunlight slowly moved onto the Altar itself, while the
Children's Choir sang.  I saw the False Son's hands moving as he
prepared to trigger the fire-starting spell if the wood didn't catch.
Then, just before the beam touched the kindling in the middle of the
Altar-" As if he had triggered it himself, a tremendous bolt of
lightning lanced down right beside the inn, and as they both jumped and
Karal squeaked, the thunder deafened them and everyone else inside the
inn.

He sat there for a moment, waiting for his ears to clear, and very
grateful that he had not been looking out the window at that moment. If
he had, he'd have been blinded!

Rubrik laughed shakily.

"Next time, tell me when you are going to produce a surprise to liven
up your tale!"

"I'm not responsible for that one"' Karal retorted, with a shaky
chuckle of his own.

"Perhaps you ought to ask Vkandis if He has widened His lands to
include Valdemar!  Because that was precisely what happened in the
Temple-a bolt of lightning shot down through the opening in the
Temple's roof, out of the cloudless sky, and completely evaporated the
False Son of the Sun."

Rubrik stared at him skeptically, as if he suspected that this was just
more tale-telling.

But Karal shook his head emphatically.

"I promise you, I was there, and so was Ulrich.  He'll corroborate what
I've said.

There was literally nothing left but the man's smoking vestments and
boots, too-I've never seen anything like it, and neither had anyone
else.  But that wasn't the end of the miracle, it was only the
beginning!"

"What next?"  Rubrik asked, his tone conveying that even if he was not
quite convinced, he was certain that Karal was telling the truth as he
saw it.

Next, was that when we could see again, every stone column in the
Temple had been turned upside down, and since they all had carvings on
them, it was pretty obvious that they'd been inverted.  We didn't know
it at the time, but we found out later that every cloud vanished from
over the whole of Karse, and the First Fires on every Altar blazed up
and burned for a full week without any additional fuel."  He left out
the other, smaller miracles-about the children waiting to be burned who
had vanished from the hands of the Black-robes, only to be discovered
long afterward, hidden in the homes of their families.  He eliminated
the story of the

Priest's Staffs-how some of the staffs turned brittle and disintegrated
at a touch, while others put out green branches covered with flowers.

And the Staffs that turned to dust were the ones that belonged to the
False Son's favorites and cronies, and those Black-robes who had truly
enjoyed the demon-summoning and the burnings.... He himself had held
Ulrich's Staff, which had so many tiny red flowers covering the
branches at the top that the wood could scarcely be seen.  It had
remained that way for a week, the flowers sending out a heady
perfume.

Ulrich and every other possessor of a flowering Staff had planted their
Staffs in the various Temple meditation gardens, where they remained as
flowering bushes, living reminders of the day of the miracles.

"But none of that would have gotten Solaris made Son of the Sun," he
continued.

"No woman had ever been named Son of the Sun, the very idea was absurd.
No, if that had been all that happened, the Priests would have convened
and elected a new Son, perhaps one a little more pious than the old
one, but still-" "It would have been business as usual," Rubrik
supplied, his ironic nod showing that he understood the situation all
too well.

"So what did happen?"

"Another miracle.  The last, and greatest of all.  Silence hung over
the entire Temple, for the worshipers were too stunned to cry out or
even move.  Then, before anyone could recover enough to say or do
anything to break that silence, the golden statue of Vkandis began to
move."  He closed his eyes to Picture it again in his mind, and
described the vivid memory as best he could.

"It moved exactly like a living man-there was nothing stilted or jerky
about the way that it looked about, then stepped slowly down out of the
niche behind the Altar.  That convinced me it couldn't be some
mechanical thing substituted for the real statue.  I remember staring
UP at it, and thinking how much like a man it was;

the skin moved properly over the muscles; the muscles rippled as it
stepped over the Altar and stopped in front of Solaris.

She was staring up at it, with that same enraptured expression on her
face, even though most of the Priests were groveling and babbling out a
litany of every sin they'd ever committed."

That had been rather funny, actually.  For some reason, it never
occurred to him to be afraid of the image, and there were a few more,
like Solaris and Ulrich, who actually seemed to be in a trance of
ecstasy as they gazed upon it.  The face of the statue wore a look of
complete serenity, as it always had-yet there seemed to be a hint of
good humor in the eyes, a ghost of a smile about the lips, as if
Vkandis found the groveling Priests just as funny as Karal did.

"The statue took the Crown of Prophecy off its own head;

once the Crown was in its hands, it shrank.  it dwindled until it was
small enough to fit a human.  Then the statue bent down and placed the
Crown on Solaris' head."

The eyes of the image and of Solaris had met and locked.

Something passed between them; Karal didn't know what it was, and on
the whole, he would really rather not find out.

I'm just not ready for the personal attentions of Vkandis.  I would be
very happy to stay with Ulrich and work researching the old Rites and
never have Him notice me.

"Then the image went back to the pedestal behind the Altar;

that was when the fire there on the Altar in front of it blazed up so
quickly and so high we thought another lightning bolt had hit it.  When
the flames died down so we could see the niche again, the statue was
exactly as it had been, except that it wasn't wearing the Crown
anymore.  Solaris was.

"And you're sure that there was no trickery involved?"

Rubrik persisted.

Karal nodded.

"Absolutely.  It wasn't an illusion, or how would Solaris have gotten
the Crown?  It wasn't a mechanical device, because no mechanical could
have moved as the statue did.  And besides that, how would a mechanical
creature make the Crown shrink like that?  And Ulrich says it
definitely wasn't human magic, or he would have known immediately;

even without summoning demons, he's still one of the most powerful
mages in the Priesthood.  None of us have ever seen Solaris work any
magic, before or since, except for the demon-summoning she was required
to perform because she was a Black-robe.  Ulrich says he doesn't see
how any mage could have delivered a lightning strike like that, animate
the statue, and light the First Fire and still be standing afterward.
Even if she or a confederate, or even a number of conspirators, could
have done all that with magic, there's still one question-how would she
have gotten the Crown off the statue, and shrunk it down to fit her?
The Crown wasn't just some piece of jewelry that had been made to fit
the statue-it was part of the statue, part of the original casting.

The Crown is part of the statue's head.  It was deliberately cast that
way to discourage thieves."

"Huh."  Rubrik stared at the rain which was coming down in a solid
sheet.  Karal watched his expression very carefully, trying to guess
his thoughts.

"Well," he said, very slowly, "I would have said that I didn't believe
in miracles, if I hadn't seen one or two lately with my own eyes.
Smallish ones, mind, compared to your moving statues and shrinking
Crowns, but they definitely qualified."  He paused, and Karal had the
sense that he was choosing his words with the utmost care.

"The Lady-Goddess of the Hawkbrothers and Shin'a'in seems to intervene
now and then on behalf of her own people, so why not the Sunlord,
right?"

Karal nodded cautiously.  He wasn't entirely certain he ought to be
agreeing to anything that compared Vkandis with some outlandish heathen
Goddess-but Rubrik said he'd seen this Goddess working miracles....
Vkandis was supposed to have a Goddess-Consort in the oldest records,
but she seemed to have gotten misplaced somewhere far back in the past.
Or had the Priests in that far past been right to eliminate her?

This was getting more confusing by the moment.

"Goddess?  " he replied weakly.

"What Goddess?  " Rubrik shook his head, and chuckled.  "oh, this
theology business is too much for a simple soul like me!  Let me order
us some dinner and you tell me just what Solaris did once she had that
crown on her head, all right?"  Karal agreed to that with relief.
Rubrik summoned a servIng-girl, who eyed Karal in a way that made him
blush and wish secretly that he wasn't sharing a room with his
master.

He was only a novice; he hadn't taken any oaths yet, much less oaths of
celibacy and chastity.... Rubrik must have ordered something that the
kitchen already had prepared, for the girl returned with laden platters
in short order.  Karal's stomach growled as the aroma of hot sausage
pie hit his nose.  The scent was unfamiliar, as unfamiliar as most of
the Valdemaran food, but even if he hadn't been starving, it would have
been enticing.  He felt ready to eat the pie and the plate it was baked
in.

Rubrik dug into his own portion without hesitation.

"So," he said, gesturing with a fork, "what did your Solaris do
next?"

"There was no question of naming anyone else the Son of the Sun, of
course," Karal replied, around a mouthful of sausage and crust.  He
swallowed; the pie was wonderful, and the spices weren't too different
from the ones used at home.

"Everyone who would have protested was there for the Miracles, and they
were terrified that any more miracles would target them.  Solaris was
invested right then and there with the White Robes-she already had a
Crown-and the acolytes swept what was left of the False Son out with
the ashes of last year's Fire.  The next day she called a convocation,
and told everyone that the duties of the Black-robes would change from
that moment.  She ordered that Black-robes would retain their rank, but
they would serve exactly the same duties as the Red-robe Priests.
Demon-summoning was declared anathema, forbidden, and the texts that
taught the means of summoning the creatures were to be burned."

"That's a good start, though normally I don't hold with burning books,"
Rubrik observed.

"But destroying something so open to misuse instead of burning innocent
people was a pretty good way of beginning her rule."

Karal nodded enthusiastically and had another couple of bites before
continuing.

"She said that she had been having visions for some time now, and that
the event in the Temple merely confirmed that her visions had been from
Vkandis and not mere dreaming and vainglory.  She told us all that she
had been shown that the ways of the Writ and Rule were not the ancient
and true ways of worship."

"i'd hardly expect her to say anything else," Rubrik pointed out
dryly.

"If she was going to establish herself as an authority, she would have
to shake up things in your Temple right from the beginning.  First
day."

Karal bit his tongue to keep from making a sharp retort, and took a
little time eating before continuing, lest he say something he
shouldn't.  No matter what Solaris was, one thing she wasn't was a mere
political creature.  Yes, she understood politics, but it was only to
take them into account.

When politics didn't agree with what she was going to do, she worked
around them.

"She made quite a few changes in the first week," he told the
Valdemaran, "And later, when Ulrich and I were doing research into the
older ways, we found out that the changes she had made were nothing
more than a reestablishment of those ancient paths.

"The Sunlord has always been a God of life, not destruction," she
said.

"His Fire is the life-giving Fire of the Sun, not the Fires that eat
the lives of children."  She decreed an end to the Cleansing Ceremonies
as we knew them.  She declared the Feast of the Children to be a time
of testing youngsters for their powers and intelligence, but ordered
that no child was to be dragged away from its family; children must
come to the Temple by consent of their families and their own will." He
answered Rubrik's slightly raised eyebrow with a sardonic smile of his
own.

"She also pointed out that in families with many children and limited
resources, telling the child and its parents that from now on the
Priesthood would feed and clothe it would get them to at least give the
Cloisters a try.  I have to admit that I was fed and housed better than
my parents could afford when I was in the Cloisters, and on the whole I
had less work to do.  I'm told now that children sometimes cry when
they aren't taken, instead Of crying when they are."

"Ah," Rubrik said, with a twitch of his lips.

"As we say in Valdemar, presenting the apple instead of the stick."

'precisely.

" He finished off his portion of pie and took a swallow of ale.

"The changes she made with the children and the novices were that they
were to be allowed full contact with their families and annual leave to
visit them if they ~wished, just as if they were recruits in the Army.
But that all came later; it was part of the changes she made that were
really restorations of the old ways."

"The old ways .  Rubrik finished his own food thoughtfully.  " So, just
how did she come to know all these 'old ways?

More visions?"

Karal laughed.  "oh, no, not at all!  She appointed a number of friends
of hers among the former Black-robes to find them in the archives!"

"Don't tell me-" Rubrik said quickly, holding up his free hand.

"One of the places where she used to spend a lot of her free time was
the archives, right?  And I already know that she is a linguist and a
scholar and can read all the oldest records for herself.  So that was
how she just happened to know that the 'old ways' weren't exactly the
same as your current what did you call it?

"The Writ and Rule."  Karal shrugged.

"I don't know, but does it really matter?  The point is that she knew
that there was a record of the old ways in the archives, and everything
we found confirmed or added to what she had already declared.

Ulrich was one of the former Black-robes she assigned to the archives,
and since I was his secretary, I worked beside him."

The serving-girl came to clear away their empty plates, refill their
cups, and bring them a dessert of fruit and cheese.

Rubrik said nothing while she was there, and spent some time carefully
cutting up an apple without continuing the conversation.

"None of this ever got to Valdemar," he said at last.

"We only heard that there had been some disturbance, and that suddenly
the ruler of Karse was a woman.  Then we learned nothing at all for a
year or two."  He looked up from his apple dissection, and cocked an
eyebrow at Karal.

"Is there any connection between your Solaris and the other woman that
called herself 'the Prophet of Vkandis' about ten or fifteen years ago?
The one that decided she was going to be the head of your army and damn
near got herself a big chunk of Menmellith?

Karal shook his head.

"No-and in fact, that woman is the reason the original Crown of
Prophecy went missing.  it was lost with her when she vanished."

No point in getting into that; the story was much too complicated.

And if Rubrik did not know the part of Solaris' story that his own
countrywoman Talia figured so prominently in-he wasn't as well-informed
as Karal had thought.

Rubrik ate his apple thoughtfully.

"I can't imagine that the rest of your priesthood just rolled over like
cowed dogs and let Solaris rule as she wanted."

Indeed they didn't, Karal thought quietly.  But this was one of the
subjects Ulrich had instructed him to say nothing about.  There had
been a great deal of opposition to Solaris' new Writ and Rules, and to
her decrees as well.  Not only from the Priests, either.

There had been plenty of people in Karse who liked the corrupt ways
very much indeed.  A number of the highly born resented the intrusion
of the Priests into areas of governance they had always considered
their private preserve.  There had been a kind of understanding between
the Priests and some of the nobles that certain-excesses-would be
ignored if gifts "to the Temple" were valuable enough.  There had been
Priests who were as corrupt as some of those nobles; they had shared in
those excesses.

Solaris put an end to those "understandings."  And an end to the slave
trade, to a profitable market in deadly intoxicants, and a number of
other unsavory trades that had been ignored or even given tacit
sanction by the Priests.

This did not earn her friends in some quarters.

There were Priests and the favorites of Priests who lost prestige and
position with the change in stature of the Blackrobesthose who were no
longer permitted to call demons did not inspire the same fear.  This
didn't earn her any goodwill from those factions, either.

There were even those at the borders who wanted the demon-summoners
back.  At least when demons roamed the night, the bandits stayed
hidden, and conducted their raids only by day, when it was somewhat
easier to see them coming and to fight them.  There were plenty of
border dwellers who feared the Rethwellans, the Valdemarans, and the
hardornens on the other side of those borders, and wanted the demons
and their summoners to keep the "foreigners" away.

The two years that followed the Miracle were not easy ones, and Solaris
had fought a grim and mostly-silent battle against a number of enemies.
But Karal was not going to tell Rubrik any of that.  If the Valdemaran
spies weren't good enough for their Queen to have learned that much,
too bad.

And if no one had bothered to inform this agent of the Queen of these
things, that was not Karal's problem.

"So, at some point after Ancar stole his father's throne, he decided
that Karse was an easy target, hmm?  " Rubrik took the hint, restarting
the conversation with something obvious.

Karal shrugged.

"I suppose so.  I've never talked to anyone from Hardorn.  Those who
were trying to escape went across your borders.  I suppose they didn't
want to chance the demons; they had no reason to know there weren't any
demons anymore.  All I know is that suddenly we had an army trying to
run over the top of us.  Solaris was very good at picking brilliant
generals, but good generals were obviously not going to be enough.
Ancar's fighters didn't seem-human."

" They weren't, exactly, anymore," Rubrik replied, and it was obvious
from his expression that he was not going to elaborate on this point.
Well, fine.  So they both had things they weren't supposed to share.

"You should know the rest," Karal continued.

"Solaris retreated to the Sun Tower and came back down with a new
decree from the mouth of Vkandis Himself."

"Truce with Valdemar."  That was a statement, not a question, but Karal
nodded anyway.

And if the situation hadn't been so bad, that would have been the end
of Solaris.  As it was, Ancar's fighters and mages committed so many
outrages that even her worst enemies were convinced that she was right.
There hadn't been a single family in all of Karse that didn't know of
someone who'd been affected.  Torture and rapine were the least of the
vile deeds Ancar's followers had perpetrated, although they in
themselves were quite bad enough.

Rubrik shook his head with an expression of wry sympathy.  " You know,
when your messengers reached our people, and we were finally convinced
that Solaris meant what she said, there were some of us who thought the
world had surely come to an end.  I mean, truce with Karse?  How much
crazier could things get?  And most people were certain it wouldn't
last."

A flicker of expression on Rubrik's face, quickly suppressed, told
Karal that this man was in the group of those in Valdemar who had felt
that way.

"I don't imagine your people were terribly happy about the idea,
especially anyone in your Guard.  " Rubrik grimaced.

"Well, when those Priest-mages of yours came north and helped hold
Ancar's armies to a crawl, it pretty well convinced even the most
skeptical that you meant to hold by the spirit of the truce and
alliance as well as the letter of it.  At this point, we've got
acceptance-if a grudging acceptance-of the situation.  There are still
people who can't keep up with the changes in the land, though.  So much
has changed so quickly inside Valdemar-and outside her borders-that
probably half of the population is in a whirl."

Karal sighed, and then caught himself in a yawn.  How late was it,
anyway?

"I suppose you could say ~the same about us," he replied.

"Except for two groups, that is."

Rubrik raised an eyebrow.

"Those who support Solaris without reservation, like Ulrich, purely
because she is the Son of the Sun by Vkandis' Own hand," Karal said,
"And those who are simply too young to have fought Valdemar personally,
and so have no personal grudges to bear.  When you're young enough, the
world is new every day."

"Ah.  " Rubrik considered this for a moment-perhaps noting that Karal
did not say which group he belonged in-and straightened a bit in his
seat, stretching and flexing his shoulders.

"And on that optimistic note, I suggest we both find a nice warm bed he
said.

OPtiMistic?  Well, I suppose so-if you consider that the that
eventually all the old fossils will die and the new generation,
presumably without the prejudices of the old, Will take over.

"That sounds like a good idea to me," Karal agreed.

"And forgive me if I hope that your bad weather holds long enough to
prevent us from leaving until the sun is properly above the horizon!"

Rubrik only laughed.

"I won't promise anything," he replied.

"But I think this is a wizard-storm, and if it is, it will be cleared
up before midnight at the latest."

Karal sighed.

Ulrich was still awake when Karal came in, and Karal reported the whole
conversation faithfully.  As Ulrich's secretary, he had learned how to
memorize long conversations verbatim, when they had been in a situation
where taking notes would have been impolite or impolitic.  Ulrich
listened without comment, then nodded approval.

"You did very well," he told his protege.

"You told him nothing he should not know-and perhaps, having been told
of the Miracles by an eyewitness, he will be reporting them as fact
rather than hearsay to his superiors."

Karal stretched his knotted muscles and grimaced.

"Master, I have to tell you that although I do enjoy this man's
company, I had almost rather be facing an armed enemy than have another
of these conversations with him.  He is very good, very subtle.  I
think that if he tried, he could probably have gotten much more out of
me than I intended to tell him.

I believe he was hoping for just this sort of opportunity to catch me
alone and question me.  He knows what will be good for Valdemar to know
of Karse now, but if I spent too much more time in his presence I think
it might be that I would tell him too much-or something he would
misinterpret."

Ulrich considered this for a moment, staring into the fire in the tiny
fireplace in their room.

"I think you are probably right," he replied, his expression
thoughtful, though not at all apprehensive.

"It was probably not coincidental that he began asking all these
questions of you at the moment when I was out of reach and earshot.  I
think that the next such conversation should include me."

Karal heaved a sigh of relief at that.  He had been concentrating so
hard on telling only the truth, and yet not all the truth, that he had
not realized how tense he had been under Rubrik's scrutiny until he got
back to the room he shared with his mentor.  Now, he found he had to go
through every stretching and relaxing exercise he knew just to get
himself unknotted enough to sleep!

This Rubrik was subtle, very subtle.  And although he had not
consciously been aware of the fact, something instinctive had reacted
to that.  Among the Priests, "subtle" frequently meant "dangerous."

And among the Priests, "subtle" always meant that the man must never be
underestimated.

But as Karal blew out the candle and climbed into his own bed, he found
himself hoping only one thing-that in this case, "subtle" did not mean
"treacherous" as well.

Ulrich

Regrettably, Rubrik was right about the weather.  A tap on their door
at an absolutely unholy hour proved that the storm had cleared, before
dawn, if not by midnight.  Karal pried himself out of his warm cocoon
of blankets with a groan of regret that was only slightly softened by
the fact that the servants who woke them also brought breakfast along
with wash water and a candle.  A real breakfast this time, not just
bread and drink.

I might be able to face the day, he decided, after a decent meal of
eggs and bacon, hot bread and sweet honey-butter, with plenty of
freshly pressed cider to wash it all down.  The hastily-snatched meals
on horseback tended to wear very thin, long before Rubrik would decree
a halt for further food.

"I think that our escort has probably forgotten how much a Young man
needs to eat," Ulrich observed with an amused smile, as he watched
Karal devour the remains of his mentor's breakfast as well as his
own.

"I shall remind him."

"Thank you, Master Ulrich, " Karal said with real gratitude.

"It's not as if he hasn't been very reasonable, but-" "But he is
probably as many years removed from the age at which one devours one's
weight in food every day as I am," Ulrich replied.

"One forgets."

Karal only smiled, and washed his hands and face clean of the sticky
honey he had devoured so greedily.  If there was one thing he had a
weakness for, it was sweets.

Which means I'd better never take a real scholar's position, or I']]
soon resemble Vkandis'own seat cushion.

"Are you sure you can ride?"  he asked his mentor anxiously.

Ulrich had been moving with the slow, deliberate care that meant his
joints were still stiff.  Karal had more than a duty to Ulrich as his
mentor, he was under orders to make certain Ulrich remained healthy
during his tenure as Karse's envoy.

He was fairly certain Ulrich was not aware of this, however.

Solaris had called Karal into her Presence just before they left, to
make him promise he would take particular care of his mentor.  One
session with that formidable lady's will concentrated on him and him
alone was more than enough.  He could not imagine that the Eye of
Vkandis Himself would concentrate any more force than did His earthly
representative's.

Karal did not ever want to report to her that Ulrich had come to any
kind of grief.

"oh, I shall live," the Priest said, sighing.  Then he smiled wanly.

"Don't be too concerned, Karal.  These joint aches are not a sign of
anything dangerous."

But Karal continued to stare at his mentor with a frown of worry on his
face until Ulrich grimaced.

"I swear to you that I will ask our escort to stop for the day if I
need rest.  Will that suit you?"

"I suppose it will have to," Karal told him, trying to sound as severe
as one of his own instructors had, when he had tried to avoid making
pledges.

"Since I doubt I'm going to get anything more reasonable out of you."

But Ulrich only raised a quelling eyebrow at him.

"Don't try to sound like Ophela, child; it doesn't suit either your
years or your personality."

Suitably rebuked, Karal flushed with embarrassment and quickly turned
his attention to his packing.  Not that there was much to pack-most of
what they would be needing at the Court had been sent on ahead with a
merchant pack train, and should arrive shortly before they did.  Ulrich
had not wanted to attract attention by traveling with the number of
wagons they would need to maintain their proper state as Officials of
the Court.  Wagons would mean armed guards, and guards would imply
importance or value-and they would end up with the same problem that a
large escort would have caused them.

By way of simultaneously showing his contrition and his rebellion, he
packed up Ulrich's gear as well, before his mentor could get to it
himself.  Ulrich only raised his eyebrow even higher at this
implication that he was too feeble to deal with it on his own.

With packs assembled, Karal shouldered both, and stepped aside for his
master to lead the way out to the courtyard.

As usual, Rubrik was already there, waiting for them in the gray light
of false dawn, this time already astride his lovely white horse.  Karal
fastened the packs behind Honeybee's saddle first, then Trenor's, and
swung quickly up onto Trenor's back so that he could watch while Ulrich
mounted.

At least Ulrich didn't seem to be in any great difficulty.

Maybe he was overreacting.

And maybe I really don't ever want to have to face Her Holiness and
confess to carelessness.  Better safe than sorry, as the saying goes.

They were some few leagues down the road, when Rubrik pulled up his
mount beside Ulrich, and motioned to Karal that he should stay abreast
of them as well.

"I had a rather interesting conversation with your young secretary last
night," he said, and waited for Ulrich's reply.

"I know," Ulrich said calmly.

"He told me."

"I rather thought he might," came Rubrik's amused response.  " You and
your leader have chosen well.  If I may venture a guess, he told me
exactly what he was permitted to-no lies, but nothing more and nothing
less than what he had been granted leave to reveal."

Ulrich laughed out loud.

"Very good, friend!  And now, since Your appetite-or that of whomever
it is you are reporting to-has been whetted, you are coming to me for
more information than you think he is allowed to give, in the hopes
that I have permission to tell you more.  And knowing that YOung Karal
would not have been permitted to tell you anything if we had not
intended for you to come to me."

rubrik made a slight bow from the saddle, full of amused

IIIY.

"Now that we have both agreed that we are too clever for the usual
diplomatic half-truths, if you will allow me to give You a starting
point, perhaps you can tell me how the Karsites reacted to the alliance
with Valdemar, especially after we got rid of Ancar.  Do feel free to
ignore anything you haven't got leave to answer."

"I shall," the Priest replied with urbane courtesy.  Then Ulrich
nodded, as if to himself, and while the steady sound of hoofbeats
filled the silence, spent a moment in thought.

"Many of the Karsites felt the alliance would not endure past that
moment," he replied.

"There was a sizable number, though not a majority, who believed that
the alliance had never been a good idea.  But then the army of the
Empire appeared, already well into Hardorn, and heading for Karse and
Valdemar."

Rubrik snorted mirthlessly.

"Indeed.  An unpleasant surprise for all concerned."

The sky to the east showed a hint of color; sunrise would be
spectacular-which did not presage a very pleasant ride today.

A colorful sunrise, at least in Karse, meant that there would be storms
during the day.  There was no reason to think that the weather had
changed just because he was across a border.

"We knew of the Empire, of course, but probably no more than you,"
Ulrich said after a moment.

"Some had even dismissed the power of the Emperor and the size of the
armies he controlled as nothing more than myth or exaggeration.  But
then-there he was, or rather, there his army was, even bigger than all
the stories had claimed.  Suddenly there was nothing standing between
us and an Empire fabled for gobbling up entire countries.  We had
nothing that could stop them-except, perhaps, our own resourcefulness,
our God-and that insignificant, inconvenient little alliance with
Valdemar."

"Which probably didn't seem so insignificant or nearly so inconvenient,
all things considered, when troop estimates came in," Rubrik replied.
And if there was a hint of smugness in his voice, well, Karal could
hardly blame him.

"There was another side to all of this that you probably had no hint
of," Ulrich said, after another moment of thought.

"And that is what the appearance of the Empire did for Her Holiness'
credibility."

Ulrich nodded at his secretary, and Karal couldn't resist the
invitation to have a word of his own in the discussion.  She'd been
saying all along that Vkandis was warning her of an even greater peril
to come," he offered proudly.

"There weren't too many people who believed her, Son of the Sun or not,
except Ulrich and a few other Priests."

He stopped then, afraid he might have overstepped himself, but the look
Ulrich gave him was approving rather than the opposite.

"Precisely.  Now she showed that she was a true prophet, for no one
could have predicted that the Empire would take an interest in
Hardorn-and everything beyond it, one presumes.  There is not a soul in
Karse who doubts her now Well, that wasn't quite true, but it was near
enough.

"Now our people as a whole are somewhat-bewildered," Ulrich
concluded.

"They are having some difficulty with the various changes she has
decreed, but it is obvious even to the worst of her detractors that she
knows, in the broadest sense of the word, what must be done to save us.
It is very clear that if her instructions-or rather, the instructions
of Vkandis, as passed to her-are not followed, Karse will not survive
the attentions of the Empire.  For the people, it is a difficult time.
For those of us who believed in Solaris and in our land and God, it is
a time of vindication."

"Interesting," Rubrik replied, softly.

"I hope you won't mind if I think all this over for a while."

"Be my guest," Ulrich told him, with a hint of a smile.

"I

believe you might be having just as much difficulty with some of this
as some Karsites I could mention."

Rubrik gave him an oblique look but did not reply.  Karal felt
immensely cheered.  It looked as if his mentor had given the Valdemaran
more to chew on than he had reckoned possible.

Karal had the feeling that the Valdemaran, for the first time, actually
believed that Solaris truly was the Son of the Sun and not just another
power-hungry Priest.  The Valdemarans would have been perfectly willing
to deal with another False Son-provided he (or she) set policies that
benefited Valdemar.  Karal was not so naive as to think otherwise.

but a ruler with the true power of the One God behind her" O'll that
was another proposition altogether.

Seeing Vkandis as something other than an empty vessel or PuPpet for
the Priests to manipulate was something Karal guessed Rubrik had not
been prepared to deal with.

One point scored for us, he thought with satisfaction, and settled into
the ride.

Rubrik inevitably came back with more questions, of course, but they
were not about the political situation in Karse, but rather, about
Ulrich himself.  Gradually Karal came to see the pattern to those
questions.  Rubrik was trying to discover what the envoy himself was
made of, the kind of man that the Valdemaran government would be
dealing with-and just how much trust Solaris placed in the hands of
that envoy.

it was sometimes hard to tell what Rubrik was thinking, but Karal
judged that on the whole he was satisfied-and rather surprised to be
satisfied.  Whatever he had been expecting, it had not been a pair like
Karal and his master.

Karal found it amusing to speculate on what he might have been
expecting.  An oily, professional politician like the last False Son
had been, interested only in power and prestige?  An ascetic, like
Ophela, with no personal interests whatsoever, blind and deaf to
anything other than God and Karse?

Throughout the morning, storm clouds had threatened to unleash another
torrent; by the time they stopped at an inn for a meal at noon, it was
obvious that they were going to ride right down the throat of another
storm like the one yesterday.

This time their escort had found them a decent inn, which had its own
share of travelers, and none of them paid any attention to a pair of
black-clad clergy and their white-liveried escort.  Most seemed too
concerned with eating and getting on their way again to waste any time
in idle curiosity about other travelers.  While Karal and his master
lingered over a final cup of ale, Rubrik went out to the courtyard,
brooded over the state of the weather, then stared at his horse's head
for a long time.

Finally he signaled to the stable boy to come and take his horse,
Honeybee, and Trenor to the shelter of the stables, then limped back to
the inn.

"There's no use going any farther today," he said, clearly annoyed, but
not with them.

"This storm reaches from here past the inn where I intended us to stop.
I wish that Elspeth had a few more Herald-Mages to go around.  It seems
that this so-called 'wizard-weather' is getting worse, not better."

Now how did he know all that?  Karal wondered.  He hadn't spoken to
anyone.  Then again, he was very familiar with this area, as he had
already demonstrated more than once.  Maybe he could tell what the
weather was doing by looking for clues too subtle for Karal to catch.

"I can't speak for your situation here," Ulrich replied carefully, "
but I can tell you that in magic, sometimes things do have to get worse
before they get better."

"Not the sort of thing that your escort cares to hear, my friend,"
Rubrik replied with a weary laugh as he turned to look at the lowering
clouds.  He shook his head for, if anything, they were darker and
thicker than before.  Even Karal could tell they were in for a blow.

"I was hoping to make up some time-" "Not today, friend," Ulrich said
with regret.

"If we do not stop here, we would have to stop soon.  I'm afraid that
my old bones are not dealing well with this weather of yours."

Inwardly Karal cheered.  At least Ulrich was going to keep his
promise!

Rubrik looked around for the innkeeper.

"Well, I might as well bespeak some chambers.  At least we are well
ahead of anyone else."

So it seemed, for he returned to them in a much more cheerful frame of
mind, just as the stable boy brought up their packs from the stable.

"I think you'll enjoy this stay.  This may make up for the fool who
sold our rooms out from under us," he said-then told the boy, "Bard
Cottage."

The horse boy led them around to a door at the rear of the inn, which
seemed a little odd to Karal.  Such doors were normally used only at
night, by servants, and he could not begin to inagine why the boy had
taken them this way.  Then the boy led them outside, and there,
connected to the In by a covered walkway, was a neat little building
standing all by itself.  It was probably supposed to look like a
farmer's cottage, but no farmer had ever built anything like this.
Toylike, cheerfully painted, and far too perfect; if Karal was any
judge, it had probably cost more than any three real cottages Put
together.  It's more like the way a highborn would think a farmer's
cottage looks, Karal decided, regarding the gingerbread carvings, the
window boxes full of flowers, and the freshly-painted, spotless
exterior with a jaundiced eye.

"This place is usually taken," Rubrik said with satisfaction.  " It's
very popular with those with the silver for absolute privacy.  There's
a small bedroom for each of us, beds fit for a prince, cozy little
parlor, private bathing room, and they'll bring dinner over from the
inn.  If we're going to have to wait out a storm, this is the way to do
it."

The rooms were tiny, but the beds were as soft as promised;

Karal had the absurd feeling that he was sequestered in a doll house,
but the place was comfortable, no doubt about that.

The cottage would be hideously confining for a long stay, especially
for three adults who did not know each other very well.

By the time they'd each taken a turn at soaking in the huge bathtub,
however, Karal was quite prepared to agree with Rubrik's earlier
statement.  For waiting out a storm, this was the best of all possible
venues.  He was the last to take his bath, and when he got out, the
smell of fresh muffins and hot tea greeted his nose.

He followed his nose to the parlor, where a servant from the inn had
just set a tray on the table.  Ulrich looked up at his entrance and
chuckled at his expression.

"Evidently our innkeeper has several young men of your age," the Priest
told him.

"His cook sent this over before I could even ask Rubrik to find a
servant to get you a snack."

Rubrik turned around in his chair and grinned at Karal's expression.  "
Your master reminded me that young men your age are always hungry, and
I pointed out this simple fact to our host.  He is good at taking
hints."

Karal entered the parlor and took the third chair in front of the
newly-lit fire just as the storm broke outside.  A crash of thunder
shook the cottage, and rain lashed the roof in a sudden torrent, making
Karal very glad that they were all inside, and not out on the road.

The windows in this pseudo-cottage were small, and not very
satisfactory for storm watching, so Karal contented himself with
listening to the thunder and the rain pouring down on the roof, as he
helped himself to muffins and tea.  He'd always enjoyed watching flames
dance in a fireplace, anyway.  It would be nice to spend a couple of
nights here, if it came to that.  Ulrich could use the rest, and he had
some papers Ulrich had suggested he study that he hadn't had the time
for.

But Rubrik is never going to wait that long, he decided, listening to
the conversation with one ear.  He wants us in Haven as soon as
possible.  I wonder what could be so urgent?

Ulrich had turned the tables on their escort, and was asking personal
questions of him.  Rubrik didn't seem at all reluctant to answer them
now, although he had not been so forthcoming before this.  Perhaps he
had decided that not only was Ulrich worthy of trust as an envoy, he
was to be trusted with other things as well.

Ulrich had just asked him-with the Priest's customary tact and
delicacy-how he had come to be injured.  Karal stopped listening to the
rain outside, and devoted his full attention to the conversation.

"That is-an interesting question," the envoy replied measuringly.

', I hope you'll forgive such impertinence," Ulrich told him, with
sincerity that was obvious, "but I couldn't help but think, since from
the scar it is a recent injury, that it occurred in the war with Ancar.
I thought perhaps it might have a bearing on why you are our escort,
and not-someone else.

And I wondered if something in that tale might account for Your
astonishingly good command of our tongue."

"It's not all that impertinent.  I find stares a great deal ruder.  And
oddly enough, it does have something to do with why I am here-and why I
know Karsite so well," the Valdemaran said, after a pause to examine
Ulrich searchingly, as if he was trying to ferret out some hidden
motive in asking such a question.

"It happened while I was trying to protect One of Your fellow Priests
of Vkandis."

Ulrich nodded gravely.

"You did seem to know a bit too much about us."  He raised his mug of
tea and sipped.

"More than could be accounted for by your presumed acquaintance with a
certain Master of Weaponry that we both know is in Your Queen's
employ."

"Correct."  Rubrik smiled crookedly.

"Your fellow Priest was not particularly happy to have me guarding him,
at the time.  Not that I can blame him, since at the time I was not
particularly happy to be there.  We had something of a cautious truce,
but neither of us really trusted the other."

Why does that not surprise me?  Karal thought, with heavy irony.

Rubrik closed his eyes briefly and set his cup down.

"We went through several encounters without much trouble, but then our
lot got hit hard, by a company of Ancar's troops that not only included
a mage, but several mages.  Good ones, at that.  He agreed to hold the
rear in a retreat-damned brave of him, I thought-counting on me to keep
him from getting hurt while he set up the magic that would take care of
that.

He got wrapped up in working some complex bit of magery, and couldn't
move-" "Tranced," Ulrich replied succinctly.

"Many of the young Priests cannot work magic without being
entranced."

Rubrik coughed, picked up his cup again, and sipped his own tea.

"Yes, well, the line moved back, and we didn't move with it, and no one
noticed for a long, critical moment.  And since I'd been assigned to
guard him, well, I did."

"And?"

He coughed again.

"There were several of them, and only two of us, Laylan and me.  I'm
not a bad fighter, but I'm no Kerowyn.  One of the biggest got through
my guard, and I

went down, right about the time his magic finally started working. That
was when someone behind us noticed we weren't with the group anymore,
and came back to get us."

Ulrich tilted his head to one side.

"A glancing blow?  But obviously one that did a great deal of
damage."

Rubrik shivered, in spite of the warmth of the fire.

"It was closer than I ever want to come again.  I will say the Priest
stood by me until the others got to us, right along with Layla.

And he was touchingly grateful, and dragged another one of your Priests
over to Heal me as soon as we were hauled back to safety, since there
wasn't one of our Healers around that could handle a wound like this
one.  I'm told that's why the only lasting effect of what could have
killed me is this bit of stiffness and an uncooperative leg.  Your
Healer-Priest was a damned fine human being, treated me as if I was
Karsite--and your other lad not only thanked me when I woke up, but
acted like he believed in the alliance from then on.  That's when my
view of your lot changed to something a bit more charitable."

Ulrich refilled his mug from the teapot and nodded.

"As his did of you Valdemarans, I expect."

Rubrik chuckled.

"I won't say we became the greatest of friends, but we got along just
fine after that.  He did express a great deal of surprise that a White
Demon would take a life-threatening injury to save him, and that the
Hellhorse would then proceed to guard both of us."

Karal paled a bit.  White Demon?  Hellhorse?  Rubrik?

Ulrich grinned broadly.

"I daresay.  Perhaps some good came out of the bad, then-" "I just wish
it hadn't happened to me."  Rubrik sighed.

"Ah well, the life of a Herald is not supposed to be an easy one.  I
could count myself lucky that the ax went a bit to the left.  To end
the story, that's why I'm your escort, and not someone like-oh, Lady
Elspeth.  I was impressed enough with the way that stiffnecked
youngster turned around, and with the Healer-Priest that helped me,
that I specifically requested assignment to any missions dealing with
Sun-Priests.  I wanted whoever met you two to be someone who would at
least treat You like human beings."

Herald?  White Demon?  Hellhorse?  Oh, glorious God-Rubrik was a
Herald.  A White Demon.  And that beautiful horse that Karal had
admired so much was no horse at all.

He stared into the fire, stunned, quite unable to move.  It was a good
thing he wasn't holding anything, or he'd have dropped it, his hands
were so numb.  He didn't even realize that Rubrik had excused himself
and gone back to the inn for something, until the door closed behind
him.

"Child you look as if someone smacked you with a board,"

Ulrich observed dispassionately.

"Are you all right?"

Karal rose to his feet, somewhat unsteadily, and stared at his mentor
trembling from head to foot in mingled shock and fear.

"Didn't you hear what he said?"  Karal spluttered.

"He's one of them!  Demonspawn!  The-" k til know, I know," Ulrich
replied, with a yawn.

"I've known all along.  If that 'here I am, shoot me now," white livery
of theirs wasn't a dead giveaway, the Companion certainly is.  " "But
you didn't say anything!"  Karal wailed, feeling as if he'd been
betrayed.

"I thought you knew," Ulrich told him, a hint of stern rebuke in his
voice.

"We are in Valdemar.  We are envoys from Her Holiness.  The Heralds are
the most important representatives of their Queen, and the only ones
she trusts fully to accomplish delicate tasks.  We've always called
them White Demons.  It should have been logical."

Karal just stared at him.

"Then again," Ulrich said, after a moment of thought, "I apologize.  I
should have told you, you're correct.  I suppose I shouldn't be so
surprised that you didn't recognize our friend for what he is-you've
only had those ridiculous descriptions in the Chronicles to go on.  I
should have said something."

"But-" Karal began, wildly.

"He-" "-is the same man he was a few moments ago, before you realized
what his position in Valdemar was," Ulrich pointed out, sipping his
tea.

"He is still the same.  You are still the same.  The only thing that
has changed is how you see him, which is not accurate."

Karal tried to get a breath and couldn't.

"But-" "Does he eat babies for breakfast?"  Ulrich asked, with a hint
of a grim smile.

Karal was forced to shake his head.

"No, but-" "Do he or his mount shoot fire from their nostrils, or leave
smoking, blackened footprints behind them?"  Ulrich was definitely
enjoying this.

Karal wasn't.

"No, but-" "Has he been anything other than kind and courteous to
either of us?"  Ulrich continued inexorably.

"No," Karal replied weakly.

"But-" He sat back down in his chair with a thud.

"I don't understand-" Ulrich picked up Karal's tea mug and leaned over
to put it back in his hands.

"Child," he said softly, "he has heard the same stories of us that we
have heard of the Heralds.  The trouble is-I fear that the stories
about us were partly true.

We did have the Fires of Cleansing.  We did summon demons to do
terrible things, often to people who were innocent of wrongdoing.  And
yet he has the greatness of heart to assume that you and I, personally,
never did any such things.  What does that say to you?"

"That-he's the same man whose company I enjoyed this morning," Karal
finally said, with a little difficulty.  His mind felt thick.  His
thoughts moved as though they were weighted And yet he could not deny
the truth of what Ulrich had jus said.

"I suggest that you relax and continue to enjoy his company," Ulrich
replied, leaning back in his chair.

"I certainly am, and I intend to go on doing so.  In fact, after
hearing his story, I am inclined to trust him to live up to every good
thing that Her Holiness told me about Heralds."

But- Karal's thought froze right there, and he clasped his mug and
stared down into the steaming tea as if he would somehow find his
answers there.  Ulrich was right; nothing had changed except for the
single word.

Herald.  Not such a terrible word.  just a word, after all.  A

name-and Karal had, in his own time, been called plenty of names.

That never made me into anything that they called me.

Yes, well, the word "Herald" in and of itself was nothing terrible
either.  What word really was?

Ulrich was right about the rest of it, too.  He had never seen a Hell
spA Herald.

Right.  He had never seen a Herald in all his life.  The descriptions
in the Chronicles were infantile, really-composed of all the horrors
mothers used to frighten little children into obedience, rolled into
one and put into a white shroud.  Not a neat uniform, a livery like
Rubrik's, but a tattered, ichor-dripping shroud of death.  And no
matter what other things he'd learned that had been wrong about their
former enemies, somehow he had still expected Heralds to be monsters.

If You want to make your enemy into something you can hate, You first
remove his humanity... Had Ulrich said that at one Point, or had that
been something he'd heard during one Of Solaris' speeches?  It was
true, whoever had said it, and the Chronicles had certainly tried to
remove all vestige of humanity from these Heralds.  Make them only
icons.  When they are seen as a type, and not as individuals, they are
easy for a fanatical mind to grasp-and hate.

Karal didn't think he was fanatically-minded, but then again, what
fanatic ever did?  It was going to take a while to get used to this.

"I think I'm going to go-ah-meditate for a while," he said to Ulrich,
who was staring into the fire with every evidence of utter contentment.
The Priest waved a lazy hand at him.

"Go right ahead," his master said.

"I believe you ought to.

You've just had a shock, and you need to think about it.  I'm sure your
nose will tell you when dinner arrives, if your stomach doesn't demand
it first."

Karal put down his mug and retired to his room, flushing in confusion,
and wondered how things in his life had managed to become more
complicated than he had ever dreamed possible.

And how was he ever going to make all the scattered pieces of it fit
again?

He still hadn't quite wrapped his mind around the concept of
"Rubrik-as-Hellspawn, Hellspawn-as-Herald" by the time dinner arrived.
He ate quickly and quietly, listening, but not participating in the
conversation at all.  Ulrich and their escort continued their chat as
blithely as if nothing whatsoever had changed, although Rubrik did ask,
with some concern, if Karal was feeling all right.

"You look pale," he observed, as Karal bolted the last of his dinner.

"If you're getting sick, please tell me-this is a good sized town, and
there are real Healers here.  Healer-Priests, too, and there may even
be one of the splinter Sunlord Temples here-" "Ah, I meant to ask you
about that," Ulrich interjected.

"Later, that is."

"It's nothing, sir, my master already knows about it," Karal said
hoarsely, taking the proffered excuse for what might be considered rude
behavior.

"It's just a headache.  I-I think I'll go to my room, and sleep it
off."

Karal fled before Rubrik could ask anything else.  His dinner lay in
his stomach like a ball of cold, damp clay.  it had probably been
excellent; he'd bolted it so fast he hadn't really noticed.

He spent part of the night staring sleeplessly at the ceiling, the
murmurs of conversation in the next room scarcely audible over the
pounding rain.  He wasn't able to make out what the other two were
saying, and he wasn't sure he wanted to.

He just couldn't handle this.  How could he act normally around Rubrik
ever again?

But the soft, comfortable bed and the rhythmic pounding of the rain
overhead seduced him into a dreamless sleep, and in the morning his
anxiety seemed pretty stupid.  He lay there in his bed, sheepishly
wondering why the "revelation" had seemed so terrible last night.
Ulrich was right; Rubrik was still the same man-and Heralds, as Karsite
myth painted them, couldn't possibly have been anything like the
reality.

After all, there were plenty of things that had "always been True" or
had been "the Will of Vkandis" that Solaris had proven were lies.  So
why should anything the False Ones taught about the Heralds be true?

He rose and went into the parlor, to find Ulrich already there and in
high good humor, which meant his joints no longer pained him.  The
doors and windows were standing open wide to a wonderful warm breeze,
there was a meal waiting on the table for him, and Rubrik was nowhere
in sight.  This storm had swept through cleanly last night, leaving
behind a morning like a new-minted coin, the air washed so clean and
pure that it was a pleasure to breathe.  Rubrik had not sent servants
to wake them up, and had let them sleep until after the sun rose. After
a truly excellent breakfast, they joined their escort in the courtyard
of the inn beneath an absolutely cloudless blue sky.

"Headache better?"  Rubrik asked, as the horse-boy led Trenor up to
Karal and held him so that Karal could mount easily.

"Yes, sir, thank you," Karal was able to reply, with a smile.

"good.  I get a touch of one myself in these wizard-storms.

They say most people with any hint of mind-magic do."  He gazed
searchingly at Karal, who had no idea of what he was talking about.
Karal shrugged his incomprehension.

"Yes, but how does that explain my poor, aching joints?"

Ulrich put in, with a faint smile.

"I certainly do not hear thoughts with my knees!"

Rubrik laughed heartily.

"A good question, and one that probably proves that, as always, the
nebulous 'they' are probably as foolish as the things 'they' are
reputed to say!"

On that cheerful note, he led them out to the road, heading north
again, under a brilliant sun.

That seemed a good enough omen to start, and as the morning wore on,
Karal managed to dismiss the rest of his lingering fears as absolutely
groundless.  The Herald and Ulrich must have shared a great deal of
personal information after Karal went to bed, for now they acted like a
pair of real friends.

Huh, he thought, with astonishment, for Ulrich had never been friends
with anyone that Karal had ever noticed.  But there it was, as they
rode side by side, there was an easiness between them that could not be
anything but friendship.  Ulrich respected him as soon as we met-and
after that, there was a kind of-fellowship, maybe?  Something like
that, anyway,.  like he'd have with, oh, one of the Army Captains.

Someone who deserved respect and was an interesting and intelligent
person, a man he had things in common with.  But this is different. I'm
not sure how, but it's different.  Ulrich seems happier, more open, and
the tone of his voice is warmer than it usually is around other
people.

He found that Rubrik was taking pains to see that Karal was included in
conversation as the day wore on.  And somewhat to his astonishment, he
realized that he had begun to actually relax around the Herald.  If
anything, Rubrik reminded him of his favorite uncle, the one who'd been
a guard with a merchant caravan and had a wealth of tales about strange
places and the wonderful things he had seen.

Rubrik was evidently in the mood to tell some of his own tales this
morning, for he began to describe some of the other "foreigners" that
they would meet once they reached the capital of Haven and the Court of
Queen Selenay.  Some of them, Karal would not have believed under any
other circumstances, but Rubrik had absolutely no reason to lie and
every reason to tell them the whole and complete truth.

But if he was telling the whole and complete truth-some of the other
envoys weren't human at all.... Ulrich didn't act at all surprised,
though, as the Herald described some of the strangest creatures Karal
had ever heard of.  The Hawkbrothers were bad enough, with their white
hair, intelligent birds, and outlandish clothing.  But then he
described the gryphons-Treyvan, Hydona, and their two youngsters.  It
was the little ones that made Karal decide that the Herald was not
trying to play some kind of elaborate trick on them.  Why make up that
kind of detail if it was only a jest?  The adult gryphons would have
been more than enough.

"I'd been warned," Ulrich said laconically, when Rubrik ended his
description.

"After all, several of our Priests actually worked with these gryphons.
Including one young lady who learned a valuable lesson in-hmm-"

Cooperation?"  Rubrik suggested with a wry smile.

"I was thinking, humility, but that will do."  Ulrich's eyes actually
twinkled.

"Karal, you'll remember her, you were schooled with her.  Gisell."

Karal's mouth dropped open with astonishment.

"Gisell?

Humility?"  The two simply did not go together!  Gisell had been one of
the most stiffnecked little highborn bitches he'd ever had the
misfortune to meet.  Nothing could induce her to forget her lofty
pedigree or her many important relatives.

Rubrik laughed heartily, and his smile reached and warmed his eyes.
"oh, a gryphon can bite you in two and have your legs shredded while
your top half watches.  When he tells you that you will work with the
son of a pig keeper and like it, you learn to be humble very
quickly."

"If Gisell can learn to be humble, then I can believe in gryphons,"
Karal said firmly, provoking another burst of laughter, both from the
Herald and from his master.

"Gryphons are just as real as my Companion Laylan, I promise You,"
Rubrik assured him.

"And no more a monster than he is."

Now that triggered another thought, one that had sat in the back of his
mind, pushed aside by the pressing dilemma of Rubrik-as-Herald.  His
horse-or rather his Companion.  Karsite legend had plenty to say about
the' creatures that Heralds rode, too!  And now his behavior, which had
seemed to be only" remarkable training, had an explanation.

Laylan wasn't a horse.  Obviously.

"No more a monster he said-but he isn't, can't be, even a magical than
he is horse like the Hawkbrothers' birds.  Even if back home they'd
call him a Hellhorse.  So what is he if he isn't a horse?

He held the question back, but it irritated him like an insect bite he
couldn't scratch.  Laylan himself seemed to know that it was tormenting
him, too, because he kept looking back at him, and now he saw what his
assumption that he was an animal had not let him see before.  He
watched him, watched Ulrich, and he had the sense that he was somehow
participating in the conversation, even if he couldn't say anything in
words.

Finally he couldn't stand it anymore.

"Sir?  Your-Laylanwhat is he?"

Rubrik blinked, taken quite by surprise by the breathless question.

"I suppose you wouldn't know, would you," he said, finally, turning in
his saddle and squinting against the bright sunlight.

"Ah-the best explanation we have is that Companions are a benign spirit
in a mortal body.  In some ways, rather like gryphons, except that they
deliberately ally themselves with Heralds in order to help us help our
land.

They choose to look like horses, we believe, because horses pass
without notice practically everywhere."

"Ah!"  Ulrich's exclamation of delighted understanding made both of
them turn toward the Priest.

"That is the best explanation I have heard yet; I never had heard any
reason why your Companions should have that particular form.  It seems
an inconvenient one."

Rubrik snorted, and so did Laylan.

"Say that some time when you see him in full charge!  This is several
stone of muscle and very sharp hooves, my friend, and he knows how to
use both to advantage!  I'd rather have him in a fight than twenty arms
men and that's a fact."  He tilted his head to one side and added, as
if it had never occurred to him before, "Odd though, that you Karsites
don't seem to have anything like Companions, with your Vkandis being
so-" He flushed, and cut the sentence off, but Ulrich chuckled.

"So much of a divine busybody in our lives, is that what you were going
to say?"  Rubrik winced, but the Priest only grinned.  oh, don't
apologize, even Her Holiness has been known to comment on that from
time to time.  Actually, though, Vkandis does have two supernatural
manifestations that ordinary Priests-which are the closest thing we
have to your Heralds-can experience.  The sad part is that one of those
was and is tragically easy to feign."

Ulrich gave Karal a prompting look.

"The Voice of Flame?"  Karal asked with interest, taking the look to
mean that Ulrich meant him to supply the correct answer.

Ulrich nodded.

"Good, you recall what I told you."  He turned back to the Herald.

"The Voice of Flame is a sourceless nimbus of fire; it appears above
the head of a Priest and speaks through him.  It is, by far, the most
common manifestation of Vkandis' Will.  Since we Priests are often
mages as well as clergy, I'm sure you can see how easy this particular
manifestation of the Will was to counterfeit."

Rubrik made a sour face.

"Not a chance you could counterfeit a Companion-" he began.

"Ah, but this is what is interesting," Ulrich interrupted eagerly.  "
There was, traditionally, another manifestation that was impossible to
counterfeit-and it was one that had not been seen in so long that it
had fallen almost into myth.  Until recently, that is.  And it seems to
me that the Firecats are very like your Companions."

"Firecats?"  Rubrik shook his head.

"I've never heard of them."

"Not likely anyone has, outside of Karse," Karal put in.

"In fact, until one showed up with Solaris, I'd say most of the Priests
didn't believe in them anymore, either!"

"A cat?"  Rubrik's skepticism was quite clear.

"How could an ordinary cat-" "No more an ordinary cat than your Laylan
is an ordinary horse, my friend," Ulrich told him gleefully.

"First of all, there is the color-Firecats are unique.  They are a pale
cream color, with red ears, facial mask, paws, and tail.  And like YoUr
Companions, they have blue eyes.  Then there is the size-they are as
tall as mastiffs.  And they talk."

"Talk?  " Rubrik was incredulous for just a split second.

"Wait-you mean, in Mindspeech?"

"Mind-to-mind, yes," Ulrich agreed.

"They can, and do, speak to whomever they choose, however, and I
believe your Companions speak only to their selected Heralds?"

Rubrik nodded, and Ulrich went on.

"Firecats historically appeared at significant times to offer advice,
not only to the Son of the Sun, but often to anyone else who was of
crucial importance.  In ancient times, the Son of the Sun was always
accompanied by at least one, and often two Cats."  Ulrich shrugged.

"Now, the Cats stopped appearing, I believe, about the time that the
Fires of Cleansing were begun; I also believe that there has not been a
genuine manifestation of the Voice since that same period, at least not
among the Priests in the capital and the larger cities.  Until
recently."

Rubrik sat as bolt upright in his saddle as his infirmity would
allow.

"Are you telling me that-" "I, myself, have seen Her Holiness speak
with what I believe to be the genuine Voice," Ulrich told him.

"But far more important, Solaris has a Firecat.  He calls himself
"Hansa' and that is the name of one of the most ancient Sons of the
Sun, a name not even a demon would claim with impunity-he is not only
seen sitting beside her, but he actually appeared shortly after Vkandis
struck down the False Son."  He nodded as Rubrik's eyes narrowed in
speculation.

"His appearance served to further confirm her in the eyes and minds of
the populace.  But if you have any doubt, I have heard it from her own
lips-and from Hansa's mind-that he is the one who advised her to make
Herald Talia an honorary Sunpriest to cement our alliance."

Rubrik's mouth formed into a silent "o", but Ulrich wasn't quite
finished yet.

"All the Firecats have traditionally referred to themselves by names of
former Sons of the Sun.  We have always believed that they are the
spirits of former Sons who have taken on a material form in order to
guide and advise us."  He cast a significant glance down at Laylan, who
looked up at him blandly and actually batted his eyelashes at him.

"ObviouslY, they are exactly like your Companions, except that there
are fewer of them.  I assume that is because there are fewer deceased
Sons than there are deceased Heralds."

Now it was Rubrik's turn to look as if someone had hit him in the back
of the head with a board.  And there was a whicker from Laylan that
sounded suspiciously like a snicker.

"of course-" Rubrik replied weakly.

"Obviously."  As if it wasn't obvious at all, and the thought had never
once crossed his mind.

Rubrik's astonishment was so total, and so blatant, that Karal came
very near to disgracing himself completely by blurting out the
question, "Do you mean that hadn't ever occurred to you?"  He stopped
himself just in time.

in the first place, such a question would be twenty leagues beyond
rude, and Ulrich would be completely within his rights-even his duty-to
send him back in disgrace on the spot.  One did not ask questions like
that if one was a diplomat.

In the second place-It's possible that the Companions actually have
been keeping Heralds from even thinking just that.  The Firecats were
known to be what they were only to the Priests-the rest of the Karsite
populace simply regarded them as signs of Vkandis' favor.  Most
ordinary folk were not even aware that the Cats spoke to the Priests;
after all, the Priests had the Voice, what did they need with a talking
feline?

I can think of several reasons why Companions would not want it known
that they had once been Heralds, Karal decided, rather grimly, after a
moment of silence that gave him Plenty of time to really examine the
idea.  For instance, there had been one infamous attempt to destroy a
Firecat by the traitor who had brought about the assassination of the
Son of the Sun whose name the Firecat bore.

Not that that worked.  Firecats can protect themselves very nicely. The
assassin made a lovely bonfire, so the story goes.

But surely, there were people who would be very unhappy-if certain
Heralds were to reappear after their demise-and COmpanions, unlike the
Cats, could be killed.

And even a Karsite knows that if you kill the Hellhorse-the
Companion-you'll probably kill the Herald.

There could be emotional conflicts among the Heralds as well.  How
would a loved one feel, knowing that the beloved ex-Herald could return
if he chose, even if in a rather-inconvenient form  It would be
devastating if he did, and nearly as bad if he didn't.

As he was mulling all this over, he caught sight of Laylan staring back
at him over his shoulder-and when he caught his eye, he nodded as if he
had been following his very thoughts.

As if-like Hansa-she can see what is in my mind-Once again, he sat
frozen in place, stunned.  Like Hansa.

The Cats are like Companions-Once again, he nodded; gravely, but
unmistakably.

Only one thought floated up out of the shock.

If the Cats are like the Companions, then we are not so different from
our ancient enemies after all.

And he could not for the life of him decide if that realization was a
reassuring one.

An'desha

An'desha stared unhappily out the window of his provisional home.  Late
afternoon sunset streamed through the branches of the trees around
Firesong's ekele, and left patches of gilding on the grass beyond the
windows.  The silence that must surely be outside was not mirrored
within.  The indoor garden was full of laughter and talk, even to the
point where the burbling of the waterfalls and fountains was
overwhelmed by human chatter.

An'desha sat on a rock ledge in the farthest corner of the hot pool,
dangling his feet in the water and trying not to sulk.

He could not suppress his bitter unhappiness, though, and by the gods,
he wasn't sure he wanted to!  Firesong had not consulted him on this;
he hadn't even been warned that there were visitors coming this
afternoon.  Firesong had simply showed up with all of them in tow, some
of whom An'desha had never even met before.  It was rude, it was
unfair, and he was not in a mood to make the best of it.

This was supposed to be his retreat away from all the strangeness of
Valdemar-so why did Firesong have to bring half of Valdemar into the
retreat and spoil it?

Well, maybe not half of Valdemar, but it certainly sounded like it. The
garden felt overcrowded, and the fragile peace he had been trying to
cultivate was shattered.

An'desha had not had a very good day today; not that everything had
gone wrong, but nothing had quite gone right.

Firesong kept telling him that he needed to get out and interact with
other people, to meet some of these foreigners, so todaY he he had
gritted his teeth and made an attempt, hoping for Firesong's approval.
Hoping for some success to show him, however small that was.

He'd gone off on his own this afternoon while Firesong taught the young
mages.  A few days ago he had volunteered to help a group of those
youngsters who wore the rust, blue, or gray clothing with one of their
lessons in Shin'a'in, and their teacher had gladly accepted his offer.
Today was to have been the first of those lessons, and An'desha had
some- vague idea that he might socialize with them after the lesson.
Wasn't that what these strange children did?  First have lessons, then
socialize?

The lesson had gone on all right, but afterward, when they accepted his
hesitant suggestion that they could ask him -questions and he would try
to answer them, he'd retreated in bewildered confusion within a few
stammered sentences.

They were just too-weird.  They weren't -anything like the Shin'a'in of
his Clan; they seemed avidly, greedily curious about everything, at
least to him, and they asked things he considered terribly callous and
horribly intrusive.  Of course it was possible that they had no idea
that they were being so intrusive-and it was possible that with their
limited grasp of Shin'a'in they simply didn't know what they were
asking, but why ask him all those prying questions about Firesong?  And
what in the name of the Star-Eyed was a "Tayledras mating circle?  "
Rudeness was bad enough, but they were also shallow, or at least their
questions pointed in that direction.  To him they seemed selfish and
preoccupied with trivialities.  He found himself getting angry at them
for being so cavalier and carefree, then was appalled at himself for
being angry with them simply for acting like children.

A Shin'a'in child was an adult the day he (or she) could ride out on
the horse he had trained from a colt, and survive on his own on the
Plains for one week.  That could be any age from nine up.  These
Valdemarans, raised in cities, had no such measuring stick for
maturity.  They were children-more to the point, for all that they were
not all that much younger than his apparent age, they were sheltered,
protected children.  He gathered that most of them had never personally
been touched by the war that had threatened their land, and certainly
none of them could ever even imagine, in their worst nightmares, the
kinds of things he had gone through.

How could he fault them for being what they were?

But they not only had nothing in common with him, they were so very
different from him that they might just as well have been gryphons or
kyree.  For that matter, he had more in common with the perpetually
ebullient Rris than he did with any of them!  At least he understood
why Rris was always asking questions; he was a historian, and he wanted
not only the facts, but the feelings and reasoning that brought the
facts about.  Kyree oral histories took these factors into account;

they were important parts of the tale.  These children had no such
excuses for their greedy curiosity.

So he returned in confusion and some distress to the only shelter he
had anymore-only to find that Firesong had led an invasion of Valdemar
into the place where he sought tranquillity, an invasion planned
without his knowledge or consent.

Oh, granted, there were only half a dozen of the strangers, but it
seemed like more, three times more.  They poured into his garden and
inserted themselves into his heated pool, barely stopping long enough
in their ongoing conversation to greet him.  And if he sequestered
himself upstairs, Firesong would want to know why and probably be
disgusted with him for not even trying to be polite and sociable.  So
he stayed and found himself virtually excluded from the conversation
anyway, simply because he had no idea what was going on or what they
were talking about.

To his right were Elspeth and Darkwind; well, at least he knew them.
Elspeth was the daughter of the ruler of this Place, and a Herald-she
had a spirit-creature called a "Companion" that looked something like a
horse and spoke in the mind.  A lithe and lively young woman, her dark
hair was now more silver than sable, and her eyes a soft blue-gray,
turned that way by her use of the node-energy from the heart stone
beneath her mother's palace.  She was that unique creature among
humans, strong and beautiful, and perfectly self-confident, if rather
headstrong.  Darkwind was another hawk brother an Adept, though not the
equal of Firesong, with the rapt oral features of most Tayledras, and
the pure silver hair and blue eyes all Tayledras grew into eventually,
simply by living around Heartstones.  Both Elspeth and Darkwind knew
Firesong long before An'desha had met any of them; he got the
impression that Firesong had been their teacher at one point.

Beyond them, up to their necks in hot water, were a tall blonde woman
they called "Kero" and a man whose name An'desha hadn't even caught. It
had sounded something like "elder" and that surely couldn't be right. 
Both of them were older than anyone else here, but An'desha wouldn't
have challenged either of them to a fight.  Their muscles and the way
they moved told him that they were a lot more dangerous than they
looked.  The clothing that the man had shed was of the white kind worn
by the Heralds, and though the woman had been wearing dark leather
gear, they both seemed to have those same kind of spirit-beasts that
Elspeth partnered.

Beyond them was Firesong, holding court, and beyond him, the Shin'a'in
envoy and some mage or other this "Kero" knew who looked to have a lot
of Shin'a'in blood in him.  He was a little younger than Kero was, and
although he had the dark hair and golden skin of a man of the Plains,
he had emerald green eyes.  Besides, he was definitely a mage, and
An'desha knew from personal experience that no Shin'a'in could be a
mage, unless he was a shaman as well.  He seemed comfortable in this
strange gathering, anyway.  A lot more comfortable than An'desha, who
belonged here.

Not a huge group, after all-only six, eight if you counted An'desha and
Firesong, but they were all such vivid personalities that An'desha felt
smothered, ignored, or both.  They were all chattering away like old
friends, which they probably were, but they seemed to have forgotten
that An'desha didn't know any of them, really.

This invasion of his private preserve, coming at the end of an
uncomfortable afternoon, made him want to throw a very childish
tantrum.  He wanted to be alone with Firesong-no matter how hard it was
to reconcile his feelings about the young mage, at least Firesong was
one person he could understand.

Firesong would make excuses for him and help find answers!  An'desha
wanted the music of falling water, not insistent chatter.  Or, if there
must be talk, he wanted to talk to Firesong about his difficulties with
these strange, intrusive people of Valdemar.  They were nice enough,
but nosey.

He would have said that he wanted to go home, except that he had no
home, and this was the closest he was likely to get.

Now these strangers had just proved that it wasn't his home, and never
would be, simply by being here.

He didn't want to share Firesong or his place with the group of
laughing, splashing invaders.

They were talking like mad things in three languages, only two of which
he understood at all well; his own Shin'a'in and Tayledras.  They
chattered about more people and doings he knew nothing about.

That was not all that upset him.  There was something about this
gathering that set his nerves on edge, something intangible that had
nothing to do with the invasion ~of his place.  There was a frenetic,
feverish quality to the conversation he sensed, but couldn't fathom.
They acted as if they were trying to drive something unpleasant away by
sheer volume of talk.

And as if that wasn't bad enough, it was becoming increasingly clear to
him by the moment that Firesong was flirting with Darkwind.  In front
of everyone!

Was Firesong trying to humiliate him?

He pulled his feet out of the water in a fit of sullen fury, and
snatched up a towel and his clothing.  Furious, he began to dry himself
off, ignored by the others.  Ignored even by Firesong, who was
engrossed in his flirtation.

Oh, gods.  How could he not have guessed that something like this would
happen?  Weren't the Hawkbrothers supposed to be as light-in-love as
their feathered companions?

But must Firesong take on a new conquest in front of him and everyone
else?  And why Darkwind?

Well, naturally, they are both Tayledras Adepts, and Darkwind is
attractive and clever and mature, and I'm a halfShin'a'in freak with
more problems than twenty sane people.

I'm a cowardly fool who doesn't understand most of what Firesong tries
to show me.  and now that you're properly silver-haired, as an Adept
should be, with a decent wardrobe, you're actually a credit to k'Sheyna
instead of a disgrace," Firesong teased, while An'desha struggled into
his shirt and breeches; a difficult proposition with still-wet skin.

"I don't know how Elspeth was ever attracted to you, with your hair
dyed the color of mud and full of bark.  You looked like a mad hermit,
not a proper Hawkbrother.  " " oh?"  Darkwind arched his eyebrows and
grinned, then splashed Firesong with a handful of water.

"Really?  And who was it told Elspeth he wanted to braid feathers into
my hair?  I thought perhaps you liked the rustic look.  You might have
found me challenging."

"Hmph."  Firesong sent the droplets flying back at Darkwind with a
flicker of magic.

"If I did tell her something like that, it was because I was hoping to
induce some sense of proper grooming into you."

Darkwind pouted.

"And here all the time I thought you wanted me!"

"We-ell, now that you look like a civilized human being and not a patch
of brush-" Firesong fluttered long, silver eyelashes at the lean and
muscular k'Sheyna Adept, who smirked and fluttered right back at him.

An'desha stared, aghast, embarrassed, humiliated.  Oh, he knew that the
Hawkbrothers were free enough with their favors, but but how could they
carry on like this!  And right in front of him!  They were trying to
hurt him!  He hadn't done anything to deserve treatment like this!

He felt his skin grow cold, then hot; his throat choked, and his
stomach knotted.  As he struggled to control himself, astonishment
turned to something darker, in the blink of an eye.

He flushed again, hotter this time.  From "how could they," the thought
turned to another.

How dare they!

His hands knotted into fists; his stomach cramped.  He clenched his jaw
so hard he thought his teeth would shatter.

He choked back an exclamation of pain and outrage.

Firesong continued to flirt, without a single glance at him.

His heart pounded until he shook with the rhythm and blood roared in
his ears.  His jaw ached as he clenched it tight.

Firesong leaned closer to Darkwind and murmured something that made the
other Adept laugh aloud, throwing his head back and showing a fine set
of white teeth.  Firesong laid one elegant hand on Darkwind's
shoulder.

Rage flared, fed by jealousy, into an all-consuming conflagration which
left room for only one thought.

"I'll eviscerate him!  Though which "him," he couldn't at that moment
say.  He struggled with his numb, impotent anger, fought with the
feelings that threatened to bind him where he stood.

Something dark uncoiled like a newly-awakened snake, deep inside him.
It oozed through his veins and tingled along his nerves.

For a brief moment, his rage lacked a target, torn as it was between
Firesong and Darkwind equally.  But then, as Darkwind made to snatch at
a feather from his bond bird tail to give to Firesong, it all turned
against the interloper.

How dare he!

And suddenly, as soon as he had the target, his anger was no longer
impotent.

The darkness filled him, burned his fingers, longing to be unleashed.
He felt power rising in him, rushing to his summons eagerly, flowing
into him, all too familiar from the anger-fueled mage-attacks of
Mornelithe Falconsbane; power that was poised to tear the guts right
out of Darkwind's treacherous body and fling them back in the bastard's
face tear the guts from tear-Realization froze him in place, just
before he let the power loose to turn the interloper inside out.

What am I doing?

He stopped himself, appalled, before the power got away from him;
hauled it back and quashed it; dispersed it, let it drain out of him in
a rush that left him trembling, this time not with anger, but with
horror.

I nearly killed himnearlyoh, gods-Rageturned inward and ate itself, and
with a strangled sob of terror, he whirled and fled the garden.

He dashed up the stairs to the second story, blinded with panic, with
fear, and with tears of shame.  There was only one thought in his
mind.

I could have killed him.  I could have.  I almost did.

Panic gave his stumbling feet the strength his body lacked.

He had to get away, away from everyone else, before something worse
happened.  What was he?  What had he become?

Worse yet-what was he still?

A monster.  I'm a monster.  I'm the Beast.... Falconsbane was alive and
well, and living inside him.

Waiting for a chance to get out, or better still, looking for a way to
make An'desha into the kind of sadistic, perverted, twisted horror he
had been.

He heard the running footsteps of someone following him, and turned at
the top of the stairs intending to send whoever it was away, far away
from him-away from one irrevocably contaminated with the lurking shadow
of Mornelithe Falconsbane.

He wasn't thinking any more clearly than that; he only knew that no one
should be near him.

But he didn't get a chance to say anything, for it was Elspeth who had
followed him, hard on his heels.  He had been misled by the soft sound
of her bare feet into thinking she was farther behind him.  She didn't
stop when he did; she ran up the last three stairs and caught him up in
her arms and in an impulsive embrace as soon as he turned and faced
her, ignoring the fact that she was dripping wet and so was the brief
tunic she wore.  That simple embrace undid him completely.

Oh, gods.... He collapsed against her without a thought and, began to
weep, hopelessly; she held him against her damp shoulder, and stroked
his hair as if he had been a very small child caught up in a nightmare.
In a moment, it didn't matter that her tunic was wet; tears of pain and
panic burned their way down his face and into the sodden cloth, and his
throat ached with the effort of holding his hysterical sobs back. He
simply clung to her, a shelter, a sure refuge, and she supported him.

"An'desha, it's all right," she said quietly, over his strangled
sobbing.

"Dearheart, it wasn't what you thought it was!

Darkwind and I are bonded and Firesong knows it, and Darkwind knows how
Firesong feels about you!  They were only teasing each other, dear,
truly, and they would never, ever have done that if they had any idea
how hurt you were just now.  We just all thought you were tired and
wanted to be left alone, and Firesong's had mischief in him all day."

But you-" he got out, through the tears.  You-" How she knew he was
trying to ask why she had followed him, he had no idea-but she knew, or
guessed right, and gave him the answer.

"I was the only one close enough to see your face, kc'chara.

it was only play, and now they're teasing Kero.  You were so quiet that
we all assumed you'd join in after you revived a little.

No one else knows you ran off.  You mustn't let things like this bother
you so much!  " She held him very tightly for a moment, and he felt the
warmth of her concern flowing over him.  He wanted it to help; he
wanted to feel comforted.

It did nothing to thaw the frozen center of his fear.

Worse, she only thought he'd fled, like some stupid jilted lover, like
an idiot in a ballad.  She hadn't a clue why he was falling apart like
this.

He had to tell her.  She had to know.  It might be her life he
threatened next.  Would be, if Falconsbane got loose.

"That's not-" He fought the tears back as they threatened to choke him
into incoherence.

"Elspeth, it wasn't that didn you feel it?  I was angry, and power
just-took over and I almost struck Darkwind!  I almost killed him!"  He
pulled away from her, afraid that he would somehow contaminate her as
well.

"It's Falconsbane!"  he choked out.

"He's still here he must be, he's still controlling me and I-I-" He
began to shake, trembling with absolute terror.  How could he have done
that?  How could it not have been the Beast within?

Yet she did not draw away from him as he was certain she must, and when
she pulled him back against her shoulder he did not resist.

"Is there somewhere up here we can go to sit for a while?"

she asked quietly, as the tears began again.  He waved vaguely to the
right, and she supported him as she steered him away from the staircase
and into the sitting room with its view from among the tree branches.
She helped him down onto a cushion and sat beside him, still holding
him, until his shaking stopped.

"Let's start over," she said quietly as the sun set somewhere beyond
the trees, and thick, blue dusk gathered about them.

"You were obviously tired, out-of-sorts, and we thoughtlessly came
trampling in to destroy what little peace and quiet you had.  That put
you further out-of-sorts, right?"

He nodded, his stomach churning, only half of his mind on what she was
saying.  How could any of this matter now?

"Then, already unhappy and angry with us, you thought that Firesong was
trying to seduce Darkwind.  What you really saw was just Firesong
teasing someone who is a good enough friend to tease back."  He heard a
definite tone of wry amusement in her voice.

"I was told by a-a Shin'a'in friend that Hawkbrother teasing usually
involves a lot of innuendo and flirtation.  She told me that I might as
well get used to it, since it's as stupid to get upset over something
they grow up with as it would be to become upset because birds fly.
So-I got used to it, and I've been known to give as good as I get."

"S-s-so I've got no choice but to get used to it, too?"  he said, with
a touch of anger getting past the tears, momentarily distracted from
his deeper and weightier fears.

He felt her shrug.

"If you don't, you're only setting yourself up for more pain," she
replied logically.

"An'desha, I don't know if you've ever felt strongly about anyone
before, but there is one thing you had better get into your head right
now.  You don't go into a pairing intending to try and change someone
to suit you.  They were themselves long before you came along.  You do
go into a pairing ready to compromise."

He shook his head numbly, his entire soul rebelling at the idea that
she thought his troubles were no more serious than simple hurt
feelings, and once again she divined what he meant though he could not
say it.

"Huh ... it's not that?  " He nodded, then shook his head helplessly.

"It's not that, and it's more than that?"

He sniffed, and nodded.

She paused for a moment, and thought, her brows creased.

"All right.  I'll start with what's simplest.  Now, listen to me and
believe me.  Darkwind and I are lovers, partners, and friends; there
isn't much that is going to come between us, and Firesong knows that.
He also knows that I am not Tayledras, and that I would be very, very
hurt if what you saw and heard was anything other than friendly
teasing.  So does Darkwind.

That's one of the compromises we've made."  Then she laughed dryly.

"More than that, he knows that there is a very real possibility that he
would be very, very hurt as well physically

I have quite a few faults, An'desha, and I have a very bad temper.  I
do not care to share Darkwind with anyone, and I will not be
humiliated, especially in front of others.

If I thought that was going to happen, well, someone would need a
bandage or splint."

job," was all he could say.

"So-for the answer to the situation that made you angry in the first
place and triggered all this, if I don't have a reason to feel jealous
or humiliated, and I'm the most jealous wench in Valdemar, certainly
you don't!  " Uncertainly, he rubbed at his burning eyes with the back
of his hand and coughed.  A certain Shin'a'in proverb sprang
immediately to mind.  Not a flattering one, either.

"But they say that the-" "The lady is always the last to know."  She
snorted, a most unladylike sound.

"Yes, but 'they' don't reckon on bond birds and Companions, both of
whom would tell tales, I promise You.  Vree doesn't much care for
Firesong's bird Aya, and he likes me and Gwena both; he'd babble like a
scarlet jay either to me or to her if Darkwind got up to something with
Firesong that I didn't know about."

An'desha wiped his eyes again.  It certainly sounded logical.

But-" "But that's giving Firesong no credit whatsoever for any kind of
feelings, honor, or decency; that's assuming that he is as shallow and
light-minded as he would like us to think.

That is not fair to him, and you know better.  For that matter, so do
I."  She took his chin in two fingers, and angled his face towards hers
so that he had to look into her eyes.

"Kc'chara, he is a Healing Adept.  Don't you realize what that means?
Of all People, you should.  For all that he seems light-minded on the
Outside, he cares, more than anyone I have ever seen.  He cares for
You, and I think he has surprised himself by how much he cares for you.
He has put a great deal of himself into the Healing of you, and he will
literally empty himself for you if you let him, right down to the
dregs.  He is as decent and honorable as any Herald I know, and that is
the greatest compliment I could give anyone."

An'desha swallowed slowly past the great lump in his throat.

"He has his faults, plenty of them, but failing to care about you and
what happens to you is not one of them.  He and I are rather alike when
it comes to matters of the heart.  Maybe it's the blood we share, I
don't know."  She looked very stern, and he was forcefully reminded of
Need.

"Give the man some credit.  He has the capacity for great love, and
he's not going to risk great love for something trivial.  It was
nothing more than a game.  He would never, ever jeopardize anything
having to do with you."

He had to believe her.  She knew; she knew people, and she knew
Firesong and Darkwind.  He blinked, his eyes feeling gritty and sore,
and nodded.  Then his fear rose in him again, worse than before, when
he realized what he could have done for no cause.  Somehow that made it
all worse.

"But Fal-" he began, with a wail of despair.

She cut him off with a look and a finger placed against his lips.

"Falconsbane had nothing to do with the way you reacted.

Being far too ready to think yourself hurt did, but not Falconsbane. He
is gone, and good riddance."

"No," he replied, with heat.

"This time you don't understand!

Even if he's gone, he's still a part of me, he's corrupted me, he's
gotten into the way I think and react and-" "Hell, no," she said
firmly.

"Horseturds.  For one thing, I doubt that Mornelithe Falconsbane ever
cared enough about anything or anyone to ever feel jealousy!  In order
to become jealous, you have to care for and value something besides
yourself, you know."

That took him aback; it was something that had never even entered his
mind.  He had to nod cautiously.  Falconsbane had certainly never cared
for anyone-only valued them as prizes.

She smiled grimly.

"As for your own reaction and how strong and irrational it
was-perfectly ordinary people have moments of jealousy as terrible as
anything you just experienced.

It happens all the time."  Her smile turned into a grimace of pain.

"Unfortunately, Heralds see the aftermath of that kind of jealousy all
the time, too."

"I'm not ordinary," he began.

"No," she agreed readily.

"You aren't.  Ordinary people do not have the ability to rend people
limb from limb with little more than a thought.  But ordinary people do
have the ability to rend other people limb from limb, period, if they
are angry enough.  It just takes a little more effort on their part,
and as I said, Heralds see the aftermath of those episodes of jealousy
and rage all the time.  The gods know that in this city alone there are
plenty of beatings and knifings and other kinds of mayhem inflicted
every day to prove that perfectly ordinary people can be driven to kill
over jealousy.  The only difference between them and you is that they
will use perfectly ordinary physical means against the object of their
rage."  She coughed and rubbed her nose.

"It's horrible, it's tragic, but there it is."

"But my point-" he tried to interject.

"What makes you different from those stupid, ordinary people," she
continued-inexorably, "is that you stopped yourself from acting.  You
controlled yourself.  You were horrified by the very idea you could
have hurt Darkwind, even though you were already hurt by him.!"

"But I might not have!"  he cried, panicking again.

"But you -did," she replied with emphasis.

"You did, even when you didn't know it was a game and meant nothing.
You did control yourself, when you thought you had every reason to
strike back.  Now you know what the silly teasing-game looks like
between two very good friends, and you won't make that mistake again.
You know how much we value You, and that we would never knowingly hurt
you, and I hope that you will ask one of us before you jump to any
conclusions."

//

I-"

He stopped and never completed the sentence because he frankly did not
know what to say.  She had an' answer for every one of his fears and
his arguments.  She could even be right.  He had no way of knowing.

She waited patiently for him to say something, then shrugged.

"Right now I think we ought to do something to salvage this situation.
I don't think you want anyone else to know that you came running up
here, hurt.  If I were you, I wouldn't."

Well, he had to agree completely with that, anyway.  He felt enough
like a fool; the last thing he wanted was for everyone else in the
gathering to know he was a fool.

"In that case, we need to think of some logical reason for both of us
to have come up here."  She nibbled a fingernail for a moment, deep in
thought.

"Food, maybe?  Or something to drink?  Do you two keep those things
here?"

"Yes," he replied, nearly speechless with gratitude at her quick
thinking.

"And surely everyone is thirsty by now."

"Good.  Let's go get some drink and bring it down to them;

maybe something in the way of a snack as well."  She rose to her feet
and gave him her hand.  He took it and she helped him to his.  She was
a lot stronger than she looked.

Her brief tunic had dried, and so had her hair; it curled around her
face in a wispy silver-streaked cloud.  He wondered how it was that she
could be so earthy and so unearthly, all at the same time.

"Lead the way, kc'chara.  I'm not a lot of good as cook."  but I can
carry a tray with the best of them."  She winked at him, and he found
himself smiling back at her as he led the way to the tiny kitchen where
he prepared meals from time to time.

They assembled enough food and drink to have accounted for their
absence" and she used a damp, cold cloth to erase any lingering traces
of his hysteria.  He allowed her to persuade him to rejoin them all by
promising that she would make certain he was not left out of things
from now on.

But he did not go back down those stairs without an invisible load of
misgivings along with his other burdens.  She was very likely right
when it came to her assertions about Darkwind and Firesong-but when it
came to himself, he was not so sure.

And despite Elspeth's kind words, Falconsbane had left traces inside
him, in the form of knowledge and memories.

Even if he was able to control his emotions forevermore, there were
things he could never have faith in again.  There were too many things
he could not blindly believe in now, after hosting a madman in his
body.  No, when it came to the future, he could not seem to muster
Elspeth's level of hope.

There was no blind optimism left in him, no confidence that he'd
control his rage next time, and he was very much afraid of that
uncertainty.

There was more than one way for a madman to be born.

Horses were never suited to traveling by night, especially moonless
nights.  Karal was a good rider, and the gelding's tension communicated
itself to him through a hundred physical signals he felt in his hands
and his legs; the horse was nervous as well as tired, and all of his
nervousness stemmed from the fact that he couldn't see.

Trenor stumbled on the uneven road, and Karal steadied him with hand
and voice.  The gelding whickered wearily, and Karal wondered if he
ought to tell Herald Rubrik he was going to have to dismount and lead
the poor horse before he took a tumble and ruined his knees.

"We're almost there.  just over the next rise, Karal, you'll see it in
a minute," Rubrik's voice floated back through the moonless dark.  He
could have been a disembodied spirit or hundreds of paces ahead; there
was no way of telling.

"Or rather, you'll see the lights.  Once your horse can see where he's
going, he'll have an easier time of it."

"I'm not foundering Trenor," he replied stubbornly.

"I'm not going to ride him to exhaustion, and I'm not going to let him
take a fall with me on his back.  One more stumble, and I'm walking him
in."

A white shape loomed up in front of him, and he realized that Rubrik
and Ulrich had pulled up on the road verge to wait for him.

"No one is asking you to hurt Trenor, lad," the Herald said in a tired
voice.

"I'd spare you both if I could, but there's nowhere to stay but hedges
between here and Haven, and once we reach Haven we might as well go to
the Palace.

I'm sorry I had to push you like this, but I had word there's more
wizard~ weather coming in, and that last bridge was about to go."

He's repeating himself,.  that's the third time he's told me that. He's
pretending to be in a lot better shape than he really is.  I'll bet
he's in a lot more pain than he's letting on, too.

Since they'd passed that last bridge right at sunset, and Karal had
been able to see for himself just how shaky the structure was, he
hadn't argued with going on at the time, and didn't now.  And since he
had also seen the remains of the huge tree that had caused the damage
to that bridge mere hours before they had reached it, he also didn't
ask why such an important bridge hadn't yet been repaired.

Thinking back on it, he recalled something else he hadn't paid a lot of
attention to at the time.  That tree, which had a trunk as big around
as two men could reach with their arms, had been torn up by the roots.
It hadn't simply washed down into the river, it had been torn up and
flung there.  He really didn't want to think about the kind of weather
that tore up trees by the roots and sent large rivers into flood in a
matter of hours.

Once they'd crossed the bridge, they'd found there were no rooms to be
had at any of the inns.  Everything was full up, in no small part due
to the effect the weather was having in disrupting travel during the
heaviest months for trade in the year.

So they had pressed on, knowing that once they reached Haven, at least
there would be rooms and meals waiting for all of them.  But once the
sun set, the going had gotten a lot rougher than Karal had thought it
would.  It was a moonless night, and heavy clouds obscured the stars;
that might not trouble a Companion, but poor little Trenor found it
rough going, and so, probably, did Honeybee.  A couple of handfuls of
grain and some grass snatched as they rested was not a satisfactory
substitute for his dinner and a good rest in a stall.

Karal's mood matched his horse's, even if he knew the reasons why they
were moving on through the middle of the night.  At least it was better
for Ulrich to ride than to rest beside the road, perverse as it might
sound.  Honeybee had carried him on all-night rides in worse conditions
than this, and while e was riding, his joints stayed warm and flexible
because they were being exercised.  If they stopped beside the road to
rest until the sun came up, he'd be too stiff to move after a night
without shelter.

The thick darkness smothered sounds because there were so few visual
reference points; even the insects by the side of the road sounded as
if they were chirping behind a wall.

"I promise, I've sent messages on ahead of us," Rubrik continued.

Karal believed him, even though there was no way he knew of that
messages could be racing ahead of them.  Except magic, of course, there
was always that possibility.  Ulrich had been taking it for granted
that their escort was reporting regularly to his superiors somehow, so
it must be by magic.

"There are servants waiting for us, and the Queen's own farrier will be
taking care of your gelding as soon as we reach the Palace.  " Karal
patted Trenor's neck without replying.  Tired as the gelding was, he
wasn't winded or strained yet.  For all of his stumbling, he hadn't
actually taken a fall or an injury.  A good hot mash inside him, a good
blanket covering him, and a warm stall to sleep in, and Trenor should
be all right in the morning.

For that matter, I wouldn't turn down a hot mash, a good blanket, and a
nice thick bed of straw right now "Thank you," he said at last.

"I'd rather take care of him myself-but I'm as tired as he is, and I'd
do something stupid, like let him drink too much or too fast."

I'm babbling.  I'm too tired, and I'm babbling.  It's a good thing
Rubrik's probably too tired to notice, or he could get anything he
wanted out of me right now, just by starting a conversation and letting
me run on.  Ulrich is too tired to pay any attention to anything I
say.

"This is the last rise," Rubrik promised.

"It's a long slope downhill from here."

Well, I hope so.  Or I will get off and walk.

Rubrik's promise was good; a few moments later, from his vantage point
in Trenor's saddle, the lights of Haven appeared as they crested the
long hill they'd been climbing for the past half mark and more.  There
weren't many of those lights, late as it was, but it was obvious from
how spread out they were that Haven was a good-sized city.  It was
possible to guess the general shape and size from here, in fact.

Large.  Quite large.

A few years ago, Karal might have been gaping with amazement, but that
was before he'd been taken to Sunhame, the capital of Karse and the
site of the first and biggest Temple, as was proper for the Throne of
Vkandis.  Sunhame was at least the size of Haven, and might even be
bigger.  So he wasn't impressed, except by the fact that the city was
closer than he had thought.

"Not long now," Rubrik repeated.

"We're almost at the outskirts.  With no traffic, we should make
excellent time through the city streets once we're within the walls."

Trenor lifted his head and sniffed; he must have liked what he scented
because he arched his neck tiredly and picked up his pace a little.
Beside him, Honeybee did the same, though her call was not a soft
whicker but an asthmatic bray.

"They probably smell the other horses, and possibly the river down
there," Ulrich murmured to himself, clearly not even aware that he had
spoken aloud.

He's babbling, too.  Well, good, if he's that tired, he won't be up
first thing in the morning.  I may get a chance to sleep in.

The first building that could properly be said to belong to the city
appeared on the right; it was too dark to make out what it was, but
from the scent of cold, damp clay, smoke, and heated brick, Karal
guessed it might belong to a large-scale pot maker or something of the
sort.

That, too, was similar to the way that Sunhame was set up;

a lot of trades folk on the outskirts, warehouses, even mills and the
like.  Smiths and manufactories.  Not too many people wanted to have
their houses where there was noise from people going about their
trades, so those trades tended to get shoved to the outskirts of the
city.

Other buildings appeared soon after, mostly just unlit shapeless bulks
against the sky on either side of the road.  One or two candles or
lamps burned behind curtains, but not enough to cast any kind of light.
The hooves of their beasts echoed dully in the silence, a silence
broken only by the occasional bark of a dog or creak of wood from an
unseen sign swaying in the scant breeze.  A few insects called, but no
birds, and no other animals.  They might have been riding in a city of
the dead.

Karal shivered; he did not like that particular image at all.

A few more lights appeared up ahead, lights which proved to be lanterns
mounted on posts outside closely-shuttered shops.  There were still
more of these lanterns up ahead, evidently placed along the road at
regular intervals.  As they passed the third set, Karal finally saw a
living, waking person approaching-a young man leading a small donkey
laden with a pair of stoppered pots and a short ladder.

Now what is that all about?

Karal's question was soon answered.  The man took the ladder down off
the donkey's back just as they neared him, and propped it against the
lantern-post.  He waved as soon as he spotted them.

"Evening, Herald!"  the man called in a soft, but cheerful voice,
without pausing in his climb up to the lantern.

"And a fine evening to you, sir lamp tender Rubrik called back.

"They told me wizard-weather is coming in tonight-" "So I was told, so
I was told.  I'll be finishing here in a candle mark I hope.  I'd like
to be indoors when it hits."  The man lifted the pierced metal screen
that shielded the lamp wick from wind, and carefully trimmed it, then
filled the base of the lamp from a smaller jug at his hip.

"This is like to be a nasty storm, the mages say.  At least we've got
warning now, though they don't seem to be able to do much about it.

More's the pity."

Huh.  Well, maybe that's why everything is so quiet; everybody's shut
their houses up, waiting for the blow They passed the man as he started
down his ladder.  He waved farewell to them, but was clearly anxious to
finish his job for the night.

Why can't the Valdemaran mages do something about the weather?  We
can.... "Too much to do, and not enough mages," Rubrik said, his
shoulders sagging.

"For some reason, weather-working seems to be one of the abilities we
don't see often.  Weather-witches, the people that can predict weather,
we have in plenty now that we know how to train them, but not too many
that can fix problems without making them worse elsewhere."

"We have something of a surplus of weather-workers," Ulrich said, very
carefully.

"It seems to be a talent we Karsites have in abundance.  Perhaps it is
because our climate would be so uncertain without them."

"I know," Rubrik replied, his voice so tired that Karal couldn't read
anything into it at all.

"That is one of the first things that Selenay wants to discuss with
you.  We thought that we would have everything under control once Ancar
stopped mucking about with unshielded magic, but things are getting
worse, not better.  You saw the bridge-" "Hmm."  Ulrich said nothing
more, but Karal knew what he was thinking.  Aside from all other
considerations, Valdemar was a wealthy land by Karsite standards-in the
only real wealth that counted, arable land.  Karse was hilly, with thin
soil that was full of rocks.  Valdemar had always had a surplus of
grain, meat, animal products.  Karse would not be at all displeased to
acquire some of that surplus in return for the service of a few
weather-workers.  That sort of thing hadn't come up in the truce
negotiations, and the tentative arrangements for the alliance that
followed.

That sort of thing was why he and Ulrich were here now.

That sort of negotiation would be impossible if it weren't for the
presence of the Empire looming in the East, an Empire whose magics were
legendary.

Not even for food would some of those stiff-necked old sticks be
willing to negotiate anything with the Demonspawn.

Only Vkandis and the threat of complete annihilation managed to get
them to agree.  Well, if we start getting these little incidental
negotiations through, perhaps by the time the threat is disposed of,
either the old sticks will be dead, or they'll be so used to having
deals with the "Demonspawn" that it won't matter to them anymore.

Still, it seemed odd that Valdemar should be having more
magically-induced problems, not less.  They had Adept-level mages
enough to teach the proper ways of handling and containing magic, and
now that Ancar wasn't spreading his sorcerous contamination everywhere,
things should have been settling down.  Shouldn't they?

Unless there was something else stirring things up.

"I wonder if the Empire has anything to do with this," he wondered
aloud, not thinking about what he was saying before he said it.

"To do with what?"  Rubrik asked sharply.

Karal flushed hotly, glad that the darkness hid his embarrassment.

Stupid; that was twice in a row, and he was going to have to watch
himself.  And school himself not to talk when he was so tired-his
thoughts went straight to his lips without getting examined first.

"The-this bad weather, sir," he replied.

"The Empire is full of mages, so they say.  Could they be sending bad
weather at you, to soften you up as a target?"

"It's possible-it's more than possible.  I just didn't know something
like that could be done at such long distances."

Rubrik cursed quietly for a moment.  Then he stiffened, stifling a
gasp, and Karal realized that the man must still be in a tremendous
amount of pain.  This business of pressing on was as hard on him as it
was on any of them, for all that his Companion seemed as fresh as when
he started out this morning.

"It can be done in theory, though no one in Karse ever tried that I
know of," Ulrich told him.

"There's some mention of such things in older texts on magic, but using
magically-induced or steered weather as a weapon is generally
considered too unreliable to count on, since it is too easy to
counter."

"Unless,.  of course, your enemy is known for not using magic.  Rubrik
cursed again.

"The Empire's spies surely picked that up, at the very least.  They
must be laughing up their sleeves at us, if this is their doing.  I'll
make sure and mention it, just so that someone considers the idea."

"Even if it's sent-weather, a reliable weather-worker can deal with
it," Ulrich offered.

"The worker doesn't even need to be particularly powerful.  I can't
tell you if your wizard weather is sent or created myself; at least not
at the moment.

I'm too tired, and -the probable distance between us and any Empire
mages is too great.  But if it is something the Empire is causing, that
very distance works for us far more than it does the Empire.  As far
away as they'd be working, they wouldn't be able to stop a
minimally-talented weather-worker from getting rid of anything they
could send at us.  In fact, a minimally talented worker, casting close
to the target, can disperse the sendings of someone much more powerful
than he is."

"That is good to know."  For all his weariness, Rubrik sounded
grateful.

"Please, in case I forgot to tell this to someone, make sure you do."

"Take note, Karal," Ulrich told his aide, who filed it carefully away
in his memory.  He would, some time within the next two days or so,
make certain that this whole bit of conversation was included in the
notes that Ulrich would take into a discussion with Valdemar's
leaders.

"What is that?"  Ulrich asked, as Karal repeated everything to himself
once, just to be certain he had it all.  Karal looked up; there seemed
to be something awfully large across their path, and it was much too
big to be a building.  There were lights across the top of it, lights
that might be torches or lanterns.  How high was it?  Several stories,
at least.  Well, this part of Haven rated some admiration, at least.

"The old city walls," Rubrik replied, with relief -in his voice.

"They mark the boundary of the original city of Haven.

We are almost home."

The walls were impressive; quite thick, as demonstrated by the tunnel
beneath them with gates at either end.

And manned by competent, alert Guards, as demonstrated by the ones that
stopped them.  They were detained at the gate long enough for the Guard
Captain to look through a set of papers, scratch something with a stick
of graphite, and wave them through.

"Efficient," Ulrich noted.  Rubrik only nodded.

Looks as if they really were waiting for us-By now the lights along the
side of the road were frequent enough that neither they nor their
mounts had any trouble seeing, and once inside the walls, there were
further signs of life.  Taverns were still open; music and the sound of
voices came from windows open to whatever breeze might happen by.  Here
and there an industrious tradesman burned candles to finish a task. The
scent of baking bread told Karal that bakers in Haven were no different
from those in Sunhame; they did most of their work late at night, when
it was cooler.  Here and there they even crossed paths with a huge,
heavy cart hitched to a team of four or more enormous draft-horses,

hauling wagon loads of barrels and huge crates about that could not be
transported during the heavy traffic of full day.

The streets here were paved, covered with something smooth that didn't
resemble cobblestones or any other form of pavement Karal recognized.
Rubrik looked around at the fronts of the buildings, though, and
frowned.

"This storm is likely to be worse than I was told," he said, after a
moment or two.

"Look how all the shutters are up, and I think they've been latched on
the inside."

Karal nodded, finally realizing why the place had seemed so dead and so
quiet.  Most windows were firmly shuttered against whatever weather was
coming; shutters that would shut out light and sound from within as
well as weather from without.

"Is that unusual at this time of year?"  he asked.

"Very," Rubrik said shortly.

Well, if they are expecting the kind of storm that ripped a huge tree
up by the roots, if I lived here, I'd shutter my windows too.  Better a
night spent behind shutters than to have a window blown in-or worse,
find something storm-flung coming through it.

It seemed to Karal that they were spending a lot of time winding back
and forth; far more time than was necessary.

He started looking around, craning his neck, trying to see if there was
a shorter way to the Palace anywhere.  Great Light, he hadn't even seen
the Palace, and if this was Sunhame, they'd be looking right down the
Grand Boulevard straight at it!

"Haven wasn't built like Sunhame," Ulrich said in a low voice, as he
continued to search for some sign that they were nearing their goal.

"It was built on strictly defensive lines.

I'm told that the Palace was originally a true fortress, that it's not
a great deal taller than many of the homes of the high ranked and the
wealthy.  And the streets here were planned to make invasion difficult,
even if an army penetrated the outer walls.  The streets all wind
around and around the city;

there is no direct way to the Palace or to any other important
building.  " Where Sunhame was built as a place of worship first; the
Temple is the center of the city, the Palace of the Son of the Sun a
part of the Temple, and all roads lead directly there.

Sunhame was planned as a stylized solar disk, in fact; the main
buildings were placed in a circle in the center of the city, and the
main streets all radiated from that circle.  He could only hope that
the minds of these Valdemarans were not as twisted and indirect as
their streets.

At least the quality of shops and houses was steadily increasing, which
was a good sign that they were nearing their goal.

Eventually the shops and taverns vanished altogether, leaving only the
walled homes of the great and wealthy.  Finally, just when he thought
for sure that Rubrik was leading them in a circle, that they were
hopelessly lost in this maze and that they would never find their way
out again, they came to another wall.

This one was much shorter than the first, a bare two stories tall.  If
it was manned, Karal saw no signs of guards, although there were
lanterns hung high on iron brackets.  They were high enough to be above
the heads of any riders who followed the street beside the wall, and
seemed easily within the reach of someone walking along the top to
service them.

There was a large building on the other side.  Before Karal could ask
anything, however, they came to a small gate-so very small that he
could easily have passed right by it.

"Heyla, Rubrik!  " a cheerful young man in a livery of lighter blue
than any Karal had seen before hailed their escort.  " What, bringing
the envoy in by the kitchen entrance?

That's hardly the way to treat an ally!"

Karal stiffened at the implied insult, but Rubrik just aimed a kick at
the Guard.

"You insolent idiot!  This isn't the kitchen entrance, it's the Privy
Gate, and well you know it, Adem!  What are you trying to do, start
another war with Karse for me?"

Karal relaxed.  The Guard just laughed and unlocked the gate.

"Come now, those stiff-necked fellows probably don't speak a word of
our-" "oh, I speak your tongue well enough to know that you mean no
harm, but you ought to learn to mind your manners, young lad," Ulrich
said in a casual tone.

"With so many foreigners coming to your Queen, you should learn never
to assume they are ignorant of your language, and guard your tongue
accordingly."

The Guard whirled, turning as pale as the bleached stone of the wall,
and started to stammer an apology.

But Rubrik interrupted him, turning in his saddle to look fully at
Ulrich.

"Well, my Lord Priest?  It was you who he insulted by his cavalier
manner, so I leave it to you to decide how many weeks he is
suspended."

He spoke in his own tongue so that there could be no misunderstanding
by the Guard.  Ulrich pondered the question for a moment and answered
in the same language.

"I believe you should report him-but do not repeat his exact words,"
the Priest said, very carefully.

"Say only that he was notahprofessional, and that he acted that way on
the assumption that we did not know your language.  He means no harm, I
think, but such behavior could be construed as an insult.  In fact, I
believe that the best punishment to recommend would be that he must
learn the rudiments of our tongue!"

Rubrik looked down at the trembling Guard, who Karal now saw was
certainly no older than he was.

"You heard him, Adem.  You'll be on report in the morning, and they'll
probably put you on stable duty for a fortnight, but that's less than
you deserve.  You represent the Queen at this post, whether or not it's
the dead of night and you never see anyone, and you had better remember
that."

The Guard saluted smartly, and pushed the gate open for them, standing
aside and keeping his eyes straight ahead.

"Yes, sir!"  he said, his voice still shaky, but relief obvious in his
eyes.

"Absolutely, sir!"

Rubrik went through the gate first, followed by Ulrich.  The Guard
looked up as the Priest passed.

"Thank you, sir," he said, very softly.

Ulrich nodded, and allowed a ghost of a smile to cross his lips as he
nudged Honeybee through the gate.

Karal followed, and the Guard closed and locked the gate behind them
with a creak of iron hinges and the clatter of a key in a massive lock.
Ahead of them was a long, stone-surfaced path that led to the enormous
building Karal had glimpsed above the wall.  This structure was
illuminated on the Outside by carefully placed lanterns.

Very carefully placed lanterns; guards on patrol would be able to see
every corner of the outside, there would be no place to hide.  And they
don't blend in with the exterior-I wonder if the Queen has had some
unpleasant visitors in the recent past~ It was apparent now that the
area enclosed by the wall was far larger than he had supposed.  It was
huge, in fact-it looked even bigger than the city itself.  There even
seemed to be a forest of some kind off to the left-But it was to the
right that his attention was drawn, to the multistoried, gray stone
building there, and the group of people coming up the path to meet
them.

At least four of these were servants, but there were two men dressed in
rich clothing, and two more in the white uniforms that Karal now knew
meant they were Heralds.

Rubrik turned to Ulrich as the group approached.

"Thank you for your understanding, sir.  Young Adem is well intentioned
and as you surmised he meant no harm, but he's also known me since he
was a babe, and he's highborn and inclined to be very cavalier about
rank.  He volunteered for the Guards, but I'm afraid he still thinks
things like sentry duty are something of a joke."

Ulrich shrugged, but Karal could tell that he wasn't displeased.  "
Well, really, one can afford to be cavalier about rank when one has it,
true?  If he's going to be mucking out stables for a fortnight, I think
that's likely to teach him all he needs to learn from this little
experience."

Rubrik nodded, and the Companion tossed his head and uttered what
sounded a lot like a laugh.

"I'll be leaving you here, sir.  It has been a pleasure escorting you.
I hope we will be able to meet socially in the future."

"I have enjoyed your company, and I shall make a point of meeting you
when leisure permits," Ulrich said with emphasis, then turned toward
the group approaching them.

Rubrik straightened in his saddle as best he could; the group stopped
just beyond his Companion's nose.  Karal noted that he didn't dismount,
and neither did Ulrich-but it didn't appear that anyone expected them
to.

"My Lord Priest Ulrich, Envoy of Her Holiness of Karse, Son of the Sun
Solaris, the prophet of Vkandis, may I present to you Lord Palinor,

Seneschal of Valdemar and the Seneschal's Herald, Kyril-" The two older
men bowed; the Seneschal was marginally younger than his Herald, a
trifle taller, and a bit less in shape.

And every bit the diplomat.  In body type he was neither thin nor fat,
nor was he either exceptionally handsome or ugly.

The grandeur of his robes made up for his otherwise unremarkable
exterior.  The Herald, on the other side, was as memorable a person as
Karal had ever seen; from his erect carriage to his iron-gray hair, his
chiseled features to his direct way of gazing straight into the eyes of
the person he spoke to.  Karal did not think too many people ever had
the temerity to lie to this man.

"I am gratified that you meet me in person my lord " Ulrich said, his
own demeanor as professional and diplomatic as that of the Seneschal.

"In fact, I am flattered, on my own behalf and on that of my ruler.  It
is very late, and-" he paused to gaze significantly upward, "-I am
given to understand that there is unpleasant weather expected at any
moment."

"Too damned true," muttered the other man in the Heraldic uniform.
Then, despite the rising wind he stepped forward and bowed.  Rubrik
raised his eyebrows in shocked surprise.

He recovered quickly.

"And the ah-entirely accurate gentleman~ is Prince-Consort Daren, Queen
Selenay's personal representative.  " This was the Prince?  In Herald
livery?  Karal was too well schooled to gape with shock, but he very
nearly bit his tongue.  Rubrik had clearly not expected any of the
royals to meet them out here, or he surely would have warned them.

Karal was all too conscious of how shabby and unkempt he and his master
must look after riding since dawn.

Prince Daren smiled, and echoed his gesture.

"You are most welcome and well-come, my Lord Priest Ulrich.  I was
afraid that if I did not come in person, this initial meeting might
degenerate into a minor diplomatic event, and if you will forgive my
being as blunt as the soldier that I am-" A chill wind screamed up out
of nowhere, whipping their cloaks and making even the tired horse and
mule dance and shy.  Leaves torn from the nearby trees, and dust and
sand pelted them.  A growl of thunder in the distance warned that the
storm was at hand; a flash of lightning told it was coming on as fast
as the wind could blow it.

Thank Vkandis for the Prince!  He's the only one here with rank enough
to override diplomatic protocol without making it an insult, and he
knows it!

"-that 'weather' you mentioned is going to drench us all if we don't
get you under cover!  " Prince Daren shouted over the howling of the
wind.

Neither Ulrich nor Karal needed any further prompting;

they dismounted as quickly as Ulrich's aged bones and Karal's weary
ones permitted, surrendering their mounts into the hands of the
servants.  Then, as fat, icy drops of rain splattered onto the path,
they surrendered all pretense of dignity, gathered their robes and
cloaks around them, and all ran for the shelter of the Palace.

Prince Daren proved to be a far more graceful politician than he
claimed; he cut through protocol with a smile and an eye to their
comfort, sacrificing his own dignity to preserve Ulrich's.

"I'm just a blunt soldier, and I don't hold with a lot of this
political dancing about," were words that were often on his lips, and
neither Karal nor his master believed them for a moment-but paying lip
service to those words made it possible to retain the respect due to
their office while at the same time getting things done with dispatch.
By common consent, proper diplomatic maneuvering was deferred to the
next day.  Prince Daren showed them personally to their suite, and left
them there after demonstrating the system of bells that summoned
servants.

"It's late.  You need food and rest in that order, my lords," he said
as he departed.

"And your proper reception will take place at your convenience. Selenay
and I will make certain that one of us is free for you to make the
appropriate presentation of your credentials tomorrow.  When you are
ready, send word.  This alliance is very important to us, and it is
equally important that everything be done properly so the quibblers
have less to wag their tongues about."

All things considered, it was an auspicious beginning for continued
relations.

The suite of rooms they had been granted, on the second story of the
Palace and in the section reserved for other ambassadors, was far above
anything that Karal had experienced, even as Ulrich's secretary.  It
was composed of a total of five rooms.  They had their own bathing room
with an indoor water closet, two private bedrooms, a casual sitting
room, and a reception room quite elegantly appointed.  The suite was
arranged in an odd pattern; they entered at the reception room, which
led to the sitting room to the right.  Then came the bedrooms, with the
bathing room between them.  The reception room and the sitting room
were rather longer than they were wide, which might prove useful.
Someone had pulled the shutters closed over the windows, so there was
no way to tell what kind of view they had-if any-but from the hideous
noise of hail pounding the wooden shutters, Karal was just as glad.
There was a fine five-course meal waiting for them in the sitting room,
and a servant who spoke some rudimentary Karsite to serve them, a young
man, strongly built, with a thatch of thick, black hair and a pair of
bushy eyebrows as thick as Karal's ring-finger.

They settled into chairs on either side of a small table, and the
servant filled their plates, then excused himself to draw a hot bath
for his guests' comfort.

Karal was hungry enough to have eaten the plates along with the savory
roast chicken and succulent steamed roots.

Ulrich barely picked at his meal, though, which told Karal that his
master needed that hot bath very badly, and bed just as much.  He
always lost his appetite when his joints pained him.

"Don't bother with that.  sir."  Karal said, as Ulrich brought the same
forkful of food to his mouth and laid it back down for the third
time.

"Go get into the bath; I'll fix one of those little bread pockets for
you, mix up your medicine, and bring both to you."

Ulrich did not even argue which told Karal that his master was in more
pain than he had thought.  He allowed the servant to guide him into the
bathing room, help him disrobe, and get into the bath.

The servant took himself into the master bedroom; Karal ate in silence
for a little longer, then, when he reckoned that Ulrich had warmed and
relaxed enough for his appetite to return, cut a slice of breast meat
and laid it inside a sliced-open roll.  A trickle of the white sauce
followed it, and some thin slices of roots.  Their saddlebags had
arrived by that point, and before the servant took them to the proper
rooms, he got Ulrich's medicines, poured a glass of sweet, white wine,
and mixed the powders into it.

He brought both to Ulrich, who lay back in the bath with the lines of
pain and strain slowly easing from his face.  His master looked up at
his footsteps, and managed a smile.

"Food first," Karal told him.

"If you drink this, you might fall asleep before you manage to eat."

"Especially on an empty stomach."  Ulrich accepted the bread pocket and
managed to eat all of it, which surprised and gratified Karal.  When
Ulrich was truly exhausted, he often lost all semblance of appetite,
and had to be reminded that he had to eat.  When the last crumb was
gone, the Priest held out his hand for the wine glass, and downed it in
a single gulp.

"Be a good lad and call that servant to help me out now, would you?"
his master said, when the last of the potion was gone.

"You go finish your meal-and mine, if you've a mind to.  I'll be going
straight to bed, I think."

Karal went to the sitting room to do just that.

"The Envoy needs some help getting to bed, please," he said in careful
Valdemaran.

"He's not young, and he has just had medicine that will make him
sleepy."

The servant nodded.

"Yes, sir," the young man replied.

"Ah, I believe you should know that.  we servants assigned to you and
your master are not precisely ordinary.  We're Heraldic trainees."

Karal raised an eyebrow himself at that, but nodded, slowly.  So, that
explained why this young man's clothing, though gray, looked very much
like the livery that Rubrik wore.

"Well, neither of us is likely to offend any of you by being
unreasonable or demanding; frankly, I'm more used to serving than being
served, and my master is a Priest and does not usually have any servant
other than myself."

Let him make what he will of that.  It can't do any harm to be thought
ascetic.  It might make people think twice about trying to bribe us; a
true Priest is as hard to sway by material offerings as the statue of
Vkandis.

The young man smiled shyly.

"My name is Arnod, sir.  I'll be on night duty.  Day duty will be
either johen or Lysle.

Would you like a Healer to look at your master?"

Karal gave it a moment of thought, then shook his head.

"No, he'll be all right once he gets into bed.  It was just a very long
ride, and this storm isn't helping matters any."

As if to emphasize that, the wind shook the shutters, a violent rattle
that sounded for all the world as if an angry giant had seized them and
was tugging on them.

"Let me get the Envoy into his bed, then, and I'll return to see if
there's anything you need."  With a glance at the shutters, Amod left
Karal alone with the half-finished meal.

Karal quickly made certain that it became a finished meal, although he
ignored the rest of the wine in favor of water.  He knew what would
happen if, as tired as he was now, he drank wine.

I'll sleep for two days and wake up with the world's worst headache.

The sitting room was as well-appointed as it was comfortable;

two chairs, a couch for lounging, the table, a desk, and a fireplace
shared with the reception room on the other side of the wall.  Hard to
tell in the soft light from the candles, but he thought it had all been
decorated in neutral tones of gray and cream.  There were no rushes on
the floor, but the hard wood was softened by attractive rugs with
geometric designs woven into them.

It was interesting that Heralds-in-training should be assigned instead
of Palace servants, however.  That might be a good sign.

It might also be a sign that the authorities did not trust the servants
around a pair of Karsites.  Or these almost-Heralds could be a
not-so-subtle way of keeping an eye on the Envoys, and an ear in their
midst.

It is also possible that they are doing us some kind of honor, he
mused.  It is hard to say.  The only thing he could be sure of was that
this Amod fellow-who was perhaps seventeen seemed to be a likable
enough chap on the surface, not at all put out by being made into a
servant. That would make things easier on all of them.  Amod could make
things uncomfortable for them if he resented his current position.

Amod reappeared about the time Karal polished off the remains of
Ulrich's custard.

"The Envoy fell asleep as soon as I got him into the bed," the young
man said, his black brows furrowing together with concern.

"Is that right?  Should he have done that?"

Karal mentally reckoned up the effect of the medicines when taken with
Ulrich's exhaustion, and nodded.

"It's mostly that we had been riding since before dawn; we've been
almost twenty marks in the saddle, and that's hard on him."

Amod winced.

"It's a good thing you didn't stop, though, if you'll forgive my saying
so.  We got word that the bridge at Loden is out; if you'd waited there
tonight, you'd have had to go clear up to Poldara to cross in the
morning.  You'd have been another week getting here."  His brows
knitted.

"I'm not being too forward, am I?  Tell me if I am, please-I'm not used
to this serving business, but they thought you and I might have a bit
in common, since my da raised horses."

Karal laughed, a little startled at the young man's open, easy manner,
and Amod gave him a tentative grin.  "oh, just be as respectful to Lord
Ulrich as you would to any Priest that you honor, and I think it will
be fine.  Like I told you, I am not used to having a servant around, or
to being served by anyone.

The reverse, in fact."  He shared a conspiratorial grin with Amod.

"You see, my father was the stable master at an inn."

It was a very good thing that he and Ulrich had a chance to practice
their Valdemaran with Rubrik on the journey up here; Amod's Karsite was
barely adequate to manage simple requests.  A conversation like this
one would have been impossible.

The wind pounded on the shutters again, and sent hail pounding against
it in a futile effort to get through.  Karal felt more relaxed than he
had been in a long time.

Unless these "servants" are far, far more subtle than anyone I've ever
heard of before, they're probably nothing more than they seem.  They
certainly are not accustomed to the kinds of intriguing I've seen in
Ulrich's service.  No, I think that while they certainly will be
reporting what we say and do to their leaders, Ulrich and I can assume
they are not expert spies.

That was a relief, a great relief.  So great a relief that he relaxed
enough to yawn.

"Ioh-I drew you a bath, sir-" Amod began.

"Karal.  just Karal," Karal corrected.

"My master is 'sir," or my lord.I'm just a novice, I haven't taken any
vows, and I'm not highborn, so I'm just plain "Karal.  ' Amod nodded,
earnestly.

"Right-I drew you a bath, Karal, i figured you'd want it when you
finished eating.  Can I get you anything else, or shall I just clear
the plates away and let you get that bath and some sleep?"  He
hesitated a moment, then added, "We have a pair of guards stationed on
this corridor, outside your doors.  Not just for your benefit, but all
the ambassadors.  You won't have to worry about your safety."

Oh, and by the way, don't try to get out to prow] around.

Right, well, that's the last thing on my mind.  If Solaris wanted spies
here, she'd have sent someone other than us.

"Bath and sleep," Karal said firmly-or he would have, if he hadn't had
to yawn right in the middle of the sentence.  Amod chuckled and began
picking up the dishes even as Karal got up to go find that hot bath.

He was impressed all over again by the bathing chamber;

tiled in clean white ceramic, it contained a tub large enough to relax
in, supplied by heated water from some system of pipes and a wood-fired
copper boiler.  It also contained an indoor, water-flow privy, an
amenity Karal had come to appreciate after living with Ulrich.
Especially on a night like this one.  Going out to a privy, or even to
a jakes on the outside wall, would have required more courage than he
thought he had.  The mere idea of that cold, hail-laden i d One's
tender est parts.... Wouldn't need to take a vow of chastity after
that.

I

WOuldn't have anything left to be unchaste with.

When he returned warm and dry and relaxed in every muscle, Arnod and
the remains of dinner were both gone, and all but one of the candles in
the sitting room had been blown Out.  Karal made his way across the
chamber to his own room,

smaller than Ulrich's, and with one wall on the outer hallway where the
guards supposedly prowled.  His room would presumably shield his
master's from any intrusive sounds from the hall-and any sounds from
the hall would wake him UP so that he could defend his master if need
be.  Of course, this meant that he had no window in his room, but
tonight he didn't want one.  The howling of the wind and the roar of
rain on the shutters was quite clear enough.

Candles had been left burning in his room, and a set of bedclothes had
been laid out for him-a sign that their luggage had arrived safely.
Thanks be to Vkandis, indeed.  If they did not have the appropriate
clothing, they could not be formally presented without disgracing
themselves and their ruler.

And besides, there were a dozen books in there he'd been wanting to
read.

Good.  One less thing to worry about.

He dropped the towel he had wrapped around himself and pulled the soft,
loose shirt and breeches on, blowing out all the candles but one and
climbing into bed.  The bed had been warmed, a welcome, if unexpected
touch, and the candle nearest the bed gave off a delicate fragrance as
well as light.

I could get used to living like this, he decided.  It was a far cry
from sleeping in the stable, or the hard pallets in the Children's
Cloister.  There was a lot to be said for the life of an envoy.

He blew out the bedside candle, and lay back in the warm embrace of
what had to be a real featherbed.

This is beginning to feel like undeserved luxury, actually.  I haven't
done a thing yet to earn all this.

On the other hand, the real work was about to begin-not physical labor,
but mental.  Tomorrow, in addition to his work as a secretary, Ulrich
would begin asking him to watch certain people, or take note of
situations, and he would be expected to make accurate observations.
When they were presented formally to the Valdemaran Court, it would be
his job to remember the names, the faces, the positions, and the
identifying characteristics.  Then there would be long diplomatic
meetings, during which he would be taking mental notes-and later,
transcribing those notes into an accurate copy of what was actually
said.

No, this was not unearned luxury after all, now that he thought it all
over.  He could foresee, without recourse to a mage-mirror or a scrying
crystal, that there would be days when he would not see this bed until
well past the midnight hour.

Then again-in some ways, everything in this world is paid for, in the
end.... But before he could ponder that any further, he fell asleep.

"Watch the Heralds," Ulrich said, just before they left their suite the
next morning.  Only that, but it was all the direction that Karal
needed.  Ulrich had trained his secretary well; Karal did not need to
be told the rest of his job.

Ulrich would be watching the Prince and the other officials of Valdemar
during this first day of introductions and preliminary negotiations. He
wanted Karal to keep a covert eye on the other power in this land, the
power that never quite revealed itself openly but had a hand in
literally everything.

The Heralds.  Even a Karsite knew that much.

He was the perfect person to perform that particular task; it was not
likely that anyone would pay a great deal of attention to him.  He was
only the secretary, after all, of no importance, and furthermore, no
older than the callow lads who had been assigned to serve them.  He
could not possibly be hiding anything.

Well, he wasn't.  He doubted that he could ever successfully conceal
the fact that he knew something, if anyone ever entrusted him with a
real secret.  But he didn't have to hide anything;

all he had to do was watch passively.

They rose late-for Ulrich, at least, who was used to rising at dawn.  A
new young man, who introduced himself as "johen" but otherwise was as
silent as Amod had been talkative, brought them their breakfast and
took away Ulrich's request for the formal presentation.

He returned with the word that it would be agreeable to everyone if
that presentation 'could be made at the regular Court session in a
mark.  Or candle mark as the Valdemarans reckoned time.  Easy enough to
judge, since the candle that had been left burning all night was a
time-candle-marked off at regular intervals.  As near as Karal could
judge, the Valdemaran candle mark and the Karsite "mark" as reckoned by
water-clock were about the same length.

Since immediate reception was precisely what Ulrich had hoped for, they
sent johen off with word of their agreement.

They both dressed with care for the occasion; fine velvet robes that
had been especially created for their roles as both Priest and Novice,
and Envoy and Secretary.  There was a great deal more gold and
embroidery than Karal personally felt comfortable with; he rather liked
the simple, short black woolen robes, sashes, and breeches that those
who served Vkandis normally wore.  But he was a representative of Her
Holiness-it was right and proper that he should look like a
representative of Her Holiness.

Besides, Ulrich was laden with three times the gold braid and
embroidery that he had to endure.  He didn't even want to think about
the amount of ecclesiastical jewelry Ulrich was carrying; it was enough
to make his shoulders ache just looking at it.

johen brought a young Guard to serve as their escort to the Court
chamber, or whatever it was that the Valdemarans called it.  The Throne
Room, Karal had thought he'd heard johen say.  This second
Herald-in-training spoke a lot faster than Amod, and it was harder to
follow him.

The Guard left them at the door, which was wide open, and they simply
took their places among the other people gathered there.  They stood
out among the Valdemaran courtiers like a pair of crows in an aviary of
exotic birds.  As they waited their turn to be summoned before Queen
Selenay, there was a little space around them, a degree of separation
from the rest of the Court that clearly showed that most Valdemarans
were still not altogether sure of their new allies.

Watch the Heralds, Ulrich had said.  Karal kept his eyes humbly down,
but he watched the people around him through his lashes.  There were
not too many Heralds out here among the courtiers-one, standing beside
a man who looked like a soldier, and a second, female Herald in a very
strange and exotic white outfit, chatting with the first.  There were
three up on the dais with the Queen-well, five, if you counted the
Queen and her Consort as well.  Another surprise, that-the Queen wore a
variation on the white livery, as well as the Prince.  One Herald he
already recognized; that was Talia, who had come to Karse herself as
the representative of Selenay.  Not a bad idea, really, although there
were Guards in their blue and silver uniforms everywhere in this room,
standing at rigid attention along the walls.

The last two he dismissed, at least temporarily.  If they were standing
there in any capacity other than as guards, it was probably to do the
same task that Ulrich had assigned to him-watch.  He would learn
nothing from their faces which would wear the same receptive blankness
that his would.

No, he would concentrate on Talia and the other two, the man who
shadowed the richly-dressed warrior, and the fascinating, peculiar
white-clad woman.

He would have watched the latter just out of sheer curiosity.

If he was a gilded crow in this aviary, she was the exotic
bird-of-prey.  For all her fancy plumage, the deliberate way that she
moved and the implicit confidence of her carriage warned him that she
would be dangerous in any situation, and that very little would ever
escape her notice.  She looked far too young to have that mane of
silvered hair' though that was strange.

Then he recalled his magic lessons, rudimentary as they were.  Ah.  She
may be an Adept; handling node-magic bleaches the hair and eyes.
Ulrich's hair had gone all to gray and silver before he reached middle
age, his master had told him.  So, if she was an Adept, who was she?
There weren't that many Adept-level mages in Valdemar, after all.

The reference points quickly fell together for him; the exotic garb,
the age, the deference with which she was treated.... That's Lady
Elspeth.  The one the who went away to find mage-training in far-off
lands, and returned with more than mere magic.

There was some commotion at the door, and more people entered; people
... and things.

The sea of courtiers parted with respect tinged with just a little
fear, making way for an odd party indeed.  There were two men, both
silver-haired, both dressed in costumes as foreign and elaborate as
Lady Elspeth's.  Neither of the costumes was white, however, and
compared to them, her outfit was quite conservative.  The younger and
handsomer of the two was the more flamboyant, in layered silks of a
dozen different shades of emerald green; the second contented himself
with garments cut more closely to his body, in the colors of the deep
forest.

But they paled beside the creatures that followed; a huge, wolf like
gray beast the size of a newborn calf, and a gryphon-Oh, my.  Oh, Lord
Vkandis.

He stared, his heart racing, as he took in the near-mythical beast.  He
felt very much the same way as he had when he had first seen
Hansa-except that the Firecat was nowhere near this big.

Even after the descriptions, Karal realized he had not been prepared
for the reality.  For one thing, this creature was huge, as tall as a
draft horse, and its crest-feathers brushed the top of the sill as it
passed through the double doors to the Throne Room.  For another, it
was unexpectedly beautiful.  It was not, as he had imagined, some kind
of put-together thing, a bit of cat, a handful of eagle.  No, it was
itself.  If he hadn't known any better, he would have said it had been
designed by the hand of an artist.

It had a head that was something like a raptor's, except for the
greatly enlarged skull, with a wicked beak he would not have wanted to
get in the way of; the tightly-folded wings would be enormous when
unfurled.  The four legs ended in formidable talons; he noted with
slightly hysterical amusement that someone had constructed
talon-sheaths, wooden-tipped and laced across the back, so that the
ends didn't damage the wooden floor.  In color it was a golden-brown,
with shadings of pure metallic gold and darker sable.  And when it
turned and he caught its huge, golden eyes, he lost any last bit of
doubt that this was a creature every bit as intelligent as he was.
There was not just intelligence in those eyes, there was humor there as
well, and-a powerful personality.

It looked him over, unblinking, then transferred its regard to his
master, pupils expanding and contracting a little as it focused its
gaze.

The entrance of this little cavalcade seemed to be all that anyone had
been waiting for; Court proceeded briskly from then on.

He and Ulrich were evidently the center point of this session of Court;
there was some ordinary enough business" dealt with efficiently and
quickly, and then the major-domo beside the dais called them forward.

Karal followed behind his master, keeping his mind blank and receptive.
He already knew what Ulrich would be doing;

there were documents to present, authorizations, copies of the existing
treaties.  Ulrich would be telling the Queen, in a suitably flowery and
elaborate speech, just how much Solaris welcomed the opportunity to
change the truce into a true alliance.

The Queen would respond in the same way.

This time, at least, there would be truth behind the speeches, at least
on the Karsite side of the equation.

Maybe on the Valdemaran, given that storm last night, and the Prince's
assurances.  From the damage he'd seen to the gardens from their
window, the storm had been fully powerful enough to make people
concerned.  There had been at least one uprooted tree, and many thick
branches broken and tossed about like wood chips.  It appeared that
Karse, in the form of its weather-mages, had something Valdemar needed
very badly.

So, there would be truth enough on the Queen's part as well.  Enough to
overcome centuries of hatred?

From the thoughtful look on Herald Talia's face-yes.

There, if anywhere, was the proof of sincerity.  Talia was of Holderkin
stock, and had grown up on the border with Karse.

If she could forgive Karsite depredations enough to become an honorary
member of their very religion, it was possible that anyone could, given
enough incentive.

Ulrich made his graceful speech, the Queen made hers;

Karal didn't pay much attention.  He was watching Talia closely.  She
was paying no attention to Ulrich after the first few moments of his
speech.  Instead, her eyes wandered over the envoy's head, for all the
world as if assessing the temper of the rest of the courtiers.

There Wasn't much to read in her thoughtful expression, however; it
seemed to be just as carefully blank as his own.

"If You have no objection, my Lord Priest," the Queen was saying as he
pulled his attention back to the work at hand, "I should like to take
this opportunity to present you to the other dignitaries of this Court,
and the representatives of our other allies and friends."

So that's why the gryphon and the rest showed up!  As Ulrich
accepted-after all, this was precisely what the Priest had hoped would
take place-the crowd of courtiers reshuffled itself, and Karal found
himself standing at Ulrich's elbow in a formal receiving line.

Now I earn my good dinner and soft bed!  Ulrich would be depending on
his trained memory to keep track of everyone introduced to them.  Well,
that was why he was here.

The full Council paraded by first, beginning with the Seneschal Lord
Palinor, whom they had met last night.  Then came the Lord Marshal, who
proved to be the military-looking fellow that Lady Elspeth had been
speaking with.  He was followed by a horsey woman, Lady Cathan, who
represented the Guilds, and she in her turn was followed by a
relatively young cleric, Father Ricard, who turned out to be the Lord
Patriarch, the putative leader of all religious organizations in
Valdemar.

Huh.  I'll believe that when I see it!  Never yet saw two priests of
two different religions able to agree on anything, not even that the
sun was shining!

But it was not his duty to pass judgment; just to remember who these
people were.

There were more representatives from the four "quarters" of the
country, then came the other Powers.  The Heralds-the ones with
offices.

Kyril, the Seneschal's Herald.  A man who appeared to be Talia's age,
tall, and strongly built, named (oddly enough) Griffon, who was the
Lord Marshal's Herald.  Another older man, Herald Teren, Dean of the
Collegium (whatever that was).  Lady Elspeth, "Herald to the
Outlanders," which was a title just as puzzling; he could not imagine
why she was not titled "princess" or "heir."  Another very formidable
woman, tall, and blond, who carried herself with completely unconscious
authority, Herald Captain Kerowyn, a woman he had heard so many tales
of he could not even count them all.

Names he knew of from his briefings, and his discussions with Rubrik,
names he could now put faces to.

Then the other envoys and ambassadors-from Rethwellan, J'katha and
Ruvan, from the Hardorn court in exile (what there was of it), from the
Outland Guilds, from the Mercenary's Guild, from the White Winds and
Blue Mountain mage-schools-And the most exotic.  A hawk-faced woman,
blue-eyed and ebony-haired with golden skin, dressed in deep blue trews
and wrapped jacket, Querna shena Tale'sedrin, envoy from the wild
Shin'a'in of the Dhorisha Plains.  Behind her, the flamboyant,
silver-haired beauty of a man in the emerald green costume, who proved
to be one Firesong k'treva, Adept and Envoy of the Tayledras.

The wolf like creature was also an envoy-Rris, who represented not only
his own species, the kyree, but others, tervardi, hertasi, and dyheli.
Ulrich nodded, as if he knew precisely what those creatures might be,
but Karal knew he'd be doing some quick scuttling about, to ferret out
descriptions and, hopefully, pictures later.

And last of all of the ambassadors, the gryphon.

The magnificent creature bent his head to acknowledge Ulrich's bow of
respect, and opened a beak quite sufficient to take the envoy's head
off.

"I am Trrreyvan," the creature said in Valdemaran, and Karal could have
sworn that it smiled.

"I

am mosssst pleasssed to make yourrr acquaintance.  I believe we have a
mutual frrriend?  A Red-robe Prlesst called Sssigfrrrid?  "

Ulrich's mask of polite geniality turned into a real smile.

"Indeed we do," he replied warmly.

"I had hoped to find someone here who worked with him, sir gryphon, but
I did not expect it to be you!"

The gryphon did smile.

"We ssshall trrrade talesss and trrrack down Sssigfrrrid, laterrr, I
think," he said, and bowed again.

The gryphon moved off gracefully, leaving only the courtiers to be
presented.  None of these were especially interesting;

Karal simply memorized names and faces as they moved past.

Finally, it was over.  The Queen dismissed the Court and departed with
her entourage, after inviting Ulrich to present himself to her
privately after the noon meal.  By then, the exotics had dispersed,
leaving no one that Ulrich wanted or needed to speak with.

As the courtiers filed out of the Throne Room, Ulrich finally looked
over at his young protege.

"I've had enough for an hour or two, at least," he said in Karsite.

"Would it shatter your heart if we had our meal in our room, rather
than with the Queen and Court?"

Karal thought of all those eyes, curious, occasionally hostile;

thought of trying to choke down a meal with all of them watching him,
and shuddered.  This position was far more public than he had thought.
Ulrich chuckled.

"I will take that as a no, and leave the arrangements up to you, " he
said.

"Meanwhile, I will go consult with Herald Talia and discover if this is
to be an informal or a formal meeting."

"I'll see to it," Karal said, taking that as his dismissal.  Evidently
they no longer required a Guard; he was allowed to leave the Throne
Room and return to their suite without one.

After he rang the bell for the servant, he went to the desk in the
sitting room, where he had just this morning laid out pen and paper. By
the time the servant arrived, Karal had already begun on the list of
dignitaries they had just met.  He ordered a meal to be served in the
room with all the absentminded confidence of someone who was actually
used to having a servant at his beck and call, and it wasn't until
after the young man disappeared that he realized what he had just
done.

The thought made him stop in his tracks.  For just a moment, he was
stunned.  He had only been in this land a few short days, and already
it was changing him.

He could not help but wonder where the changes would lead.

Darkwind and Firesong ulrich returned to their rooms about the same
time lunch arrived.

He ignored the food for a moment to fetch a brown-leather document case
from his room; Karal took just long enough to bolt his portion, then
returned to his frantic note taking

Ulrich watched him for a moment, then said, "If you would be so kind as
to take a change in direction, I'd like your notes on the business of
offering the skills of our weather workers as a trade measure, and
please tell me any observations you made on Herald Talia.  The meeting
is to be an informal and closed one, and I was specifically asked to
come alone."

Karal stopped writing, his pen poised above the paper.

"Do you think they believe me to be a spy?  Do you think my function
offends them?"  he asked.

Ulrich shrugged.

"I am not certain; remember, these people are more familiar with
mind-magic than with true-magic, and as a consequence might believe
that you are actually somehow speaking mind-to-mind with an agent
outside.  I shall attempt to determine what it is they think you do; in
the meantime, complete your notes on the Court dignitaries, then relax
until I return."  He smiled.

"I saw some of your books; I do not think you will have any trouble
passing the time.

Karal flushed, because fully half of his books had been nothing more
enlightening than popular romances and tales Of high adventure.  Ulrich
chuckled.

Please, Karal, " he chided, "A young man who buries himself in
scholastic tomes is learning nothing of life-and a young man who knows
nothing of life will find ordinary people baffling.  We can't have
that, can we?"

"No, sir," Karal replied, still flushing.  He turned quickly to his
work and took out a fresh sheet of paper, making neat notes in the
short version of Karsite hieratic script.  It would be enough for
Ulrich to use as a guide; he just wished that he was going to be there
for this initial conversation.  He would have to make notes based on
whatever Ulrich remembered.

As he completed the page of notes and dusted it with sand to dry the
ink, he looked up at his mentor.  Ulrich was standing with his back to
the room, looking out the window at the gardens below.

"A copper for your thoughts, Karal," his mentor said, without turning
back to face his aide.

He looked at his list, remembering all the conversations they had
shared with Rubrik.

"Not very original, master," he replied.

"Only that, even though we are so very different from these
Valdemarans, there are fundamental things we have in common.  And some
of them I never expected-the Companions being like Firecats, for
instance."

"Yes, although personally I am just as glad that the Cats are fewer in
number than the Companions," Ulrich said with a chuckle, as he turned
away from the window.

"I am not certain I would care to share as much of my life and inner
thoughts with any creature, as Solaris shares with Hansa.  " Karal had
nothing whatsoever to say to that; he knew that Ulrich had been a good
friend to Solaris before she became the Son of the Sun, but he had not
known that she continued to speak as informally with him as his comment
just implied.

How important is he, then?  Karal wondered.  From the sound of it,
Ulrich might well be the one person in all of Karse that Solaris
trusted to speak authoritatively with her voice.  So the elaborate
robes and badges of rank actually meant something.  Did the Valdemarans
know this?

"I was hoping you would be thinking along those lines by now," Ulrich
continued, going to the mage-sealed case he had placed on the table.

"I have something for you to read besides those old books of law you
brought with you."

He unsealed the case with a whisper of invocation and a touch of his
finger.  The seal glowed briefly, then parted; he reached inside and
brought out a handful of small, dusty books.  The bindings had all
faded to a mottled brown with age, and the edges of the pages were
yellowed.  He opened each of them, glancing at the first pages, and
selected three, replacing the rest in the case and sealing it up
again.

"i think you are ready for these, now," he said, placing them beside
Karal on the desk.

"Let me know if there is anything in them you want to discuss.  I
suspect there will be quite a bit."

And with that, serenely ignoring Karal's surprise, he gathered up the
pages of notes his protege had penned for him and left the room,
allowing the door to close behind him with a quiet click.

Karal could not restrain his curiosity and snatched up one of the books
as the door closed behind his mentor.  To his vast disappointment, it
was handwritten in very archaic Karsite, and difficult to puzzle out.
The other two were similar, and it was quite clear that reading these
things was going to require a lot of hard work on his part.

It was also going to take a great deal of time, and he did not have it
to spare.  With regret, he put the books aside and turned his attention
back to his list of dignitaries.  Duty must come before pleasure, or
even curiosity, and his duty was to complete that list.

Several pages later, he put down the pen, feeling virtuous and ready
for a little recreation.  He thought about the adventure tales still
buried in his luggage, but somehow the three dusty volumes still on his
desk had more allure than the sword play and sorcery of "The Tale of
Gregori."

He took the first of the books and moved over to the couch, curling up
so that he got the full benefit of the sunlight.

A few moments later, he knew he had made the right decision.

Not only was this a very old book, it was a copy of something that was
much older, the personal journal of a Vkandis Priest.

With a shock of excitement that made his fingertips tingle, he spelled
out the name of the Priest who had written the journal.

Hansa.

If what Ulrich believed was true, and the Firecat who sat at Solaris'
side at this very moment had once been a Son of the Sun himself, then
this book had been written by the same entity.

And from the look of it, the journal had been started when Hansa was a
man no older than he, right after he took his vows as a Priest and long
before he became the Son of the Sun.  Was this very book where Ulrich
and Solaris had found some of their revolutionary ideas?  If so, how
much more was in here that they had not yet revealed?

"The Tale of Gregori" could wait!

Several marks later, he put down the volume and rubbed his tired eyes.
This was no scribe-made copy, but someone's handwritten version.  The
writing was tiny, crabbed, and barely legible in places; the archaic
language more difficult to work through than he had thought.  He hadn't
read more than two pages so far, and he'd been forced to take notes in
order to get that done.

On the other hand, there was still a thrill of excitement as he
contemplated the closely-written pages of the book.  It was definitely
going to be worth working through this.  The things he had already
gleaned about the Priesthood back in those long-ago days were enough to
widen his eyes.  When had the order of the Priests of the Goddess
Kalanel-the consort of Vkandis-disappeared, for instance?  And when had
Her statue vanished from its place beside Vkandis' in the Temples?

The door opened, and Ulrich walked in as Karal put down the book with a
slightly guilty start.  His master only dropped his gaze to the little
volume in his hands and smiled.

"I see you have been putting your time to some good use," he said.

"But before you wear out your eyes, I have some other duties for you to
attend to, while I am at private meetings."

He must have looked disappointed, for Ulrich only chuckled.  " Don't
fret, they have little or nothing to do with negotiations.

I'm going to meet with Lady Elspeth and Darkwind on a regular basis to
analyze our various magics.  I'll be doing the same with the
representatives of the White Winds and Blue Mountain mage-schools.  You
would find all that very boring, and there would be nothing you could
record that would be at all useful."

Karal sighed but nodded his agreement.  His own mage-craft was minimal;
barely enough to light a fire, and that only if he happened to be
particularly hard-pressed.  In ordinary circumstances, he would be well
advised to keep a fire striker on his person.

"Yes", sir," he said with obedient docility.

"What is it you wish me to do?"

"Attend classes, came the surprising reply.

"I wish you to become as fluent in Valdemaran as you are in our
tongue.

There may be shades of meaning in our negotiations that I may miss
otherwise.  I do not have the time to spare for this, and you do."

Well, that was reasonable enough.  He and Amod had been able to make
conversation last night, but it had been stilted and rudimentary, and
both of them had paused often to search for words.  Someone needed to
be able to understand all the talk going on around them.  For that
matter, he could pick up a lot of information from idle conversation if
no one realized that he was exceptionally fluent in Valdemaran.

He nodded, but Ulrich wasn't finished yet.

"You are going to spend far too much time sitting at a desk," he
continued.

"You need exercise, and more than that, you need to learn how to defend
yourself.  I can hold off an enemy with magic, but if you were ambushed
by someone, what would you do?"

Karal opened his mouth to reply, then thought better of it and closed
it again.  Ulrich was right; what had served him at the inn and the
Children's Cloister would do him no good here.  He was no longer just
another child, and anyone who intended to attack him here was likely to
be trained and practiced, perhaps even an assassin.  Yes, the
Valdemarans had provided guards, but anyone who had weathered the war
with Ancar knew that guards were not always enough.  For that matter,
there were probably plenty of people in the Valdemaran ranks who would
like to see him dead as a means of starting hostilities again.

"I've arranged for johen to come and take you to your weaponry teacher
in a few moments," Ulrich said.

"So you ought to change into something like your riding gear; something
you can sweat and tumble about in, and do it before he arrives.

"Yes, sir," Karal replied and stood up quickly.  He was all the way to
the door of his room when he thought to ask a question.

"Who is going to be teaching me these things, sir, do you know?"  he
asked, as he looked for a clean set of riding clothes in the chest at
the foot of his bed.  In a way, he was hoping to hear that Rubrik was
to be his language teacher.  It made sense, and Rubrik was the one
friendly, familiar face here.

"Well, there's only one person who is equally fluent in Valdemaran and
Karsite," came the easy reply.

"Herald Alberich, the Weaponsmaster.  He's already agreed to the
idea."

Clothing dropped from Karal's numb hands, and he felt as if his stomach
had dropped right out of his body.

Alberich?  The Alberich?  The Great Traitor?  The man whose very name
was used as a synonym for traitor back home?

The man whose intimate knowledge of the Karsite Army and the Karsite
Border had prevented Karse from gaining so much as a grain of sand or a
word of reliable intelligence for twenty years and more?

The man who was the first that Solaris approached to arrange the truce,
he reminded himself.  The man she trusted to keep his word when she
sent her agents in to negotiate for a Valdemaran envoy.  He is not,
cannot be, the enemy I was always told he was; if he was, Solaris would
never have gone to him.  She values honor above all else, except
devotion to Vkandis.  I have never heard the truth about him, nor why
he deserted his post, all those years ago.

But still-Alberich?  The very idea turned his blood to dust.

"As for your weapons work " Ulrich continued, blithely unaware of
Karal's shock and dismay, since he could not see Karal from his seat in
the next room.

"I had a volunteer before I even asked for one.  Herald Captain
Kerowyn.

Karal dropped his clothes again.

" Karal?  " Ulrich called, when he said nothing.

Karal tried to move, forcing his shaking hands to reach for his riding
clothes.  It took him three tries to pick them up, and when he put them
back down on the bed, it took him an eternity to get the fastenings
undone on his Court robes "Karal, there is nothing to worry about,"
Ulrich said into the silence, finally divining the fact that Karal was
disturbed by these revelations.

"She is not going to drive you the way he does the young
Heralds-in-training.  She knows that you're never going to have to do
more than defend yourself in an emergency.

But she is eight feet tall, his mind babbled, ignoring the --fact that
he had already seen her just this morning, and she was nothing like the
creature that reputation painted.  She eats babies for breakfast, and
washes them down with nettles and wolves' milk!  She can break warriors
in half with one hand!  She" At any rate, she's waiting for you now,"
Ulrich said cheerfully, as Karal fumbled his breeches on.

"I'm really very flattered; she doesn't take individual pupils very
often."

I'm not!  I'd rather have some nice, quiet little underainer oh, calm
down, Karal.  It could be worse.

It could be Alberich!

He pulled his shirt on over his head, and came out into the sitting
room.  Ulrich had his back to him, examining some papers, as johen
tapped diffidently on the door and entered.

Ulrich looked up to see who it was, then waved absently at them,
returning his attention to the papers.

"Off you go, then.  I'll see you later, Karal.  Try not to get too
bruised; we'll be taking our dinner with the Court, and I'll need you
to be presentable.  I'll get a bad reputation if it looks as if I beat
my secretary on a regular basis."

Karal staggered after the silent johen, incoherent with nerves.

Try not to get too bruised?  Oh, lovely, I shall.... Johen led the way
down a set of stairs and out into the gardens.

Under other circumstances, Karal would have enjoyed the impromptu tour,
for the Palace gardens were nothing like Similar gardens at home, and
were full of trees and plants he didn't even recognize.  But he was too
numb to pay a great deal of attention, and it was far too soon for his
peace of mind that Johen brought him to a large wooden building,
standing very much apart from the rest of the Palace complex.

It didn't resemble any building Karal had ever seen before-but then, he
had never had any occasion to find himself inside one of the army
training halls.  The windows were right up near the edge of the roof,
which seemed very strange to him.  He couldn't imagine the reason for
such an odd arrangement.

But he got no chance to ask johen about it, for the young man hurried
on ahead of him as if he could not get his escort duty discharged
quickly enough.  Amod might be friendly, but this young man certainly
was not.

He followed johen into the building; once inside, it proved to house,
in the main, one huge room.  The closest comparison he could come up
with was that it was like an indoor riding area with a sanded wooden
floor; with mirrors lining the walls, and benches placed in between the
mirrors, pushed up against the walls.  The fourth wall held racks of
wooden practice weapons, and those benches were laden with what even
Karal recognized as protective padding.  He sniffed; the place held the
mingled odors of sweat and sawdust, leather oil and dust.  At the
moment, it was empty of everything else.

A door at the back of the room opened, and Herald Captain Kerowyn
stepped out into the room.  She was not wearing that white livery that
every other Herald wore, which seemed very odd to Karal; there was no
way of telling that she was a Herald without that white uniform, since
her Companion wasn't with her.

Huh.  Maybe that's the point?

She was, however, dressed in a way that would have scandalized most
good Karsites and not just because she was wearing "men's clothing." No
one could ever mistake her for a man, in a brown leather tunic and
breeches, both so tight fitting that they showed every curve and muscle
of a quite spectacular figure.

Karal swallowed, hard; she might be old enough to be his mother, maybe
older, but there was no sign of those years on her body or in the way
that she moved.  There was also no question but that she was just as
attractive as she was dangerous.

He was very glad that his own tunic was long enough to hide his
inevitable reaction, but he flushed anyway.

Then he paled, and his body lost interest, as she shifted her weight in
a way that reminded him of her profession and her history.  This was
Kerowyn, Captain of the Skybolts, mercenary fighter long before she
became a Herald.  If she didn't eat babies for breakfast, she certainly
had a reputation for devouring certain parts of the conquered as a
battlefield trophy feast!

She stood with her feet slightly apart, hands on hips, and studied him.
johen simply made a gesture toward him and left without a word.  She
tilted her head to one side, and he hoped that his trembling wasn't as
visible as he thought.

"Be steady, youngster," she said at last, in heavily-accented
Karsite.

"I be not going to eat you.  Not without good sauce, anyway; you be too
stringy for my liking."

He flushed again as he realized that she was laughing at him.  She knew
he was afraid of her, and she was laughing at him!  But his fear was a
lot stronger than his anger, and his good sense at least as strong.

Let her laugh-if it keeps her from pounding me into the ground like a
tent peg!

She paced toward him slowly and deliberately.  He stood his
ground-mostly because he wasn't able to move.  His feet were frozen to
the floor, and he couldn't look away from her.

She circled him, looking him over from every angle, as if he was a
young horse she was considering for purchase.  He flushed even harder;
he wasn't used to being given that kind of scrutiny by a woman, or at
least, not by a woman like this one.  Solaris had given him that kind
of detailed examination, but there was nothing remotely feminine about
Her Holiness;

when Solaris sat on the Sun Throne, she was the Son of the Sun, and
that was all there was to say about it.  Kerowyn was as female as she
was formidable.

"Right," Kerowyn said at last, as if answering a question, though he
had said nothing.

"Come here, boy.  I be wanting to be testing the strength of you."

For a moment he hesitated.  What was she going to do, feel his legs and
arms, as if he was a young racing colt and she the Prospective buyer?
But she beckoned peremptorily, and he followed her, not daring to do
otherwise.

She brought him over to the corner of the room, to a series of ropes
and pulleys.  The corner looked like a setting for some kind of arcane
torture, or worse.  But it turned out that what she had in mind (thank
the God!) were only tests of how much he could lift, pull, or push; the
ropes could be loaded with weights, and she would watch him as he tried
to raise them from various positions.  When she was done, he was
sweaty, and she looked satisfied.

"Be better than I be thinking," she told him.

"You be not spending all your time pushing paper around on desks.  Now,
here be what we be going to do.  I not be making a fighter out of you,
and I be not going to try.  What I be going to do, is I be teaching you
some things you be using to be defending yourself with, things that be
buying you enough time for help to be getting to you.  Real help,
trained fighters."

"That makes good sense," he said slowly.

"Here be problem, that we be going to be making these things into ways
that you be acting without thinking.  And we be going to be making you
stronger than you be already.

So-" she waved at one of the things he had just been using, weights
loaded onto ropes attached to pulleys, "-be doing what I be showing
you, fifty more times, then we be working on the first move."

Not what he wanted to hear.... By the time she was done with him, he
was weak-kneed with exhaustion, and quite ready to drop, but he already
had one move down well enough to use against an attacker who wasn't
expecting it.  The likeliest scenario, as Kerowyn postulated it, was
that he would be attacked from behind by someone who intended to
strangle him.  She showed him how to use the attacker's rush and
momentum to tumble forward, throwing the attacker over as he did so,
then get to his feet and run.

With enough practice, he would do just that without thinking.

When she dismissed him and sent him out the door with the admonition to
return at the same time the next day, he realized that there had been
another effect of the lesson besides exhaustion.  He had absolutely,
positively, not a single drop of desire in his veins for her, despite
the fact that they had been tumbling all over each other, often ending
tangled in positions that would have caused her father to issue Karal
an ultimatum to marry her-had they been in Karse.

He wasn't certain how that had come about, but there was no denying the
effect.  If she had stripped herself stark naked and posed for him like
one of the street women, he would not have been able to perform with
her.  She overwhelmed him.

She was now, in his own mind, in the same class as Solaris, and
therefore untouchable.

He was simply grateful to be allowed to escape.

He dragged himself back to his room; Ulrich was not there, but someone
had had the foresight to fire up the copper boiler in the bathing room.
johen?  If so, then perhaps that young man was not as unsympathetic as
he had seemed.

After a hot bath, the world seemed a little friendlier, and he was
ready to face Ulrich, the Court, and whatever else came up.  And it was
a very good thing that he was prepared for just that, for just as he
finished dressing, there was a decisive knock on the door.  Before he
could answer it, the door opened.

There was a man standing there; a man wearing dark gray leather very
like Kerowyn's except for the color.  Tall, lean, and dark, Karal had
never seen a human being who looked quite so much like a hungry wolf
before.  His hair was snow white and his face seamed with scars; he
regarded Karal as measuringly as Kerowyn had, out of a pair of
agate-gray eyes as expressionless as a pair of pebbles.

He was Karsite; his facial features and body type were as typical as
Ulrich's and Karal's own.  There was absolutely no doubt of that.

Which meant that there was only one person that he could be.  Karal had
forgotten that he was also scheduled for lessons in the Valdemaran
tongue.

Karal swallowed, his mouth gone dry, and bowed.

"H-herald Alberich, I-I-I am honored, " he stuttered in his Own
tongue.

He rose from his bow; Alberich was smiling sardonically.

"Honored?  To be tutored by the Great Betrayer?  I think not."

The Herald strode into the room and closed the door behind him.

"You are one of three things, boy-diplomatic, uninformed, or a liar.  I
hope it is the first."

Karal didn't know what to say, so he wisely kept his mouth shut.
Alberich looked him over again and the smile softened jUst a little.

"The first, then.  when you report, tell Solaris that I compliment her
on her choice of personnel."  He reached for a chair without looking at
it, pulled it over to him, and turned it so that the back faced Karal.
Then he sat down on it backward, resting his arms along the high
back.

Karal took this as an invitation to sit, and took a chair for himself.
He was weak in the knees again, but this time from the sheer force of
the man's personality.  , "First, we'll see just how much Valdemaran
you really know," Alberich said-and then began a ruthless
examination.

Or rather, interrogation; he spouted off questions and waited for Karal
to answer them.  If Karal didn't understand or lacked the vocabulary to
answer, he shook his head, and Alberich moved on to another question.

During this entire time, Alberich never once took those gray eyes off
him, and whether or not it was by accident, the questions he asked
revealed more about the man than Karal had ever expected to learn.

It was impossible to remember that this man was called the Great
Traitor-no, not impossible to remember' but impossible to believe.  Not
when everything he said or did reinforced Karal's impression that
Alberich lived, breathed, and worked beneath a code of honor as
unbreakable as steel and as enduring as the mountains of his
homeland.

"Come with me,"Alberich said after about a mark's worth of this
intensive questioning.  He stood quickly and gracefully, and Karal
scrambled to his own feet, feeling as awkward as a young colt and
drained completely dry.

"I'll get you some books to get you started."

He turned and led the way, Karal following behind him;

eventually, after many turnings and twistings and sets of stairs
leading both up and down, Alberich turned to open a pair of unguarded
doors.  Behind those doors-as far as Karal was concerned-lay
Paradise.

Books.  Floor to ceiling, and huge freestanding shelves full of them.
The only other library Karal had ever seen to rival this one was the
Temple library at home, and novices were never allowed in there alone.
He stood in the door, gawking;

he would never have known where to start, but Alberich seemed to know
exactly where he was going.  He went straight to the rear, and took
down half a dozen small volumes, blowing the dust from them as he did
so.  He stalked back to where Karal was waiting for him, and handed
them all to him.

/I don't think anyone has looked at these since I used them, "he said,
with another of those sardonic smiles.

"There are a couple of Valdemaran-Karsite dictionaries, and a pair of
advanced grammar books, and a history of the beginning of the war with
Karse from the Valdemaran point of view, written by one of the Priests
from the schismatic branch of the Sunlord.  It's a little archaic, but
it will give you some perspective and a good lesson in language at the
same time.  I'll question you on the first chapter or so tomorrow."

With that, he led Karal back to the suite; this time Karal tried to
memorize the way, since he would certainly want to return to a library
as impressive as that one, but for once his memory failed him.  That
was more than a disappointment;

he wanted to be able to return there at will.  He'd brought his own
books largely because he was afraid he would not be permitted access to
other books in the Palace, but there were no guards on that library
door, which implied that residents in the Palace were free to come and
go as they pleased.

If they could find the place, that is.  Maybe the maze of corridors was
enough to keep them out of it!

But Alberich might have been a reader of thoughts after all, for when
he brought Karal back to the door of their suite and opened it for him,
he paused.

"Any time you want to visit the royal library, ask a page to take you,"
he said.  As Karal twitched reflexively in surprise, he added-again,
with that peculiar softening of his normally sardonic expression, "I've
seen book-hunger before, lad.

There's nothing in there that's forbidden you, and you could do a great
deal worse than learn how these people think from their own words. Feed
your hunger and open your mind at the same time.

Then he turned on his heel and strode off down the hallway, leaving
Karal clutching his books and staring after him.

Finally, Karal went inside and put his books down on his bed, then sat
down beside them, wondering where he was going to find the energy to
complete the day.

All this-and there was still the formal dinner with Selenay's Court to
endure before he was allowed to collapse!

He'd never thought this was going to be an easy position to fill, but
this was insane.  How did Ulrich manage his schedule?  It was at least
as difficult as Karal's, probably much more so.

The same way he always tells me to take things, Karal decided.

One at a time.... One thing at a time-and right now, that meant finding
and laying out another set of Court clothes for Ulrich.  He got to his
feet with an effort, and let momentum and habit take over.

One thing at a time.

For the first several days he thought he was going to collapse at any
moment.  There were never enough daylight hours to complete all of his
tasks, and he and his mentor spent long candle-lit sessions after
dinner trying to catch up.

Sometimes he attended meetings with Ulrich, but often Ulrich scheduled
meetings during his lessons with Kerowyn and Alberich, probably a
tactful way of excluding him without needing to manufacture an excuse.
Ulrich was a diplomat, after all.  Karal gave up trying to understand
why the Valdemarans were so worried about him being present; it really
didn't matter in the long run.  And on the positive side, it was one
less duty in a schedule that was already too full.

There were endless pages of notes to turn into something legible,
Ulrich's postings back to Karse to write out properly from his hastily
dictated notes, more pages of notes to transcribe from Ulrich's private
meetings, preliminary drafts of agreements to put together; the work
seemed never-ending.

For a while, Karal despaired of ever getting any time to himself.

it seemed as if the only time he was anywhere without a mind bending
task in front of him was when he was in the bathtub!

Yet, after the first rush of activity, things did slow down.

Initial agreements were drawn up, agreed to by Ulrich and the Queen's
representative-usually Prince-Consort Daren-then sent off to Karse. The
initial stage of setting up diplomatic relations was over; now it must
all be approved by Solaris and then by the Queen's Council. Solaris
would ponder Ulrich's suggestions long and hard before deciding on
them, then make her own changes; the Valdemaran Council was like every
ruling body Karal had ever heard of and must debate things endlessly
before agreeing to them.  Work for Karal slowed to a mere trickle; work
for Ulrich was in getting to know those in power on a personal basis. 
That meant more meetings, informal ones this time, just between Ulrich
and one or two of the people in power-meetings Karal didn't attend.

Karal found himself alone in the suite more and more often, with
nothing to do but read his recreational books, study Valdemaran, and
puzzle out the journals that Ulrich had given him.  At first he
welcomed the respite, but his own books were soon devoured, studying
Valdemaran was work, and trying to make his way through the journals no
less so.

He went out looking for company on several occasions, but the search
didn't bring him any success.  When he encountered the highborn
offspring of Selenay's courtiers that were his own age, they ignored
his presence as if he was another statue or a plant in the garden.
Wherever he met them, they looked right past or even through him, and
no one ever replied to his cautious greetings.  The Heralds-in-training
seemed mostly afraid of him and avoided his presence entirely;

Amod was the only exception to that, and Amod was on duty only late at
night.

He finally found himself sitting and staring out the window down into
the gardens one afternoon, burdened by what could only be
"homesickness."  Whatever it was, it left him depressed and profoundly
unhappy; aching with the need for something, anything that was
familiar, and so enervated he found it hard to even think.  He wasn't
tired, but he couldn't find the energy to move, either.  What he wanted
was to be home, back in his familiar little cubicle near Ulrich's
rooms;

back in the Temple library, helping Ulrich track down a particular
book, or copying out designated text.  Oh, this place was very
luxurious, but he would have traded every rich and exotic dish for an
honest Karsite barley-cake.  He would have traded his soft bed and
private room for a breath of mountain air, every sweet, cream-rich cake
and pudding for a mouthful of fruit-ice, and all their spiced wine for
a good, strong cup of kava.

There was nothing about this land that was quite the same as in Karse,
not the food, the scents, the plants that grew in the gardens, or the
furniture.  Everything had some tinge of the foreign to it; he couldn't
even sleep without being reminded that he was not at home, for the
herbs used to scent the linens were not the ones he knew, no bed he had
ever slept in had been so thick that you were enveloped in it, and
there were no familiar night-bird songs to thread through the darkness
and lull you to sleep.

And there was no one he could confide in, either.  Ulrich was too busy
to be bothered with nonsense like this, and he would probably think him
immature, unsuited for the duties he had been given.  He was here to
serve his master, not get in the way with his childish troubles.

I was able to talk to Rubrik-no.  No, he has more important things to
do than listen to some foreigner babble about how lonely he is.  What
would the point be, anyway?  What could he say, "go home?"  I was given
this duty; there is no choice but to see it through.

Confiding in either Kerowyn or Alberich was absolutely out of the
question.  They would lose what little respect they had for him.  They,
too, would think that he was acting and reacting like a child.  He was
supposed to be a man, filling a man's duty-and furthermore, if they
knew he was this unhappy, they would tell their superiors.  This
homesickness could be used against the mission; any weakness was a
danger.

I knew what I was getting into when Ulrich told me where we were going,
he told himself, as he stared out at the garden, wishing that he could
make the bowers and winding pathways take on the mathematical radial
precision of a Karsite garden.  I knew how alone I was going to be, and
I knew that I was going where there were no signs of home.

But had he known, really?  As miserable and lonely as his years in the
Children's Cloister had been, they were still years spent among people
who spoke the same language as he did, who ate the same foods, swore by
the same God.  Here the only two people who even knew his tongue as
native speakers were both men so many years his senior, and so high
above him in social position, that there was no point in even thinking
of confessing his unhappiness to them.  Neither his master nor Alberich
were appropriate confidants.

This was a marvelous place, full of fascinating things, a place where
he had more freedom than he had ever enjoyed in his life-but it was not
home.

it would never be home.  And he despaired of ever finding anyone here
he could simply talk to, without worrying if something that he might
say could be misconstrued and turned into a diplomatic incident-or just
used as a weapon of leverage against the mission.

if he couldn't have home-he needed a friend.  He'd never really had
one, but he needed one now.

He continued to stare out the window, feeling lassitude overcome him
more and more with every passing moment.

He was too depressed, too lonely, even to think about rereading one of
his books.

This is getting me nowhere.  If I don't do something soon, I might not
be able to do anything before long.  He'd just sit there until someone
came along and found him, and then he'd be in trouble.  Ulrich would
want to know what was wrong, people would think he was sick, and he'd
just stir up a world of trouble.

I don't think the Healers can do anything about homesickness.

Not even here.

There was a section of the gardens, a place where kitchen herbs were
grown in neatly sectioned-off beds, that reminded him marginally of the
gardens at the Temple.  It had no rosebeds, no great billows of
romantic flowers, no secluded bowers, so it was not visited much by
people his age.  Perhaps if he got out into the sun, he would cheer up.
Maybe all this gloom was only due to being cooped up indoors for too
long.

And maybe fish would fly-but it was worth trying.  Anything was better
than sitting here, feeling ready to drown himself in his own despair.

Feeling sorry for myself isn't going to fix anything either.

He managed to get himself up out of his chair; that was the hard part.
Once he had a destination, momentum got him there.  The kitchen gardens
were deserted, as he had thought-with the sole exception of one very
old Priest of some group that wore yellow robes.  The old man sat and
dreamed in the sun, just like any of the old Red-robes in the Temple
meditation gardens; his presence almost made the place seem homelike.

With a bit of searching, Karal found a sheltered spot, a stone bench
partially hidden by bay bushes and barberry bushes

He moved into their shade, and slumped down on the cool stone.

The depression didn't even fade, not the tiniest bit.  Now that he was
out here, the bright sunshine didn't seem to make any real difference
to how he felt.

He closed his eyes and a lump began to fill his throat; his chest
tightened and ached, and so did his stomach.  Why had he come here? Why
didn't he find a reason not to go?  Why hadn't he let someone older,
more experienced, come with Ulrich?  He could have found a new mentor,
couldn't he?  And even if the new Priest wasn't as kindhearted as
Ulrich, wouldn't dealing with a new mentor have been better than being
this lonely?  Did it matter that Ulrich was the only person who had
ever been kind to him since he'd been taken away from his family? He
had survived indifference and even unkindness before-and at least he
would have been home!

He would not have been stranded in a strange land, where everyone was a
potential enemy.

"And lo, I was a stranger, and in a strange realm, and no man knew me.
Every man's heart was set against me, and every man's hand empty to me.
" He jumped, stifling an undignified squeak; he opened his eyes
involuntarily.  Who could be quoting from the Writ of Vkandis, and with
such a terrible accent?

For a moment he did not recognize the woman who stood just in front of
him, smiling slightly; she was dressed in a leather tunic and breeches
like Kerowyn wore, though not so tight, and of white leather rather
than brown.

A mature woman, rather than a girl, he guessed she was somewhere around
thirty years old.  She wasn't very tall; in fact, she would probably
come up to his chin at best; her abundant and curly chestnut hair had
just a few strands of silver in it, and her eyes were somewhere between
green and brown in color.  She gave an oddly contradictory impression
of both fragility and strength.

Then his mind cleared, and his memory returned; he had been fooled by
her clothing.  He had never seen this particular Herald in anything
other than formal Court costume before.

Talia-the Queen's Own Herald.

Granted, she was a Sun-priest, but how had she learned the Writ?  Why
had she bothered?  There was no real need for her to have done so; the
office was only honorary.

"Thought I wouldn't take my office as Priest of Vkandis seriously, did
you?"  she said, with a smile that was full of mischief.  " Maybe
Solaris only meant the title to be honorary, but it seemed to me I
ought to give the honor its due respect, and learn something about the
one I was supposed to be representing.  " " oh," he said, feeling very
stupid and slow-witted.  But then he realized that she was speaking in
his tongue, and as bad as her accent was, the words soaked into him
like rain into dry ground.  He wanted to hear more; he needed to hear
more.

"I thought that particular quote seemed awfully apt, given how you
looked when I came up," she continued.

"Not at all happy, actually.  Of course, it could just be indigestion-"
She cocked her head to the side, as if inviting his confidences.

He hesitated.  She seemed friendly enough, but how much difficulty
could he get himself into by talking to her?

On the other hand, she's not only a Herald, she's one of the Kin of
Vkandis.  If she did hurt one of the Kin, wouldn't the Sunlord do
something about that?

She waited a moment more, then her smile widened a trifle.  She had
wonderful, kind eyes.

"Or perhaps it's a peculiar kind of indigestion," she suggested
impishly.

"You've swallowed a great huge lump of Valdemar, and it isn't going
down easily."

He had to laugh at that, it was so unexpected, and so vivid an image.

"I suppose that's as appropriate an explanation as any," he replied,
relaxing marginally.  He had longed for someone he could talk to-and
here was someone offering herself someone it might even be safe to
unburden himself to.  What did he know about this woman?  She was some
kind of special advisor to the Queen-Solaris had spent an awful lot of
time in her company-but there was something more, something
important.

Hansa trusted her.  That was it; he had the memory now.

The Firecat had definitely trusted her; it was Hansa who had suggested
she be made an honorary Priestess, if what Ulrich had told him was
true.

She nodded at him in a friendly manner, and she did not seem inclined
to move off despite his hesitation.  Interestingly, she also made no
attempt to intrude on him by sitting down on his bench uninvited.

"I felt the same way when I first came here," she told him, as she
shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

"I was from a place so unlike this that it might as well have been on
the other side of the world.  You may find this difficult to believe,
but my people kept their children very isolated from anything outside
their farms.  I had no idea what Heralds or Companions really were,
other than the few things I'd been able to pick up from a bit of
reading.

I thought when Rolan Chose me that I had simply found a lost Companion.
I thought I was supposed to bring him back to his owners, like
returning a strayed horse!

He had to laugh at that one with her; at least he knew a little more
than she had!  Rubrik had described the business of being "Chosen" by a
Companion, that it was rather like being picked out for a Firecat's
particular attentions.  Hard to believe that anyone in Valdemar could
have been unaware of a Companion's real nature.

On the other hand, it was easy enough to control a child, as she had
pointed out.  But being Chosen was supposed to be rather dramatic-he
could well imagine someone trying to deny such a selection, for being
Chosen would definitely put an end to any other plans one had for one's
life, but Talia must have been unique in her ignorance of what being
Chosen meant.

"Seriously, though, I was as out-of-place here as you are feeling now;
I think you must have gone through Holderkin lands to get here-well,
that's where I'm from."  She smiled as he nodded, very cautiously.

"They swear they escaped from Karse, but I'd be more willing to believe
that your people threw them out; there can't be a more intransigent
group of stone heads in all the world.  Personally, I think they're
more trouble to deal with than they're worth."

"I don't know one way or the other," he confessed.

"I never studied them, so I couldn't venture an opinion.  But I can see
how you would be feeling very-ah-foreign, when you arrived here.  It
was obviously very different here than among your own people.  You
probably were as foreign to Haven as I am."  There.  That was
diplomatic enough.

She studied her fingertips, then looked back up at him.

"I've heard you haven't been able to make any friends here, though,
and.  that where our circumstances differ.  Of course, you are laboring
under a double handicap," she pointed out.

"You are with the envoy, which makes you dangerous to know, and you are
from our former enemy, from a Priesthood known to be able to call up
very powerful magic forces, which makes you personally rather dangerous
to know.

There's a Shina'in saying, "It is wise to be remote in the presence of
one who conjures demons."  Hard to make friends when people you meet
are afraid you're going to turn them into broiled cutlets if you get
annoyed with them."

"Ah-interesting," he replied, to buy himself time.  It had not occurred
to him that he might be frightening away would-be acquaintances; he
never considered himself to be any threat to anyone.

"I never thought of that."

"Yes, well, our younglings can be a rather timid and conservative lot,"
she said casually.

"At least the children of the courtiers can.  At the moment, I don't
know of anyone in the younger set who would deliberately be rude or
hostile to you.

On the other hand, they've had a rather unsettled time of it;

that can make even the boldest youngling into a mouse.  Most of the
youngsters here have lost at least one family member to the conflicts
with Ancar, and there are a few who went from being fifth- or
sixth-born to being second or third heir to their parents' holdings
within the space of a few weeks.  Many of them don't even have parents
anymore; they're under the guardianship of older siblings.  They don't
like to think of any of that; to escape from their memories they tend
to concentrate on some fairly shallow interests.  The trouble is, no
one has put you into the set that's actually doing something with their
time-mostly because they are as busy as you."

That shocked him out of his own depression entirely.  How many of the
Valdemar elite had died in this war?  Had Karse suffered as much at the
hands of Ancar?  Surely not, at least, not at first.  Perhaps once the
alliance had been made public "I'm sorry to hear that," he said at
last, hoping his tone conveyed the fact that he really was sorry.

"I don't believe we had nearly that much trouble with him."

"No, you didn't, not at first," Talia agreed.  She ran her hand through
her hair in what looked to be a gesture of habit.

"For one thing, he really didn't want Karse all that badly, and for
another, he was under the rather mistaken impression for some time that
Solaris was male."  She shrugged, and spread her open hands.

"Once he learned she was female, it was only a matter of time before he
included her in his vendetta against women.  We guessed that was why
Solaris sent messengers to Alberich, looking for a truce."

Then she smiled again.

"But this gloomy talk is not why I stopped here!  I saw you looking
unhappy, and I hoped I could cheer you up.  I don't think war-talk is
going to achieve that, do you?

"Probably not," he agreed.

"I did want you to know that once people realize that you aren't going
to call up demons to avenge imaginary slights, they'll probably be more
friendly," she continued.

"I think I can count on at least a few of them being curious enough to
start asking you questions.  You certainly are not the most exotic
creature gracing our Court, or even the most formidable;

they'll get over their nerves soon enough."

He thought of the gryphons and found himself chuckling.

"At least I walk on two legs," he offered.

"And I am afraid that my ability at magic is very overrated.  Not only
can I not conjure a demon-even if Solaris hadn't forbidden the practice
but I can't even light a fire.  Candles, yes; fires, no.  MY master
Ulrich is a mage, but he didn't choose me for my magical abilities, he
chose me for my scholastic bent.  Your people are safe around me."

He meant it as a joke, but she took the joke a step further.

"I wouldn't go so far as to say that," she replied, and if he thought
he'd imagined a sly twinkle in her eye, he knew now it wasn't
imagination.

"You'd be a very handsome young man if you just didn't look as if you
were about to deliver a sermon on Moral Life at any moment.  If you
smiled more often, I wouldn't wager on any of our young women being
safe around you!  " Belatedly he remembered that if she knew enough to
quote the Writ correctly, she also knew that Priests of Vkandis took no
vows of celibacy and only a modified vow of chastity.

Which meant she knew that he was as free to pay court to young women as
anyone here.  He guessed she was encouraging him to do just that, and
blushed.  Still, he found her very easy to talk to, and more so with
every moment.  She invited confidences and made it easy to give them to
her; a lot like his own mother, in fact.  Mother used to adopt every
stray that happened by the inn, from motherless horse boys to kittens.
Talia must be like my mother-that's why she stopped when she thought I
looked unhappy.

She chuckled at his flush and his slow smile.

"I hope you don't mind my teasing," she said, then added wryly, "we
aren't as far apart in age as you might think.  It wasn't all that long
ago that I was your age, and if I wasn't happily wedded and very much
in love with Dirk-" She laughed and wrinkled her nose at him.

"Well, consider my reaction representative of what the young women of
the Court are probably thinking about you."

His cheeks heated, and he blinked.  Her reaction?  She considered him
attractive?  No female, girl or woman, had ever told him that!

She shook her head.

"Listen to me-'if I was your age'-I sound like I think I'm an old
crone!  My, motherhood certainly has taken the ginger out of me!"

He had to laugh at that.

"My mother says the same thing," he told her.

"She swears that we each added five years to her age with every prank
we pulled!"

"Some days I would agree with her," Talia replied, and sighed.

"I don't remember littles being this much trouble to my parents!  You
have brothers and sisters?"

"One brother and several sisters," he told her, then found himself
talking about his family while she simply stood there and listened to
him with no evidence of boredom.  She even asked him questions that
proved she had really been listening, and not just pretending to pay
attention.

He progressed from telling her about his family, to finally confessing
his own depression and loneliness.  It seemed natural, after the way
she listened to him about everything else.

After all, if Hansa trusted her, why shouldn't he?

"I don't even know where they took Trenor."  he sighed, after talking
for what seemed to be the better part of a mark.

"He's Karsite, too, after all ... and horses have always been as much
my friends as people.  I'd love to go riding, but I don't know where I
would be allowed to go, even if I could find him, and I don't know what
people would think if I asked for the stables."  He shrugged.

"They might think I was some kind of spy, looking for a way off the
grounds to pass messages on, when all I want to do is ride my horse."

She brightened at that.

"Havens, at least that is one thing I can help you with," she told
him.

"I certainly know where the stables are, and there are riding paths all
through Companion's Field; there's no reason why you can't ride your
gelding in there.  Plenty of people ride their Companions on the paths.
I can't imagine why anyone would forbid you riding Trenor in there.
Would you like me to show you where the stables are right now, and get
you acquainted with the stable master

once he knows who you are, he can have Trenor set up for a daily ride
for you, if you'd like."

He stared at her for a moment; this was the last thing he had expected,
and the one thing that would help!  He had a little trouble replying,
until he got his wits back about him.

"Thank you!"  he exclaimed.  "oh, that is exactly what I do want! Thank
you so much!"

But she waved away his thanks.

"Not to worry, Karal.  I'm glad that there is at least one remedy I can
give you for your homesickness that will work right now.  Time, I fear,
is the only other remedy."  She laughed at his grimace.

"I know, I know, the one thing a young man hates to hear is that the
only cure for anything is time!  It can't be helped, though; it's a
cliche~ precisely because it's so often true.  When problems are big,
it's usually because they're swallowing up everything else you would be
thinking about.  When you have some time, new things come up, and make
the old problems seem smaller when you look back at them.  So let some
time pass, do a few things you really enjoy, and let your mind rest."

he stood up quickly as she gestured for him to follow her, and she led
him off at a brisk pace, pointing out exactly where they were and what
places they were passing.

"Here's the rose garden, the maze is just through there; if you look
through the rose trees you can just see the end of the courtier's Wing
of the Palace.  That's where your suite is, though most Courtiers don't
live here, they have their own manors outside the walls-" That helped
him orient himself, and he began to suspect that Alberich had led him
in circles that first day, when he had taken Karal to the library.
Perhaps it had not been deliberate; perhaps it was simply in the man's
cautious nature to attempt to confuse.  Perhaps there had been work
going on that required they make some elaborate detours.  But from the
outside, at least, the Palace and the buildings around it were laid out
in a logical fashion.  He knew that the library was on the first floor
of the wing that contained most of the other rooms used for "official"
purposes, and that wing lay directly across from his, according to
Talia.

But she was pointing out other buildings now, buildings that were
separate from the Palace.

"That's Healer's Collegium, and that's Bardic-look, there are the
stables, you can see them from here, just on the other side of those
trees."

But it was not the stables that caught his attention, but the huge
wooded field to their right.  It seemed to be full of horses.

Then he realized why his mind had phrased it that way, for the "horses"
were all white.  There wasn't another color of four-legged beast to be
seen.  Which meant, surely-Talia saw where he was looking; she squinted
against the sun in that direction.

"That's Companion's Field.  Do you want to go look over the fence for a
moment?"

As well ask him if he wanted to fly!  Of course he did-and at the same
time, the idea terrified him.  Companions!  The beautiful creatures
that Rubrik had so eloquently praised, and the Hellhorses of Karsite
stories.  His head knew that they were not the monsters from his
childhood, but his stomach lurched at the idea of so many of them
concentrated here.

Still, he nodded numbly.

She must have guessed something of his thoughts from his expression, or
lack of it.

"You do realize that they aren't demons, don't you?"  she asked, a
little nervously.

"Your escort surely explained what Heralds and Companions really
are-didn't he?"

I must look as tense as a cocked crossbow "Yes, he told her, "Our
escort and my mentor had a number of conversations about the
Companions.  I think Ulrich plans to come out here one day when he
isn't busy chasing diplomatic rabbits down holes."  He moved closer to
the fence, until at last he was leaning right up against it, staring at
the beautiful creatures in their Field.

Not demons, he reminded himself; orthodox theology held that demons
could be as beautiful as they pleased, but he still did not have to
remind himself too forcefully.  Now that he was here, watching them,
his stomach settled again, deciding that maybe his head was right after
all.  There was something about the Companions that was so completely
innocent that the idea of their being demons was absurd.

Not horses, either.  He could see how they would excite lust in the
heart of any horse breeder though.  If only one could achieve lines
like that with horses!  They were easily the most elegant creatures he
had ever seen; Rubrik's Companion was no isolated case.  Well, rumor
said that the Shin'a'in had bred horses to equal Companions, but who
knew?  Rumor also had it that the Shina'in rode naked and painted
themselves blue, and he rather doubted either was true.

For one thing, riding naked is damned uncomfortable.  You can get
yourself such a set of blisters if you have a saddle, and such a rash
if you don't.... "Well," he said at last, shaking himself out of the
reverie the field full of Companions induced in him.

"Your time is precious, even if I'm at leisure at the moment.  And I am
selfishly devouring it.  So, if you can spare me a few moments more to
take me to the stables-" "I can spare you as much time as you need,"
Talia said firmly.

"Come on, and I'll introduce you to the stable master  "

Talia was no out-of-shape courtier; she set out again at a stiff walk,
and he was glad he'd been working out with KerowYn.  The stable was
huge, which was only to be expected;

their luck was in, though, for Trenor was in the third stall from the
door, and whickered as soon as he caught Karal's scent.

Karal let himself into the gelding's stall, while Talia went looking
for the stable master  Trenor was overjoyed to see him and whuffled his
hair and chest with such enthusiasm that he left damps spots all over
Karal's clothing.  When Karal looked him over carefully, he saw no
signs of neglect, much less any of ill-use.  That eased most of his
worries; these Valdemarans were taking very good care of his "baby."

The stable master arrived while Karal was examining Trenor's feet and
hocks.  He was clearly pleased by the way Karal carefully examined his
gelding, rather than being offended at the implication that the stable
staff had been neglecting the horse.

"You know horses," the man said-a statement, rather than a question-as
Karal finished his examination and stood up to be introduced.  Karal
nodded anyway, and the man turned and spoke to Talia in a dialect of
some kind, too heavily accented and rapid for Karal to follow.

Then he turned away and went back to the work they'd taken him away
from; shoeing a pretty little mare.  It rather surprised Karal that the
stable master himself would tend to a task like that, instead of
assigning it to underlings.  On the other hand-the mare had the
delicate lines of a very highly-bred palfrey, and the nervous air of a
horse that had been brought up to be high-strung.  Better that the
stable master handle a beast like that; that was what Karal's father
would have said.

"Tahk says that you obviously are a good horseman, and that he'll
arrange for Trenor to be readied for you for a daily ride if that's
what you want.  He also offered another option;

if You prefer, he'll simply leave orders with the stable boys that when
you show up, they're to fetch your tack."  Talia scratched Trenor's
neck, just along the crest, and laughed when the gelding leaned into
her scratching.

"I told him I thought you'd probably prefer to make less fuss than the
highborns, and would take care of your own saddling, and he simply
repeated that you were a good horseman."

"I would, and thank you," Karal replied sincerely.

"I'd rather not have Trenor saddled up at any specific time, since I
don't always know exactly when Ulrich will need me."

"Thought so."  She moved her scratching to under Trenor's halter, and
the gelding sighed with bliss.

"You know, you could combine your lessons with Alberich with a daily
ride;

he has to make sure his Companion gets some exercise, and neither of
them are anything but stiff first thing in the morning, which is when
they have been going out."  She tilted her head to one side, as if
sensing his apprehension at trying to approach the formidable Alberich
with any kind of a request.

"Want me to suggest it?  I can tell him it was my idea."

"oh, would you?"  He was appallingly grateful.

"By the Light, I seem to be getting deeper and deeper in debt to
you."

Once again she waved away any suggestion that he might owe" her
anything.

"Don't mention it.  I really just want you to be happier than you are.
That would make a big difference to me, and if you're happier, your
work will go smoother."

"And if the work goes smoother, my master will be likelier to be in a
good mood, and if he's in a good mood, he'll make concessions, hmm?" He
chuckled, and she joined in.

"That I can understand!  Everyone here is a diplomat."

Though why my being happier would make a big difference to her in
particular I can't fathom.... "We'd better be going," he said,
reluctant to leave Trenor, but feeling better than he had in days.

"His blanket's damp, so they've obviously had him out for a good
workout today, and from tomorrow on I can take over his exercise."

"I-I had one more thought," Talia said, hesitantly.

"You were saying that you wished you could make some friends here,
right?

He hadn't said anything of the sort, but he'd certainly thought it, so
he nodded.

She licked her lips.

"There's another person here I would really like you to meet.  He's in
a similar position to yours, but without even the authority of being a
secretary to an envoy.

I know that he is very lonely, and even though you don't have anything
at all in common in the way of background,

you are still both from places that are so different from Valdemar that
you are alike in your reactions."

He turned to stare fully at her, because he sensed that she was not
even telling him a fraction of what she knew about this person-that
describing this person as coming from a place that is "different" from
Valdemar just might be the understatement of the millennium.

"What exactly ... ?  " he asked.

"What do you mean?"

She made a face of frustration.

"I'm really not certain what I can and cannot tell you about him.  His
situation is-well, nothing short of what you would read about in a
legend, and even then you would probably not believe it.  The thing
that the two of you have in common is that you're both-bewildered, I
suppose is the right word.  Bewildered and quite foreign to Valdemar.

He does need a friend, and he is terribly shy.  He is also very
reserved, and tends to think of questions as being intrusive, which
makes him unhappy when he is around our younger Heralds-in-training."

Karal nodded, grimacing.  He had met one or two besides Amod who hadn't
been afraid of him-but both of those children had been full of
questions that in Karse would have been considered dreadfully rude.  He
had answered them anyway, because they were clearly children and hadn't
meant anything offensive by their questions.

"I will meet this person, if you like," he offered, feeling that he had
to offer her something after all the help she had given him today.

"I cannot promise anything after that.  We might immediately hate one
another, after all."

"oh, I don't think that is very likely," she replied, looking quite
satisfied.

"I usually manage to find people who are going to enjoy each other's
company, rather than the reverse."

Then she bit her lip, as if something had just occurred to her "There
is just one thing-" Karal looked at her sharply.

"Which is, what?"

"Do you recall the Tayledras envoy?  Firesong, the Hawkbrother Mage?  "
Of course he recalled Firesong.  Even if he did not have a secretary's
trained memory, he could hardly have forgotten that flamboyant young
man.  He nodded.

Talia sucked at her lower lip, and her brow creased a little.

um-An'desha is with him, but he isn't exactly Tayledras, even though he
looks like he is.  Technically, he's Shinain.  And he's a lot younger
than he looks, literally.  He's really about your age.  maybe a year or
two older."

"A-h."  Karal nodded again, even though that was more confusing than it
was enlightening.  That phrase though, "An'desha is with him..  .. "
Was she implying what he thought?

Could be.  Then again, maybe not.  There are probably those who think
Ulrich is more than just my master and mentor.

In any case, did it matter?  Despite the fact that such a liaison was
supposed to be against the Will of Vkandis, there were plenty of
situations, pairings like that in the Priesthood, something which had
been made very clear to him and every other novice once they graduated
from the Children's Cloister.

It was also made very clear to the entire Priesthood once Solaris came
to power that non consensual liaisons, whether they be of opposite or
same sex partners, were Anathema, right up there with demon-summoning.
You shall force no one, seemed to be the whole of the law as far as
Solaris was concerned.

And as for Karal-as long as this An'desha wasn't looking for a" He's
devoted to Firesong," Talia said, as if she could read his mind.

"He's going to be a very powerful mage, and Firesong is teaching him. I
thought you ought to know about that, too.

Karal thought about any number of responses, and finally settled on a
shrug.  She might be implying what he thought, and she might not.  It
hardly mattered.

I have had so many things in my life turned upside down, why not this
one as well?

"Good enough," Talia responded, looking cheerful again.

"Come on, then, and I'll tell you more about him.  If you thought your
life was strange, you haven't heard anything yet!  "

An'desha might not yet be even half the mage that Falconsbane had been,
but he knew an Empath when he saw one, at least.  He readily recognized
that Gift in the Herald who came up the path to the ekele, black-clad
stranger in tow.  He thought he recognized the woman, vaguely, though
he could not remember her name.  Oh, Falconsbane would have loved to
get his hands on a female like this one!  That was one Gift he had been
unable to simulate, and no real Empath would serve Falconsbane of his
own free will.

No point in trying to force an Empath to serve, either.  It's a Gift
that can't be coerced, though Falconsbane certainly tried often
enough.

He wondered if these were more of Firesong's friends, and at first he
was put out at the prospect of yet another invasion of his home.  He
left his seat in the garden and went outside to meet them, torn between
a desire to be polite and irritation at Firesong for bringing more
strangers in without consulting him.

But the Herald brightened when she saw him, and approached with the
young man a step or two behind her.

"An'desha?"  she said (and she gave his name the correct pronunciation,
which was a wonder).  "You don't know me, but I am Elspeth's friend,
Herald Talia.  She's told me a great deal about you-and to be honest, I
am an Empath, and you haven't exactly been shielding yourself from me,
so I've been learning a bit about you from that as well."

He started; he had not been aware that his emotions had been carrying
that far.  And when he thought about his predominant feelings since
arriving here, he flushed.  Mostly tension, unhappiness, even
despair-he would not have wished that on any Empath.

But she was going on.

"Elspeth said something about you spending a great deal of time alone
out here, and what I picked up from you-well, it seemed to me you might
like to try a little company.  I thought that you and this young fellow
probably have a great deal in common."

She turned to the young man.

"An'desha shena jorethan, this is Karal Austreben, secretary to the
envoy from Karse.

Karal, this is An'desha, who is an associate of the envoy from the
Hawkbrothers."  Not only was she an Empath, but she was a skillful one;
he felt her exerting her powers to soothe him, and at this point, he
was intrigued enough to let her do so.

He knew who she was, once she introduced herself to him.

This Talia was the person Elspeth trusted most in the whole world, even
above and beyond Darkwind.  An'desha was more than ready to be soothed
at the moment; he had tried once again to socialize with the
Valdemarans yesterday, and once again had met with failure.  Here,
though, was an Empath, bringing someone she wanted him to meet.  It
stood to reason, given her Gift and her expertise, that she just might
have found someone he could get along with.

"I thought you two ought to at least meet," she said to the handsome,
dark-eyed, black-haired young man.  She spoke slowly and carefully so
that he-and presumably, Karal-could pick out every syllable.

"I can't imagine two people who have less in common with most of
Valdemar.  Even Firesong knows more about us and feels more comfortable
with us than you two do.  I'm sorry I waited this long to introduce
you-in fact, I'm sorry I waited this long to introduce myself to
you-but I wanted to make certain your mutual vocabularies in our tongue
had gotten beyond the basics."

An'desha had to laugh at that.

"That was a good idea.  You are probably right, that I feel less at
home here than even Firesong," he said, just as carefully.

"Although I do not think I would ever fit in with any place or
person."

just a cautious warning-I hope she isn't expecting us to be instant
friends.

Talia shrugged.

"You're probably right, An'desha, but at least Karal is familiar with
magic, and he's not afraid of it.

That makes him better company for you than most of my people, many of
the-how shall I put this?-more reticent folk are afraid of both of you
and your magics.  Those who are not, or who pretend they are not, tend
to be too forward.  Oh,

let me be blunt-they are obnoxious.  They want to know everything about
you, and they want to know it now.  At least magic is hardly a novelty
to the two of you."

An'desha's eyebrows raised at that.  Karal nodded.

"My master Ulrich is a powerful mage as well as a Priest, " the young
man said diffidently.

"He was one of those who summoned demons, until the Son of the Sun, Her
Holiness Solaris, forbade the practice."

"Demon-summoning?  " Excitement thrilled along his nerves.  Perhaps
Talia had more in mind than simply introducing two lonely strangers. If
anyone was likely to understand his dilemma, it would be one who was
familiar with demons and their ilk.

"He never cared to practice that skill," was all Karal said, but
An'desha sensed a great deal behind that statement that Karal did not
say.

"I, personally, have no magic to speak of.

My skills lie elsewhere."

All the better, so far as An'desha was concerned, the last thing he
wanted at the moment was another would-be "teacher."  Firesong was
quite enough in that department.

"It often causes more problems than it solves," An'desha offered
tentatively.  Talia watched both of them with a slight smile on her
face.

Then Karal smiled himself.

"That sounds like something my master would say," he replied warmly.

"The people here do not seem to understand that, they keep wanting to
know what magics can be done to cure this or that-" He stopped himself
and shrugged.

"Well, I suspect you know."

"I do," An'desha replied.  The corners of his mouth lifted along with
his heart; this Talia was right, he and Karal did have a great deal in
common, even though their backgrounds were probably utterly opposite.

An'desha had not realized how hungry he was for a friend until this
moment.  An Empath as strong as Talia would have to have sensed the
need even though he had not voiced it to her-sensed it even past the
stronger and darker emotions that his fears for the future had been
calling up in him.  The fact that she had brought Karal here indicated
that she had sensed that same need in him' as well.

This was a good thing; one of the first unreservedly good things that
had happened since he entered the Gate to this land.

"Well, I wasn't able to tell Karal a lot about you, because I didn't
want to take liberties that I was not entitled to take, An'desha,"
Talia told him.

"So why don't you explain your situation?  Who you are, how you came
here, that sort of thing."

An'desha groaned.

"I am not so fluent in your tongue!"  he exclaimed, in mock protest.

But Talia wouldn't hear any excuses.

"You are better than you think, " she said, as she nodded at the open
door to the ekele garden, then raised an eyebrow in silent inquiry.

Well, if Firesong could invite people in, so could he!  He asked them
both into the garden, and described how it had been built-partially to
buy himself time, and partially as a way of feeling Karal out.  He was
more than pleased; Karal's questions were as discreet and non intrusive
as those of the young Heralds had not been.

Talia quietly absented herself a few moments later, and he and Karal
sat down next to the waterfall in the garden.  He noticed only because
he sensed the absence of her soothing "spell."  He doubted that Karal
had any idea that she was gone.  The gentle gurgling of the waterfall
created an atmosphere of peace and privacy; an ideal place to talk.

By then, Karal was describing his own background.  An'desha listened
with fascination-sometimes horrified fascination-as Karal explained
what the Vkandis Priests had once done to the children, and to the
enemies, of their land.  While Karal's descriptions were no match for
the things that Falconsbane had done, An'desha guessed that at least
some of the Vkandis Priests had been well on their way to becoming
twins of Ancar of Hardorn, and all under the guise of religion.  The
only thing they had not done was to poison and drain their own land for
further power.

And given time, they might well have done that, too.

"That is over now," Karal concluded.

"Solaris has decreed the Cleansing Fires and the summoning of demons to
be Anathema-that is, completely forbidden, unholy.  So, here we are,
Ulrich and I, trying to forge an alliance with people we were once at
war with.  It is-rather unsettling.  I was brought up to believe that
the people and especially the Heralds of Valdemar were beasts of utter
evil and depravity, and now I find that they are-just people."  He
shrugged.

"I have seen so many changes in my lifetime, though, that I expect I
will get used to this change as well.  What of you?"

An'desha struggled to find the words to describe his own situation, and
decided on the simplest possible explanation.

"I was Shin'a'in," he said at last.

"Longer ago, I think, than you realize, my body is older in years than
it looks.  I amwaslinked by descent to an ancient mage, an Adept.  A
very evil man, as evil as any of your demons.  Because of that, he was
able to-" What to say?  "-to steal my body."

Ah!  " Karal nodded with complete understanding, the very first time he
had seen that statement met with anything other than blank
incomprehension.

"Possession.  That's what we call it.  That was one of the powers the
demons had, to be able to put on the body of a person as if it was a
garment.  The Black-robes used that power for ill.  But Vkandis also
has that power, and can use it with the Priests and sometimes with very
holy lay people for good.  It is called 'the Voice of Flame," and
Vkandis can use the voice of the person to deliver prophecy.  But this
Falcons-bane must have been a very strong demon to displace you; only
the strongest and most evil of the demons had that power."  Karal's
voice and expression were quite sober.

"You are a very lucky person, An'desha.

Most people do not survive the touch of a demon upon their souls.  You
must be very strong as well."

"You do understand!  Though I think it was luck that let me- survive."
For once he was talking to someone who didn't look at him as if he was
half an idiot and all mad.

"Strong," evil," and "demonic" were certainly all words that could have
been used to describe Mornelithe.

"He had lived in many other bodies, and I still am not certain how I
remained alive after he took mine.  Perhaps it was because I was a
coward and tried to flee instead of fighting him."

"Perhaps he had grown careless," Karal suggested shrewdly.

"Demons are known for their pride, and great pride makes for
carelessness.  So he stole your body.  Then what occurred?

"He did great evil with my body, and I could not stop him An'desha
continued, the words tumbling out of him now.

"Then he sought to bring harm to my people, and to the Hawkbrothers,
and these Valdemarans, all at once.  But he was damaged by some of what
he had done, and my Goddess sent to me two of her-" Now what Valdemaran
word could he use to describe the Avatars?  "-two of her
spirit-beings.

They helped me, a mage called "Need' helped me, and elspeth and
Darkwind and Firesong helped me, and Falconsbane was cast out after
much battle.  When it was all over, the Goddess made me look the age I
had been when he first stole my body, or nearly, returning to me the
years he had stolen from me."

Well, it was oversimplified but fundamentally correct.

Karal was looking at him with a sober expression on his face, and
biting his lip as if he had something he wanted to say but was not
certain how it would be accepted.

"Possession is a great evil, if it is not the Voice of Flame," he said
finally.

"I think it is a greater evil than even you know, and you were
possessed in truth."

"How do you mean?"  An'desha asked, hoping that perhaps, just perhaps,
this Karal might have some real answers for him.  He might be the only
person in this whole country who truly did understand, completely, what
had been done to him.

"Possession can hurt the one possessed," Karal told him earnestly,
leaning forward with the intensity of a greyhound about to be loosed
for the chase.

"It can make deep wounds, unseen wounds to the spirit.  It is wounds
like these, though they are invisible, that are harder to heal than any
physical wounding.  Evil corrupts, like the touch of any foul thing; it
corrodes, like acid.  It can etch the shape of itself into a spirit."

That was exactly what the Avatars had said!  An'desha nodded, not
bothering to hide his astonishment.  But Karal was still not through.

"I do not know you well, An'desha," he said, diffidently.

"you are not of my faith, you do not swear by the Sunlord, and yet when
the Voice of Flame possessed Solaris, Vkandis Himself laid the duty
upon all of us to bring the breath of healing to any who needed it.

"He who does good in the name of another god, does it for Vkandis," He
said, 'and he who does ill in the name of Vkandis does it for the
darkest demons in hell.  Let those of good will bring succor to one
another, and dispense with the naming of Names.  " Karal took a deep
breath, and An'desha held his, every muscle tight, every nerve singing
with tension.

"Healing hurts to the spirit is something of what my training is about,
" he continued.

"My master Ulrich knows far, far more than I. There are many who were
hurt in this way by the Black-robes that my master and others have
later helped."

He paused, and An'desha nodded, unable to speak.  Karal took that as
license to continue.

"I think that you are still in pain and fear, An'desha," he said, as
somber as any shaman.

"I cannot see you in pain and not offer to help.  If it is your will,
my master or I can try to help you."  He smiled shyly when An'desha did
not immediately reject the offer or turn away.

"I do not know if we can help you, but I know that we would try.
This-healing does not require that you swear by Vkandis; it only
requires that you be willing to have it done.  Even if we can do
nothing, perhaps we can give you the direction to help you heal
yourself."

For .  hardly more than the blink of an eye, young Karal was surrounded
by a soft, golden glow-as if he sat in the midst of warm summer
sunshine.  But the waterfall was in shadowAn'desha blinked, as he
realized that there was something more about this young stranger that
he had sensed but had not understood.  After his own brush with the
Avatars, he had become far more sensitive to those the shaman would
call "god-touched."  It did not even matter that the god in question
was not his own Star-Eyed Lady.  There was something about this Karal-a
color, or a sense of Light about him-that was a great deal like the
feeling he had when the Avatars Were near, though it was much weaker.
And now-this glow about him was clearly a confirmation of what he had
felt.  He had sensed similar Light about the Shin'a'in envoy, although
he had been far too shy to approach her; she was sworn to the Goddess,
marked so by her dark apparel, and he had not had the courage to speak
with her after the way he had run off from his own Clan, so long ago.
And this feeling Karal called up in him was also identical to the kind
of feeling he had when he was around a Companion.... Whoever, whatever
he is, he hasn't made this offer frivolously, or because he wants to
impress me.  He has something that can help.  And Firesong doesn't
understand me when I try to tell him what's wrong with me.... If there
is any hint of Falconsbane around me, surely someone like Karal or his
master can banish it And he talks as if he understands the horrible
things I've been feeling and the terrible things I've almost done!

He flushed with embarrassment and ducked his head a little.  " Yes," he
said softly.

"Please.  I don't know why you have offered, but-" Karal patted his
hand, that he had unconsciously clenched into a fist on his knee.

"I have offered because it is my-my job?  I suppose that is right.  It
is something I must do, as flying is something that a bird must do.  I
think I know now why Herald Talia brought me to meet you; if it was not
of her will, it might well have been of the will of Vkandis.  She is a
Priest, and He can work through her, if He chooses."

"That may well be," An'desha began.  After everything I have seen, I am
not about to say that there is anything a god may or may not do!

"And-" Bells from the Collegium marked the hour, chiming clearly over
the sound of the waterfall, and the young man started as he counted
them.  He said a word that An'desha did not recognize, though he did
recognize the tone of annoyance easily enough.

"Of all the times-" He shrugged helplessly.

"I must go to attend my master at a Council session.  Pah!  I would
gladly have it be some other day, but I have no choice."

"I understand," An'desha said quickly, and then he grinned.

"Council sessions do not wait on the needs of such as you and I!  "
"No, we are only poor underlings to dance to the bells.

But Karal's answering smile took any hint of sourness out of those
words.

"I will return~ I pledge you, and I will see what I can do for you
then.  I will send word when I may come, if that is well with you?"

Very well, and I cannot begin to thank you," An'desha replied, rising
to escort him to the door.  Karal ran off with a backward wave, soon
vanishing among the trees and bushes screening the trail; An'desha
watched him go with a much lighter heart than he had ever expected to
have.

I have a friend.  And there was one other thing, small in the light of
all that Karal had offered, but in its way just as comforting.

I did not-desire him, except as a friend.  He had been afraid that his
desire for Firesong was yet another example of how Falconsbane had
warped his spirit.  In fact, now that he thought about it, he had found
Talia rather comely ... and Elspeth as well, though she was as
intimidating as she was attractive.

What I feel for Firesong is not of Falconsbane's doing.

Yes, in a way, that was the most comforting of all.

Karal ran down the trail that led back to the Palace; his feet and
heart felt as strong and light as the hero Gregori's on his way back
from the Ice Mountain.  He had not known what to expect from the
silver-haired, gray-eyed young man that Talia had brought him to meet,
and at first he had mostly been grateful that this An'desha was dressed
far more conservatively than his friend Firesong.  But then, as they
talked, something unexpected had happened.

He found himself really liking the quiet man, so unlike anyone he had
ever met before.  This was very much akin to the liking he had felt for
Rubrik, and yet it was different from that.  His feeling for Rubrik had
been in part because he had admired the man; they were too different in
age and personalitY to be true friends.  But for An'desha-there was the
interest of kindred personalities.  As they spoke, he realized they had
much in common, from a love of learning, to a liking for the same kinds
of music.  But there was something more to it than that, as well, and
although he did not understand it, he waited for the moment when the
feeling would be explained.

Then An'desha had revealed that he had been possessed-and there was the
explanation.

Ulrich had told him, all of his teachers had told him, that when he
came upon a spirit that needed his help, he would feel that need and
would respond to it.  He was of the Kin of Vkandis, and Vkandis would
guide him to those in need.  Now he knew what they had meant.

If I cannot help him, surely Ulrich can, he thought as he ran.  Now I
understand how Healer Priests feel, when someone nearby is wounded or
ill, though they cannot see the person.

There is a hunger to help, a hunger as strong as the hunger for
nourishment.  Yes, we can and will help him.

He broke through the trees and began the sprint to the Palace buildings
in the distance.  Fortunately, he had heard the bells that gave him a
half-mark of warning before the meeting.  It would take him a
quarter-mark to reach the Palace and get his note-taking supplies; that
should give him enough time to catch his breath so that he didn't make
an unseemly entrance.

Ulrich would much rather work the magics of healing the soul-sick than
do any other kind of magic.  He has said as much to me more times than
I can count.  Surely Vkandis moved subtly through Herald Talia today,
to bring the two of us together.

There was a stile that went over the fence around the Field, and he
headed for that instead of the gate, since it was nearer the Palace. He
leapt from the top of the stile as if he was trying to fly and hit the
ground running; a few of the gray-clad youngsters stared at him as he
ran past them, but that was probably because they didn't recognize him.
He only stopped at the outer door to wait for the guard there to
acknowledge him and open it for him, then he was off again, running
down the hall to the staircase.  A few moments later, he burst into the
suite, half expecting to see Ulrich there.

He was faintly disappointed to find the rooms empty.  Still, nothing
could be discussed until after that meeting anyway, and he put his
impatience and his news aside.

Business first.  An'desha has waited this long, a few marks or even a
few days more will not matter a great deal, Patience.

Isn't that what Ulrich always tells me?

Given that he had a few more moments than he had anticipated, he took
just long enough to peel off his tunic and pull on another, more
presentable one.  Then he snatched up his pouch of paper and pens and
headed for the Council chamber, walking slowly and taking deep breaths
to ease his panting, so he would not look as if he had been running a
quarter-mark ago.  Appearances.  Always appearances.  Something no
foreign envoy can ever forget.

He had been to this great Council Chamber several times before, but
this was the first meeting he had been permitted to attend that would
include all the envoys of all the allies.

That meant, among other things, that one or both of the gryphons would
be there.

He had not seen a gryphon since the formal presentation, although he
suspected that Ulrich had spoken more than once with the male, Treyvan.
The idea of seeing them again, closely, made him shiver with
excitement.  There were no magical creatures in Karse-unless one
counted the Firecats, of course-and calling them simply "magical"
seemed rather blasphemous.  Gregori had rid the land of the last of the
ice drakes and although there was a skull of a basilisk in the Temple,
there had not been a living one in even the most inaccessible swamps
since long before the first battle with Valdemar.

And ice-drakes and basilisks are evil creatures; Treyvan and his mate
are anything but evil.  I have seen gryphons listed in the Writ, among
other creatures that Vkandis is said to love-sun hawks snow horns
scaled ones.  They are said in the writ to be special, "created without
guile;" no one could ever tell me just what that was supposed to mean,
but perhaps I will be able to ask them some time soon for myself.

Daydreaming aside, there were other good reasons to be here that had
nothing to do with his duty to his master.  I will see a bit more of
Firesong here, which will be a good thing.  If I am to help An'desha, I
must know something of the one he Is with.  " he got to the door of the
Council Chamber to find that he was actually the first one to arrive;
there were only a pair of guards and a young page on duty.

Well, that was convenient.  He would have a chance to imPReSS, not only
his master, but the other dignitaries, with the diligence of those from
Karse.  Anything that could show Karsites in a good light was
definitely to be pursued.

He had the page inside the chamber show him where Ulrich's seat was,
and took the lesser one beside it.  He opened his pouch and took out
everything in it, sharpening his pens, making certain the ink was
mixed, readying all his materials so that there would be no unseemly
fumbling with pouch, pen, and papers when the meeting began.

just as he completed his arrangements, the rest of those who were to
attend the meeting began to filter in.  He recognized all of the
Councilors, of course, though they paid him no attention whatsoever.
Both gryphons arrived with Firesong between them, and they took a place
behind him, since they obviously would never fit at the table itself.
The Shin'a'in envoy arrived as well, and with her, Ulrich.

Well, that was certainly interesting.  Had Ulrich been engaged in a
private discussion with her before this meeting?

The way they were talking suggested that he had been.  But Ulrich's
seat was at one end of the horseshoe-shaped table, and the Shin'a'in's
seat was at the other, next to Firesong.

Ah, I see-they have us grouped by geography-those who live near each
other are seated next to each other.  That's useful, and practical as
well.

Ulrich sat down next to Karal with a smile of approval for his
preparations.  Karal was not the only secretary attending this meeting,
but he was clearly the best organized of the lot.

The others were fumbling out their supplies and trying to be
unobtrusive at the same time, and it wasn't working.

The envoy from Rethwellan was supposed to sit next to Ulrich, but to
Karal's astonishment, which he quickly -cloaked, it was the
Prince-Consort who took the chair there.  A solemn-faced young man in
sober blue took the seat next to Daren's, and prepared to take his own
set of notes on behalf of the Prince.

So the Prince-Consort also plans to act as the Rethwellan envoy? That's
just a little irregular, isn't it?  But no one else seemed to mind, and
only the Shin'a'in envoy raised an eyebrow.

On the other hand, Daren had once been his brother's Lord Martial, and
presumably could still speak with authority on military matters within
Rethwellan.  Perhaps he was the best choice for this meeting.

Eventually the Queen herself arrived with very little fanfare.

Talia came quietly along behind her, and took up a special seat that
Karal had thought was for the Prince Consort.

Evidently not.  He studied the Queen's Own, wondering just what the
basis for her position was here.  Clearly she was some kind of advisor,
but what did she do?  I'm going to have to ask someone some time soon.
These Valdemarans were so surprising that they might even tell him the
truth.

When everyone attending the meeting was seated, and all the underlings
had their papers and supplies in order, the Queen stood.  Selenay wore
only a circlet of gold on her head to denote her rank; otherwise her
clothing was nothing more than a richer version of the Herald's livery.
That in itself was fascinating, because Solaris of all of the Sons of
the Sun in living memory was doing precisely the same thing with her
robes of office.  She seldom wore the Crown of Prophecy except when the
Voice was going to possess her; as for the rest, the sole symbol of her
office was the special Sundisk pectoral that only the Son of the Sun
wore, a neck piece as ancient as Karse itself.  Her robes were the same
as any other Priest; save only that the cloth was a little softer, of a
slightly finer weave.  This was very effective, as it made her seem
much more approachable than any of her predecessors.  Had she taken her
cue from the Queen of Valdemar, or had she contrived the notion
herself?

"The forces of the Eastern Empire are currently not moving forward
through Hardorn," the Queen began, as soon as the murmur of talk was
replaced by silence.  It was odd, but she looked a lot calmer than
Karal would have been in identical circumstances.  He made note of
that; impressions could be useful.

"We have taken this opportunity to gather intelligence information, and
we have called this Council to present it to the representatives of all
of our allies at once.  Much of this will be new even to me."

Ah.  So she isn't using the royal plural; when she says 'we, " at least
in this Council, she is talking about more peoPle than just herself.
Also useful to know.

And with that, she sat down and gestured to the first of a series of
underlings to come forward and make his report.

Karal took copious notes.  The first was a basic report on how much
territory the Empire had already annexed, and the current situation
with what was left of a government in that portion of Hardorn still
held by loyalists.

The news wasn't good.  The Empire held roughly half of Hardorn at this
point.  There was resistance, which became more organized with every
passing day, but the question in the minds of those who had written
this report was whether or not it would become well-organized enough in
time to actually stop the Empire short of the Valdemar border.

"The current government consists of a Special Council," the clerk read,
as Karal wondered who had been intrepid enough to ferret out all this
information.  It had to have been obtained at firsthand.

"There are thirty surviving nobles, the heads of the Guilds, and
someone who claims that he speaks for all the mages who are left.  It
is the opinion of those who have watched this Special Council in action
that they are still disordered and demoralized, and a single leader has
yet to emerge from the chaos."

The clerk presented his papers to the Queen and bowed himself out.  She
looked straight at Ulrich as she accepted them, but she waited until
the clerk was gone before saying anything.

"My Lord Ulrich," Selenay said smoothly, "has your leader any interest
in this situation while it remains on the opposite side of her
borders?"

Karal fully expected Ulrich to say nothing, but once again, his master
surprised him.

"I would be lying, and we both know it, if I said that this was not a
very tempting situation for us, your Highness," he replied, just as
smoothly.

"The secular advisors to Her Holiness would like nothing better than to
annex a bit of Hardorn while the situation is so very unstable, and
they have, in fact, so advised her.  We might already have done so-but
for one insurmountable barrier."  He raised his eyebrow.

"The Voice of Flame spoke through Her Holiness and made His Will quite
plain, to the public in general, and again to Her Holiness in her
private meditations.

Vkandis Sunlord does not approve of the notion of increasing Karse
beyond the present border, and will make His displeasure clear to
anyone who flouts His holy Will.  Since that displeasure has been known
to be fatal, no one has suggested any more annexations."

one of the Valdemar Councilors snorted in derision, but it was not
Ulrich who answered that clear expression of disbelief.

" I do assure you, my lord," the Shin'a'in envoy said, in a tone of
voice that put frost on the rim of every glass in the room.  "while
deities are not known for personally manifesting Their wrath inside
your realm, we who live outside are quite accustomed to hearing our
gods and obeying them.  It is more than faith that governs us, it is
fact."

The Councilor in question flushed a painful scarlet and mumbled an
apology in Ulrich's direction.  The Priest bowed slightly in
acknowledgment and acceptance, and the Queen took the floor again..

"It is just as tempting for Valdemar to act during this period of
confusion," Selenay said gravely.

"We are overcrowded with Hardornen refugees, for one thing.  It would
be very convenient for us to send them back into their own land again,
under Valdemaran supervision.  Sending military advisors, perhaps?"

The Councilor for the East asked for the floor.

"We have been encouraging them to go back to Hardorn and take back
their own land again, but it's very difficult to convince them to do so
when we can promise them no help.  Ancar drained his land dry, and
times would be very hard there without an army of occupation holding
half the country.  They simply cannot do anything against the Empire
without substantial aid.

"But if we offer them aid, we open up another bag of troubles
entirely," the Lord Marshal said instantly.

"At the moment, Hardorn is still a buffer between us and the Empire,
and the Emperor seems in no great hurry to take the rest of the
country.  if the Emperor decided that offering aid to Hardorn was a
direct act of aggression, he could escalate his Occupation in order to
get at us.  Frankly, he can move more troops and resources faster than
we can respond.  I don't advise any kind of intervention, no matter
what words or titles we cloak it in."  His mouth twitched in a grimace
of chagrin.

"I may be a military man, but I know my facts.  Fact one-we don't have
the resources to take on the Empire.  Fact two-we can't afford to
antagonize them.  We have no choice."

"What is the Empire doing right now?"  Prince Daren asked.

in answer, Selenay gestured to Kerowyn, who stood up with a sheaf of
papers in her hand.

"I have an intelligence report on precisely that right here," Kerowyn
said, her voice carrying easily to all parts of the room.

"In essence, they've stopped moving forward.  My agents say that there
is a new commander in charge of the entire operation, someone reporting
directly to Emperor Charliss.  This new commander seems to have decreed
a halt to further conquest while he builds a supporting infrastructure
behind his lines.  How long that will take-I can't tell you.  They have
more resources than we do, and anybody with a lot of resources can do
quite a bit very quickly, barring bad luck and acts of nature or
gods."

"Granted."  Prince Daren nodded.

"Then what happens?"

"Once that is in place," Kerowyn continued, "chances are he will order
another push forward, then halt to build, and repeat that pattern until
he has the entire country.  It's my opinion that he'll hold to that
pattern as long as there is little or no organized resistance."

"What will he do when he reaches the Valdemar border and the Karsite
border?"  the Guild representative, Lady Cathal, asked in a tone of
quiet tension.

Kerowyn shrugged.

"Frankly, he's got a big enough army that if I were in his shoes, I
wouldn't stop.  I'd keep right on going as long as losses were
acceptable.  And don't ask me what 'acceptable losses' are for him; the
entire population of all our peoples could be less than a regional
garrison to them.

I don't know what counts as 'acceptable," because he hasn't yet met
with any resistance that's given him any palpable losses at all.  I
haven't been able to see the conditions that make his commanders pull
back.  For Ancar, any losses were acceptable as long as he took ground.
For us-we're more inclined to retreat than lose lives.  He could follow
either pattern, but chances are he'll be somewhere in the middle.  I
can tell you this; 'acceptable losses' will be a percentage of his
troops, rather than a hard number.  One percent of ]his strength is a
lot more in real numbers of men than one percent of ours."

"And our land is worn out from the conflict with Ancar," the Lord
Marshal pointed out glumly.

"We could mount some resistance, but how could it be enough to
discourage an army like the Eastern Empire can field?"

"Karse is not in much better shape than Valdemar, although we took
little direct damage," Ulrich added.

"Indirectlywe did lose troops to Ancar, and mages that we sent up here
to you."

"And speaking of mages," Kerowyn put in, taking over the floor again,
"the- Empire seems to have mages that do things differently than ours
do.  Many of you have heard Elspeth describe how the Imperial
Ambassador to Hardorn created a Gate without any physical counterpart,
and our mages have all reacted to that bit of news with dropped jaws.
Maybe these mages are better than ours, and maybe they aren't.  It
hardly matters; they're different, and that's a problem.  Vastly
different approaches to mage-craft make it quite likely that they can
hit us with something we would never expect in a hundred years."

"And there are," Firesong added smoothly, "many, many more mages in the
Empire than the entire Alliance can currently supply.  Again, that is a
real fact.  Herald Captain Kerowyn asked me to look at the section of
her intelligence report that deals with magic.  It is evident to me
that much of Imperial infrastructure depends very heavily on mages.  I
would judge, from the descriptions in the report, that they use mages
for communication, construction, and transportation, making their
conventional supply-lines much different from what we would use.  In
layman's terms, I believe that all of their supplies come from deep
within the Empire itself by means of Gates.  If they can afford to use
mages for tasks where we would use carts, workers, and messengers, what
kind of offensive magics can they muster?"

"I'm not sure I want to think about it," someone muttered grimly, as
shocked silence fell around the table.

"Kerowyn is a good commander who does not shrink away from the truth,
however unpleasant, Karal decided, and wrote exactly that down.  She
has a talent for stating baldly the things that no one else truly wants
to consider.

Finally the Lord Patriarch cleared his throat, making no few of those
sitting around the table start.

"Well," he said, unsteadily, "What are our options, with such a force
levied against us?  It begins to look as if the only one we have is to
pray!

The Shin'a'in envoy looked at Firesong, and he nodded, deferring to
her.

She stood up, took a pointer from a page, and went to the great map
inlaid on the wall.

"The Shin'a'in and the Tayledras have agreed to establish safe holds in
the west, in this line," she said, pointing out a line that began at
the southern rim of Lake Evendim and continued down to the Dhorisha
Plains.

"We will hold a safe path of retreat at all times, just as we did
during the war with Ancar.  We can also receive some of your Hardornen
refugees that are willing to take a chance on making new homes in the
west, and we hope that this will take some of the strain from the
resources of Valdemar."

She sat down again, and Firesong took up where she had left off.

"I must admit to you all, however, that as reinforcements, both of our
peoples are fairly useless.  We are equipped to wage very small-scale
battles at the best.  The Shin'a'in excel as individual warriors, but
they have no organization or structure above the Clan hunting party.
The Tayledras have better organization among our scouts, but again, we
field very small units.  We can offer a place of retreat, we can offer
some support, but as armies go-" his expression was rueful, ,-we can't
manage much that is going to be useful to you."

"What about mages?"  The Guild representative called.

mages."  Firesong nodded.

"First of all, the Shin'a'in do not have mages.  However, the
Kaled'a'in-that is an offshoot tribe of both our peoples-do practice
magic, and the Star-Eyed has given them leave to use it up here, am I
correct?"

He glanced back at the gryphon called Treyvan, who chuckled.

"Betterrr sssay that Ssshe hasss given them theirrr marrrching
ordersss," the gryphon said with a glance over at the fellow who had
expressed scorn over Vkandis' implied power.

"Asss sssomeone elssse herr re pointed out, therrre arrre sssome of
usss who arrre usssed to hearrring dirrrectly from ourrr godsss.  "

"So, that's one group-and I have-to admit that even I am not certain
what these magic-users can and cannot do.  They have been separated
from us for a very long time, and casually use things that we had long
considered lost arts.  We, the Tayledras, are also prepared to strip
the Vales of mages and bring them here.  We will not endanger our
Vales, but there are many projects that can wait a little longer while
we aid you "White Winds, Blue Mountain, and any other school we can
contact will be doing the same," the White Winds representative put in.
Quenten, I think.  A friend of Kerowyn.

Karal noted that they appeared to be about the same age.

"If the Empire moves this far west, we freelance mages cannot afford to
stand by idly.  The Empire will annex us, or destroy us.  That has been
their policy in the past, and it is what they are doing now in Hardorn.
" Firesong nodded.

"I did say that there is no way that we can even begin to equal the
sheer number of mages that the Empire can bring to bear-and I still
mean that.  However, the fact that the Empire works in a different
tradition from us can work against them as well.  If we don't know what
they can do, the reverse is true for them.  Right now, absolutely the
best thing we can concentrate on is to learn everything we can about
the Empire and its mages."

"True, and we're working on that," Kerowyn replied, "but don't forget
they'll be doing the same thing about us."

Karal was taking notes furiously, while fighting his wish to gawk at
the rest of the table.  Firesong was as flamboyant as the last time
Karal had seen him, though this time his color of choice was scarlet
with touches of bright blue; the Shin'a'in envoy was sleekly exotic, as
quiet and deadly as one of her arrows.

Then there were the gryphons.  Once again, hearing an intelligible,
intelligent sentence emerge from those beaks gave him something of a
start.  If he had not seen the Firecat Hansa conferring with Solaris
with his own eyes, he would have been even more startled-and inclined
to suspect trickery,

some kind of magic to make it look as if the "beast" was speaking.

Ulrich stood up, and all eyes went to him.

"I am inclined to agree with the Herald Captain in principle," he said,
carefully, " But there is another factor involved here.  The Empire is
enormous, very old, and has probably never met with serious opposition
in a very long time.  They are likely to be used to these favorable
conditions.  They may very well dismiss all of us as 'barbarians' and
inconsequential.  They may not pursue their own intelligence-gathering
operations as vigorously as they should.  We cannot count on this, of
course-" he added, as Kerowyn looked ready to protest such hubris,
"-but we should be watching for patterns that indicate this.  In fact,
I believe that we should pursue the notion of planting information that
we are as disorganized on this side of the border as the poor
Hardornens are, and as paralyzed with terror.  If we see the attitude
of complacence developing, we will then be poised to take instant
advantage of it."

Kerowyn smiled broadly at that, and bowed a little in acknowledgment of
Ulrich's cleverness.  He returned the ironic little salute as he
regained his seat.

"What about the mages of Valdemar?"  Prince Daren asked into the
silence.

Now it was Elspeth's turn, and she rose to her feet.

"The obvious answer is that we should train as many, and as quickly, as
we can-which we are doing.  The second obvious answer is that we should
also recruit as many freelance mages from the south as possible, just
as we did during the last conflict with Ancar.  The problem with that
second obvious answer is that other than mages from the Kaled'a'in and
Tayledras, and those coming from schools and teachers personally known
to Quenten, we have to suspect that at least some of the mages we might
recruit from the south are agents of the Empire.  Most of the mages
that Quenten knows and can vouch for are already up here.  That leaves
us with the first answer.  We're training our own-but there are only so
many of them."

"Whoa, wait a moment," Kerowyn interrupted, a look of concentration on
her face.

"I just thought of something.  Why make so hard a push for mages at
all?

"But-!"  someone cried, triggering a storm of protest from around the
table; she waved the protests away.

"No, I'm serious.  What put the idea in everyone's head that mages were
the answer to everything?"  she asked.

Well that certainly put a fox among the hens.  Stunned silence reigned
for a moment, until Kerowyn broke it.

"Yes, we needed them desperately when we were fighting Ancar, but that
was because without them there were things he could field that we
simply couldn't fight.  But that's not the case now."  More protests
erupted; she waved for further silence.

"Wait, hear me out!"

The Queen herself ordered silence when it was obvious Kerowyn was not
going to command it herself.  From the looks of suppressed panic around
the table, unless Kerowyn made her point very well, the silence was not
going to last very long.

"Look," Kerowyn said earnestly, leaning over the table to emphasize her
point.

"The things that the Empire is simply not prepared for are the factors
that make Karse and Valdemar absolutely unique in their experience.  In
Karse-it's something we aren't even prepared for, the fact that Vkandis
Sunlord can, will, and does intervene with and guide His people
directly.  For all I know, if the Empire penetrates the borders of
Karse, He might even decide to lob a few fire bolts at some select
Imperial generals!"

"It would take more than simply penetrating our border to cause Him to
do so," Ulrich murmured gently, as she looked at him with expectation,
"but it is possible He could choose to intervene selectively."

"Yes, well, miracles do happen with predictable regularity in Karse, "
she retorted.

Ulrich simply smiled very, very slightly.

"That's going to make it difficult, if not impossible, for the Empire
to attack successfully in that direction.  And meanwhile, I'll bet your
Sunlord is doing something else the Empire isn't prepared for.  I'll
bet He's feeding Solaris with better

Information than any of my agents can get," Kerowyn stated baldly, then
smiled at Ulrich's cautious nod.

"Well, I've got some good news for you and your people.  As far as my
spies have- been able to determine.  the people of the Empire have a
state religion that venerates the current Emperor, his predecessors,
and all his ancestors.  I'm sure that's very nice for Charliss, but
I've got no evidence that he has any special power that an Adept
couldn't duplicate, which means that the Sunlord isn't going to be
squaring off against another deity if He does decide to throw fire
bolts around."

Karal scribbled all this down furiously.

"Ah," Ulrich said, brightening.

"That does put the likelihood of intervention, at least within the
Karsite borders, much higher."

"Thought so," Kerowyn said, with an even bigger smile.

"All right, then.  In Valdemar, one thing that the Empire is not
prepared for is the simple existence of the Heralds and Companions.  We
have brought mind-magic to a high art here;

I don't think there's another place north of Ceejay that has people
using mind-magic so-scientifically.  For that matter, I don't know that
there's anyone using it this way south of Ceejay either."

Quenten shrugged.

"Not that I've ever heard of."

Kerowyn nodded.

"That's what I thought.  We had to do without magic from the time of
Vanyel; we found ways to deal with problems that didn't require magic.
They put a tremendous emphasis on magic-you all heard the report, they
do things with magic we wouldn't dream of, but that makes them very
vulnerable if they expect us to do the same and plan their magical
attacks accordingly."

Firesong nodded vigorously, Ulrich cautiously; Elspeth simply looked
thoughtful.

"That sounds good for a working premise," Elspeth said at last.

"So, this time we have one thing that we didn't have when we were
fighting off Ancar-we have time, while they're busy eating Hardorn a
gulp at a time."  Kerowyn shrugged.

"I know it sounds cold-hearted, but just at the moment I can't
recommend helping the Hardornens directly.  My recommendation is that
we study the Empire, we make diplomatic overtures to them to buy time,
and we find out how we can counter their magic without using magic of
our own-or with using mind magic instead.  We use what we can apply
with confidence to the absolute limit because they simply will not be
expecting that.  " More nods around the table, as Karal caught up with
everything that had been said so far.  He was very glad now for all
those lessons from Alberich; without them, he'd have been lost long
before this.

Prince Daren spoke up next.

The Empire waited decades-maybe longer-before they moved on Hardorn,"
he pointed out.

"They actually attacked only when they could do so with an absolute
minimum of resistance.

We know they had an agent at the highest levels to feed them accurate
intelligence-we should assume that they have had agents there all
along.  If we convince them that it would be too expensive to take us,
they may decide not to."

"We can hope for that," Selenay said.

"We can work toward convincing them of that.  But we cannot risk
assuming that."

"Agreed," rumbled the Lord Marshal.

There was more discussion, a few more pertinent comments and additions,
but on the whole the real work of the meeting was over at that point.
When people had begun repeating what had already been stated, Selenay
called a halt to it all, and declared the meeting closed.

It was not too soon for Karal; his fingers had begun to cramp.

And none of this had driven An'desha and An'desha's plight out of his
mind.  He could not wait to get Ulrich alone, and see what his mentor
had to offer.

"You're very quiet tonight," Firesong observed, as An'desha stared at
lamplight reflected in the waterfall.

"Are you well?

"Just tired," An'desha replied truthfully.

"I did some work in the garden, and then repeated all the
mage-exercises you showed me until my control felt uncertain; then I
quit."

Firesong looked pleased, and An'desha relaxed.  He had made the
conscious decision to keep this new friendship with the Karsite a
secret from Firesong for at least a little while.

That was partly because he was not certain how Firesong would react to
such a revelation.  Granted, Firesong had been incouraging him to be
more sociable, but An'desha was not altogether sure what he would do if
he learned that An'desha had made a, singular, friend.  Especially when
he found that friend was male.

It had occurred to him that under those circumstances, Firesong was
very likely to come to the erroneous conclusion that his friendship
with Karal was based on physical attraction, not mental attraction, and
that it might go beyond mere "friendship" before too long.

No, it would be a good thing to keep his meetings with Karal between
the two of them-unless Karal brought his master, Lord Priest Ulrich,
along.  Then it should be safe enough to reveal.

The oddest thing is, he'd never make the same assumption if my friend
was female, and it would be far more likely that I'd-ah-get involved
with a female than with another man.

"Any more of those premonitions of doom?  " Firesong asked, a little
teasingly.

"They might be useful, actually; it seems that the mages in the
Empire-" Premonitions of doom-An'desha gasped, as the ground seemed to
drop out from underneath him, and Firesong's voice faded into a roar
that filled his ears.  He clutched at the rock he was sitting on, but
his fingers didn't work.  Darkness assaulted him-then blinding light.
Then darkness again, filled with the twisting snakes of red An'desha
always saw after a bright light.  He tried to scream and couldn't.  He
couldn't even feel his jaws opening.

Then light, striking him in concentric circles.  It was almost as if
something had picked him up and was shaking him, waving him as a maiden
might wave a scarf in the Rainbird Dance.  And everywhere, everywhere,
was terrible fear, filling him with icy paralysis.  Then the darkness
again, and then less light than before, then darkness.

Then it was over, as swiftly and without warning as it had begun.  He
found himself falling backward, still on his stone, Firesong clutching
his shoulders and staring into his eyes, while his hands held to the
rock underneath him, spasmed into rigidity.

"What-?"  he choked out.

"You were in a trance," Firesong said, testing An'desha's forehead with
the back of his hand for fever.

"You cried out once, and grabbed for the stone-I saw how your eyes
looked, and sensed power about you, and knew you were in a trance.

you looked terrified."

"I was.  Am."  An'desha gulped.

"It was terrible, horrible, yet there was nothing that I can describe.
Light and dark in waves, disorientation."

Firesong looked into his eyes, and frowned.

"It happened when I asked if you were still troubled by premonitions.
This seems too well-timed a response to be simple coincidence."

Numbly, An'desha nodded.  If anything, his sense of dread, his tension,
had increased now.

"Listen, and I will tell you what was related at the Council," Firesong
said at last.

"Mornelithe Falconsbane was not given to prescience-but you are not he,
and there is no reason why you should not have that Gift.  For that
matter, She might well have granted it to you; as we were reminded at
the Council, there are more hands than the merely human working in this
stewpot now."

I wouldn't be too sure that I am not Falconsbane, An'desha thought
bleakly, but he listened quietly while Firesong recited what had
transpired at the meeting.

"Did anything I spoke of wake a resonance with you?"  he asked, when he
was done.  An'desha had to shake his head.

"Nothing," he said sadly.

"You might as well have been telling me facts concerning cattle or
sheep.  It meant nothing.

Firesong tugged at a lock of silver hair, frowning.

"I am at a loss," he said finally.

"It would seem to me that our great enemy is at hand-that the Empire
and all the Empire's mages should be the source of your fears, and
yet-" "It is not the Empire, peacock!"  An'desha retorted, losing his
temper.

"I have been trying to tell you that!  It is something else, something
we have not even dreamed of!  And I think-" he gulped and felt his skin
turn cold and clammy as he voiced what he feared he must do, "-I think
there is some key to it among the memories that the Great Beast left
with me."

Firesong winced, but a moment later placed one hand comfortingly over
An'desha's clenched fist.

"Then we must examine those memories," he replied, with more gentleness
than An'desha would ever have credited him with.

"You and I. I have been remiss in forcing you to walk those paths
alone, An'desha.  I had been so certain that I knew what the answer to
your fears was.  An'desha stared at him, startled at this new and
unwonted humility.

"I do not know.  Captain Kerowyn made it very clear to me in ways I
could not ignore after the Council meeting that these Imperial mages
were so very different from anything I have ever experienced that it
was wildly unlikely I would be able to counter anything they brought to
bear on us effectively."  Then a ghost of his old self came back for a
moment.

"Or at least, it would be unlikely the first time they unleashed
something upon us.  I daresay once I had seen it, I could deal with
it."

Then even that bit of arrogance faded.

"Still, they need only keep changing their weaponry-and the Captain
pointed out that what I cannot anticipate, I cannot personally guard st
either."  His own face grew paler as he looked again solemnly into
An'desha's eyes.

"For the first time in my life, I cannot be sure that I can guard
myself from harm.  That is very unsettling.  Even when wrestling the
power of a renegade Heartstone I did not have such a sense of mortality
as I do now.  It makes me unsure."

omost lovely.  Now what2 h, "But if that is true then it is also true
that things I had assumed things regarding you-might also be
incorrect." He sighed.

"So, now, at long last, I am listening to you.  And I am asking you;
what do you think we, together, should do?"

Run away!  his cowardly inner self said.  But he swallowed, took a
steadying breath, and said, a bit shakily, "You must help me with those
memories of lives that Falconsbane had before he took my body.  We must
go farther than I have dared to."

If only the Avatars would come again, he thought, stifling fear as
Firesong nodded his agreement.  They knew what it is I am floundering
about in search ofOr did they?  In all their warnings, they had seemed
to bear a sense of frustration that they could not explain themselves
clearly.  Perhaps even they did not know.  They were very near to the
flesh-and-blood bodies they had once worn, after all, and in fact,
Trevalen and Dawnfire were not technically "dead" at all as they had
explained it to him.  That was why they had been able to help him, so
far from the Plains and the Hills, and out of the range of the
Star-Eyed's influence.

They are likely back where they might do some good, doing~ whatever it
is that Avatars do.  Perhaps they are aiding the Kal'enedral, the
Swordsworn.  I do not think they have the power to aid me now.

But Firesong did.  As frightening and as perilous as it might be to
invoke anything connected with the creature that had once possessed his
body, An'desha could not in conscience see any other choice.

"Perhaps we should begin tonight?"  he suggested timidly.

Firesong nodded gravely.

"I think it would be best, kc'chara.

Before we both lose our nerve."

Ah, but mine is already lost, An'desha thought, yet he did not protest
as Firesong helped him to his feet, and led him to their
heavily-shielded circle in the garden where all An'desha's fumblings at
magic took place.  But perhaps-perhaps now I can find new bravery...
"So-there was nothing left of the False One?"  An'desha had listened,
completely enthralled, to Karal's tale of how the Son of the Sun came
to power.  There was something oddly comforting in the notion that
there were other peoples whose deities tended to express themselves as
directly as the Star Eyed did.  More directly, in fact, although
An'desha could not even begin to envision how a false prophet could
ever set himself up as sole authority to the Shin'ain, much less how an
entire succession of them could have.  The Star-Eyed would have been
much more likely to have arranged for the first fool to be eaten by
something large and predatory before he ever became a problem.

"Nothing.  just a pile of smoldering ashes."  Karal nodded.

"It was quite-ah-daunting.  It made me certain that I never wanted to
find myself receiving the Sunlord's direct regard.  I will be quite
happy to remain in obscurity!"

"I can well understand that," An'desha replied.

"The Star Eyed is-a little more subtle."  That may be the
understatement of the century.  Kal'enel is not inclined to strike
people dead with lightning even at Her angriest.

The serene little indoor garden had become their meeting Place; they
were reasonably certain of being left alone there, and since An'desha
and Firesong already practiced all magic there, it was one place where
An'desha felt relatively confident.

And no matter what the weather-which continued to be uncertain-it was
always balmy summer in this miniature Vale.

He noted that Karal was no longer wincing whenever he mentioned the
Shin'a'in Goddess, and his dark eyes no longer clouded with unease.
Poor Karal.  He was so shocked at first to learn that Vkandis might not
be the One True God.

"But then again," An'desha continued with a shrug.

"She and He are both gods, so who are we to say what they will and will
not do?  For all that I was touched by the Star-Eyed's own hand, I am
still hardly qualified to judge Her or Her probable actions."

Karal coughed politely.  An'desha took the hint.

"Speaking of probable actions-I spoke with Ulrich about you."  Karal
waited for An'desha's reaction.

His reaction would have been enthusiastic enough to satisfy anyone.
Excitement sent a chill along his arms.

"Will he come?  Has he time?  Does he think he can' help?"  An'desha
had spent enough time delving back into the memories of Falconsbane's
previous lives to feel as if the already uncertain ground beneath him
had become a quagmire.  He couldn't help thinking that only extreme
good fortune had kept him from stepping into a bottomless pit that
would swallow him up before he could cry out for help.  He'd had a
particularly hag-ridden nightmare last night, after yet another stroll
through the memory-fragments of the past.  He'd spent the rest of the
night huddled into a blanket in a fearful ball of misery, and finally
Firesong had thrown his hands up and lost patience with him after
failing to calm him.  Firesong had gone off to the garden to sleep,
leaving An'desha to watch out the last of the night by himself.

I knew that he was right, that it had only been a nightmare, but what
could such nightmares lead to?  What if I fell into one and never came
out again?  That was what held me so terrified that he could not
comfort me.  I don't know how many more nights like that I can go
through.

Karal nodded solemnly.

"He said he would try to come this afternoon, unless I came to tell him
otherwise.  Shall I go see if he is free?

"Please " An'desha replied, with more force than he had intended.

He made himself relax, though Karal gave no sign that he was alarmed by
the violent response.

"Please.  Things are-I would truly like to speak with him."

"He'll come.  I'll go find him now."  Karal knew An'desha well enough
by now to take him seriously.  He got up and trotted off without
another word, leaving An'desha alone in the garden again.  Although
An'desha was not normally given to pacing, he did so now.  After all
this time-someone who understood his pain and his peril, who was
willing to help him What would this Ulrich be like?  Let him not be
like the shaman of my Clan ... that would leave matters worse than they
are now!  He could not bear that-to have someone deliver a lecture to
him on his own moral weakness, on how he should be showing some spine
instead of cowering like a child afraid of monsters in the tent
shadows.  He was doing his best, he was!  Even if Firesong didn't think
so-Now that the moment was at hand.  he was rapidly tangling into a
knot of tension.

"Here we are.  I found him on the very path," said Karal cheerfully,
from the door.  An'desha spun about to see his friend entering through
the doorway, with a much older man beside him, a man who walked
carefully and a little stiffly.

As they neared, An'desha noted the calm expression on the older man's
face-a face, thin and intelligent, with a sharp and prominent nose and
matching chin.  He and Karal were very much of a "type," as Shin'a'in,
Kaled'a'in and Tayledras were of a "type."  Interesting, since
Valdemarans were as mixed in "type" as a litter of mongrel puppies.

The priest had probably seen some fifty summers or so; his silver hair
had a few black threads in it, but not many.  But more important to
An'desha than his years was his expression;

there was none of the querulous impatience An'desha remembered the
shaman wearing more often than not.

"An'desha."  The man bowed a little in greeting to An'desha, rather
than extending his hand to be clasped as Valdemarans did.

"Karal has told me something of you and your Plight, but I would like
to hear it all from your lips, as well."

He smiled a little, and his eyes wrinkled at the corners.

"Sometimes things can be garbled in the translation, as any diplomat
will tell you."

The smile was enough to convince An'desha that, whatever Ulrich was he
was nothing like the shaman.  The shaman had never smiled.

Ulrich listened to his history and his current fears with no sign of
impatience, and even took him back over a few points to clarify them.
As Ulrich questioned him, An'desha was reminded more and more of the
spirit-sword Need, the blade that was now carried by Nyara.  Need had
coached him through his ordeal as he acted against Mornelithe
Falconsbane from-literally-within.  She had never promised more than a
chance at his freedom; she had never given him pity or sympathy, only
guidance.

Ulrich was of a similar mind.  He did not want to hear excuses, and
would not accept them if An'desha tried to make them-but as long 'as
An'desha had clearly been doing his best, Ulrich would praise him for
it, and make allowances for things that could not yet be helped.

He did spend quite a bit of time asking many questions about An'desha's
experiences with the Avatars, after An'desha mentioned them.  He had
done so with extreme caution, remembering how shocked Karal had been at
the intimation that there were more real deities in the world than his
own.

But to An'desha's relief and mild amusement, Ulrich was not only not
shocked, he seemed to accept it as a matter of course.

"You do believe me, don't you?"  he asked, when Ulrich fell silent.

"I mean, you believe me about Dawnfire and Tre'valen, that they are Her
Avatars, and not something I hallucinated, or something else."

Ulrich took a moment to think before replying.

"I admit that such an explanation had occurred to me, when you first
mentioned them," he said at last, steepling his fingers together.  "
You hardly qualified as sane under normal definitions.

But after all you have told me, I am quite certain that they are
exactly what you claim.  And that your "Star-Eyed' is what you claim
Her to be."

Karal made a small sound, something like a strangled cough; An'desha
glanced aside and saw him turning a fascinating color.

Ulrich chuckled and turned to his protege.

"What, surprised to hear me say that, young one?"  he chided gently.

"Did you think me so bound by the letter of the Writ?  Here is another
lesson for you.  Most wise priests are well aware, that the Light can
take many forms, many names, and all are valid.  It is there in the
earliest copies of the Writ, for those who care to look."

He turned back to An'desha.

"It is a man's deeds that define him," he said earnestly.

"As I believe Karal has told you-Vkandis Himself has passed that
stricture to us, that a good deed done in the name of the Dark is still
done for the Light, but an evil one done in the name of the Light is
still quite evil, and a soul could be condemned to Darkness for it."

An'desha nodded, as much relieved by those words as by anything else
Ulrich could have said or done.  The tradition bound shaman of
An'desha's Clan would never have said anything like that.

"I have always felt," Ulrich continued thoughtfully, "that before I
passed judgment on any man because of the god he swore by, I would see
how he comported himself with his fellows what he did, and how he
treated them.  If he acted with honor and compassion, the Name he
called upon was irrelevant.  "

All very well, An'desha thought, after a moment of silence, And I am
glad he feels this way-but what about me?  What about the dreams, and"
However, that has nothing to do with your predicament, An'desha,"
Ulrich said, startling him.  Could Ulrich read his mind?

"You have some very real fears that need to be addressed.

Let me start with the one closest to your heart-the fear that you are
still possessed by that evil creature that called himself
Bane-of-Falcons."

An'desha leaned forward eagerly, misgivings forgotten.

Point by point, with careful detail, Ulrich proved to him that he knew
what he was talking about-and that, as Firesong and everyone else had
said, Falconsbane was gone.

What convinced him was that Ulrich had a reason-a sound, believable
reason, for some of the things he'd been experiencing.  " There really
is a simple explanation.  You are only now able to feel the physical
effects of your emotions, after so many years existing only as a
disembodied spirit, so to speak," Ulrich told him patiently.

"For you, such things are as fresh and startling as regained sight for
one who was blinded, or hearing restored to the deaf!  Think of how
such a former deaf man would react to a sudden noise-and then think how
you are reacting to a sudden surge of emotion.  Not only that, you are
feeling the sweat of your palms, flushing of the skin or paleness that
come with emotions, for the first time in a very long time.  They must
feel overwhelming to you, easy to interpret as signs of possession. Yet
you now feel them with your own body, and not one taken over by an evil
spirit."

An'desha nodded, very slowly.  This made such good sense, he hardly
knew what to think.

"I'm not-I cannot seem to deal with all this," he began hesitantly.

Ulrich smiled.

"If you were handling all this well, then I would suspect another
possessing spirit, for no sane human could be taking your situation
well at this moment!"

Weakly, An'desha returned his smile.

"I suppose you are right, when you put it that way-" "An'desha, not
every soul is suited to being a Priest, or a conquering hero, or a
serene Healer.  You blame yourself for being a coward, when in fact you
show more bravery than anyone should expect of you.  judge yourself,
not what others would think of you, and be content with what you can
do.

This does not excuse you from learning how to control your emotions,
Ulrich warned.

"The shadow of your demon still lurks there.  His taint is that it is
much, much easier for you to feel anger than joy, hatred than
compassion.  These are old, worn paths through your body, which will
react according to long habit-and old, worn paths through your mind,
which experienced what Falconsbane experienced.  It is always easier to
take the well-worn path than the new one.  You must overcome that
taint.  The scars upon your soul can be smoothed away, but it will take
not only time, but your own will, that you will prove to be nothing
like him."

That, too, made sense, and An'desha nodded, more comforted now than he
could express.  Granted, others-including Firesong-had said exactly the
same things to him, though in different words, and with no
explanations; but this time he felt he could believe them, since they
came from an impartial source.

Perhaps Ulrich was a kind of Mind-Healer-or perhaps, a Spirit-Healer,
if there was such a thing.

And who am I to say that there is not?  Karal said so.  I think that I
must believe him.

"But this other-this great fear you have that there is danger for all
of us that we cannot foresee-this troubles me," Ulrich continued.

"This may be something you are sensitive to because of those ancient
memories you carry; that would be my guess, at least."  He chewed his
bottom lip thoughtfully.  " If you would like it put another way, part
of you, the part of you that holds those ancient memories, knows what
they contain, and knows that there is something going on at this moment
that relates to those memories, or even matches them.  But most of you
does not want to face those terrible memories.  So, that part of you
that is aware and knowledgeable is trying to force the rest of you to
become aware and knowledgeable."  He cocked an eyebrow at An'desha.

"Am I making sense to you, or is all this gibberish?"

"It is making sense," he replied dazedly.  In fact, like the other
explanation, it was making a little too much sense.

He'd had a sense of being divided internally for some time now, but he
had thought it was a sign of Falconsbane's continued presence.  Now he
had another explanation for the feeling, and it was one that did not
cater to his fears and left him no excuse for inaction Which makes it
more likely to be the right one.

"It is what the shaman called "The Warrior Within."  The voice inside
us that tells us what we must know," An'desha said slowly.

"The source of all honor, faith, and prosperity under the Goddess is
that voice, if we listen with wisdom, they say Ulrich studied his face
as he sat there with all those powerful thoughts passing through his
mind; at last the priest nodded, as if he was satisfied with what he
read there.  He raised an eyebrow at Karal.

"I have laid the foundation," he said to his protege.

"I think You can complete the work.  Simply keep your mind as open as
it has become, and I do not think you will misstep."

He turned back to An'desha.

"The bulk of your solutions lie within you, I do think," Ulrich told
him.

"Karal will help you, but on the whole, you will be doing the real work
to find them.  I will do what I can, but there is nothing that I see in
you now that requires my further help."

Which meant-what?  That he had needed Ulrich's help until this
moment?

//I would be the last person to assert that things cannot change,
however," Ulrich continued.  if they do, I would be distressed if you
did not come to me.  Meanwhile, you may trust Karal.  He is sensible,
he has learned good judgment, he is not afraid of the strange or the
powerful, and he has, most of all, a good heart."

Then, while Karal was still blushing a brilliant sunset crimson Ulrich
got up and left the two of them alone again.

With Ulrich's encouragement, Karal spent as much of his free time as
possible with An'desha.  As the days passed, Karal became more and more
convinced that Ulrich was right; the key to everything An'desha feared
lay in those buried memories.

Not only was there something in those recollections that was triggering
An'desha's prescient episodes and his nightmares, but there were also
things about An'desha himself that needed to be dealt with.

So Karal continued to work on the "foundation" that Ulrich had
established; building An'desha's confidence, convincing him that he had
passions and would make purely human mistakes, but that as long as he
remembered to keep his powers under a tight rein, the mistakes he made
would teach him how not to make other mistakes.

"Compassion and honor," he said, over and over again.

"Those are what is important.  So long as you have both, and act with
both, you cannot make any mistake that will bring lasting harm."

"No?"  An'desha replied with skepticism-a healthy sign, that he should
respond with anything other than blind agreement.

That meant he was thinking for himself.

"But-" "But good intentions count for something, else I'd have been
condemned to Vkandis' coldest Hell long ago!  " He grinned and hugged
An'desha's shoulders.

"If you have compassion and honor, and you made a mistake that harmed
someone, must you not, out of compassion and honor, see that the
mistake is being made and try to stop it?"

"Well, yes, I suppose," An'desha replied slowly.

"And having seen the effects of such a mistake must you not also try to
reverse them?  " he continued, with purest logic.

"Don't you see?  Compassion and honor require that you not make
excuses, nor allow yourself to say, 'nothing can be done."  So even if
you make a mistake, you must fix it.  You'll want to Perhaps because
Karal had no great powers of his own, and yet was (relatively) fearless
in the face of great powers, An'desha came to trust him, even as Ulrich
claimed he would.  And although An'desha was not told, Ulrich's
interest went far beyond the one meeting.  The priest questioned his
protege carefully every night, and asked Karal what his continuing
plans were.  He very seldom suggested any other course-Karal had the
feeling that Ulrich was letting him make his own mistakes and rectify
them as well-but it gave Karal a feeling of increased confidence to
know that his mentor was keeping track of all this, though the progress
came by infinitesimal increments.

But there was some measurable progress.  An'desha did start looking at
some of the older memories.  He was already past the life of a strange
creature that had called himself simply " Leareth" (which meant
"Darkness" in the Hawkbrother tongue), a time that seemed to be several
centuries ago.

And Firesong was a great deal happier with him, at least according to
An'desha.  An'desha carried some of his confidence back into his
lessons with the Adept, and was making more and steadier progress
toward using those powers he carried, instead of wishing them gone.

Success gave An'desha further courage to look farther and deeper into
those dark memories, and to face what lay there.

And, just as important, An'desha was able to look at the terrible
things in those memories and acknowledge, without flinching, that the
hateful or jealous things he felt (and did not act on) could be
considered a faint, far shadow of the dreadful things that the one who
had been Falconsbane had done.

And Ulrich pointed out something that Karal had wondered about.  The
farther back those memories went, the more human, rather than less,
that entity became.  And the more "reasons" and excuses he made up to
justify the unjustifiable.

Ulrich made no conclusions in Karal's hearing about the pattern, but it
certainly left him wondering what it meant, and trying to come to a few
conclusions of his own.  He continued to read those ancient notebooks
that Ulrich had given him, and found more than one place in the text
that sounded familiar.  Then he realized that Ulrich had been quoting
extensively from these very texts when he had given An'desha that
little speech about doing deeds in the name of the Light.

He was reading in his room, puzzling through another Valdemaran history
that Alberich had recommended, when Ulrich cleared his throat from just
outside his open door.  He looked up, quickly, and sat straight up on
his bed.  His master wore an unusually serious expression, and his
robes were not only immaculate, he was wearing one of his formal
outfits, robes of heavy ebony silk that shone with full magnificence.

"I dislike ordering you out of your own room, Karal," his mentor said
apologetically, "But I have only just arranged a meeting with someone
very important, who wishes to discuss matters of a sensitive and
theoretical nature.  And if-" "If I'm here, your important person won't
talk, "because I might overhear something.  Yes, sir."  Karal put a
marker in his book and quickly got to his feet.

"Since these discussions are theoretical, you won't need a record of
them.  I'm certain I can find something to occupy my time between now
andsaydinner?  I'm already dressed for it, so I won't need to
return."

"Excellent, and thank you."  Ulrich stood aside to let him leave with
no further comment.  Karal had been expecting something like this for
the past few days; negotiations between his mentor and not only the
Valdemaran government, but the Rethwellan government as well, had
gotten to the point where some significant gains could be made.  That
meant private, one-to-one meetings, where both parties could discuss
possibilities in total confidence and privacy.

As he walked down the wood-paneled hallway with a friendly nod to the
guard patrolling there, he realized that he was for once, completely at
loose ends.  An'desha would be with Firesong, in his magic-practices.
There was no use going into the garden to be snubbed by the young
nobles there-and it was snubbing, now; they had learned he was no
noble, and saw no reason to treat him better than any other servant.
The library, ordinarily enticing, was usually as full of young Heralds
at this time of the afternoon as the gardens were full of young
courtiers.  They weren't snubbing him, but he wasn't in the mood for
fending off questions and curious glances, either.

I'd ride, but I'm not exactly dressed for it, he thought wryly.
Dressing for dinner early might not have been such a good idea.  A
pity; another workout wouldn't have hurt Trenor in the least.  One
simply did not go in to dinner with the Court smelling of horse,
however.

That did give him an idea, though.  He'd been passing through
Companion's Field on a daily basis without gawking at the inhabitants,
but he could spend whole marks watching real horses, so why not spend
some time watching these not horses

It might give him some insight into what they were.

With that in mind, he took himself down to the first door to the
outside, and headed for the path that would take him to the Field.

While there were plenty of people about, none of them paid any
attention to him.  He leaned up against the fence and simply watched
the graceful creatures, taking a completely aesthetic pleasure in the
way they moved rather than consciously analyzing what they were doing.
Within a very little time, though, he was aware that they did not act
like horses at all.  There was no sense of a "herd" at all; the closest
to "herds" were small groups of foals playing together, with the mares
standing or grazing nearby, very much like mothers keeping a careful
eye on their toddlers while gossiping.  There Was no dominance-shoving
or scuffling among the young stallions as there would have been in any
other situation where there were mares present; rather, the young
stallions were as calm as the mares, and the only way of telling one
from the other was by the physical attributes.  There was one stallion
that every Companion there deferred to, but there was nothing of the
submission to the dominant herd beast;

they acted more like loyal courtiers with a genial and approachable
monarch.  It was rather fascinating, actually.  Any person with a bit
of knowledge of real horses would be well aware that this was not
"normal" behavior.  in fact, he had a disconcerting impression of a
large group of people taking their ease in a park.... "There have been
times when I would have been pleased to have traded places with any of
them," said a familiar voice behind him.

"I can certainly see why, Herald Rubrik," Karal replied, turning to
greet their former guide with a smile.

"Perhaps one day you will also be able to explain to me how a creature
as large as your Companion can succeed in creeping up behind someone,
while making no noise whatsoever!"

Rubrik shrugged, gazing down on Karal from his vantage point in his
Companion's saddle.

"I have no idea, but the gryphons are just as good at it.  I've had the
male come up behind me unexpectedly and scare the wits out of me; he
didn't intend anything of the sort, and he was very apologetic about
it, but I can't imagine how he managed to do it in the first place."
The Herald eyed Karal speculatively.

"Think you could spare a few moments to help me down?"

"Surely.  Here, or at the barn?  " he replied readily.

"The barn, if you would be so kind."  Rubrik chuckled.

"You aren't dressed for grooming, so I won't ask you to help me, but
I'd appreciate some company while I take care of things.  " "Actually,
so would I," Karal admitted, as the Companion started off toward the
gate at a sedate walk, and he took up a position at Rubrik's stirrup.

"I found myself at loose ends, and I was just thinking how few people I
really know here.

Most of the ones I know by name, I do not know well enough to speak
casually to."

"AE."  Rubrik nodded sagely.

"I can see that.  in part, I would suspect that is the burden of being
a diplomat, if only by association.  Whatever anyone says to you is
likely to be scrutinized from every possible angle.  And-I understand
as a commoner' forced to operate socially with highly born folk with an
exaggerated sense of the importance of bloodlines, things are not as
pleasant for you as they could be.  Your master is protected and given
status by his rank as ambassador, but you are no more than a lowly
secretary, completely beneath their notice.  It is rather difficult to
have an enlightening conversation under those circumstances."

Karal sighed, and fidgeted with his Vkandis-medal.

"I could wish that was less accurate, sir."

"At least your Valdemaran has improved significantly," Rubrik observed
as they reached the barn and crossed the threshold into the cool and
shadowed interior.

Karal managed a smile.

"If it had not, your own Herald Alberich would be having some irritated
words with me.  As I'm sure you are aware, his irritation is not an
easy thing to bear' " He helped Rubrik from the saddle, then assisted
with removing the tack and handing Rubrik grooming brushes while they
talked.

Rubrik succeeded in drawing him out, as he had so many times in the
past.  It wasn't hard; Karal desperately wanted someone to talk to, and
he realized before too long how much he had missed the older man's
insights and quiet observations.

" I suppose I'm lonely," he said finally, with a sigh, as he leaned
against the wall of a stall and watched Rubrik comb out his Companion's
mane.

"I was so much of a loner at home that I wasn't expecting to be lonely
here, but it's harder than I thought, being so much a foreigner here.
It's partly because in Karse, one of the Kin would feel at home in any
holy place, and they were everywhere.  But here, there is only one
strange place after another."

"I think I might have a solution for you, rather than a handful of
platitudes, for a change," Rubrik replied; a completely unexpected
response.  Karal stared at him as he patted his Companion and sent him
on his way out the door, then turned back to him with a smile that
hinted of plans behind Rubrik's eyes.

"What if I found you someone about your own age to talk to?  The Court
is far from being all there is to this Place, and even Herald's
Collegium is not the center of the universe-though we'd like to think
it is!"

Karal wasn't sure how to respond, so he just smiled weakly at this
sally.  Rubrik didn't take any offense at this lack of enthusiasm.

"There are quite a few young people your age here-far more than either
the Heraldic students or those conceited young nobles," he continued.

"Would you care to meet people who are more concerned about your skills
than your birth?  " "It sounds good, but I don't know, sir," Karal said
carefully.

"As you pointed out, I am a foreigner here and associated with the
diplomatic mission.  They might not care for me."

But Rubrik was not to be dissuaded, and put forth a number of
convincing arguments.  It sounded too good to be true, actually, and
entirely too idealistic, but finally Karal allowed himself to be swayed
by Rubrik's enthusiasm and agreed, keeping his reservations to
himself.

Rubrik still had tack to clean, and was quite prepared to talk more,
but time got away from them.  As the warning bell rang to signal that
dinner was imminent, he walked back to the Palace alone, wondering who
this mysterious group of people was.  He certainly hadn't seen any sign
of them in all the time he'd been here.  And why would they be any
different from-say-the Heraldic trainees?

Oh, well, he decided, as he entered the Palace itself with a nod to the
guards at the door, and sought the Great Hall, joining the thin but
steady stream of courtiers heading that way from the gardens.  It is
certainly worth a try.  I have more time on my hands now than I
expected to, and much less to fill it.

Dinner was the usual controlled chaos of conversation and Karal was at
his usual place at Ulrich's right hand; and as usual, Karal understood
less than half of what was said around him.  On the other hand, he
didn't expect to need to understand what was said; he was watching what
was done.  The subtle languages of movement, expression, and eyes told
him more than speech did, anyway.  He paid very careful attention to
Ulrich's dinner companion, the Lord Patriarch, since his mentor seemed
to be having a particularly intense discussion with that worthy
gentleman.  It seemed to be an extension of an earlier conversation but
was couched in very vague terms;

Karal couldn't figure out exactly what they were talking about.  He
wondered if the Lord Patriarch was the person Ulrich had been meeting
with this afternoon.  There were offshoot Temples of Vkandis here in
Valdemar, Temples whose members had defected from the Mother Temple
when war broke out with Karse, holding their allegiance to Valdemar-or
the older Writ-higher than their allegiance to the Son of the Sun in
Karse.  Given all that Karal had learned about those times, it could be
they had placed their allegiance correctly!

But could Solaris be planning on bringing these strayed sheep back into
the fold?  That would certainly cause a great deal of upheaval in the
offshoot Temples at least, and make for more diplomatic incidents at
the worst.

He wasn't too surprised when after dinner he found himself alone again,
excluded from the suite by more "confidential conversations."  But this
time the library was empty, so that was where he went.

And that was where Rubrik found him.

There was someone else with him; a young woman dressed in a uniform
very like that of the young Herald students, but colored a light blue
rather than gray.  She was thin and earnest, with a nose that was a
match for Karal's, deep-set brown eyes, and short, straight brown
hair-scandalously short, by Karsite standards.  She was not exactly
pretty, but her face was full of character and hinted at good humor.

"I thought I'd find you here," Rubrik said cheerfully, as he limped up
to the desk where Karal was leafing through an illustrated book of
Valdemaran birds.

"This is the person I wanted you to meet.  Natoli, this is Karal;
Karal, my daughter Natoli.  " Daughter?  Oh, no-is this some kind of
matchmaking ploy?

His eyes widened involuntarily at the thought, and he frantically tried
to marshal some kind of excuse to get away, but Rubrik's next words
collapsed that notion.

"She's one of what the Heraldic trainees call 'the Blues," for their
uniforms," Rubrik continued.

"What that means is that they share classes with the trainees without
being Heraldic, Healer, or Bardic trainees themselves.  Some of these
students are the children of nobles, but many are lowborn or of the
merchant classes, young people with high intelligence who distinguished
themselves enough to find patronage into the ranks of the Blues.  Most
of Natoli's friends are mathematicians and crafters, like Natoli
herself."

The girl nodded briskly, with no attempt at flirtation, which relieved
Karal immensely.

"I've asked her to give you a tour of the Palace and Collegia as a Blue
would see it, then introduce you to some of her friends."  Rubrik
grinned.

"You might be surprised.  Some of them actually speak rudimentary
Karsite."

Before Karal could stammer his thanks, Rubrik limped off, still
chuckling to himself.  His daughter examined Karal for a moment, with
her arms crossed over her chest and her feet braced slightly apart.

Evidently she approved of what she saw.

"Actually, Father doesn't really understand what I want to do," she
said, with no attempt at making small talk.

"I'm going to construct devices, engines, we call them, to do the work
that several men or horses are needed for now."

"What, like wind and water mills?"  Karal hazarded, and she grinned
with delight.

"Exactly!"  she replied.

"And I want to build special bridges too, that would allow for the
passage of masted ships and-well, that doesn't matter right at the
moment.  There's still some sunlight, would you like to take that tour
now?"

She seemed friendly enough, even if she wasn't like any female Karal
had ever encountered before.  It occurred to him that he was meeting a
great many women here in Valdemar who weren't like the females he knew
at home.  He nodded, and she motioned to him to get up and follow
her.

"You're in the Palace library, I'll show you the others, and the
classrooms for the three Collegia first," she said-and proceeded to do
just that, with a brisk efficiency that had his head spinning.

She pointed out things to him that he would never have had any interest
in on his own-details of architecture and the mechanics that created
the many comforts in the Palace itself.  How the chimneys were
structured so that the fireplaces in each room drew evenly for
instance, or the arrangement of rainwater gutters and cisterns on the
roof that put water in every bathing room.  It was quite clear that she
loved her avocation, and equally clear that flirtation was the farthest
thing from her mind.

The sun set just as she completed her tour, and she marked the crimson
glory with a nod of satisfaction.

"The Compass Rose should be just about filling now," she said, a non
sequitur that caused him to knit his brows in puzzlement.

"Compass Rose?"  he repeated.

""oh, that's the place where all my friends and their teachers meet,
just about every night," she replied airily.

"Father told me to introduce you around, so I figured that I'd take you
there tonight and get all the introductions over at once."

"Tavern?"  he echoed.

"Uh-tonight?  You mean, right now?"  I'm not sure I'm up to a strange
tavern in a strange city full of strange people.... "Of course," she
said, and set off down the path that led to the small gate in the wall
he had first entered when he and Ulrich arrived here, without waiting
to see if he was going to follow her.

"That's much more logical than trying to track them down tomorrow, one
at a time.  And much more efficient as well."

He had the feeling, as he trailed in her wake, that "logical and
efficient" played a very large part in how she regarded the world.  He
could only wonder what some of his teachers back at the Temple would
have made of her.

The gate guards let them out without a comment, and they made their way
through the lamplit streets.  Natoli threaded her way through the
traffic with the confidence of someone who passed this way so often she
could have done so blindfolded.

The tavern lay just beyond the ring of homes of the highly born or
wealthy, but Natoli knew shortcuts that Rubrik apparently hadn't,
little paths that led between garden walls and across alleys he would
never have guessed were there.  By the time the last sunset light had
left the sky, they were already at the door of the Compass Rose
itself.

Karal knew what to look for in a good tavern, and he was Pleased to
find all of it in this one; clean floors and tables, enough servers to
take care of the customers without rushing, decent lighting, and no
odors of spoiled food or spilled drink.  In fact, in the matter of
lighting, the Compass Rose was as well-equipped as the Temple
scriptorium, which rather surprised him.

Most of the tables were full, or nearly, but Natoli knew exactly where
she was going.

"Come on," she told him, as she peered across the room with her hand
shading her eyes.

"It looks as if everyone's here."

She started out across the crowded room, expertly dodging chairs and
servers as she moved.

"We form up in groups according to what we're interested in, and each
group has its own tables," she explained over her shoulder, as he
struggled through the crowd to keep up with her.

"The teachers are all in the back room, of course-you know they've
graduated you when they send you an invitation to join them.  That's
when you stop taking classes and start looking for work or a patron, or
start teaching, yourself."

"oh," he replied, which was really all he could say, for by that time
she'd reached the table she wanted-a long affair surrounded by two
dozen chairs at least, all but three of them filled with blue-garbed
young men and a few young women, and covered not only with tankards and
mugs, and platters of food, but with books and papers, water-stained
and dotted with mug rings.  Now the reason for the good lighting in
here came to him.  It looked as if these people were as accustomed to
doing some of their work and reading here as in libraries or other
quiet places!  No few of the people who greeted Natoli were just as
foreign-looking as Karal himself, though~ he was the only one wearing
anything other than that ubiquitous blue uniform.  They greeted her
with varying degrees of enthusiasm, from boisterousness to carefully
contained cheer.

"This is Karal," his guide said, when they'd finished.

"He'swith the Karsite ambassador.  Secretary."

"Really?"  One of the nearest, a young man with sharp, fox like
features and a wild shock of carrot-colored hair, raised his eyebrows
in surprise.  Then he grinned, and said in careful Karsite, "I would be
grateful, good sir, if you could tell me the direction of the
Temple."

"South, about four hundred meiline from here," Karal replied shortly in
his own tongue, then continued in Valdemaran.  " Your accent is really
quite good, but you need to form your gutturals farther back in your
throat, and they're like hoarse breathing, not like gargling."

"Ah!  Alberich never could explain that properly, thank you!"  the
young man said, and he hooked the nearest empty chair with his foot,
dragging it over.

"Have a seat, won't you?

Natoli, we need your help on the drawbridge project."

Karal took the proffered chair as Natoli helped herself to another, and
was immediately engulfed in a technical discussion of which Karal
understood perhaps half.  The center of attention for the group was a
huge piece of paper, covered with scribbles surrounding a drawing of a
bridge, that they had placed in the middle of the table so that
everyone could look at it at the same time.  Someone got him a tankard
of light ale, and someone else shoved a plateful of cheese-topped bread
rounds at him, and everyone else at the table acted as if he belonged
there, so he simply sat and listened while they thrashed out whatever
the problem was.  When the topic turned to other subjects-the problem
of the drawbridge having been satisfactorily dealt with-on the
occasions when he could contribute a word or two, he did.

To his pleasure, these people ignored what he looked like and where he
came from in favor of what he thought and said.

Granted, at the moment, that wasn't much-he was much more comfortable
with simply listening to the others-but the few things he did say were
treated with no more and no less respect than what anyone else said.

He drank his ale and kept his ears and his mind open, covering a great
deal of astonishment by hiding his expression in his tankard.  He had
never before seen anyone with the kind of unbounded curiosity these
young men and women shared.

They talked and acted as if there was nothing that was impossible, from
flying like birds to moving beneath the surface of the water without
needing to breathe, like a fish.  And they behaved as if there was
nothing, no subject, that was "not meant for man to know."

He knew what most of his teachers would have said by now.  At one point
or another, every single one of the people sitting at this table
uttered something that could be taken as blasphemous, and at least
before Solaris' day, blasphemers met with the Fires.

By the time Natoli declared that they both needed to get some sleep and
led him back out into the cold darkness, his head was swimming with so
many conflicting ideas and emotions that it felt as if a -hive of
swarming bees had come to rest inside it.  Excitement warred with
nervous fear, and he was glad that the darkness hid his expression from
Natoli as she led him back to the Palace.  Her own excited monologue
about some mathematical progression or other required only that he make
vague noises in response from time to time and covered the fact that he
couldn't have answered even if he'd known what it was she was talking
about.

The guard at the gate knew her very well, it seemed, and shook his head
when the two of them approached.

"I don't know what I'm going to tell your father, young woman," he
said, as soon as they came within earshot.

"Out until near midnight, and with a young man!"

"Who is someone Father told me to introduce around, so you can curb
your lurid thoughts," she replied smartly.

"As for coming in late-if he doesn't ask, you don't have to tell him,
do you?"

The guard continued to shake his head, but he opened the gate for them
and locked it behind them without another word.

She left him on the path to the Palace, parting from him with a
cheerful wave and a promise to meet him tomorrow.

"I live in the dormitory with the Bardic students," she told him.

"Most of the people you met tonight actually live in town, rather than
on the Palace grounds, but since Father's a Herald they let me live
here.  Will you be free right after lunch tomorrow?"

"Uh-yes," he said, responding before he could think.

"Good, then I'll meet you in the Palace library."  And without giving
him a chance to say anything else, she trotted off into the darkness.

He made his way back to the Palace in something of a dazed condition.
The guards he encountered must have recognized him, since only two of
them stopped him to ask who he was and where he was going.  He managed
to find his way back to the suite with a minimum of stumbling around in
the dark, as most of the halls were lit by a minimum of lamps at this
time of night.

He waved a silent greeting at the corridor guard, who grinned as if he
had his own ideas about where Karal had been.  The door was unlocked,
and he pushed it open slowly, hoping that it wouldn't creak.  The suite
of rooms was dark but for a single candle burning in the night-lamp,
and he made his way to his own room, stepping carefully to keep from
waking Ulrich up.

He felt a certain amount of guilt at not leaving a note for his mentor.
I only hope Rubrik told him that Natoli carried me off ... even if
Rubrik didn't know where we were going.

He had the feeling that there was going to be a lot of explaining to be
done in the morning.

At least he was used to staying up this late.  When Ulrich didn't need
his services, he generally read until just about midnight anyway.  He
didn't seem to need as much sleep as some people did, which was very
useful, given the number of times Ulrich had needed multiple copies of
documents at short notice.

He pushed open the door of his own room and closed it carefully behind
him, heaving a sigh of relief as it shut with a minimum of sound.  Only
then did he turn around-And froze.

There was someone waiting for him on his bed, a long, pale form that
lay curled up against the pillows.  It wasn't Ulrich, unless Ulrich had
suddenly acquired a pair of green-gold eyes that glowed in the dark.

He gasped, and the lamp in the bracket beside the door lit itself with
a little puff of sound.

As the lamplight steadied, a slender, cream-colored body uncurled
itself gracefully from the place where it had been lying, near the head
of the bed, cushioned by the pillows.  The green-gold disks became the
widened pupils of a pair of intensely blue eyes, surrounded by a
brick-red mask.  The otherwise pale-cream face was topped by a pair of
brick-red ears, both of which were swiveled to face him.  A red tail
switched restlessly, curling up and curling down again, rather than
thudding against the bed as a dog's would have.

"Well, you certainly have been enjoying a night on the roof,: the
Firecat said in his mind.  Its tone was amused, genial, and quite
friendly.

It's a Firecat.  A Firecat-in my room, on my bed, talking to me.

"I-uh-" He stared at the Cat with his mouth dropping open, unable to
make his mind or his body work properly.

What was a Firecat doing here?  And why was it in his room?

"Close your mouth, child, you look like a stranded fish,:

the Cat said, and purred with high good humor.

"I'm not here to drag you off to some kind of punishment.  I've simply
been sent here to give you some advice from time to time-advice your
mentor wouldn't be able to grant you.  That was what you wanted, wasn't
it?  Someone you could trust to advise you?:

He was irresistibly reminded at that moment of an ancient proverb.

"Be careful what you wish for-" "Indeed.  "-you might get it.  " Quite
true, which is why it's a proverb, but in the current situation it's
not entirely apt.

I'd have come here even if you hadn't wished for an advisor you could
trust.  This is an unstable situation, and you are in the middle of it.
You are central to a number of complicated problems, the confidant to
several key persons, and we simply couldn't have you walking about and
chancing blunders without a little guidance.:

"oh," he said, weakly, and could not help wondering if he had already
blundered somewhere?

oh, Bright Flame, no!  You've been doing just fine so far.

And I'm not here to steer you into some kind of predestined future.
Just at the moment, no one knows what may be coming, how this situation
will resolve itself.  No, not even the Sunlord Himself.  The advice I
am to give you will simply be based on a little more information than
you have access to.

If we are all very lucky, we will all work to bring this to a good
conclusion.:

The Cat tilted its head to the side, waiting for his response.

"If that's supposed to be comforting," he replied with more bravado
than he felt, "it isn't."

"Good.  I'm not here to comfort you.  I hope you're nervous;

given what I know, you should be.  Now, just shed those clothes and get
into bed, you'll need the sleep.: The Cat moved down to the foot of the
bed and sat there, watching him, its bright blue eyes fixed on him in a
way that suggested if he didn't hurry up and do what he'd been told,
the Cat would-help.

Probably by shredding the clothes right off my body.

He quickly stripped off his clothing, and slipped into bed.

The Cat arranged itself comfortably near his feet, without weighing him
down, and gave its paws a quick wash.

"By the way,: it said, as he put his head warily down on the pillow.

"That Herald with the limp did come by and tell Ulrich that his
daughter had kidnapped you, and not to wait up.  And my name is
Altra.:

Altra?  But wasn't that the name of the Son of the Sun who-He didn't
even get a chance to finish the thought, for he fell asleep
instantly.

Birdsong coming down his chimney woke him-which meant it must be a fair
day, rather- than a stormy one.  Perhaps the Heralds had finally gotten
their weather-magic working.

He stretched and yawned, without opening his eyes.  Odd.  I dreamed
that a Firecat was here last night.  What a strange-He opened his eyes
as his foot encountered a heavy weight at the foot of his bed.  The
Firecat raised his head and blinked at him.  Good morning.  As you see,
I'm not a dream.: Altra yawned, showing a formidable set of teeth.

"You do have a very comfortable bed, and I am pleased to report that
you neither toss nor snore.:

"Uh, thank you."  He racked his brain for something to say.

What do you say to an Avatar of your God?

"Hello, heard any good Sunlord jokes recently?  "

"Good morning, how may I worship you?"

"Can I get you anything for breakfast?  Uhfish?

Milk?"

"Nothing, thank you,: Altra replied loftily.

"Firecats are above such mundane considerations as eating.:

Well that was something of a relief.  If the Cat didn't eat, it didn't
probably didn't eliminate either, which meant he wasn't going to have
to find a box of sand somewhere-or would a Cat be able to use
facilities made for humans?

Oh, this was too much to think about-but how was he going to explain
the presence of a huge feline in his room, when he hadn't arrived with
any such thing?

"It followed me back from the tavern"?  And how was he going to explain
the presence of a Firecat to Ulrich, who knew what they were?

"Don't be surprised if you don't see me very often,: Altra continued,
getting up and giving a full, nose-to-tail stretch.

His claws were as formidable as his teeth.

"I have other business to worry about.  Your master is as much in need
of that bit of advice now and again as you are.  I'll just drop in
discreetly whenever you require the extra information I'm privy to-and
if you think you really want it, I']] also give you ah-" fatherly"
advice, in the absence of your real father, if you feel too embarrassed
to ask Ulrich.: Altra actually winked slyly.

"Meanwhile, I shall be-invisible.:

The door to his room opened of itself.  The Firecat stretched again and
jumped down off Karal's bed.  There was a patch of bright sunlight just
beyond the now-open door; Altra strolled casually out the door and into
the sunlight.

And vanished.

Karal collapsed back against the pillows, not sure whether he should be
elated or frightened out of his wits.  He settled for a mixture of the
two, with a healthy dose of panic.

Oh, Bright Flames, the last thing I need is the personal attentions of
the Sunlord in my life!  And a Firecat!  The Cats get into everything
and anything-what if Vkandis finds out about all the strange things
I've been learning here?  What if He finds out about what goes on at
the Compass ]rose?

Wait a moment.  Vkandis was a god, all-knowing, all powerful

How could He not know what Karal had been getting into?

Altra said I was doing the right things-soA visitation from an avatar,
warning that the situation was unstable and about to become perilous, a
hundred strange and possibly blasphemous things to think about that
he'd heard last nighta powerful mage who was frightened of his own
memories, unsure of himself-and called him friend' and a young woman,
bright, intelligent, and competent, and disturbingly attractive my head
hurts.

All this before breakfast.

If I go back to sleep, will all this go away?  No, probably not.  He
might as well get up and deal with it, then.  It certainly wasn't going
to get any better.  I just hope, he thought glumly, as he climbed out
of his bed and started looking for a clean set of clothing, that it
doesn't get worse.

Tremane

Belief, however, is a fragile thing, when coupled with shock.

By lunchtime, he had a hard time convincing himself that he had
actually seen the Firecat; in the face of all of his everyday work and
lessoning, the whole incident seemed more like something brought on by
a little too much imagination-and ale-than anything real.  Besides, it
made no sense!  After all, why would a Firecat come to him?  How could
he possibly be central to anything?  Now-Ulrich, or even that Herald
Talia, that he could believe, but there was no reason to even dream
he'd get the attentions of a Firecat.  He was nothing more important
than a secretary; a good one, but no more than that.

Oh, there was that mysterious business that Ulrich sometimes alluded
to, that he was a "channel," which was presumably rare, but nothing
ever seemed to come of it, and he doubted that anything would.

After a good, solid lunch of perfectly ordinary food.  and when no
further manifestations of the Sunlord's regard appeared in his path, he
had just about put it all down to an extraordinarily vivid dream just
before waking.  When he returned to his room to change after his lesson
and ride with Alberich, he had second and third thoughts.  There were
no celestial cat hairs on his bedspread, no glowing paw prints on the
wooden floor of his room.  There had never been a Firecat;

it was all the fault of reading those notebooks.  He'd had a vivid
dream.  then let his imagination take over, that was all.

Comforted by those thoughts, he headed for An'desha's home (his ekele,
he reminded himself; An'desha was teaching him Tayledras to go along
with his Valdemaran), with nothing more on his mind than gratitude for
the lovely, fair day.

Too many times of late he'd had to make his way across Companion's
Field through drizzle, or worse, a downpour, just to visit his friend.
Today, he might even be able to persuade An'desha to take their
discussion outside.  The young mage spent far too much time cooped up
inside.

He was planning just where he would like to go, when he noticed that
the Companions were not ignoring his presence the way they usually did.
In fact, they were moving in on him from all directions, with a
cheerful purposeful ness to their steps.  Some of them even seemed to
be trying to block his path in a nonthreatening way.  He stopped right
where he was, and they continued to move toward him-but still not with
any threat that he could detect.  Rather, he got the impression of
welcome, as if they had suddenly decided to play the gracious hosts.

This was decidedly strange behavior, even if he knew they weren't
horses!

But before he could say anything to them-though he wasn't sure what he
would say-or make any move to retreat, they took the initiative away
from him.

They surrounded him completely, closing him inside a circle as they
stood flank-to-flank.  He couldn't possibly get past them unless he
pushed through them, and he knew from handling horses that if they
didn't want him to pass, he wouldn't be able to move them.

One of the nearest tossed its-his, it was definitely a young
stallion-head, and made a sound that closely resembled a human clearing
his throat.  As Karal turned his attention to that particular
Companion, it blinked guileless blue eyes at him.

"Ah-you're Karal, as I understand,: said a voice speaking into his
mind, exactly as Altra had.

"I hope you'll forgive the informality of introducing myself.  I'm
Florian.:

The "tone of voice" was as different from the Firecat's as a young
man's high and slightly nervous tenor would be from an older man's
confident and amused bass.  But with no one else anywhere around, it
was pretty obvious that the "voice" was coming from the Companion
directly in front of him, the one with deep blue eyes it would be
incredibly easy to fall into

Twice in one day?  Twice in one day that uncanny creatures decide
they're going to speak in my mind?

Why now?  And why me?

Karal shook his head to clear it, and wondered if he ought to sit down.
He coughed, tried to think of something clever to say, and then settled
for the first stupid thing that came into his mind.

"Ah-Florian, Are you a Companion?"

"Last time I looked, I was.: The one who must be Florian switched his
tail and cocked his head to one side.  The other Companions had broken
their circle and were moving away now, as if they were satisfied that
Karal was not going to run screaming out of the Field.

That was probably only because his knees were so shaky he wasn't
certain he could walk, much less run, screaming or otherwise.

"Why-why are you talking to me?"  he asked, inanely.

"Well, partly because of Altra,: Florian told him, dashing his
half-formed conviction that the Firecat had only been a dream.  He a
stranger here as much as you are, and he doesn't know some of what we
know.  We're familiar with the entire history of Valdemar, including a
lot that isn't in the books.

We thought it was time you had someone around who could answer your
questions about this place, the Heralds, and all.

You never ask the questions that are in your mind; you keep trying to
find the answers in books.: Florian snorted.

"That's not always possible.  People don't always write down important
things.:

Well, he had been a little reticent about asking questions.

He hadn't wanted to look like a complete idiot.... "You hardly need to
worry about looking stupid in front of a horse now, do you?: Florian
flipped his tail playfully, and Karal got the impression that he was
grinning.

"Well, couldn't An'desha have told me?"  he replied, feeling stubborn.
He hadn't asked for this-or for Altra, for that matter!  " Or-Natoli,
she's from Valdemar!  And her father's a Herald, too!"

But Florian only stamped his hoof scornfully.

"Your friend An'desha is just as much a stranger to this place as you
are, and while young Natoli is a very nice young lady, she doesn't know
anything at all about politics.:

"And you do?"  he responded dubiously.

Florian snorted.

"Not me alone.  We do.  We, the Companions as a whole.  Remember, our
Heralds are up to their ears in politics, and we share their thoughts.
There isn't much at all about us in the books, either, nor Heralds; the
details of our partnerships aren't the kinds of things that get written
down.  I can tell you all about that, whatever you want to know.:

"All?"  He wasn't sure he believed that, either.

"Well, if there's something I can't tell you, at least I won't lie to
you, all right?  I won't mislead you.: Florian's mood was as mercurial
as anyone Karal had ever seen; now it seemed as if he was pleading with
Karal.  His ears went down a little, and his head sank a bit.

"Look, we just wanted to make certain that you knew where you could
find someone to help you.  Altra may be your guide, but you know cats.
They show UP when it suits them, and not necessarily when you need
them.  And they love secrets.  He could withhold things from you just
to appear mysterious.  That happens all the time.:

That did sound just like a cat, and he chuckled weakly in spite of his
shock.

"Still-I mean, I'm not a Valdemaran, I'm a Karsite.  What's more, I'm
sworn to Vkandis.  Are you really, really sure this shouldn't this be
left to Altra?  " Florian snorted..Altra doesn't know near enough about
Heralds and Companions, things that you will need to know-but being a
cat, he'll act as if he does, and make up what he doesn't know Really,
Karal, I'm honestly here to help you.  If you'll let me, that is.:

Karal hardly knew which way to turn; he could only remember one thing.
According to Ulrich, Companions were "just like" Firecats.  That made
them, in effect, speakers for the Sunlord-Or Whoever, he reminded
himself.

"Well, remember what Ulrich told you,: Florian reminded him.

"Does it matter who I speak for?  We're both on the same side.  Karal,
this is important.  You need to accept me.  Please, trust me in
this.:

Wonderful.  Now something else wanted him to trust it.

On the other hand:

You need me,: Florian repeated stubbornly.

He sighed.

"All right," he said at last, with resignation.

"I'll trust you.  But mainly because it's a lot easier coming to you
for answers than it is to go look them up-or try to, anyway."

"Good!: Florian tossed his head and pranced in place.

"Excellent!

I told them you'd see reason!  Now-since I happen to know that your
friend An'desha is still with Firesong, and I also know you have a head
full of questions you haven't asked yet-: The Companion nudged him with
his nose in the direction of the barn, ~-you can groom me while you're
asking those questions.  I haven't got a Herald, and no one spends any
amount of time grooming Companions who don't have Heralds.  I itch.:

"I'm sure you do," Karal sighed.

"I'm sure you do."

He headed obediently toward the barn; after all, he might as well do
the Companion that little favor in return for getting an easy set of
answers to all his questions, starting with, "just what does the
Queen's Own do?"

But if anyone had asked him, among Natoli, Altra, and Florian, he was
beginning to feel as if he was suffering from a spiritual concussion!

Some people are born to greatness, Grand Duke Tremane thought glumly.
Some people stumble into greatness.  And some people get all the
responsibilities without the acknowledgment.

From the moment he had walked through the Gate into the headquarters of
the Hardornen Campaign, he had been forced to improvise.  The situation
was a complete nightmare, the worst campaign he had ever seen or read
about.  The only good thing about the disaster was the headquarters
itself; the fortified manor of some nobly-born Hardornen his men had
taken intact.  Not even the paintings on the walls were disturbed, nor
more than a handful of jewels and other small objects looted.  If he
must be in a perilous situation, at least he would endure it in
comfort.  This was the privilege of command and control.

Normally when the Empire moved in on a country to conquer it, the
conclusion was foregone from the moment the troops first crossed the
border.  The situation within the target nation was always in a state
of turmoil; the central government would be in chaos thanks to the
internal machinations of Imperial agents, and generally the populace
was in revolt as disorganization allowed greedy nobles to take
liberties.

That made conquest little more than defeating the few troops willing or
able to oppose the Empire, and moving in.

Front-line Imperial shock troops always went in first to take a
precisely calculated amount of terrain.  They would take no more, and
no less.  At that point, they would stop and hold a line; consolidation
troops would follow to mop UP whatever weak resistance still remained.
Once the commander was certain that the conquered territory was going
to stay conquered, holding troops moved in.  Their task was one of
fortifying strongholds, establishing or repairing roads, mills, and
whatever industries existed or needed to be built.

They were followed in turn by administrators and policing troops, whose
only task was to maintain order and establish'," Imperial Law.  By this
time, the populace was always so dazzled with the superiority of
Imperial life that they welcomed the establishment of Imperial Law and
government with religious fervor.

And lastly, Imperial priests moved in, to establish worship of the
Emperor and all his predecessors alongside the worship of whatever gods
the barbarians kept.

With all that done, and a secure base behind him, the front line troops
could leapfrog out again.

This strategy had never failed-until now.

Mages Were always part of every phase of the invasion, of course.  None
of this could be done without them.  They were better and more reliable
than spies, enabled all commanders to communicate with each other and
with their general instantly, and their offensive magics usually
terrified the enemy.

Without the Portals they built, it would be impossible to maintain
troops in the field; with the Portals, fresh soldiers and supplies were
available at a moment's notice, and a general was able to return in
person to the capital-or any other place, for that matter.

The mages were the keystone that made it all work which was why every
candidate for the Iron Throne must be enough of a mage that other mages
would not be able to trick him by under- or over-stating their own
abilities.  Ideally, he would be First-Rank, but Second would do in a
pinch.

Tremane himself was not only a First-Rank, but was a First-Rank Red;
the only two degrees above him were Blue and Purple-and the only Rank
higher than First was Adept.

That was one reason why he considered himself the best choice for the
Throne.  And it was one reason why, after due reflection, he had
decided that the conquest of Hardorn had simply been bungled by a
general who did not understand how to utilize his mages properly.

He had discovered the instant he set foot on Hardornen soil that he had
been completely wrong.

The conquest of Hardorn had begun with the usual Imperial efficiency.
It should have continued that way.  There was no reason-on paper-why
everything should not have gone according to the plans.

Tremane rested his chin on his hands and glowered down at the map on
the table before him.  But not at Hardorn-at the land beyond its
borders in the west.

Valdemar.

Valdemar was to blame; he knew it in his bones, although he could not
prove it.  There was only one agent inside Valdemar in a position to
observe anything in the Court, and he was not terribly effective.  He
was not able to get close to anyone in the queen's councils, and as a
commoner, he was excluded from anything but the most trivial of gossip.
He had reported nothing in the way of aid from the Queen, but Tremane
knew better.

The Valdemarans were, must be, offering covert support and organizing
the resistance, no matter how much they might pretend otherwise.  It
was a situation that simply should never have occurred, and what was
more, it made no sense.  Until the moment of Ancar's death, Valdemar
had been locked in war with Hardorn.  That state of war should have
continued, even with Ancar slain.  Valdemar should have been grateful
to see someone else trouncing their enemy.

They should have been as happy to see the Imperial troops marching into
Hardorn as the poor oppressed citizens of Hardorn itself.

It didn't, they weren't, and we're bemired.  And I can't even prove
it's Valdemar that's behind it all.

As had been reported, the conquest of Hardorn had slowed to a crawl,
and it had become much more expensive in terms of men and material than
had been projected.  The situation was worse than he had expected.  The
Empire ran by close accounting;

sometimes he suspected it was the accountants that actually ruled it.
Every unexpected loss meant resources would have to be reshuffled from
elsewhere.

He buried his face in his hands for a moment.  He was tired, mortally
tired.  He'd spent every waking hour since he had arrived trying to
staunch the hemorrhage this campaign had become, and he had been awake
for far too many hours in the day.  Now, at least, they were no longer
losing men and supplies at the rate they had been, but the situation
had turned into a stalemate.  They could not go forward, but could not
go back, either.  They could not even move in the support troops, for
the countryside that had been "taken" had not yet been pacified.

I have to make a decision, he realized wearily.  I can try to press on,
as General Sheda did, or I can make this temporary halt more permanent,
consolidate what we have, and try to figure out how to break the
deadlock.

He had already made far too many command decisions that he was going to
have to justify later.  There were spies in the ranks; he knew that,
and he also did not know who all of them were.  He came into this too
late to put enough of his own men inside to be really effective at
ferreting out who belonged to whom.  Some of the agents in place were
spies for his rivals, some for the Emperor, some spied only to sell
information to the highest bidder.  That was the problem with Imperial
politics; if you served in any official capacity, you had to worry as
much about enemies from within as enemies of the Empire.

I didn't expect to have to make decisions this risky the moment I took
command.  His stomach burned, and there was a sour taste in the back of
his throat no amount of wine could wash away.  And how is it going to
look to the Emperor when the first major order I give is for a
retrenchment?  He told me to conquer Hardorn, not sit on my heels and
study it!  I'll look weak, indecisive.  Hardly the qualities for an
Imperial Successor.

"Uncomfortable" was an inadequate description for the situation,
although that was how he had politely worded it in his first dispatch
back to the Emperor.

He took his hands away from his burning eyes and studied the map again,
this time ignoring the taunting shape of Valdemar.  Ignore them.
Pretend for the moment that they do not exist.  Now study the tactical
display.

It showed far too many hot spots behind his own lines, areas where
there were still attacks on the troops, where there were pockets of
resistance that melted away like snow in the summer whenever he brought
troops in to crush them.  This was not pacified territory.  He could
not and would not ask support troops to come into a situation like this
one.  It would not be a case of risking their lives, it would be a case
of throwing their lives away.

I will have to retrench, he decided.  He took up a pen, and studied the
map again, then drew a line.  Here-to here.  The Imperial troops would
retreat until they were all behind the line he drew on the map.  Most
of the resistance was on the other side of that line; such pockets of
trouble as still remained could probably be dealt with in an efficient
manner.

I hope, he thought glumly, writing up his orders and ringing for his
aide to take them to his mage.  A great weight lifted from his
shoulders the moment the boy took the rolled paper, although a new set
of worries descended on him in its wake.

It was done; there was no turning back.  In a few moments, the mage
would have magical duplicates of the orders in the hands of the mages
attached to every one of his commanders, and the retreat would begin.

He rang for another aide as soon as the first had left.

"Bring me the battle reports again," he told the boy.

"This time just for Sector Four.  And set up the table for me.  Leave
the reports on it."

The boy bowed, and took himself out.  When Tremane finally gathered
enough strength to rise and go out into the strategy room, the reports
were waiting, and the plotting table had been set up with the map of
Sector Four and the counters representing Commander jam an troops were
waiting along the side of the table, off the map.

At least he had this thick-walled, stone manor as a command post, and
not the tent he had brought with him.  The weather around here was
foul-no, it was worse than foul.

Out of every five days, it stormed on three.  Outside the windows, a
storm raged at this moment, lashing the thick, bubbly glass with so
much rain it looked as if the manor stood in the heart of a waterfall.
It would have been impossible to do anything in a tent right now,
except hope it didn't blow over.

These people knew how to build a proper fireplace, and a sound chimney,
which edged them a little more into the ranks of the civilized so far
as Tremane was concerned.  One of those well-built fireplaces was in
every room of the suite he had chosen for himself.  A good fire
crackled cheerfully at his back as he lined up the counters and began
to replicate the movement described in the battle reports.

He had chosen Sector Four because it was typical of what had been
happening all along the front lines, and because jam an wrote
exceptionally clear and detailed reports.  But this time, he did not
put any of the counters representing the enemy on the table; jam an had
not been able to really count the enemy troops, and everything he wrote
in those reports about enemy numbers was, by his own admission, a
guess.  Instead, Tremane laid out only the Imperial counters, and
dispassionately observed what happened to them.

By the time he had played out the reports right up to today's, he knew
why the Imperial army, trained and strictly disciplined, was failing.
It was there for anyone to see, if they simply observed what was
happening, rather than insisting it couldn't happen.

The Imperial troops were failing because they were trained and strictly
disciplined.

If there was any organization in the enemy resistance at all, it was a
loose one, and one which allowed all the individual commanders complete
autonomy in what they did.  The enemy struck at targets of opportunity,
and only when there was a chance that their losses would be slim.  The
Empire was not fighting real troops-even demoralized ones.  It was
fighting against people who weren't soldiers but who knew their own
land.

Disciplined troops couldn't cope with an enemy that wouldn't make a
stand, who wouldn't hold a line and fight, who melted away as soon as a
counter-attack began.  They couldn't deal with an enemy who attacked
out of nowhere, in defiance of convention, and faded away into the
countryside without pressing his gains.  The Hardornens were waging a
war of attrition, and it was working.

How could the army even begin to deal with an enemy who lurked behind
the lines, in places supposed to be pacified and safe?  The farmer who
sold the Imperial cooks turnips this morning might well be taking
information to the resistance about how many turnips were sold, why,
and where they were going!  And he could just as easily be one of the
men with soot-darkened faces who burst upon the encampment the very
same night, stealing provisions and weapons, running off mounts, and
burning supply wagons.

as for the enemy mages-his mages were convinced there weren't any. They
found no sign of magic concealing troop-movements, of magical weapons,
or even of scrying to determine what their moves might be. But he had
analyzed their reports as well, and he had come to a very different
conclusion.

The enemy mages are concentrating on only one thing keeping the
movements of the resistance troops an absolute secret.

That was the only way to explain the fact that none, none of his mages
had ever been able to predict a single attack.

They weren't keeping those movements a secret by the 'conventional"
means of trying to make their troops invisible, either.  They didn't
have to-the countryside did that for them.  There were no columns of
men, no bivouacs for Tremane's mages to find, no signs of real troops
at all for FarSeeing mages to locate.  That meant it was up to the
Forescryers to predict when the enemy would attack.

And they could not, for the enemy's mages were flooding the front lines
with hundreds of entirely specious visions of troop movements.  By the
time the Imperial mages figured out which were the false visions and
which were the reality, it was too late; the attack was usually over.

in a way, he had to admire the mind that was behind that particular
plan.  There was nothing easier to create than an illusion which
existed nowhere except in the mind.  It was an extremely efficient use
of limited resources-and an effective one as well.

Whoever he is, I wish he was on my side.

The only way of combating such a tactic was to keep the entire army in
a combat-ready state at all times, day or night.

And that is impossible, as my enemy surely knows.

Try to keep troops in that state, day after day, when nothing
whatsoever happened, and before long they lost so much edge and
alertness that when a real attack did come, they couldn't defend
effectively against it.  They would slip, drop their guard, grow
weary-and only then would the attack come.  There was no way to prevent
such slips, either; people grew tired.

The enemy wasn't using mages to predict when troops had gone stale; he
didn't have to.  The very children playing along the roads could do
that.

Perfectly logical, a brilliant use of limited resources.  The only
problem was, it fit the pattern of a country that was well-organized,
one with people fiercely determined to defend themselves against
interlopers, not a land ravaged by its own leaders and torn by internal
conflict.

He turned away from the tactics table and faced the window, staring
into the teeth of the storm.  We never move in until and unless
conditions inside the country we wish to annex are intolerable.  The
arrival of our troops must represent a welcome relief-so that we can be
seen by the common people as liberators, not oppressors.  King Ancart
certainly created those conditions here!

In fact, if half of what he had read in the reports was actually true
and not rumor, Ancar would have had a revolt of his own on his hands
within the next five or ten years.  When Iniperial troops had first
crossed the border, in fact, they had been greeted as saviors.  So what
had happened between then and now to change that?

It can't be the tribute, we haven't levied it yet.  Imperial taxes
amounted to sixty percent of a conquered land's products every year-and
the conscription of all young men between the ages of sixteen and
twenty-one.  But none of that had been imposed yet; it never was until
after all of the benefits of living within the Empire were established.
By the time the citizens had used the freshwater aqueducts, the
irrigation and flood-retention systems, the roads, and most of all, the
imperial Police, they were generally tolerant of the demands the Empire
made on them in return.

The taxes were adjusted every year to conform to the prosperity ( or
lack of it) in that year-the farmer and the businessman was left with
forty percent of what he had earned, instead of having all of it taken
from him-and he didn't have to worry about the safety of his wife,
daughter, or sister.

Women could take the eggs to market and the sheep to pasture without
vanishing.

Which is definitely more than can be said for the situation during
Ancar's reign.

If there was any grumbling, it was generally the conduct of the
Imperial Police that changed the grumbling to grudging acceptance of
the situation.  Imperial citizens and soldiers lived under the same
hard code as conquered people.  Even in the first-line shock troops,
the Code was obeyed to the letter.

The Imperial Code was impartial and absolutely unforgiving.

The Law is the Law.  And it was the same for everyone; no excuses, no
exceptions, no "mitigating circumstances."

Assault meant punishment detail for a soldier, and imprisonment with
hard labor for a civilian.  A thief, once caught, was levied fines
equal to twice the value of what he had stolen, with half going to the
ones whose property he had taken, and half to the Empire; if he had no
money, he would work in a labor camp with his wages going to those
fines until they were paid.  If the thief was also a soldier, his wages
in the army were confiscated, and his term lengthened by however long
it took to pay the fine.  Murder was grounds for immediate execution,
and no one in his right mind would ever commit rape.  The victim would
be granted immediate status as a divorced spouse.  Half of the
perpetrator's possessions went to the victim, half of the perpetrator's
wages went to the victim for a term of five years if there was no
child, or sixteen years if a child resulted.  If the child was a
daughter, she received a full daughter's dowry out of whatever the
perpetrator had managed to accumulate, and if the child was a son, the
perpetrator paid for his full outfitting when he was conscripted.

That was a heavy price to pay for a moment of lust-anger, and rape was
much less of a problem within the Empire than outside of it.  The
second Emperor had determined that attacking a person's purse was far
more effective as a deterrent to crime than mere physical punishment.

And once again, if the perpetrator was some shiftless nc'erdowell, who
did not have a position, he would find himself in a labor camp,
building the roads and the aqueducts, with his pay supplying the needs
of the child for which he was responsible.

And that responsibility was brought home to him with every stone he set
or ditch he dug.

And if a perpetrator were foolish enough to rape again--then he
underwent a series of punishments both physical and magical that would
leave him outwardly intact but completely unable to repeat his act.

Tremane brooded as lightning flashed outside the window.

Compared to life under Ancar, all this should have been paradisiacal.

So why the revolt and resistance now?

Perhaps Ancar had not been allowed to operate freely long enough. There
may still be enough people alive who recall the halcyon days of his
father's rule.  They may be the ones behind the resistance.

He grimaced.  Too bad they didn't have the good taste to die with
Ancar's father and spare the Empire all this work!

He would have to revise his plans to include that possibility, though.
Somehow, he was going to have to find a way to counter their
influence.

Perhaps if I fortify and protect select cities, and bring in the Police
and the builders ... no matter how golden the old times are said to be,
the reality of Imperial rule will be right in front of these barbarians
as an example.  With Imperial cities prospering, and rebellious
holdings barely holding on, the equation should be obvious even to a
simpleton.

But what about Valdemar?  The more he looked at it, the more certain he
became that they were as much behind the resistance as these putative
hangovers from an earlier time.

But what could he do about them, when he knew next to nothing about
them?

Then he gave himself a purely mental shake.  Stupid.  I may know
nothing now, and it may be very difficult to get current information
out, but I have other sources of information.

He was a great believer in history; he had always felt that knowing
what someone had done in the past, whether that "someone" was a nation
or an individual, made it possible to predict what that someone might
do in the future.

And I have an entire monastery full of scholars and researchers with
me-not to mention my personal library.  I can set them the task of
finding out where these Valdemaraens came from in the first place, and
what they have done in their own past.

There was one rather odd and disquieting thing, however, that might
concern the land of Valdemar.  In all of the histories of the Empire,
from the time of the first Emperor and before, the West was painted as
a place of ill-omen.

"There is a danger in the West," ran the warning, without any
particular danger specified.

That was one reason why the Empire had concentrated its efforts on its
eastern borders, taking the boundary of the Empire all the way to the
Salten Sea.  Then they had expanded northward until they reached lands
so cold they were not worth bothering with, then south until they were
stopped by another stable Empire that predated even the Iron Throne.

Only then, in Charliss' reign, had the Emperor turned his eyes westward
and begun his campaign to weaken Hardorn from within.

Tremane turned away from the window and walked back into his study in
silence.  The light from his mage-lamp on the desk was steady and
clear, quite enough to give the feeling that no storm would ever
penetrate these stone walls to disturb him.  Odd how comforted we
humans are by so simple a thing as a light.

There was an initial report on Valdemar from his tame scholars, hardly
more than a page or two, lying in the middle of the dark wooden expanse
of his desk.  He picked it up without sitting down and scanned it over.
He didn't really need to-he'd read the report several times already-but
it gave him the feeling that he was actually doing something to pick it
up and read the words.

The gist of it was that some centuries ago, a minor Baron of a
conquered land within the Empire named "Valdemar" reacted to the abuses
of power by his Imperial overlord in a rather drastic fashion.  Rather
than bringing his complaints to the Emperor, he had assembled all of
his followers in the dead of winter when communications were well-nigh
impossible, and instructed them to pack up everything they wanted to
hold onto.  Valdemar was a mage, and so was his wife; between them,
they managed to find and silence all the spies in their own Court. Then
Valdemar, his underlings, their servants and retainers right down to
the last peasant child, all fled with everything they could carry. At
last report, they had gone into the west, the dangerous west. Valdemar
had probably known that the Empire would be reluctant to pursue them in
that direction.  Presumably his quest for some land remote enough that
he need no longer worry about the Empire finding him bore fruit.  The
coincidence of names seemed far too much to be anything else, and
according to the scholars, this present "Kingdom of Valdemar" bore the
stamp of that original Baron Valdemar's overly-idealistic worldview.

That was all simple enough, and it could account for the animosity of
the current leaders of Valdemar toward the Empire of which they should
know very little.  if they, in their turn, had a tradition of "fear the
Empire," they would react with hostility to the first appearance of
imperial troops anywhere near their borders.

That much was predictable.  What was not predictable was the shape that
Baron Valdemar's idealism had taken.  Where in the names of the forty
little gods did this cult of white-clad riders come from?  There was
nothing like them inside the Empire or outside of it!  And what were
their horses?  His mages all swore to a man that they were something
more than mere horseflesh, but they could not tell him what they were,
only what they weren't.  How powerful were the beasts?

No one could tell him.  What was their function?  No one could tell him
that, either.  There was nothing really written down, only some legend
that they were a gift of some unspecified gods.  Were they "familiars,"
as some hedge-wizards used?  Were they conjured up out of the Etherial
Plane?  No one could tell him.  Nor had the agent unearthed anything;

the riders themselves, when asked directly, would only smile and say
that this was something only another rider would understand.

That was hardly helpful.

I never liked the idea of employing an artist as an agent, he thought
with distaste.  When they aren't unreliable, they're ineffectual.

Not that he'd had any choice; the agent was an inheritance from his
predecessor, and there hadn't been time or opportunity to get another
in place.

White riders and horses were bad enough, but worse had somehow occurred
before Ancar took himself out in some kind of insane battle with an
unknown mage or mages.

Valdemar had somehow managed to patch up a conflict going back
generations with their traditional enemy, Karse.

And how they had managed to make an ally of that stiffnecked, parochial
bitch Solaris was completely beyond him!

He wouldn't have thought the so-called Son of the Sun would ally
herself with anyone, much less with an ages-old enemy!

And where had all the rest of Valdemar's bizarre allies come from?  He
would hardly have credited descriptions, if he had not seen the
sketches!  Shin'a'in he had heard of, as a vague legend, but what were
Hawkbrothers?  And who could believe in talking gryphons?  Gryphons
were creatures straight out of legend, and that is where they should,
in a rational world, have remained' His agent's report credited most of
this to Elspeth, the former Heir.  Former?  When had a ruler-to-be ever
lost his position without also losing his life or freedom?  Yet Elspeth
had abdicated, continuing to work in a subsidiary capacity within the
ranks of the white Riders, the Heralds.  Elspeth was too Young to have
made alliances with so many disparate peoPles!

She'd have no experience in diplomacy and very little in governance. In
the end he'd simply dismissed the agent's rePort as a fanciful tale,
doubtless spread about to make the former Heir seem more important and
more intelligent than she really was.

He wished he could dismiss the gryphons as more fanciful creations, but
there were others who had seen them as well as the agent.  The gryphons
worried him.  They represented a complete unknown; in an equation
already over complicated they were a dangerous variable.  Were there
more of them?  A whole army, perhaps?  The idea of flying scouts and
spies working for the Valdemarans was not one that made him any
happier.

He groaned softly and flung himself down in a chair.  Useless to ask
"why me?"  since he knew why all this was happening to him.  I want the
Iron Throne.  An Emperor must be able to deal with situations like
this.  If I want the Throne, I must prove to Charliss that I am
competent.

Of course, now that he had begun, it was impossible to bow out of this
gracefully.

His nearest rival was also his nearest enemy, and if he failed here, or
even gave it up and admitted defeat and resigned his position, his
lifespan could and would be measured in months or years rather than
decades.  He would be dead, as soon as Charliss gave up the Throne.  No
new Emperor permitted former rivals to continue existing; the first few
years on the Iron Throne were generally nervous ones, and it didn't
make any sense to leave potential troublemakers in a position to make
the situation worse.

No, now he must carry this through, or else flee-into the south, into
the west, into those barbarian lands beyond even Valdemar, and hope to
cover his tracks well enough that no agent of the Empire could find
him.

I walk a tightrope above the vent of a volcano, he thought grimly.  And
there is someone shaking the tightrope, trying to make me fall.

Shaking?  That was odd.... For a moment it felt as if something had
just picked up the building and dropped it; the unsettled feeling in
the pit of the stomach an earthquake caused.  But there was no
earthquake, and this was no physical feeling; this was centered in the
mage-senses as if something strange, terrifying, and huge was looming
over him-before he could move from his chair, it struck.

All his senses failed; sight, sound, hearing, all gone.  He floated in
an ocean of nothingness, bereft of any touch with the real world.
Mage-energy coursed through him, without truly touching him.  Once, as
a child, he had gone to the

Salten Sea on a holiday.  A great wave had come in and picked him up,
nearly drowning him, carrying him up onto the shore and leaving him
gasping on the sand.  This was another kind of wave, but he was just as
helpless in its powerful grasp, and now, as then, he did not know if it
would leave him alive or drag him under to drown.  It tumbled him in
dizzying nothingness, disorienting him further.  He was lost.... He
thought he cried out in terror, but he couldn't even hear his own
voice.

Then it was over.  He felt the chair he was in again, heard his own
harsh gasps for breath as the breath burned in his throat.  His body
shuddered with the pounding of his heart, and his hands ached as they
spasmed on the arms of his chair.

For a moment, he thought he was blind, but lightning struck just
outside and illuminated the room for a moment, and he realized that the
mage-light had simply gone out.

Simply?  It was not that simple; the kind of mage-light he had created
was supposed to endure anything save having the spell canceled!

He blinked.  There was light in the next room, dim red light from the
fire.  He unclenched his hands with a rush of relief;

at least he wasn't left in the dark!  Odd.  All his life he'd had
mage-lights about him; even in a room darkened for sleep there was
leakage from lights in the garden, lights in the hallway or the next
room.  He'd never realized how dark a truly dark room could be.

With shaking hands, he felt in a drawer of the table next to him, found
a candle, and took it into the next room to light it at the fire there.
Some enemy had sent a magical attack at him, surely!  Magical assassins
had been blocked by the protections he kept constantly in place-or was
this meant simply to disrupt his concentration?  This attack, if attack
it was, certainly hadn't been very effective!  And yet-to cancel a
mage-light spell within his protections meant that someone had
incredible power.  He controlled the trembling of his hands and forced
himself to think of who might command that kind of power.

That was all he had time for; aides burst in on him, sent by every
commander in the camp, all of them carrying messages of varying levels
of hysteria.

That was when he realized that the effect of the-whatever it was-had
not been targeted solely against him.

Somehow he managed to assemble all of his mages within a reasonable
time the next day, gathering them all into his council room to assess
the damage.

"So it swept the entire country?"  Tremane asked his chief mage,
Artificer Gordun.

The homely, square-faced man nodded, as he laced his thick, clever
fingers together.

"As nearly as we can tell," Gordun replied.

"It was like one of those enormous waves that carries right across the
Salten Sea; it came from the east and north, and is traveling into the
west and south.  We think it also washed over the Empire, but just at
the moment, it is impossible to tell.  We can't get messages to the
Empire, and I would suspect that the reverse is true.  " Tremane
grimaced.  Like those great waves, this thing that had come and gone
had left devastation behind it, and the more something was connected to
magic, the worse the effect was.  Every spell suffered damage to a
greater or lesser extent.

Lines of communication were all gone until the mages found each other
again; the Portals were all down, and only the forty little gods knew
when they would be reopened.  Defenses were gone, or shaken.  Little
things, like mage-lights, magical cook-fires, weather-cloaks,
timekeepers, all the tiny things that made life run smoothly for the
troops, were gone, the spells that created them shattered.  There would
be dark, cold tents and cold meals all up and down the lines tonight,
unless the various commanders quickly found non magical substitutes.

"It was a mage-storm, that much we are certain," Gordun continued.

"Although it is not like any such storm we have ever encountered
before.  The storm itself did not last for more than a heartbeat or
two.  Mages encountered a physical effect, as you no doubt noted
yourself.  Non-mages experienced nothing."

"That was enough," Tremane muttered.

"It's going to take days to set up all the spells it knocked down, and
more time to inspect anything that survived for damage and repair
it."

"That isn't all, my lord Duke."  The thin, reedy voice came from the
oldest mage with Tremane's entourage, his own mentor, Sejanes.  The old
man might look as if he was a senile old stick, but his mind was just
as sharp as it had been decades ago.

"This mage-storm has affected the material world as well as the world
of magic.  Listen-" He picked up the pile of papers on the table before
him, with hands that were as steady as a surgeon's.

"These are the reports I have from messengers I sent out on horses to
the other mages in the army.  The tidings they returned with were not
reassuring.  From Halloway: "There are places where rocks melted into
puddles and re solidified in a heartbeat, sometimes trapping things in
the newly-solid rock."  From Gerrolt:

'strange and entirely new insects and even higher forms of life have
appeared around the camp.  I cannot say whether they were created on
the instant, or come from elsewhere in the world."  From Margan:
"Roughly circular pieces of land two and three cubits in diameter
appear to have been instantly transplanted from far and distant places.
There are circles of desert, of forest, of swamp-even a bit of lake
bottom, complete with mud, water-weeds, and gasping and dying fish."

" He waved the papers.

"There are more such reports, from all up and down the lines, and from
behind them as well.  You are well beyond my needing to prompt you,
Tremane, but this cannot have been an act of nature!"

"And it isn't .  likely that it is residue from King Ancar's reckless
meddling, either," Tremane agreed.

"I cannot see how," Sejanes replied, dropping the papers again.

"Ancar was not capable of magic on this scale.  There is no mage
capable of magic on this scale.  I can only assume that it must have
been caused by many mages, working together.

Perhaps that would account for the variety and disparitY of its
effects."

Tremane racked his memory for any accounts of anything like this
"mage-storm," and came up with nothing.  Oh, there were mage-storms of
course, but they all had purely physical effects, and were caused by
too much unshielded use of magical energies.  Those storms were real
storms, weather systems, very powerful ones.  This was not like any
mage-storm he had ever seen, and yet the term was an apt one.  It had
struck like a storm, or a squall line; it had passed overhead, done its
damage, and passed on.

And there was only one place this storm could have come from.

"There is only one place this storm could have originated from,"
Sejanes said, echoing his own thoughts.

"Despite the fact that it began east of us-well, any fool knows that
the world is a ball!  What better way to surprise us than by sending
out an attack to circle the world and strike from behind?"

"You're saying that Valdemar sent this against us," Tremane replied
slowly.

Sejanes shrugged.

"Who else?  Who else has access to strange allies from lands we never
even heard of?  Who else uses magics we don't understand?  Who else has
reason to attack us from behind?"

"Who else indeed," Tremane echoed.

"They lose nothing by making life miserable for the Empire and the
Imperial allies, and they could have warned their friends to erect
special shields.  Except that-according to all of you, Valdemar has the
absolute minimum in the way of magic!"

He cast an accusatory glance around the table.  Most of the mages
cringed and averted their eyes, but Sejanes met him look for look.

"We still don't know what those horses are," Sejanes pointed out
acidly.

"And we don't recognize their magics.  So how could we tell what they
had and didn't have?  We made our best guess based on the fact that
they simply do not use magic in their everyday lives.  There are no
mage-lights or mage-fires; they have only candles, lanterns and
torches, and physical fires.  There are no Constructors; they build
contrivances with no magic at all to haul water, grind grain.

There are no Replicators; all documents are copied by hand, or printed
with much labor.  Messages are sent by those crude mirror-towers, or by
human messenger.  So what are we to think?  That they have no magic, of
course."

"But if they have no magic in daily use," Tremane pointed out, thinking
out loud, "then they will not suffer from this attack as we have."

Sejanes nodded, his head bobbing on his thin neck like a toy on a
spring.

"Precisely.  As if they used this kind of attack all the time.  As if
they planned for this kind of attack to be used against them."

It made sense.  It more than made sense.  If you expected someone to
hurl fire at you, you built your fort of stone.  If you expected
catapults, you built the walls thickly.  If you expected to be deluged
with mage-caused thunderstorms, you built truly good drainage.

And if you expected to be attacked by something that twisted and ruined
your spells, you didn't use any.  Unless, of course, it was the spell
intended to twist and ruin all other spells.

"But where did this come from?"  he asked, thinking aloud again.

Sejanes shrugged, and the rest of the mages only shook their heads.

"It passed roughly east to west, and at a guess I would say that if it
came from Valdemar as we think, it truly did circle the whole world to
get here.  That is logical, and in line with the notion that it
originated in Valdemar.  Frankly, if I had such an attack, I would use
it that way, because it would be at its weakest when it finally got
back to me.  It was certainly strong enough to wreak havoc for us when
it reached us!  " That made sense, too.

"You're saying you can't find a point of origin, though," he
persisted.

"If you could, we would know where their best mages were."  And that
useless artist could find out who they are.  Then we could neutralize
them.

"Not a chance," Sejanes said flatly.

"At the moment, we're lucky to find the mages in the other camps, much
less a Point-of-origin for this thing.  We are fundamentally disarmed
at this point, and we'd better hope that neither the rebels nor the
Valdemarans have anything planned for us, because we're so disorganized
that we'll be lucky to hold the ground we've got The others chimed in
with more tales of woe; he had already heard from his military
commanders by now, and he was simply glad that so many of them were
used to working under primitive and uncertain conditions.  They had
found substitutes for the magics that weren't working, but there was no
substitute for the lack of communication.  That was the worst.

Tremane was just grateful that he had called a halt to the attempt to
advance before all this happened.  If he had been in the midst of a
military maneuver, it could have been a disaster.

Sejanes was the only one who really had anything useful to say, and
what he had was all too meager.  The rest simply floundered , out of
their depth.

"I can only see one thing useful at this point," Tremane said at
last.

"Repair the damages, and armor the repairs against a repeat of this
attack.  Communications, first.  Then the Gates; if this goes on too
much longer, we'll be short of supplies in a week.  Shield and reshield
everything you do.

Then check back with me; I'll determine what is most important.

Tremane finally dismissed his mages back to their work of repairing the
damages after a little more exhortation, and slumped back into his
chair, his temples throbbing.  He hoped that he was the only one
suffering from a headache, that it was caused more by stress than by
the mage-storm; if all his mages were working under the burden of an
aching head, they'd only be about half as effective as they were
normally.

He rang for a page and called for strong wine.  He seldom drank, but at
this point he needed at least one cup of fortification.

He stared at the polished surface of the table and turned the cup
around and around in his hands.  One question was uppermost in his
mind: How did they do this?

It was not just that the attack was like nothing he had ever seen
before.  It was not only the sheer size and scope of the attack.

It was the randomness of it all.

insane.  Absolutely insane.  Not even Ancar had been crazed enough to
have developed a spell like this one.

And the effects-what possible use was there in an attack that ripped up
circles of land and planted them elsewhere?

Were the Valdemarans simply hoping that there might be strategic
targets inside those circles?  Or were they just striking for the
effect on mind and morale?

Was there a meaning behind it at all?  Or was the chaos really the
meaning?  Was this representative of how Valdemarans thought?  If so,
they were more alien than the gryphons they courted!

If they can do this, he thought to himself, sipping the bitter, dark
wine, what else can they do?  Have I taken on even more than Charliss
himself could handle?  Or is this another of Charliss'little tests?

That, too, was possible.  Charliss and the Empire were in the east, and
the storm had come from the east.  The Emperor could be testing him
under fire, to see how he handled such an attack.

It still could have been one of his enemies who had sent this; or more
likely, several of his enemies working together.

As he reached the bottom of the glass, another thought occurred to him,
one even more bitter than the wine, and more frightening than the
mage-storm.

What if Charliss wanted to be rid of him?  How better than to embroil
him in a conflict he could not win?

Had he been set up to fail from the beginning?

Tremane ground his teeth as he pursued that thought.  He had been under
the impression that he was the Emperor's own choice for successor.
Charliss could have been lying, or he could have changed his mind
between now and when he had left.  He could not ignore the possibility
that Charliss now favored one of his enemies.

Could Charliss realistically get rid of him if he succeeded, against
all odds and the Emperor's own opposition?

Probably not.  A victory here would make him too popular to get rid of.
Charliss would be forced to name him as his successor.

And once I am back in Court, at his side, I think I can repair any
damage that was done while I was gone.

That left him with new problems, though.  I am going to have to assume
that there will be interference with my orders and requisitions once
the orders reach the Empire.

Supplies will come in slowly, not at all, or not enough. Reinforcements
may not come in time.  So I will have to assume the worst and issue my
orders well in advance, for more than I think I will need, once our
communications are back.

And if communications could not be restored?  That was another
possibility.

I will have to plan to at least hold my ground with no help.

A grim prospect.  I have to find a way to throw as much interference in
the ranks of the Valdemarans as I can.... Well, what had made them able
to turn the tide against Ancar?

What was enabling them to hold their own now?

If this was their doing, where had the magic come from?

Allies.

He ran his finger around and around the rim of the empty goblet.  The
new allies-that was how Valdemar was holding her own.  So find a way to
make those alliances fall apart, and Valdemar would probably have
enough trouble at home to prevent any more interference in the
situation in Hardorn.

He grimaced again, but this time with distaste.  He used spies, he
gathered unsavory information, but there was one aspect of this game of
empire that he hated.  Nevertheless, to buy himself time, he would use
it, because he must win the game or die.  It was not only his own life
that lay in the balance of whether he won or lost, but the lives of all
of those who had linked their fortunes with his.  If he fell, his
family and all their retainers fell as well.

He rang the bell that summoned one of his servants.  There was one
certain way to ensure that the tentative alliance of Valdemar, Karse,
and Rethwellan melted away like snow in the summer, and that was to put
one of his own agents into play.  It was time for his Spymaster to go
to work.

It was time for his Spymaster to make use of those little copies of
that souvenir of Valdemar that had come into the Emperor's
possession.

"Send me Lord Velcher, " he said to the man when the servant arrived.

"Tell him that I finally have need of his particular services."

Karal sat quietly on his bed, his legs crossed beneath him, waiting.
His eyes were closed and his breathing was steady.

Ulrich would have said he was "meditating," of course; in fact, that
was precisely what most of his teachers would say he was doing.  Karal
felt uncomfortable with that word.  It implied that he was trying to
touch the Sunlord in some way.  It also implied a certain quality of
"holiness" he felt equally uncomfortable with.

He certainly didn't think he was very religious, even if he was an
acolyte of the Sunlord.  He hadn't really wanted to be in Vkandis'
Service.  It had just turned out that way, due to fate, Vkandis' Will,
or luck.

Still, he was being visited by a Firecat, and he had agreed to give
An'desha some kind of moral support.  So while he really didn't want to
call any further attention to hiMself, it seemed to him that if he was
just quiet enough, and patient, Vkandis might, well, dribble some kind
of guidance into him.

So he waited, keeping his mind as free of thoughts as he could, hoping
for a dribble, and trying not to ask for one.

Nothing came, though, no matter what he thought of-concentric rings in
a pool of water, raindrops sprinkling on a still pond-and he gave up
when his feet began to go numb.

He opened his eyes and stretched, and discovered that at least the
mental exercise had relaxed his physical muscles, even if it had made
his extremities pin-tingly.

He was just about to swing his feet down to the floor, when he was
abruptly no longer alone.

Altra flashed into the middle of the room, every hair on end, eyes as
round and wide as a pair of blue plates.

"It's happening!: the Firecat exclaimed.

"Brace yourself!:

And then, as abruptly as he had appeared, Altra vanished, without
telling Karal just what "it" was that was happening.

He sat there, staring stupidly at the spot where Altra had been, for
two or three breaths.  Then he didn't have to wonder what "it" was.

From his point of view, the entire room heaved and rolled for just a
moment, as if he was a speck on a carpet someone had decided to pick up
and shake.  Even though there were no outward signs that any actual
movement was happening, his stomach dropped, and he clung to the bed as
a wave of dizziness overcame him for no more than three heartbeats.

Then it was over.

That was all?  What had Altra been so excited about?  It was strange,
yes, and felt a little like an earthquake was supposed to feel, but
nothing in the room was disturbed, so obviously the "quake" wasn't
really physical.  Unless-was this some symptom of a disease?  Could he
be falling ill?  Could it be some kind of plague, and was Altra warning
him that an attack was coming?

Could Ulrich have it?  If Ulrich was sick-He's not strong; something
serious could kill him!  Karal was trained in basic field surgery, as
were all acolytes.  If his mentor was hurt, he could at least diagnose
major problems.

He was off his bed and out of his room without another thought; he
wrenched open the door to Ulrich's room, nearly separating his wrist
from his forearm, to find his mentor sitting up so stiffly in his chair
that he might have had a metal rod for a spine.  Ulrich's face was
pale, and beads of cold sweat trickled down his temples; his
white-knuckled hands clutched the arms of his chair, and the pupils of
his eyes were mere pinpoints.

Ulrich blinked and suddenly relaxed, slumping back into his chair.
Color came back into his face, and he raised a trembling hand to wipe
the sweat from his forehead.

"Master?  Master Ulrich?"  Karal said, uncertainly.

"Shall I get you some help?  A Healer?  Are you ill?  " "No-no, don't
bother, my son," Ulrich replied, his voice tremulous with fatigue and
other things Karal couldn't identify.  " This is nothing a Healer can
deal with.  Did you feel anything, just now?"

"I was dizzy for a moment, and I felt like I was falling," Karal
replied promptly.

"Nothing more, though.  Should I have felt something more?"

Ulrich managed a faint and tremulous smile, and shook his head.

"Not necessarily.  Altra warned me in time to brace myself.

This is what he has been waiting for, what he has been warning all of
us about, obliquely.  And this may well be what your friend An'desha
has been sensing would descend upon us.  It was a mage-storm, Karal,
but one unlike any we have ever seen.

"That?"  Karal shook his head; Ulrich wasn't making any sense.

"How could that be dangerous?  It was no more than a little moment of
dizziness!  ' "For you, perhaps," the Priest replied sharply.

"But for those of us who are mages-we just spent an eternity in that
'little moment' and for us.  it was like being dropped into a cauldron
and stirred!  I suspect that the more mage-power one has, the worse one
would be affected."

Karal gasped.

"Then An'desha-" "And Firesong as well," Ulrich replied, looking
alarmed.

"They will have suffered worse than I. They may well have injured
themselves, falling-at the least they will be disoriented.

Go to them!  I can manage for myself."

Karal didn't need Ulrich to tell him twice; he shot off like an arrow
from a bow, and ran all the way from the Palace to the secluded
ekele.

It never occurred to him that he might find the two of them in
an-embarrassing position-until he actually reached the door of the
dwelling.  He paused for only a moment, his hand on the latch, before
going in anyway.  After all, he would be embarrassed, and that hardly
mattered, not when the other two might be hurt.  He let himself into
the garden.

There was no one there.

He headed for the staircase.  " An'desha?  " he called over the sound
of falling water.

"Firesong?"

"Here-' came a weak reply from above.  It wasn't An'desha's voice; it
had to be Firesong.  He dashed up the stairs and found the
silver-haired Hawkbrother lying in a heap with one leg twisted under
him, his face as pale as his hair, and obviously dazed.  His firebird
was clenched to a chair arm nearby, scorching the wood in its
agitation.

"My leg-" The Adept gestured at the offending limb.

"I

fell down."

"Don't move; I know some field surgery."  This at least was something
he could do.  He knew enough to check for broken and dislocated bones,
and if Firesong was hurt, he could go for a real Healer.

Firesong looked at him, and though his eyes were glazed, they held some
recognition in them.  And questions.

"What-who-" Firesong began.  Karal answered the questions as best he
could.

"My name is Karal, sir," he said, "I'm a friend of An'desha's.

I'll tell you about that later.  You've probably seen me during Council
sessions, with my master Ulrich, the Karsite envoy.  I think you've
sprained your ankle, and it probably hurts like anything; can you flex
your toes, then your foot, carefully?  " Grimacing with pain, Firesong
did so.

"I-ah!-if I can do this, nothing is broken.  Find An'desha," the Adept
'ordered.

"Tell me the rest when we know he's all right."

"Yes, sir."  Karal left the Hawkbrother sitting on the floor of the
ekele massaging his ankle, and sprinted up to the kitchen, calling
An'desha's name as he ran.  The third time he called, he got an
answer.

"Here," An'desha said.

"Here-" Karal found him in a small room, draped to look like the inside
of a tent.  His friend was curled up in a ball on the floor, but it
didn't look as if he was hurt.  Karal dropped to his knees beside the
young mage.

"An'desha?  " he said, touching the mage's arm tentatively.

"I am all right, Karal," An'desha whispered, slowly opening his eyes.

"I believe it is over for now."

"You didn't hurt yourself, did you?"  Karal asked anxiously.

"No; I felt it building, and something warned me to fall to the
ground."  An'desha blinked, as if he was forcing his eyes to focus
again.

"It is well I did so.  I think-I think this, or something like this, is
what I have been fearing."  He blinked again, and astonishment and
relief spread over his features.

"Karal?  That dread I was feeling, waiting for something terrible to
come-it is gone!"

"Can you stand?"  Karal asked anxiously.

"Can you walk?

Your friend Firesong is hurt, and-" He was not able to get anything
more out of his mouth;

An'desha scrambled to his feet, unassisted, and was already out of the
door and running before Karal was standing.  By the time Karal reached
the two of them, An'desha had supported Firesong over to a couch, and
was making distressed sounds over his rapidly-swelling ankle.

Karal blushed, his face and ears hot.

"I'll-ah-get a Healer," he stammered, leaving An'desha to explain where
and how he and Karal had met.

By the time Karal returned with a Healer, he was also full of other
news.  In general, there was no real physical damage to anything in or
around the Palace, and the worst physical hurt seemed to be a couple of
bruises, bloody noses, and Firesong's ankle.  From all he had been able
to make out, some of the weaker magical defenses about the capital had
been taken down by the storm and would have to be put up again, but
there wasn't much more to worry about.  If this was what An'desha's
attacks of fear and dread had been about, it was certainly
anticlimactic.

Besides the Healer, Karal brought orders for Firesong and An'desha to
come to an emergency meeting of the allies and the Council, though,
which tended to make him think that there had been effects outside of
Haven that were a lot more serious than disorientation and the
disruption of weak shields.

He was right.

"Once you are outside the shields that Elspeth, Darkwind, and Firesong
erected to protect Haven, there are places all across the country where
very weird things have happened," said Skif.

"I went out for a fast reconnoiter with Cymry, and I saw some of them
for myself.  There are places where rock turned to liquid for an
instant, places where circles of land have been cut out as if someone
was making cookies, and circles of land from somewhere else were fitted
into the holes.

People brought me insects, plants, fish-even animals, all strange, all
things I've never seen before in my life!  People are scared."

"Surely this was the work of the Empire," the Seneschal began, but
oddly enough, it was the Lord Marshal who shook his head, and Kerowyn
who echoed that headshake.

The Lord Marshal deferred to the Herald Captain with a raised eyebrow
and a nod, as if to say, "After you."

"It can't have been the Empire's doing, unless it was some new magic
they were trying that backfired on them," Kerowyn told them all,
drumming her fingers nervously on the table in front of her.

"I already have short reports from two Mindspeakers behind their lines,
and word is that their forces have suffered much more damage than ours
have.  They depend more than we do on magic, and right now they are
working with most of their support systems reduced.  By that, I mean
they have no means of communicating between groups except by messenger,
and no Gates back to the Empire for supplies and reinforcing troops. In
a word, gentlemen and ladies," she said, with a certain satisfaction,
"at the moment, they are well and truly flattened.  The only thing that
could have hit them worse would have been an army-wide outbreak of
dysentery.  " Silence followed that pronouncement, and Queen Selenay
sat back a little in her seat.

"I trust you'll forgive me if I take some pleasure in that news," she
said dryly.

"Base though such a sentiment is-" "Forgive me, Majesty," Darkwind
said, interrupting her.

"As a mage and an Adept, I cannot help but be more concerned, rather
than less.  These physical effects-it seems to me that they indicate
something very serious.  They worry me more than the effects upon
magic.  How do we know this thing will not come again?"

He turned to Firesong as if for confirmation, and the handsome
Hawkbrother nodded in complete agreement.  if we cannot tell what it is
and from whence it came," Firesong said gravely, "we cannot hope to
judge whether it will fall upon us again, nor when."

He glanced aside at Karal, who was busy jotting down notes.  Karal had
caught a couple of strange looks from him, but otherwise, he had said
nothing about Karal's acquaintance with An'desha.

"And you don't think this will be an isolated incident."

Selenay's inflection made that a statement rather than a question.

"Absolutely," Firesong replied.

"And before we can make any guesses as to what it may be, we need to
know more about these physical effects-what they are, at what
intervals-/ As the other mages chimed in, Elspeth and Treyvan, Hydona
and Master Ulrich, and even An'desha venturing a word or two, it became
obvious to Karal that for this, the rest of the Council and allies were
superfluous.  It must have been obvious to the Queen as well, for after
regaining order and promising all of the resources needed for whatever
the mages required, she ended the Council session and left the chamber
to the mages and Prince Daren as her representative.

Karal remained as well, in his usual capacity, but he soon found
himself drafted to serve another purpose altogether.

"We need a view frrrom above, " the male gryphon said, flatly.

"If therrre isss a patterrn, we may only sssee it frrrom above."

"That's true enough, old friend," Darkwind agreed.

"But you should have a human with you.  You two aren't familiar enough
to the average Valdemaran that some poor farmer is going to be able to
take the sight of you lightly.  I'd hate to have to pick arrows out of
your rump.  And it should be someone with hands, and at least a
mediocre talent at drawing sketches of what you see."

"Rrr."  The gryphon ground his beak, then glanced around the table. His
eye lighted on Karal.

"Him, " the gryphon said.

"He isss light and sssmall enough, and intelligent.  He can take
notesss.  With yourrr perrrmisssion?  " he added, nodding graciously at
Ulrich.

The Priest looked the gryphon straight in the eye, as Karal shivered
with mingled shock and apprehension.  The gryphons wanted to fly with
him?  Fly?  Like a bird?

"It is up to my secretary to speak for himself," Ulrich said, with a
nod to Karal.

"I have no objections, but rumors to the contrary, we of Karse do not
make slaves of our subordinates.

if he chooses not to volunteer, I shall not force him."

"Well?"  the gryphon asked bluntly, turning his huge eyes on Karal.

Karal swallowed hard.

"Ah-yes, sir," he replied, managing not to stammer.

"If you think I will be of help.  I've never done anything like this. I
might only get in your way."

I might die of fright before we go a hundred paces.

"Good.  It isss done."  The gryphon turned his attention back to the
other mages, leaving Karal feeling rather dazed.

And feeling as if he had somehow been bowled out of his path by a very
heavy object.  Now what have I gotten myself into?

He had occasion to ask himself that question again, a few marks later,
when he saw the object that Treyvan casually referred to as "the
carry-net."  He had envisioned something a little more substantial;
this was hardly more than a wicker laundry basket in a cradle of thin
lines of rope, with laminated wood spars here and there above it.  It
didn't look as if it would take the weight of a child.

It sat in the middle of a patch of lawn in the gardens; there were no
trees of any size here.  He gathered that it would take the gryphons
time to haul him above tree level.  That did not comfort him much,
either.

"It's stronger than it looks," said Darkwind, who had come to the
Karsite suite to fetch him.

Karal held back a grimace.

"I'm sure it is, sir," he replied instead, politely.  He was past
having second thoughts about this expedition-now he was into fourth and
fifth thoughts!

"Heh.  I distinctly heard a tone of "It would have to be stronger than
it looks," Karal.  There's magic in the making of it," Darkwind
continued blithely, as if they weren't out to investigate the effects
of the failure of magic!

"Don't worry, you'll get used to it.  Treyvan told me that kleshya use
carry nets like this all the time, that they're as safe as the floating
barges."

As if I knew what a "k'Leshya" is.  Or a floating barge, for that
matter.  He looked the "net" over dubiously; each end of the rope sling
was meant to fasten to a harness worn by each gryphon, and the basket
in the middle was evidently supposed to supply more stability to the
rider than he would get from the kind of hammock this resembled.

The rope was a lot stronger than its light weight suggested, and Karal
discovered when he tried to tilt the basket while it was still sitting
on the ground that it resisted all of his attempts to turn it over,
even though he could lift it straight up quite easily.  So, there was a
great deal more to this contraption than met the eye!

Maybe this wouldn't be so bad, after all.  But still, flying?

"The gryphons will be along in a moment," Darkwind said, glancing up at
the angle of the sun.

"I need to start my own search pattern with Vree, Firesong, and Aya, so
I'll leave you here to wait for them."

"Wait a moment."  Karal hesitated, then asked the question he'd had on
his mind anyway.

"If what they need is someone to record what they see, why do they need
me?  They have perfectly good memories."

"But no hands, Darkwind reminded him.

"They read, but they can't write or draw-not easily, at any rate.  That
lets Rris out as well-I promise you, he was terribly disappointed.

He wanted a ride through the air very badly; he said he would be the
first of his clan to do such a thing, which would mean he would finally
do something famous-cousin-Warrl hadn't!"

The Tayledras mage smiled, and clapped Karal on the back.

"Don't worry.  After a few moments, you'll be glad they asked you to
come.  You'll do very well indeed."

Karal could not imagine what it was about him that prompted such
assurance on Darkwind's part, but he nodded bravely.

A few moments after Darkwind's departure, Hydona appeared from inside
the Palace, wearing her harness.  It was a sturdy affair of leather and
brass, and it looked a lot more substantial than the basket.  The
gryphon clacked her beak in greeting to him once she was within
earshot, and sauntered over to stand beside him.

"If you would fasssten that clip herr re-" she said to him, indicating
what he should do with a touch of her talon.

"And that one herr re- She nodded with approval as he engaged the two
fasteners.

"That isss good.  When Trrreyvan comesss, do the sssame on hisss
harrnesss."  She cocked her head to one side and studied him for a
moment, then added, "If it isss any help, I have carrried my little
onesss in thisss verrry net.

They may be fledged, but they arrre not trrruly flighted, yet.

They tend to plummet."

If she trusted her precious gryphlets in this- Hydona's maternal
qualities were one of the first things anyone mentioned about her.  She
wouldn't risk her little ones.  Relief made him relax, and he managed a
tentative smile.

How had she read his expression so accurately?  And how had she guessed
the very thing that would make him feel that the net was flight
worthy

"Thank you, my lady," he replied humbly.

"It does help.  I have never flown before."

With that, she chuckled.

"I would be verrry sssurrrprrrisssed if you had," she rumbled
smoothly.

"But I think you will enjoy it."

Treyvan appeared from above, back winging gracefully to a landing
beside the two of them.

"I have been aloft, and therrre isss a patterrn, I think," he said
cheerfully.

"Ssso-let usss sssee if I am brrrilliant, or deluded!"  Caught up in
his excitement, which radiated from him like warm sunshine, Karal
snapped the hooks of the other side of the net onto the male gryphon's
harness, and got into the basket, suddenly eager to be off.  He
arranged his stylus and wax board and didn't even think about being
afraid until they were several stories above the ground, skimming the
treetops.

And at that point, he was too caught up in the incredible feeling of
power and freedom to be frightened.

Like most people he knew, he'd had dreams of flying before, but it had
never been like this.  He was buffeted by wind from all directions-from
the backwash of both gryphons' wings, and the maelstrom of their
passage.  They were moving much faster than the fastest horse he had
ever ridden.  He clung to the edge of the basket-which did not tip
over, even when he dared to lean out to look straight down-and stared
at the city below.

Was this how the gryphons always saw things?  From this vantage, the
city took on an entirely new look.  Patterns emerged that he would not
have seen from below.  Now he could judge what houses were built about
the same time from the way the roofs were constructed, for instance.
Now he could tell that someone who had an otherwise impressive house
might be either very careless or falling on hard times by the
dilapidated state of what did not show from the street level.  People
in the poorer sections used every bit of space, too, which was not the
case with those who were better off;

roofs in the poorest parts of town held plants, vegetables grown in
carefully-tended tubs of soil, and were strung with lines for hanging
out wash.  People gathered up there, women and children mostly, who
gaped and pointed at him and the gryphons when they passed overhead.
Children stopped in their games, and one woman even shrieked and flung
her wet laundry over her head to hide.

A moment later, they were over a district of warehouse sand a moment
after that, they were outside the city walls.

The gryphons strained for altitude, and climbed higher into the
cloud-strewn sky.  Karal watched those clouds worriedly;

this would be a very bad time for a lightning storm to blow up!  But,
even if he were struck from the skies, he would die knowing what it
felt like to be so close to Vkandis.... "Look," Hydona called, over the
thunder of her own wings.

"Down therrre.  That isss the firrrssst of the sssignsss."

Karal looked down obediently and saw exactly what she was talking
about.  Right in the middle of a green field was a circular space that
held black sand.  Sheep eyed it dubiously.

"We need morrre height to sssee the pattern," Treyvan called back.  She
nodded and strained upward.

The sheep dwindled into white toys, then into clots of wool, then into
small dots on the green field.  The air got colder and thinner-not even
while going through high mountain passes had Karal been this high up!
His ears and nose were numb, and his eardrums popped again and again as
they surged higher.  Treyvan pointed, and Karal followed the direction
of his talon.

A thrill of excitement touched him.  There was a pattern!

Beyond the circle of black sand, there was another discoloration in the
middle of a field of grain, a place that appeared to be circular as
well.  And beyond that, a mere blot of color in line with the first
two, there seemed to be a third at about the same distance as the
interval between the first and second.

"Go down!"  he shouted to Treyvan.

"Land next to the sand-circle!  I'll make some notes and take a sample;
we'll go on to the next one and do the same.  We'll measure that
distance, and see if there really is a third and what the distance is
to it-" "And if therrre isss a fourrrth, and a fifth," Hydona added.

"Good idea, Karrral!  " They dropped a lot faster than they had
climbed.  Karal clamped both hands firmly around the front of the
basket, but felt like he would be better served by clutching at his
stomach.

Still, the basket landed with a controlled bump that rattled Karal's
teeth but did no other damage.  He hopped out and measured the circle
of sand by pacing it, folded a bit of paper into a cone and scooped up
a sample, then sketched and described the circle.  There didn't seem to
be anything alive in it; he stirred the center of it with a stick and
came up with nothing but fine, black sand, completely uniform in makeup
and texture.  The sheep watched him with vague alarm on their silly
faces but couldn't make up their minds whether to flee or stand.  They
were more afraid of him than they were of the gryphons and shied
sideways, bleating each time he made a move toward them.

The gryphons watched, panting, sunlight glinting off their feathers. He
made sure to take long enough at his tasks to allow the gryphons enough
time to catch their breath.

"All right," he said, when he couldn't think of anything else useful to
measure.

"Are you ready?"

Treyvan nodded, and he climbed back into the basket.  The takeoff was a
little slower this time; with only sheep to impress, Treyvan didn't
seem to be in as much of a hurry.

The next spot was, indeed, a circle-but this time, it wasn't of sand.
This spot contained a short, wiry grass of an odd yellow green the soil
beneath it was hard and full of reddish clay, so that the earth itself
looked red.  There were dead insects in this patch, but they didn't
look any different from the ones Karal was familiar with. Nevertheless,
he took a sample of the earth, the grass, and a little black beetle. 
Maybe someone else could make something of this.

The third circle held something quite unexpected; a section of ground
that could have come from a Karsite meadow.  The ground was exactly
right; gray and full of stones.  The plants were that tough gorse and
mountain grass that only goats could eat, and in one side of the circle
was a patch of kitten paw flowers that Karal knew would not grow in
Valdemar.

He knew that because they were the common Karsite remedy for headache,
and when he had asked for some, the Healers hadn't a clue what he was
talking about.

Duitifully, he sampled this as well.  He also took every kitten paw
bunch that was handy because he felt there would be a lot of headaches
in his immediate future.  He added notes and observations on the wax
board and each page of paper.

The distance between the first and second circles and the second and
third was precisely equal.

They continued to follow a line of disturbances on away from Haven into
the north; not all of the things they found were as obvious as those
circles of alien earth.  Several times they actually had to land to
find that there was a transplant, for it was so similar to what
surrounded it that only the neat circular cut-line around it betrayed
that it was there.  And once, they found, not a circle of transplanted
soil, but a circle of fused sand.

Only once had Karal ever seen anything like this, and that had been as
a child, in a place where lightning had struck sandy loam.  That had
left a mark about the size of his hand;

this was a circle of blackened, cracked black glass, mottled and full
of bubbles and irregularities, that was easily the size of a freight
wagon.  The three of them stared at the lumpy glass, and Karal wondered
if the gryphons felt the same cold dread that he did.  Something had
certainly struck here with terrible force.  What if it had struck
within the city limits?

What if, somewhere out there, in Valdemar, Karse, or Rethwellan, it had
struck within a populated area?  What if it struck his father's inn, or
Sunhame?

"Therrre werrre weaponsss that did damage like that in the old daysss,"
Hydona said softly.

"Terrrible weaponsss, in the daysss of Ssskandrrranon.  The Grrreat
Adeptsss usssed them.  We had hoped neverrr to sssee sssuch again in
the lifetimesss of ourrr childrrren."

Weapons?  It had not occurred to him that such a thing could be a
weapon.  What could possibly guard against such a thing?

But remember the Sunlord; Vkandis can strike like this.

Surely Karse, at least, is safe.  Surely He can protect His people.

But somehow, with this before him, it was hard to have faith that
Vkandis would protect His people.  This seemed too random, like a
cosmic event, and even Vkandis Sunlord was said to be a part of a
greater universe.

"We have enough, I think," Treyvan said in a louder voice, shaking
himself as if to shake the terrible thought from his mind.

"It isss time to rrreturrrn."

Obediently, if more than a little disturbed, Karal climbed back into
the basket.  But he was much too preoccupied with the thoughts called
up by that circle of crackled glass to take any pleasure in the return
flight.

As night fell, the mages gathered again to compare their notes in the
Council Chamber, and once again, An'desha prevailed on Firesong to let
him come along.  To his relief, Firesong had accepted his explanation
of how he and Karal had met with outward calm.  Pointing out that it
was Talia who had introduced them seemed to make the difference,
An'desha had noted more than once that Firesong, who rarely gave
deference to anyone, gave an immense measure of respect to Lady
Talia.

That was just as well; An'desha had a lot more on his mind than
explaining a simple friendship to his lover.  The magestorm's first
bluster had stirred something up from out of Falconsbane's deepest and
oldest memories, and he was still trying to sort it out.

First and foremost, he was certain, as he had never before been certain
of anything, that this was what both the Avatars and his seizures of
fear had been warning him about.  Secondly, he knew that a part of him
recognized just what the mage-storm really was-or rather, what it was a
symptom of.

There was a version of Falconsbane who called himself "Ma'ar" who was
somehow involved with that memory, though without actually probing
after it, he could not be sure just what that involvement was.

When Firesong went out with Darkwind to do a bond bird aerial sweep to
the south, An'desha stayed behind in the reassuring confines of the
tiny Vale.  Although he would have preferred to have Karal to talk him
through this, he had approached Karal's master, the Karsite Priest
Ulrich, as a substitute to help him through another search through
those dreadful memories.  When Ulrich agreed, the Priest suggested his
own quarters as the best place for such a search, and An'desha had
taken the suggestion with relief.  Then he had taken his courage in
both hands, just as he had done when he had tricked Falconsbane into
walking out into the trap that meant his death, and plunged into a
trance to trace back the memory.

It had taken a long time, and when he emerged from it, he was too
shaken by the experience to say anything.  Ulrich did not seem in a
hurry to make him speak, though; the Priest just sat there with him,
pressing a cup of sweet tea on him, letting him take his own time in
recovering.

But by the time An'desha felt ready to talk, Firesong came to tell
Ulrich that the rest of the mages had already gathered.

"I should be there, too," An'desha said, as steadily as he could, and
felt a little glow of warmth at Firesong's glance of approval.

He's been trying for so long to get me to accept my powers and
responsibilities ... I suppose this makes him feel very good.  In spite
of the soul-churning effect of wandering through the miasma of
Falconsbane's evil memories, An'desha realized that it made him feel
rather good, too.  Shouldering the burden-at least at the moment-was
actually less onerous than anticipating and dreading the need to
shoulder it.  It made him feel the way he did when the Avatars had come
to him-that tremulous exultation, the sense of being a tiny but bright
light in a great expanse of darkness.  He accepted what he must do.

He followed the others into the Council Chamber again, and waited with
them while pages went around the room lighting the lanterns set into
the plaster-ornamented walls.

The Court Artist, who had apparently been sitting there and sketching
some of the mages under pretense of recording a historical event, was
sent packing out of the room by a scowl from Daren.  Karal was there,
sitting with the gryphons this time, bearing signs of windburn and
chapped lips.  His friend gave him a shaky smile.  He seemed very
disturbed by something, and somehow An'desha doubted that it had been
the flying that had set that expression on his face.

Karal is brave, braver than I am.  He wouldn't be afraid of flying.
Something else has frightened him.

"Let Karrral ssspeak forrr the thrrree of usss, " said Treyvan, when
all the shuffling of papers and settling into seats was done.  The
great gryphon raised his head into the light, and his eyes glinted with
reflections.

"We have dissscusssed thisss, and he hasss the feelingsss of all three
of usss."

Karal cleared his throat self-consciously as all eyes turned toward
him.

"Well, what we basically discovered, is that there is a regular pattern
to the disturbances, the ones that we saw, anyway.  They are all the
same size, the same distance apart and in a straight line.  We went as
far as we could before turning back, and we didn't see an end to them.
Most of them are-transplants, I suppose you would say.  They are
circles of foreign soil; they look as if a gardener cut circles of land
and replaced them with circles of land from somewhere else.

Most of them were so similar to Valdemaran soil that if we hadn't been
looking for signs of disturbance we wouldn't have spotted anything
wrong.  Some were from places I couldn't recognize-the one nearest the
city going directly north from the Palace is of black sand, for
instance.  There was one piece that I would swear was right out of a
mountain meadow in Karse; it even contained an herb I know grows only
there.  I took samples from all of them.  But one-there was one at the
end that was different.  That strange one-it was fused sand, like
badly-made glass."  He swallowed, hard.

"I-it would be very terrible if whatever did that has done it somewhere
where there are people."

"Did you see any of the strange animals some people have described?"
Elspeth asked.

Karal shook his head.

"No, nothing that didn't seem quite normal, just out of place where we
found it."

"I found some of the strange animals, and even a bird," Darkwind spoke
up.

"Or rather, Vree found them and caught them.  I had the impression that
the disturbances were not regular and not in a pattern, but it hadn't
occurred to me that many of them would simply look just like the land
around them."

An'desha listened with a sinking heart.  Oh, this sounded far too much
like that ancient memory for his satisfaction!  I

had hoped they would prove me wrong, but they are only proving me more
and more right!

An'desha simply sat and absorbed it all, unable to garner the will to
speak.  Not just yet, anyway.

Darkwind described the creatures that he had caught and brought back;
the other mages who had gone in other directions added their
observations.  Karal offered more comments of his own, calmly, though
with obvious deference to the others.

He wouldn't venture any conclusions, but based on his own figures and
those of the rest, he began to plot the rest of the observations on a
larger map of the land around Haven.

Karal's relative self-assurance-and his and Ulrich's occasional glances
of encouragement-finally gave An'desha the courage to speak up in a
moment of silence.

"You all know-what, who I was," he said softly, his eyes fixed on a
spot in the middle of the table.

Every eye in the place turned toward him.  Karal stopped writing.

"I still have Mornelith Falconsbane's memories," he went on,
haltingly.

"And those of the lives he led before he was Falconsbane.  I knew this
mage-storm when it struck.  I recognized it somehow, out of those
memories, though I did not know what it was, exactly, nor how I
recognized it."  He swallowed;

his throat and mouth felt terribly dry, and his hands were cold.

"Please-please, do not think me crazy.  What I say is true, as true as
I can say it.  With the help of Master Ulrich, I-I sought answers to
that recognition.  I believe I know what this storm was, what caused
it, and even why."

The silence was so thick he heard the hiss of the lantern flames behind
him.

"Please be patient with me; this was the oldest memory I have ever
touched, possibly the oldest that Falconsbane himself had.  It came
from a time when Falconsbane was a mage and a king called Ma'ar."

The gryphons hissed as one, hackles and crest-feathers smoothed flat to
their heads, and sat straight up on their haunches.  No one else
moved.

"The memory of a storm like this one-it came after a Gate was
destroyed.  Not a temporary Gate like we know, but a permanent Gate-one
that was held ready to be opened at any moment.  It was a small storm,
and the effects were limited, but they were very like what you have
been describing here."  He swallowed again; what followed had been
very, very hard to cope with, even at the remove of several hundreds,
if not thousands, of years.

"But when Maar-died-it was with the knowledge that his realm, and that
of his enemy, were both about to fall to a suicidal cataclysm.  Both
realms, rich in magic, built with magic, were about to have every spell
within them broken within moments of his death.

Many permanent Gates, shields, devices, all-and all at once.

He died before he himself experienced that cataclysm, but the effects
would have been very like those we are seeing now, but much, much
worse, lasting for days, and traveling across continents."

"Continents?"  someone asked.  An'desha nodded.

"Hence, that it is called 'the Cataclysm' in the old texts," Ulrich
murmured as if to himself.

"But that wasss verrry long ago," Hydona said, puzzled.

"What hasss that to do with usss?"

He took another deep breath.  This was even harder to speak of, but for
a different reason.

"I do not often tell of this, but when I was entrapped within my body
by Falconsbane, I was aided by two-presences."  Please, oh please, do
not let them doubt my sanity!

"Avatars of the Star-Eyed, he means," Firesong interjected, and reached
under the table to squeeze his hand encouragingly.  " The blade Need
spoke to me of these, more than once.

I believe they were what they claimed to be and so does she;

after all, some of you saw them when they unmade both Nyara and
An'desha, giving them back more human likenesses."

" An'desha has told me of these Avatars," Karal spoke up.

"I

believe them to be true Visitations also."

An'desha cleared his throat self-consciously, feeling his ears and neck
growing hot with a flush he could not control.

"They warned me then, several times, that there was something terrible
in the future.  Something that threatened not only Valdemar alone, but
all our lands.  I thought it was only Falconsbane, but I continued to
have terrible dreams, and spells of great fear after he was gone.  Now
that this magestorm has come upon us and I have searched out that old
memory, I-I have-" he shook his head.

"I am no great mage, for all the potential power that Firesong thinks I
hold, but there are some things that are now making dreadful sense to
me.  The Avatars spoke to me once of 'power and chaos echoing back
across time."  I thought that meant Falconsbane, but now I do not think
so.  I have the memory of how much power lay in all those spells that
were released in that long-ago time of the Mage Wars.  Maar believed in
his last moments that it was more than the fabric of the world could
bear, to have it all released in a single moment-and as importantly, to
have two such centers of power interacting with each other.  I think
that what happened then is about to echo back upon us now-but in
reverse of the original.  I think that the storm we just experienced is
only the warning."

An'desha drew a halting breath, and summed it up as best he could.

"What we experienced was the little chill breeze that presages a
hurricane."

Firesong stared at him, stunned.  Now it was Treyvan's turn to break
the silence.

"It isss in the trrraditionsss of the Kaled'a'in k'Lesshya that therrre
werrre weeksss of mage-ssstorrrmsss following the death of Urrrtho,"
the gryphon said with steady calm.

"The old chrrroniclesss sssay that it wasss imposssible to dessscribe
how terrrible they werrre, in effect, and in ssstrrrength.

The verrry land wasss torrrn assssunderrr, and even time ssseemed to
flow ssstrrrangely forrr the yearrr afterrr."

"There is an oral tradition of the same among the Tayledras,)" Firesong
managed and shook his head.

"I can't even begin to guess what effect the release of that much
mage-energy would have.  If it could turn the land around the King's
Palace where Ma'ar was into a cratered lake, and the land around
Urtho's Tower into a plain of glass, there is no reason to suppose it
might not even travel through the fabric of time itself.

So many spells and wards are linked to time as if it were a physical
presence-and even small magical explosions wreck the latticework of
magic for a dozen leagues around them."

The others turned their attention back to An'desha, who looked horribly
pale.

"I do not have the learning to guess at more," he said humbly.

"And if you will please forgive me, I do not wish to delve more into
those memories that might give me that learning-at least not tonight.
They make me feel ill."

"I have knowledge of the old Kaled'a'in magicsss," Treyvan rumbled.

"Asss passsed to Vikterrren and Ssskandrrranon by Urrrtho himssself.
The making of Gatesss warrrps time, asss waterrr warpsss wood; the
making of perrmanent Gatesss warrrps it morrre.  Therrre werrre at
leassst twenty sssuch Gatesss at Urrrtho's Towerrr, perrrhapsss morrre.
Therrre werrre all the weaponsss that Urrrtho would not uss se forrr
they werrre too terrrible.  Therrre werrre the prrrotectionsss on the
Towerrr, and the magicssss of the placssesss we grrrryphonsss werrre
born."

Ulrich's brows knotted with thought.

"I-this goes beyond what I have learned," he said at last, "but I can
tell you this; I have myself had warnings from an Avatar of Vkandis
that something of this sort portended."

Elspeth looked impatient.

"You had vague warnings, An'desha had vague warnings, why didn't anyone
get anything clear?"

An'desha winced.  That was a perfectly reasonable question.

And he didn't have an answer.

But Ulrich only smiled slightly.

"Perhaps because even the Star-Eyed and Vkandis Himself did not know
what the effect would be," he replied gently.

"Hear me out.  When the Gods granted mankind free will, They allowed
uncertainty to enter the world.  Some things can be predicted; others
cannot.  If I may make an analogy-I can tell you that a great storm is
coming.  With the knowledge I have that when the wind blows
such-and-so, and the glass falls, and the sky looks thusly at this time
of year, I can say that there will be a storm.  But I cannot predict
what places will flood, how high the floodwaters will rise, what homes
will be battered to bits, and what keeps struck by lightning.  As this
power comes back to us, I think that even the Gods could not tell
exactly what form it would take, perhaps because of what we and others
have done with magic since then.  They could only warn that there was
danger."

"So-" Elspeth said slowly, after a long silence, "The good news is that
this isn't anything we caused, and it isn't anything that the Empire is
turning on us.  The bad news is that this really isn't a 'mage-storm'
as such.  Not yet, anyway.  It was-was one wave, created by the real
storm that is out of sight of the land.  It swamped boats and wrecked
docks, but the real storm still hasn't come in yet."

An'desha watched as the faces of all the mages around the table sank as
they all accepted that conclusion.  If it was not the truth, it was
certainly the closest thing they had to the truth at the moment.  No,
it wasn't a weapon, or anything they had caused.  But it also wasn't
anything they could stop, any more than they could stop a real storm
from sweeping in.

"I should point out that there may be a bright side to this," Prince
Daren said.

"Kerowyn said it herself; the Empire relies far more heavily on magic
than we do.  The real mage-storm will hurt them far more than it does
us."

"True."  Elspeth chewed her thumbnail, a habit that made An'desha
wince.

"But it may destroy us all, Empire included.

Well, there is one thing we can do, though whether it will do any good
or not, I don't know.  We have to get warnings out to every member of
the Alliance about this, so that they will at least know what this last
squall was, that it wasn't us, and that there's worse to come.  There
is worse to come, right?"

She looked at Firesong for the answer to that.

The Healing Adept shrugged.

"My guess is that there will be.  An'desha's prescient dreams were
terrible things, and I do not think this little 'squall' as you called
it could account for them.  There were 'waves of mage-storms' before,
and if the reverse of the past is happening, these squalls will build
into a powerful climax."

"We have to collect every bit of information we can," An'desha
insisted.

"We have to know every spot of disturbance in Valdemar.  If we have a
pattern, maybe we can deduce the next places that will be struck."

"We--or, rather, the Tayledras-have another task before us first,"
Firesong interjected grimly.

"Which is why I plan to send a mage-message to my parents as soon as we
are done with this meeting.  We must get the best shields ever created
around each and every Heartstone, including the one here beneath the
Palace.  If that is not done, we, Valdemaran and Tayledras alike, could
all find ourselves facing rogue Stones, and the storms will be
immaterial for we will already be dead.  " An'desha blinked in surprise
as both Elspeth and Darkwind blanched.  He had not thought there was
anything that could rattle those two.

"Then Darkwind and I-all the Herald-Mages-had better get to work right
now," Elspeth said, pushing away from the table and standing up.

"Anything else can wait."

"I will help you, if you like," Ulrich offered.

"I believe that I may know some shielding techniques you do not."

"We ssshall asss well," Treyvan said, with a dry chuckle.

"Afterrr all, it isss ourrr tailsss in jeoparrrdy, too!"

"Shall-" An'desha began to add his offer to theirs, but Elspeth and
Firesong both shook their heads.

"I know that you dread another walk through those memories, kc'chara,"
Firesong said quietly, "but if there is any more information in them, I
wish you would look for it."

"I will be sssending a mess sage to k'Lessshya, forrr accurrrate
coplesss of the chrrroniclesss," Hydona told them.

"Therrre may be morrre anssswerrrsss therrre."

"Huh.  Rris might even have something to add.  But he's so selfish with
his stories!"  Darkwind raised an eyebrow as a chuckle of nervous
laughter met his comment.

"Well, he is a kyree historian; there might be an oral tradition about
this among the kyree.  " "True enough," Prince Daren said as he stood
up, smoothing his white uniform in a gesture of habit.

"Well, I think we have wrung the last drop of water from this for now.
I will go report to Selenay; I leave you to your various tasks."

He paused for a moment before leaving, as his troubled eyes met each of
theirs in turn.  An'desha could not sustain that contact for long; he
felt somehow guilty about all of this, as if he were somehow the cause
of it.

"As unpleasant as my task will be, giving Selenay ill news," Daren said
at last, "I do not envy any of you your jobs.

For once, I am glad I am no mage.  You must all feel like oarsmen
trying to outrun a wave you cannot stop."

With that, he took himself out, and the rest of them followed his
example.  An'desha wasn't certain how the others felt, but so far as he
was concerned, Prince Daren had summed up the entire situation far too
accurately.

Despite Prince Daren's gloomy words, Karal was not about to give up the
fight before he had even started!  Surely there was something they
could do about this!  Even if they couldn't stop the storm itself,
well, people built houses against storms all the time; why couldn't
they build shelters against this one?

They survived back then, or we wouldn't be here now What we need is
more information.  The more we know, the better we'll be able to
prepare.

Maybe he was no mage, but he did know exactly where to go to find
people who were absolutely, precisely ideal for the task of gathering
and categorizing information.

As Ulrich followed Elspeth, Darkwind, and the gryphons to some
mysterious room in the cellars of the Palace, he went off in a
different direction entirely.

The clouds of this afternoon had thickened, and the air smelled damp,
so he stopped just long enough to fetch a cloak from his room before
heading out the side door to the little postern gate in the Palace
walls that Natoli had shown him.

The Guard there tonight wasn't one he knew, but it didn't much matter;
most of the Guards probably knew how to get to any tavern in Haven.

His supposition wasn't wrong; the Guard was only too happy to give him
exact directions to the Compass Rose, directions that matched very well
with his own hazy memory of the way Natoli had led him the first
time.

By the time the Guard was satisfied that he had the directions
straight, thunder rumbled off in the far distance, and he thought he
glimpsed a flash of lightning against the dark night sky.  He set off
down the street just as the first few fat drops of rain fell onto the
cobblestones in front of him with audible splats.

The few drops had become a downpour by the time he reached the tavern
door, and just before he opened that door, he had a horrible thought.
What if the rain kept everyone away?  What if I can't find them all?
What am I going to do then?

But the blast of sound and warmth that hit his face as he opened the
door against the rising wind told him that his fears were groundless.
The Compass Rose was packed to the rafters; rather than avoiding the
tavern because of the storm, the storm seemed to have had the effect of
driving every Blue in Haven into the taproom.

Mouthwatering aromas hit his nose and made his stomach growl, but he
ignored his hunger for the moment.  Karal waited just long enough to
get his senses used to the noise and light before pushing his way
through the crowded tables in the general direction of the one Natoli
and her friends generally used.  He heaved a sigh of relief as he
spotted the back of her head; one of her friends saw him and waved to
him.

Natoli turned around, saw who it was, and beckoned to him to join
them.

He didn't need any further prompting; he increased his pace, leaving
apologies to those he had unceremoniously shoved aside in his wake, and
wedged his way in beside their table.

"Karal!  We've just been talking about all the weird things that
happened today," Natoli said, as several of the others edged over on a
bench to give him a place to perch.

"Some of us got dizzy, and a couple even thought there was an
earthquake and now there are all kinds of strange things outside the
walls!  It has to be magic, but none of us can figure out what in the
Havens' name happened, or who caused it all."

She eyed him with speculation.

"You're in the thick of things at the Palace; I don't suppose you have
a clue, do you?"

Karal silently thanked Vkandis for providing him with the most perfect
opening that anyone could ever ask.

"I am, I do, and I came here precisely because I need to talk to all of
you about this."

That got their attention, all right.  He became the center of a little
island of silence in the middle of all the noise.

He wanted to blurt it all out at once, for the words were just bubbling
up inside of him-but these youngsters were logical people, and he knew
that the better organized his words were, the more likely they were to
believe him.  He knew that he would not have believed any of what he
was about to tell them, if he had not been present from the beginning
of it all.  He would have to place them at the beginning, to prove to
them that he was not deluded, or worse, making it all up out of whole
cloth.

So that was how he told them, laying out everything that had happened
and been said from the very beginning--starting, in fact, with
An'desha's prescient fits of fear.  He left Altra out of it, and the
Avatars; these students were familiar with ForeSight and ForeSeers, but
not Visitations from the Gods.  He did not want to stretch their
credulity with tales of Avatars and their ilk.

To his gratification, they listened to him, carefully and soberly, and
did not seem inclined to doubt him, even when he spoke of the effects
of magic reaching forward through thousands of years to reach them
now.

"I know this all sounds mad," he said finally, "But that's the
conclusion even Firesong and Elspeth have reached.  Prince Daren
believes them-" Natoli covered his hand with hers to still his plea.

"We believe you, Karal," she said, then looked around the table.

"right?"

Nods all around met her question.

"You've got no reason to lie to us," one of the others said.

"And besides, it matches up too damned well with all the weirdnesses
today.  So, I've only got one question.  We aren't mages, and
everything we do deals with the strictly physical.  Why did you come to
us with all this?"

He heaved a sigh of relief and felt a huge weight lift from his mind.

"Because I think you can help," he told them all.

"And this is why.  Right now, we're looking for patterns, patterns that
will let us predict what is going to happen next, and maybe even when
it's going to happen.  Patterns are mathematical, logical."

"So who better to deal with math and logic than us?"  Natoli finished
for him, her eyes bright with enthusiasm.

"Right!  I think you came to the right people.  We-" She paused for a
moment, frowning.

"Hang on, though, this is too important for just one tableful of
students.  This is something everyone should hear, especially the
Masters."

With that, she leapt to her feet and shoved her way over to the
fireplace.  There was a large bell hanging there; Karal had never seen
anyone ring it, so he'd assumed it was only there for decoration.  Now,
as Natoli seized the cord hanging from the clapper and rang it with
vigor, he realized it had a real purpose after all.

The entire room fell instantly silent, so much so that the only sounds
were those of the wind and rain outside, and the shoving back of chairs
in the next room where the Master craftsmen were.  Soon they, too,
crowded into the taproom, pushing through the door in the rear wall;
some looking annoyed, but most wearing expressions of startlement and
curiosity.

" We have a friend among us, secretary to the envoy from Karse," Natoli
called out into the silence.

"He was introduced to me by my father, Herald Rubrik, and I was told I
could trust and believe him.  Tonight he learned of things he felt we
should all hear, and having heard them, I believed they were important
enough to sound the bell so that all craftsmen and students could hear
them as well."  She waved at Karal, who got to his feet, flushing with
embarassment.

Karal, could you repeat what you just told my table?"

Still blushing, but obedient to her wishes, he did so, concentrating on
keeping his words in exact chronological order, clear ' and precise.
When he finished, there was more silence, but there wasn't a single
doubtful or hostile face in the room.

Finally, a wizened little man stepped forward from behind some of the
other Master Craftsmen.  From the way they all deferred to him and made
way for him, Karal guessed that he might well be senior to all of them.
He couldn't have been any taller than Natoli.  his gray hair ringed a
bald spot that took up most of his scalp, and his clothing was no
richer than anyone else's here, but he had an air of competence and
authority that no wardrobe could impart.

"Young lady-Natoli, is it?-you were right to ring the Silence Bell," he
said, his old voice cracking.

"This was a tale we all needed to hear-and a task too important for one
table of students to deal with!  And young secretary, you were right to
come here with your tale."  His eyes disappeared in a mass of wrinkles
as he squinted in Karal's direction.

"Magic is not the answer to all problems, as I have said in the
past."

"Repeatedly," one of the boys still seated at Karal's left muttered
under his breath.

"Whether or not magic will be the answer to this problem remains to be
seen," the old man continued.

"But if it is careful gathering of facts and measures, and equally
careful advice that you want, then this is the place to look to find
your experts!  " "Here, here" murmured several of the other Master
Craftsmen;

from the tone of their voices, Karal had the shrewd notion that they
resented this intrusion of magic and mages into their world and would
be very pleased to show that they could solve a crisis that mages could
not cope with.

The old man paused and looked out over the taproom.

"I

know that there are tasks you have all undertaken and may not in honor
leave unfinished-whether those tasks be study and learning, or the
building of a road, a mill, or a dwelling.

Nevertheless, as I can see at this moment, we all have hours of leisure
that are at our disposal, or we would not be here, drinking our hosts'
excellent beer and telling lies to one another.

Can I request that until this crisis is dealt with, that you devote
those hours to your Queen and your land?"

Karal honestly expected that no more than a third of those in this
tavern would volunteer-which, philosophically, would be more trained
hands, minds and eyes than he'd had when he walked in here, and far
more than he ever anticipated!

But without warning, Natoli jumped to the top of the table nearest her.
She waved once, seizing the attention of everyone in the room, and
stood there in a defiant pose, with her feet apart and her hands on her
hips.

"How many of you spent your student days in the Collegium?"

she asked, before anyone could make an answer, yea or nay, to the old
man's question.

"And how many of you saw the highborn brats looking down their noses at
us, because we were going to work for our livelihood?  And how many of
you just twisted with envy every time one of those herald-trainees rode
by on their Companions?  The highborn, the trainees, they were going to
be important!  All we were going to do was make their lives a little
easier!  just one short step up from peddlers, that's us!"

The students hissed and booed her words, and the sour looks on the
faces of the Master Craftsmen said all that needed to be said.

"But now we can do something they can't!"  Natoli cried out in
triumph.

"Even those fancy mages, they don't have the training or the
organization-they can't look at this problem logically.  I don't think
they can solve it!  But we can!  Can't we?

An angry chorus of "Aye!"  and "Damn bet!"  answered her.

She grinned with satisfaction.

"And we're going to solve it, if it takes every spare moment we have,
aren't we?"

Again, there was a chorus of assent.

"And how better to get the funding for our projects than to show the
Palace that we are the ones with the answers?"

This time the chorus was even stronger.  Natoli's grin widened, and she
jumped down from the top of the table, bowing slightly to the old man
as she alighted.

"I believe you have your answer, Master Magister Hemin, she said, and
made her way back to her table.

The old man shook his head, but grinned anyway, and his eyes
disappeared in his wrinkles again.  He waited patiently for the noise
to die away, then gestured to the rest of the Master Craftsmen.

"Gentlemen, select your helpers; I assume you'll all be selecting your
own students, but don't overlook someone who wants to work for you, or
who hasn't been chosen.  Master Tam, Master Levy, please go with this
young man to the Palace and present our services to the Queen.  I will
organize the groups for work tomorrow morning."  He sighed and shook
his head.

"I am too old to be traipsing out into a tempest, I fear, or I would go
myself."

"Master" Tam was actually a strong and squarely-built female of late
middle age; she laughed and crossed her arms over her chest.

"Hemin, you haven't once left the Compass Rose as long as there was a
single drop left in the kegs in all the years I've known you.  I hardly
expect you to start now."

Master Hemin shrugged but looked unrepentant.  The other Masters moved
out into the taproom, but she and Master Levy headed straight for the
table shared by Natoli's cronies.

"We'll take you scruffy lot, since you're already our students," Master
Levy said, as soon as they got within an arm's reach of the table.

"We're both used to you delinquents, and I

wouldn't wish you on some poor, unsuspecting Master who has no idea
what depravities you can get up to."

Natoli only nodded, unabashed.

"Suits me.  What will we be up to?"

"Dawn is what you'll be up to," Master Tam replied, and smiled evilly
as the students groaned.

"The logical, obvious thing is that first we'll divide up the area
around Haven and each group will take one piece to study.  We'll look
at the obvious anomalies and look for ones the Heralds and mages
missed.  because I'll bet there will be some-once we've measured each
anomaly to within a hair, we'll come here to collate the information.
After that?"  She shrugged.

"My guess is that either we'll be sending individual students out with
fast horses to get information from farther out, or we'll just make up
a set of precise instructions based on what we find, and rely on locals
to do the work.  Then we'll start looking for answers that fit the
information.  We'll probably use the Rose as our headquarters, since
it's set up to hold all of us."

"Just like a class problem," groaned one of the boys.

"Exactly."  Master Levy fixed the offending party with a gimlet eye.

"Don't you think you ought to cut the evening short, since you're going
to be up so early?"

Obediently, the students started gathering up their cloaks;

students at the other tables were doing the same, so evidently the
other Masters had imparted the same set of orders to their groups.

"I think Lady Herald Elspeth would be the one to take your offer, sir,"
Karal said to Master Levy, who was nearest him.

"I know she'll still be awake.  Would you like to go to the Palace
now?"

"Between us, I'm pretty certain that Karal and I can get you both past
the gate guard," Natoli added.

"They've been letting me run tame at the Collegium since I could
toddle, and every Guard and Herald there is my 'uncle."

" Master Levy looked to Master Tam for advice.  The woman nodded
brusquely.

"Sounds as good a plan to me as any."  She slung her cloak around her
shoulders and took a last swig of beer from a student's mug.

"Let's go."

They slogged through rain that filled the gutters and soaked their
cloaks; bent their heads against wind that drove the rain into their
faces and threatened to pull their cloaks right out of their hands. The
relatively short walk to the Palace was as exhausting as one of those
dawn-to-dark rides he and Ulrich had endured on their way up here.

At long last they reached the postern gate, and the Guard there
recognized all four of them.  He waved them inside without any
formality-which was a mistake, in Karal's opinion, for they could have
been anybody, in very clever disguises.

He resolved to tell someone about the lapse tomorrow.

Alberich, maybe, or even Kerowyn.

Once inside the Palace, however, the Guards were a great deal more
alert, to his relief.  They were left to drip in front of a fire while
someone went off to verify that they were who they said they were, and
to fetch Herald Elspeth.  Hot spiced tea arrived after a while, and
towels, both brought by pages, who hung their cloaks over frames in
front of the fire to dry them thoroughly.  The air filled with the
smell of wet wool.

Elspeth was not at all pleased to be fetched; she looked tired and
rather frazzled.  Her hair had escaped from its utilitarian braids, and
her face was slack with exhaustion.  But the moment that Master Tam and
Master Levy introduced themselves to her and explained what brought
them there, she brightened with relief, and actually apologized for her
curt welcome.

"I'm dreadfully sorry I was so surly, but we just finished some very
difficult work, and we're about to repeat it to double the effect," she
said, pulling a damp curl off her forehead with an impatient gesture.

"I can't even begin to tell you how much I appreciate this!  Yes, we
certainly do accept your offer, and I can't think of anyone better
suited to try to apply logic to all of this."  She favored Master Levy
with a wry grimace.

"Some of the others won't like it, but I can and will overrule them-and
Mother will most certainly be relieved that someone is trying
mathematics instead of intuition for a change!"

She continued for a little while longer, as both Masters glowed with
satisfaction under the weight of her sincere thanks and praise.  There
was no doubt that she meant every word she said-and no doubt that both
of them had been half expecting to find opposition from someone who was
a mage as well as a Herald.  Not surprising; they didn't know her,
after all.

I wonder if she's stretching all this thanks out a little-he thought,
when she began repeating herself.  Then he saw her take a surreptitious
glance at the cloaks, and knew he was right.  She was waiting for the
cloaks to dry before sending them away!

Thoughtful, making up for being discourteous earlier?  It could be.
Elspeth, he had learned by watching, was like that.

"Well," Master Levy said, when Elspeth finished her speech, "if we're
going to lead a team of unruly students out into the muck at dawn, we
need to take our leave.  As soon as we have anything of any substance,
we will let you know, Herald Elspeth.  " "Send me your measurements and
charts, would you please?"  Elspeth asked as the two Masters took up
their now-dry cloaks.

"They might help those of us who aren't applying strict logic to the
problem."

"Certainly, my lady," Master Tam assured her, tossing the cloak over
muscular shoulders.

"Now, by your leave?"

"I've sent for a carriage; at least you won't have to walk back in this
mess," Elspeth told her, and grinned at the gratified expressions they
wore.

"Masters, I promise you, no matter what you've heard, I didn't turn
into a complete barbarian while I was gone!"

They laughed, and Elspeth called for a page to take them to the
carriage she'd ordered up.  Once they had gone, she turned her
attention back to Karal, who was waiting quietly for her to dismiss
him.

"Was this your idea, sir secretary?"  Elspeth asked, with a stern
expression that was entirely spoiled by her glow of amusement and the
twitching of her lips.

"Yes, Lady," he replied.

"I don't know a great deal about magic-but Altra, a friend, told me to
trust my own good sense.  You all said you needed measurements and
facts, and my own good sense said that if you were going to need facts
and figures, you ought to have people who specialize in them gather
them for you."

"Well, your friend was right," Elspeth declared.

"And I can't begin to thank you for going out and acting on your
conviction.

You do your order proud."  And with that, to his, immense confusion and
embarrassment, she kissed him, much to Natoli's open amusement.

"Now, you've done more than anyone else but the mages tonight, and you
deserve some rest, so you ought to go get it," she told him.  Then she
turned to Natoli.

"You are just as much to be thanked for seeing that the task was too
large for a small group of students and acting on your conviction," she
added.

"It isn't every youngling who'd sacrifice personal glory for seeing
that the job is done right."

Natoli shrugged.

"A Herald's daughter learns not to let self aggrandizement get in the
way of the job," she said.

"A Herald's daughter?"  Elspeth looked at Natoli with speculation but
did not ask so why aren't you a Herald, too?

"So that would be how you met Ulrich's young secretary.

she asked instead.

Natoli nodded.

"Father was the one assigned to escort them.  He thought I might be
able to help Karal get settled."

Elspeth smiled.

"I'd guess you succeeded.  since he managed to find the Compass Rose
and its taproom!  Anyone could get settled with a couple of Rose pints
in them!"  Natoli lost control enough to giggle.

But Elspeth wasn't finished yet.

"There's one thing I'd really like to tell you, Natoli.  No matter what
it may sometimes seem like, there are important, vital jobs that can't
be done by Heralds, which is one reason why this land isn't hip deep in
Companions.  You and your friends and Masters are and will be doing
things as important as anyone who ever put on Whites, and don't ever
let anyone tell you differently.

We Heralds are there to be obvious symbols to the people, but the Guard
and Bards deserve most of the glory we get."

As Natoli flushed with confusion, Elspeth gave her a little salute and
then left.

"Well!"  Natoli said at last.

"What brought that on?

Karal raised his hands and shook his head, although he had a good idea
what had brought it on.  Natoli's carefully veiled expression of envy
on seeing Elspeth's uniform, and the flat tone of her voice when she
mentioned that she was the daughter of a Herald.

"Heralds.  Who knows?  It was something she thought you ought to hear
from her directly, though, or she'd never have said it."

And given that little speech back there in the Compass

Rose, I think you needed to hear it, he thought silently.

Natoli shrugged uncomfortably.

"Well-I need to get back to my bed.  Coming here isn't going to excuse
me from going out with the others at dawn."

"Thank you," Karal said.  very softly, catching her arm as she turned
to go.

"We couldn't do this without you.  Elspeth was right.  You did some
very good things.  I think you're going to do more of them.  I really
admire you."

Natoli blushed again and averted her eyes.

"I've-got to go!"  she blurted, and turned and hurried away.  Karal
watched her go and remained staring at the door for minutes after she
was gone.

Karal made his own way back to the Karsite suite, his head so full he
couldn't even begin to sort out his thoughts.  He was only certain of
one thing.

He'd better get some sleep, himself, no matter how much turmoil his
thoughts were in.  Whatever lay ahead of them-this was likely to be the
last moment of peace any of them would have for a long while to come.

Altra

But the next morning, it might all have been a dream.

Except that Ulrich was up very early and left immediately after
canceling all of his appointments, and when Karal took his usual lesson
with Kerowyn, she was preoccupied and actually let him score on her
without making him work himself into exhaustion to earn it.  He waited
for an opportune moment and told her of the Guard's laxness of the
night before, which earned him a nod of approval.

But after that lesson was done, he found himself at loose ends.  Ulrich
had forsaken meetings and discussions in the face of this greater
threat, which left Karal with nothing whatsoever to do as Ulrich plied
his other avocation of PriestMage.

Ulrich reappeared for lunch, just long enough to snatch a hasty meal
and ask Karal if he had taken care of the appointments that had been
canceled.

"Yes, sir," Karal replied.

"Is there anything else you want me to do?"

"Not really," the Priest told him.

"Really, just take a rest;

do whatever you want to do this afternoon.  I'll be in conference with
the rest of the mages.  We're still mostly at the talking stage, now
that we've reinforced all the shields and-well, never mind.  just take
a little holiday."

With that he was gone, leaving Karal to trail forlornly around the
suite, finally ending up in his own room.

For the first time in a very long time, he had leisure to be
lonely-and, suddenly, homesick.  Up until now, he'd been so busy that
he hadn't had much time to think about himself.

When he wasn't actually working he was encouraging An'desha, learning
as much as he could about the land and the Heralds that guided it from
the library and from Florian, or discussing what he'd learned with
Ulrich.

He hadn't even had a chance to talk about this latest crisis with his
mentor, and that bothered him more than he had thought it would.  He
sat on the bed, staring at the wall, feeling very much left out.  No
point in looking for An'desha, he'd be with the others.  Natoli was out
doing whatever her Master assigned her.  Florian was like Altra-you
didn't go to the Companion, he showed up when he wanted to.  Karal
wasn't a mage-and he wasn't one of the Blues, either.  That left him
with no purpose at all, and nothing useful to contribute.

oh, do stop feeling sorry for yourself!: Altra snapped, appearing out
of nowhere and jumping up onto his bed.

"You've taken the initiative before.  What's to stop you from doing it
again?  You're an adult, Karal, an acolyte, not a novice!  Of course
you have a purpose!  You're supposed to be Ulrich's assistant, aren't
you?:

"Ah-yes, but-" Karal began, starting a little at the Firecat's sudden
appearance.

The Firecat snorted.

"Well, go assist him, then!  Do your job!  Who's going to remind him to
eat and rest if you don't?

Didn't Solaris tell you to take care of him?  All of the rest of them
are younger than he is; if they don't feel tired, they'll keep going,
and he'll feel he has to keep up with them.  Who's going to take notes?
Even if you don't understand all that mage-babble, you can take notes,
can't you?: Altra's tail switched from side to side, annoyance in every
twitch.

Karal nodded, tentatively at first, then with more enthusiasm.

There was a very good chance they wouldn't exclude him if he presented
himself at the door of the meeting.  He was Ulrich's assistant, after
all.  And there probably wasn't anyone else playing secretary in all
the mage-conferences.

"Besides, what you learn there, you can take to Natoli and the others.:
Altra added, narrowing his eyes, which gave him a very sly,
self-satisfied look.

"The Seekers need that information as much as they need measurements.
They really don't know how magic works, and the more you can tell them,
the better they can do their job.  Right?:

"Right."  Karal got to his feet, and gathered up his pouch of
note-taking materials.

"Thank you, Altra.  " "My pleasure.: The Firecat twitched his tail
again, jumped down off the bed-and vanished before he touched the
floor.

Karal shivered.  He really wished that Altra would at least get out of
sight before he pulled one of those disappearing tricks.  Having the
Firecat there one moment and not-there the next was decidedly
unnerving.

Oh,.well.  He knew where the meeting was going to be, since Ulrich had
let that drop-not in the Council Chamber this time, since they couldn't
keep usurping it from governmental business, but in the gryphons'
suite, since it was the only other set of rooms large enough to hold
the gryphons comfortably.

He had never been there, but it was easy enough to find a page to show
him the way; they all seemed to know where the gryphons were.  The tiny
child who led him down the maze of corridors confessed as they walked
that he often played with the young gryphons.  Karal had to shake his
head at that; how in Vkandis' name had his parents been persuaded to
allow him to play with meat-eating raptors that could easily bite his
hand off?  That said a lot for the ability of Treyvan and Hydona to
convince Valdemarans that they were as friendly as they claimed.

The chamber was at the end of a long corridor that looked vaguely
familiar to Karal.  It looked as if it had been originally intended for
some other use than as guest quarters, with its huge double doors of
carved wood.  Had it been a lesser Audience Chamber, perhaps?
Tentatively, he tapped on the door and was a little surprised when
Ulrich himself answered it.

"Karal?"  the Priest said, when he recognized who was there.  He held
the door as if he was thinking about shutting it again, a frown just
beginning to crease his brow.

"Didn't I tell you-/ "You don't have anyone here to take notes for you
all, do You?"  Karal interrupted, before Ulrich could chide him.

"You don't have anyone here to fetch things for you; you'll have to
call for a page and wait until one comes.  You don't have anyone to run
out and have meals and drink sent up.  I can do all of that, and you
already know that I won't get in the way."

He swallowed a bit, and let a little pleading creep into his voice.

"Please sir, I want to help.  I want to help you.  It's not a duty,
it's a pleasure."

Ulrich's frown faded when he heard Karal's intentions.

"I

didn't-think you'd care to be here," he replied, with a hesitancy he
had never shown before.

"You've been working hard, and I thought I'd been exploiting your good
nature.  I was afraid we'd overwork you-" Karal coughed as his cheeks
heated.

"Master, one of my duties is to make certain that you don't overwork."
He lowered his voice to a near-whisper.

"You aren't exploiting my good nature, sir.  I am proud to serve and
honor you as I would serve and honor my own father."

Ulrich bowed his head, and he blinked rapidly for a moment.  " Karal,
you are a remarkable young man.  I am proud to be here to help you when
I can.  Thank you.  We can certainly use your services."

Karal slipped inside the door as Ulrich held it open just enough for
him to get inside.  There was no furniture, just the bare wooden floor
and huge pillows and featherbeds; logical, actually, since this place
was meant for the comfort of gryphons, not humans.  Firesong was
holding forth and did not even notice as Karal took a place on the edge
of the gathering, got out his pens and paper, and began taking notes in
the middle of Firesong's current sentence.

"-if all of you are really set on it, I can't see how it's going to
hurt anything," the Healing Adept was saying, his voice full of
contemptuous amusement.

"But I repeat, I don't think that these-craftsmen of yours, these
engineers, as you call them-are going to accomplish anything at all
useful.  Magic simply does not work the way they are used to
thinking.

Magic is a thing of intuition, of art; you can't dissect it, set down
logic, make it march in step."

"But haven't you been teaching me the laws of magic?"

An'desha objected stubbornly.  Karal's eyebrows arched in surprise,
though he kept quiet, true to his promise.  Was An'desha actually
disagreeing with Firesong?  If so, it must be for the very first
time!

"Yes, but-" Firesong floundered for a moment, then regained his
poise.

"But the laws' of magic are simply guidelines!

Haven't Elspeth and Darkwind accomplished things the mages of k'Sheyna
thought could not be done, simply because Elspeth was not aware that
common thought was that they were impossible?  That is because magic
simply is not logical.  It doesn't always answer the way you think it
will.

You can't call it to the glove like an imprinted falcon!"

"But you won't object if I assist the engineers?"  An'desha
persisted.

"So long as I don't use time and energy we need to put into shields?"

He's opposing Firesong?  Has the moon started rising in the west?

Firesong flung up his hands in defeat.

"How can I object to what you do with your free time?"  he asked
sourly.

"If you want to waste it, go right ahead.  I simply don't see where you
are going to accomplish anything concrete."

"Well, now that we have that out of the way, shall we get down to the
business at hand?"  Darkwind asked dryly.

Firesong shrugged and sat down again, settling into a more comfortable
position against one of the huge pillows, a bolster of a green so dark
it approached black.  Karal noted with amusement that he had chosen the
only pillow in the room that harmonized with his brilliant emerald
costume.

"I asked Rris if there was any oral kyree tradition about the
mage-storms that followed the Cataclysm," Darkwind told them all.

"So here he is, and he's going to recite it to you."

Rris rose from his place at Darkwind's side where he had been lying
like an obedient dog, stepped forward into the center of the room,
bowed his furry gray head once to all of them, and sat down on his
haunches with immense dignity.

"I trust you will not object if I tell it in the traditional manner?.

"Go right ahead," Firesong said.

"You might forget something if you break from tradition, else."

Rris nodded.

"Hear you all, from the times of the Change, from the times of the
Falling of the Sky and the Stars,: he began, his mental voice ringing
in Karal's mind.  It occurred to Karal at that moment, as he scribbled
furiously to get all of the story down, that he himself had changed out
of all recognition ever since he had come to Valdemar.  Not that long
ago, simply seeing the kyree would have put him into shock.

Now he was taking down what the creature dictated into his mind,
without a second thought.

Was this a good thing, or a bad one?

Neither, he decided, as his fingers flew across the page, filling line
after line with meticulous script.  It's just change.

You change, or you turn into a dry old stick.

And another thing occurred to him.

Dry old sticks break under pressure.  So maybe it was a good thing
after all.  The last thing they all needed right now was one of their
number who would snap like a twig.

It had been a long day; it was going to get longer before Karal saw his
bed.  Nevertheless, when An'desha intercepted him on his way out of the
gryphons' room and asked him to make a map of the way to the Compass
Rose, he volunteered to act as An'desha's escort instead, after they
both had some supper.  Ulrich was to work with the Tayledras and
Elspeth, strengthening shields again; that left Karal free to make a
hasty copy of the day's notes and show An'desha the way.

That was why they both found themselves trudging through a night made
darker by the clouds still overhead, splashing through puddles left by
the rain, with the sounds of carousing coming from the lantern-lit
taverns all around them.

"Thank you for coming with me to where these engineers meet," An'desha
said shyly.

"I would be very uncomfortable, going there alone."

Since this would be the first time, to Karal's knowledge, that An'desha
had ever left the grounds of the Palace, he suspected that
"uncomfortable" was an understatement.  Terrified might be more apt.

But An'desha was set on going.  He felt that someone was going to have
to try to explain magic to those without it, and that he was the best
person for the task.  That was the argument Karal had walked in on this
afternoon.  An'desha had volunteered his services, and Firesong had
objected.

Firesong might be jealous; he might be afraid that An'desha will find
someone else he's attracted to.  I wonder if that occurred to An'desha
as an explanation for all his objections?

"I have all these notes from our meeting to deliver, and I need to get
copies of what they've done for our mages," he replied.

"And besides-An'desha, I know you're shy, and I just couldn't let you
walk in there alone, face all those people you don't even know.  That's
what friends are about, right?  " "I had hoped so."  An'desha smiled
tentatively.

"But you are stretching yourself very thin, running errands for all of
us, transcribing the notes of our meetings for us.  I hadn't wanted to
ask you."

"Before this is over, we're all going to be exhausted, so don't worry
about it," he told the young mage.  At that moment, they reached the
door of the tavern, and he paused for a heartbeat on the threshold.

"Well, brace yourself.  This is not going to be like anything you've
ever seen before."

An des ha did visibly brace himself, but he still winced as the door
opened and a steady stream of babbling voices poured out over them.

But the voices all stopped when people noticed just who it was that was
standing in the doorway.  Natoli hurried over to them, and Master Tam
was right behind her.

"We've got notes and charts for you," Natoli began.

"And I've got notes from the mages' meeting for you," he replied.

"And more than that, I've got a mage with me who wants to show you some
of how magic works."  An'desha clearly wanted to shrink back away from
all the people, but only his trembling hands betrayed his
nervousness.

"An'desha, this is Natoli, and this is Master Tam.  Ladies, this is
An'desha; he's both Shin'a'in and Tayledras, and he's one of the mages
that works with Lady Herald Elspeth.  " "Very pleased to see you,
Master An'desha," Master Tam said, folding her hands together and
bowing a little to him, rather than seizing his hand to shake it.  That
was a rather tactful gesture on her part, Karal thought.

"We badly need Someone to help us understand how these magic powers of
yours work.  Right now, we're in the position of trying to read the
wind."

"I can understand," An'desha replied, so softly that Master Tam had to
lean forward to hear him.

"I am happy to be of help."

"Well, come over with us, then.  Karal, I think Master Hemin wants your
notes so he can have them when he lets You go Master Tam took charge of
An'desha as if she were used to shepherding shy Youngsters all the
time.

Perhaps she was.  It occurred to karal that many of her students might
be just as shy and introspective as An'desha.  Intelligent children
generally got into trouble with their less intelligent peers.  it had
happened that way to him when he'd been taken by the Priests, after
all.

I only hope none of her students have had half so exciting a life as
An'desha.  I wouldn't wish that on anyone.

He brought the notes to Master Hemin, who was in the Masters' Room in
the rear of the tavern, presiding over a sea of paper, hundreds of
sheets at of it, covered with figures and di Then, relieved of his
burden, he hurried back out to see if An'desha was still holding up
well under the scrutiny of so many strangers.

He was; in fact, he was deep in a discussion of where magic energy came
from.

so some mage-schools have built up reserves, like a cistern or
reservoir, and that is what their Master mages can tap into when they
need it," he was saying.

"It all comes from the same source though-the energy of life that is
all around US.  All of us living creatures shed it as we breathe and
move."

and what about the Adepts You mentioned?  " Natoli asked.  'do they use
something special?  or are there other reserves only they can use?"

"there are," the young Adept replied, nodding.

"But they are- not the reserves that have been built up by other
mages.

they are the reserves that exist where two or more natural lines of
force meet.  These are called 'nodes," and they are so Powerful that
only an Adept can control the energy that pools in them.  Anyone else
trying would either be engulfed by it and devoured.

unable to touch the power, or Would be Charred."

one of the boys shivered.

"Not a pleasant prospect."

"No," An'desha replied soberly.  'it is not.  But You see, now, that
this all does respond to natural laws.  The power comes from somewhere,
and goes elsewhere, to a place we call like water flowing to the sea.
Where it goes eventually, is the Nether Planes, where everything is
made of chaos and energy.

And I suspect that it comes back into our World Plane from there,
through the medium of living things.

"Time to speculate about that when we have the leisure, Master Levy
interjected, spreading a map out on the table in front of An'desha.

"We've been over every thumb length of ground a half day's ride from
Haven, and this is what we've found so far.  Transplanted areas are in
green, blasted areas are in red, transformed areas are in yellow."

An'desha bent over the map to study it; Karal whispered to Natoli.

"Transformed areas?"  he asked.

"What are those?"

"Places where whatever was there was changed," she whispered back.

"Everything in them is the same as it was, but inside those circles,
it's another season.  We're in late summer right now; there, it's fall,
winter, or even spring.  plants that should be in fruit are blooming,
or dormant, insects are dead or in cocoons or eggs, and birds or
animals are in winter or courting colors."

He blinked at her in surprise; she only grimaced.

"Don't ask me, I have no notion what could have caused something like
that," she told him.

He turned his attention back to the map, thankful that there were fewer
red dots than green or yellow.  There definitely was a pattern there;
the dots were spaced out at equal intervals, and if you followed a line
of them, they would sequence as three greens, a red, and three greens
and a yellow.

But there didn't seem to be a center to the pattern, or a point of
origin.

"I wonder-" An'desha began, then stopped.

"Go ahead", Master Tam urged.  you know magic, and we don't.  if you
can suggest some kind of meaning or interpretation, I for one would be
happy to hear it."

"Well-I wonder if what has happened is that with the transformed and
blasted places, there was too much energy brought to bear, and that is
why the damage?  " Then he shrugged.

"I am grasping at straws."

"That's no more than we've been doing," Master Levy confessed to him. "
Let's follow that theory for a moment.  "

Karal couldn't understand more than half of what either of them said,
but they seemed to understand each other, and that was the important
part.  Since An'desha didn't seem nearly as shy of these people as he
had when he'd first walked into the room, and since Natoli was immersed
in the discussion and ignoring everything else, Karal finally left them
and assigned himself to one of the desks where others his age were
making copies of the same chart that Master Tam had unrolled in front
of An'desha.

I can make a copy of this to take back with me; that will save these
others from having to make a spare.  He helped himself to pens, ink,
and paper, and when he had finished that task, he began making copies
of his own notes for the other Masters, just as the rest were doing.

When his tired eyes threatened to un focus completely, he finished one
last page, and rolled up his map and the pages of descriptions of the
"magic circles," and went to find An'desha.

Despite the latter's promises to Firesong, An'desha had been giving
demonstrations of mage-craft to the engineers, and he was tired and
ready to go back to the Palace.  When Natoli declared her intention to
defect as well, the whole group broke up, yawning.

"I'll walk back to the Palace with you," she said, as Karal handed
An'desha back his cloak.

"I've got a room in the wing where they put some Blues who don't have
patrons or aren't highborn, and who also don't live in town.  We share
it with the Healer- and Bardic-trainees."

"I'd Wondered," Karal admitted, slinging his cloak around his
shoulders, as Natoli found hers in the pile of student Blues.

"You kept popping up in the Palace and you acted as if you belong
there."

"In a sense, it's the only home I have," Natoli admitted.

"Father was Chosen after my mother died of complications of childbirth.
No, it wasn't me," she added hastily.

"It was a still-birth, and I was about four.  He brought me with him to
the Collegium since he hadn't any place else to take me, and I've spent
all of my life here.  When he went out on circuit, one or another of
the Heralds would take care of me until he got back."

Well, it wasn't the worst sort of childhood, though it was nothing like
the warm family situation Karal had enjoyed.

"It sounds lonely," An'desha said ingenuously as Karal opened the door
and held it for the two of them.

Natoli only shrugged as she stepped out into the dark street.

"Mostly, it was odd.  When Father was here, he made sure I knew he
wanted me there, and that he cared about me.

For lack of anything else to do, once I got old enough, I took most
courses in all the Collegia except the ones in Bardic that had to do
with performing and composing, and the ones in Healer's that had to do
with really Healing someone.  Then one day I realized what I wanted to
do; I went to Master Tam and asked to be taken on, and she asked me why
I had taken so long to figure out what I was good at."

"She would," Karal said dryly.

"I have the impression that Master Tam would never take an indirect
route when there was a direct one available."  Other students drifted
along behind them, talking quietly to one another, voices murmuring
across the otherwise silent street.

"She does tend to bludgeon things," Natoli replied, but smiled.

"Father was just pleased that I'd found my avocation;

he granted his leave, and I've been studying with Master Tam ever
since."

"At least you had some choice in the matter," Karal replied, with some
envy.

"I was quite literally kidnapped by the Priests."  He went on to
describe his own childhood, while An'desha and Natoli both listened
with interest.

"odd that of the three of us, I am the one who had the most normal
childhood," An'desha mused.

"How very strange."

"Well, you made up for it."  Karal slapped him lightly on the back.

"Never mind; I've figured out that anyone who is more intelligent than
the people around him has troubles as a child.  The important thing is
not to dwell on those troubles and make them into all you are.  You
should do what you can with what parts of your life you have personal
control over!"

"That makes good sense," Natoli applauded, and changed the subject.

"I wonder what late night food we can gain personal control over?"

Several days passed, with Karal serving double duty: to the mages and
with the engineers.  As the days went by, the engineers collected more
and more information and added it all to their charts, tables, and
maps.  Florian passed on a great deal more of what Master Tam referred
to as "data" from other Companions out in the field with their
Heralds-all of it was pertinent, and most of it was much more accurate
than the information coming from humans.  After the third day of this,
Karal paused in the midst of his copying, struck by the fear that all
this might not be the sort of thing Vkandis would approve of his
acolyte doing.  After all, he hadn't seen Altra in days.  Was the
Sunlord annoyed with him?, At that very moment, Altra wandered through
the room, tail waving like a banner in a light breeze.

Karal froze, and not just because Altra had appeared the moment Karal
thought of him, but because it was here, in the middle of a crowd
of-well-unbelievers.  What were they going to think?  Altra wasn't
exactly inconspicuous!

But the others did nothing unusual.  The other students and teachers
saw him-they avoided trampling him when he was in their path-but they
didn't seem to see anything odd about him.  He jumped up onto one or
two tables and surveyed the figuring and charting going on with aloof
interest, and none of them stared at him.  He might very well have been
a perfectly ordinary tavern cat.

Considering that he was four or five times larger than any domestic
house cat that Karal had ever seen, that was certainly strange!

But Altra eventually made his way to the back of the room where Karal
sat staring at him, and gave Karal an approving wink.

"They see only what they are expecting to see,: the Firecat said
cryptically.

"I have more information for you.  The same patterns are in Karse and
southward.  Tell the others.  You'll get the maps and so forth that
Solaris has sent you in a few days.:

And with that, Altra strolled underneath a table, and did not come out
on the other side.  Karal sat there with his pen still in his fingers
for a long time.

Well-at least he approves, Karal thought, dazedly.  That was, after
all, one less worry.

But given his current luck, with every worry that he lost, four more
rose to take its place.

A day later-and the half-expected second wave swamped them.  It came
exactly one day short of a fortnight, and at very nearly the same time
of day as the first one.

This time the areas of disturbance were not as obvious until a few days
had passed, and someone noticed that there were places where plants and
insects had-changed.  They weren't dead, but they certainly weren't the
same anymore.

The plants in particular had undergone a transformation that made them
act like primitive animals.  They reacted to the presence of other
living creatures, some by shrinking away, but others by reaching toward
whatever was near them.  Some of the plants were observed trapping and
presumably eating insects; others were growing strange new forms of
defense;

thorns and spikes, saps that had a terrible stench or were outright
poisonous.  And two days after the storm passed over, when a farmer
found his child in a patch of the changed plants, crying hysterically,
with hundreds of tiny thorns in her flesh that she swore the plants had
flung at her, Selenay ordered that samples be sent to the Palace and
the parent plants be destroyed wherever they were found.

The mages studied the changed plants without learning much-except that
Firesong noted a definite resemblance to some of the dangerous
"thinking plants" in the Uncleansed Lands of what Valdemarans called
the Pelagir Hills.

One day short of a fortnight later, the third storm-wave arrived.

If this keeps up for much longer, I'd better think about growing gills.
Karal trudged through yet another nighttime thunderstorm, his cloak
already soaked, heading for the Compass Rose.  But this time, he felt a
little more cheerful than at any time before.

According to Firesong, this last wave was just a trifle weaker than the
previous two.  This time virtually no shields had gone down before the
onslaught, and although even nonmages had experienced the disorienting
effects of the wave, Firesong was positive that this mage-storm hadn't
lasted as long as the previous two had.  No one had reported in from
the area outside Haven yet, but the mages were guardedly optimistic
that the worst was over.

Such good news was more than compensation enough for a long slog
through a driving rain, at least to Karal's mind.  He couldn't wait
until the others heard!

He opened the door of the tavern and stepped through into warmth and
light, only to find virtually everyone clustered around a single table.
They were ominously quiet, and when they all turned to see who had
entered, there was not a single cheerful expression among them.

"I've got good news!"  he said into the oppressive silence.

"Firesong says this last storm was weaker!"

Their expressions did not change, and he felt his own spirits
dropping.

"It was weaker, wasn't it?"  he faltered.

"Firesong said so.  We didn't lose any shields this time-" Master Levy
shook his head slowly.

"I'm afraid your Firesong is mistaken," he replied.

"Not only was it not weaker, it was actually a little stronger than
before.  The reason nothing magical was affected was because you've
managed to build up good enough shields to protect everything magical
that you still retain-and you've pared the number of magical things you
need to protect that way to the absolute minimum.  Come over here and
look at this."

He gestured to something in a wooden box with a grate over the top of
it.  Karal couldn't see clearly what was in it, but it sat on the table
next to Master Levy and had been the object they had all been clustered
around.  His mouth suddenly dry with trepidation, Karal edged over to
the group and looked down into the box itself.

It was an animal, but no animal he had ever seen or heard of before.
Mad red eyes stared up at him, and long, hairless ears flattened
against a vi perish skull covered with a thin coat of gray hair.  It
snarled at him, and he inadvertently backed up a pace.

"Don't touch it," someone warned.

"It just about took Semon's hand off."

"What is it?"  he asked, fascinated and repulsed at the same time.  It
looked vaguely familiar, somehow.

"Nearly as we can tell, it was a rabbit."  Master Levy looked down at
the creature and shook his head.

"Or rather, most of it was a rabbit.  We can't tell if this was just a
case of several creatures being melded together into something new, or
a rabbit that got turned into some sort of meat-eater.  That is what
your latest wave did; we've sent word to the Palace to warn people out
in the countryside.  We're just lucky that there generally aren't any
large creatures inside those circles of change.  I don't know what
something as large as a dog would turn into.  just as a guess, I'd say
our wave of disruption is now powerful enough to affect larger
animals."

"Think what would happen if this hit a cow, or worse, a pig, someone
added.  Master Levy shuddered, and Karal didn't blame him.

"Or a human.  Another evidence that this wave is stronger is the storm
outside," Master Levy put in as an afterthought.

"There's always a thunderstorm after the wave passes.  This one is
worse than the one before, which was worse than the one before that."

"There's always good news to go with bad news," Natoli said, as Karal
finally shivered and turned away from the creature on the table.

"With three waves, we have enough information to make some predictions.
Now we know when the next wave will come, we know where the affected
circles will be, and we know something else.  We've been calling these
storms 'waves' just as an analogy, but it turns out they really are
waves."

"You can?  They are?"  The sick feeling in the pit of Karal's stomach
cleared.

"But that's wonderful!  If we can predict these things, we can at least
make certain nothing like that thing can happen!"

"For now," Master Levy said ominously.

"The size of the affected circle is growing, too, as the duration of
each wave increases with its power-" "Wait!"  Karal exclaimed.

"Don't tell me.  You'll have to tell the council of mages-and you ought
to come with me and tell them now, while they're still congratulating
themselves that Valdemar survived the worst of it and came through all
right!  They haven't told anyone else yet.  We have to stop them before
they tell Selenay."

"He's right," creaked Master Hemin, running a hand over his bald
spot.

"If we wait until tomorrow, they might not believe us, even with that
thing in the box to back us up.  Even if they did believe us, they
might not want to appear like fools, telling the Queen this directly
after telling her everything would be fine.  Right.  Levy, Norten,
Bret; you all go with him.  Take all the new charts and the
wave-drawing, so they can see for themselves how the waves are acting.
Go!

We'll all stay here until you come back with word.  Maybe now that we
know how these waves are acting, we can work out a more effective
defense against them."

Rolls of paper were carefully inserted into waterproof cases;

Cloaks were collected, and Karal found himself once again leading a
group of men who otherwise would never have given him a second glance
out into the teeth of a storm.

This physical storm was indeed much worse than the ones that had
followed the last two waves.

"This alone ought to show your mages that we're right!"  Master Levy
shouted over the thunder.

"That An'desha showed us how unshielded magic-power can affect the
weather, and if this isn't an example of just that, I'll eat my map
case!"

Karal didn't think that the case was in any danger of becoming an
entree, given the severity of the storm.  He just hoped that the others
were still where he had left them.  The little parade struggled against
wind and rain all the way to the Palace, despite the sheltering effects
of the buildings on either side of the street.  Several times Karal was
afraid they'd be blown off their feet, but it never actually
happened.

Kerowyn must have given the guards a fairly severe lecture;

some time was consumed in verifying that everyone was who he said he
was, but it was time that Karal didn't begrudge.

Master Levy did, though; he stormed up the path to the Palace,
grumbling under his breath, and Karal trailed in his wake, followed by
the other two Masters.  Norten and Bret were too busy trying to keep
their cloaks around them to say anything, which didn't make Karal feel
any too comfortable.

But once they reached the doors of the Palace, Master Levy allowed him
to take the lead again, even though the Master's expression was as
stormy as the night outside.  It was just fortunate that the gryphons'
quarters were not very far; Karal feared that another delay might well
cause the temperamental Master to explode.

But maybe it isn't just temper,.  maybe it's worry.  Worry and fear
made people sometimes act in ways that you wouldn't expect.  Ulrich
just got more clever when he was worried.

maybe Master Levy had fits of bad temper when he was concerned about
something.

Never mind, he told himself, as he reached up to knock on the door to
the gryphons' rooms.  Temper-fits are hardly our worst problems at the
moment.

As the door opened, Karal recognized the voice just beyond as belonging
to Elspeth, which meant that the single most important person they
needed to convince was still here.  He waved the others inside first,
and wondered for a moment if he just might possibly be able to get away
and let the Masters do all the explaining.

No, he told himself sternly.  That would be cowardice.

And, reluctantly, he followed them inside.

Karal listened to Master Levy speak about mathematics and theory with
great envy for Natoli, who had such a good teacher.  If he'd had
teachers as good as this man, he might have had more understanding of
and love for mathematics.

Instead, math was as arcane a subject for him as magic, and he
remembered his mathematics lessons as being ordeals.

". so you see," Master Levy said, with a certain grim satisfaction, "
by using this mathematical model, I was able to predict the size and
location of all of the areas of disturbance from this last wave.  We
will have parties out in the countryside verifying my predictions, of
course, but the ones we were able to reach before darkness fell were
all where I predicted they would be and the size I expected they would
be."

"So these storms are really waves; they act like real waves?"  Elspeth
asked, weariness warring with the need to understand, both emotions
mirrored in the set of her mouth and the tense lines around her eyes.
Darkwind looked over her shoulder at the charts and maps, his brow
creased with exhaustion and anxiety.

"In many ways," Master Levy told her and raised a sardonic eyebrow.

"I take it that I have convinced you?"

"Just by virtue of the animal you found.  I've seen the creatures in
the Uncleansed Lands for myself," she replied.

"This rabbit-thing you found sounds much too like them for me to
disbelieve you."

"And I must agree, at least that the waves are growing stronger, not
weaker," Firesong said with extreme reluctance.

"They must be growing stronger to have had the effect of warping an
animal in such a manner.  But-still-mathematical models?  Magic does
not work that way!"

To Karal's surprise, the look that Master Levy bestowed on Firesong was
one of understanding and sympathy.

"Sir, I comprehend your feelings.  Yours is an intuitive nature, and
your understanding so deep that you intuit the formulas and laws.

So must an artist feel when he picks up a shell, paints a sunflower or
creates an image of a snowstorm-yet I can reproduce that sunflower in
precise mathematical terms, and every snowflake is a mathematically
exact shape.  If I show you in such a way that you can understand me,
will you believe that your magic does answer to predictable laws?"

Numbly, Firesong nodded.  Master Levy had a force of personality when
he cared to exert it-that was easily the equal of Firesong's.  This
must have been a rare experience for the Hawkbrother Adept, to find
someone who was his equal in personality and intellect.

"Look.  This was your original Cataclysm," Master Levy said, pulling
out a clean sheet of paper and a pen and drawing concentric circles on
it.  ~ Karal marveled at that-there were not many people in his
experience who could draw an even circle without the use of tools.
Master Levy must be something of an artist in his own right.

"There were two centers of disruption," the mathematician continued.

"One here, where the Dhorisha Plains are now, and one here, where Lake
Evendim is.  The force spread outward, in waves-each of these circles
represents the apex of the wave-you see where they meet and touch as
they spread outward?  That is where your points of extreme disturbance
are, where the apexes of two waves meet."

"So why were the areas of change so great in the original Cataclysm?"
Firesong asked stubbornly.

"They weren't little circles of devastation, they were huge swaths,
reaching from Lake Evendim to beyond where the eastern border of
Hardorn is now!"

Master Levy smiled patiently.

"The very first waves had a period-a 'width," if you will-that was
enormous; roughly the equivalent of several countries.  In areas of the
apex of the wave, disturbance was powerful enough that there was no
need for waves to interfere with each other to distort the real world,
the wave itself was what did the initial damage, and created what we
call the Pelagir Hills and what you call the Uncleansed Lands-and yet,
entire nations who happened to be in the trough of the wave remained
relatively unscathed.  I suspect that you would find that where the
apexes of the first two great waves met, you would find areas of such
damage that nothing lived through it."

Firesong bit his lip, as if Master Levy had triggered a memory of
something, but he remained silent.

"Now-this is another guess, but I believe that the first wave of shock,
the one from the initial destruction of the two centers, was followed
by waves of successively shorter period and lesser strength."  He
cocked his head at Firesong, as if to ask if Firesong understood.

"Perhaps-" Firesong murmured reluctantly.

Master Levy flashed Karal a conspiratorial glance.

"Now look; I am drawing the circles closer together, for a reason.

The next waves had a period that was shorter, and the next, shorter
still.  The areas of overlap were correspondingly more frequent, and
smaller, until the last of the waves of disturbance passed.  As the
waves grew weaker, and the period smaller, the disruptions were
confined to the places where the wave-apexes intersected.  That is why
we are finding little circles of disturbance at regular intervals; the
intervals represent a combination of the period of the two sets of
waves.

And the periods presumably lessen due to effects analogous to how the
troughs of waves in deep water reduce when they 'drag' the floor of the
body of water.  Expenditure of energy."

Firesong studied the rough diagram and nodded slowly, then began
twisting a lock of his long silver hair in an uncharacteristically
nervous gesture.

Firesong?  Nervous?  The sun will surely rise in the west tomorrow!

" Now, if what I believe turns out to be the truth, these waves of
disturbance are returning through time, in a mirror image of how they
occurred in the first place."  Master Levy waited, like the teacher he
was, for someone to volunteer the next piece of the puzzle.

"Do you mean that they are beginning small and weak, and will end
enormous and enormously powerful?  " Darkwind hazarded.

"I do," Master Levy replied, nodding at Darkwind as if the mage was a
particularly good student.

"And I also mean that they are traveling in the opposite direction;
instead of radiating out from the Plains and Lake Evendim, they are
converging on the Plains and Lake Evendim.  Which means that all their
force, in the end, will be concentrated in those two spots."

"oh."  Elspeth held her knuckles to her mouth in stunned silence.

"And as the waves increase in strength, the areas of disturbance will
no longer be confined to the points of intersection, but will be as
wide as-" Master Levy paused for a moment, 'at a guess, I would say
roughly a third of the wave's period.

Once again, that could be an area the size of a country, or larger."

Firesong sat down slowly.

"You have convinced me, mathematician," he said, his face blank.

"Your proofs are too good.

And you have told me that my people are doomed, mine and the Shin'a'in.
They lie directly in the area that will be affected the worst.  No
shields can ever withstand the force of the kind that is mounting
against them."

"Feh!  " snorted Master Norten into the heavy pause that followed.  He
was a short, squat fellow who had remained silent during all of this.
His exclamation pierced the ponderous silence, making all of them
start.

"What?"  Elspeth faltered.

"I said, begging your pardon, Feh.  No one is doomed, young man."
Master Norten favored Firesong with a sharp glare, as if he had caught
Firesong being impossibly dense.

"We have enough information to predict the period of the next waves!

We have enough information to know what the strength will be, and where
the intersection points are!  Right now, the danger is only at the
intersection points; we can keep people and animals out of them; we can
destroy the plants inside them.

But haven't you been paying attention?  We have a temporary solution,
enough to buy us time to find a real solution!"

"You have?"  Elspeth gasped.

"We have?"  Master Levy gaped.

Master Norten took the cane with which he had been supporting his bulk
and rapped Master Levy with it.

"Of course we have, you dolt!  All you ever see are your damned
mathematical models!  Think, man!  You're the one who pointed out that
these spurts of magic are acting in a way we recognize!

Can't you understand that these-these magic-waves-are acting exactly
like waves of water?  And can't we protect harbors and anchorages from
real waves with breakwaters?  So why can't these mages come up with
magical breakwaters to protect important places, places like cities and
those nodes of theirs and all?"  He glared at all of them, as if he
could not believe they had not seen what to him was so obvious.

"Hell and damnation!  Why can't they just build a magical breakwater to
protect every country in the Alliance?"

"This is why I am a mathematician and not an engineer," Master Levy
replied, with chagrin.  Master Norton snorted again, and looked very
pleased with himself.

"I-I suppose it ought to be possible," murmured Darkwind, his brows
knotted as he thought.

"Well, then, you ought to damn well do it, boy!"  Master Norten
retorted.

"We can surely give you the dates and times and interference points. We
can calculate the strength and period if you help us establish scales. 
With all that, I don't see why you can't do the rest, instead of
sitting on your behinds, whining about being 'doomed'!"

"But magic doesn't work that way," Firesong whispered-except that it
sounded more like a plea than a statement of fact.

"I'm sorry, Firesong," Karal replied, not at all sorry to see Firesong
at last convinced that he was not the greatest expert in all things.

"It does."  He handed Firesong a set of all of the tables for the last
two waves, his own copies that he had been keeping with him.  In the
face of all the neat rows of dispassionate, logical figures and
formulas, finally even Firesong had to concede defeat.

"All right," the Healing Adept said at last.

"It does.  And I promise that I will learn how to use all of this.  How
long do we have before the real mage-storm breaks?  " "We haven't
calculated it yet," Master Levy responded instantly.  " We only now
have enough information to predict how much stronger the next waves
will be from the ones preceding them.  it would help if we had an idea
how strong the original waves were, and what their period was."

"Farrr enough that the Kaled'a'in werrre engulfed in the rrresultsss of
the Cataclysssm, dessspite the grrreat distancsse they had gone frrrom
Urrrtho'sss Towerrr," Treyvan rumbled.  " Howeverrr-we alssso
trrraveled to a point outssside that, beforrre we finally found a
placsse wherrre the land wasss clean.  Therrre we ssstopped.  Perrrhaps
we can give you an essstimate."

"An estimate will do," Master Levy told the gryphon.  He had started
when Treyvan first spoke, but he seemed to have accepted the fact that
the gryphons could speak with intelligence.

" I can send a mage-message," Firesong volunteered instantly.  "
And-wasn't there something in that history Rris recited about how long
the original-ah, I suppose we could call them 'aftershocks'-lasted?  "
"It was fairly vague," Karal replied after a moment, checking his notes
from that first meeting.

"I've got it here.  He just said, 'many moons."  That's not much
help."

Firesong blinked, as if he had forgotten that Karal had taken notes for
all their meetings.

"Except that we know we have at least a few months to figure something
out before the monster comes upon us," Master Norten was quick to point
out.  Then he yawned hugely "Gods and demons, it must be late and
looked surprised.  , or I wouldn't be yawning!  Look, none of us are
fresh enough to do any good right now.  What if we three meet with you
mages in the morning, and we'll see what we can work out from here?  "
"That-would be good."  Firesong bowed his head.

"I hope you will forgive me.  I am not used to being wrong.  It sticks
like a barb in my crop."

"I can understand that."  Master Norten favored him with a sardonic
smile.

"I'm not used to being wrong, either, and I hate it like poison when I
am."

"So we understand each other."  Firesong gingerly took the Master's
hand as Elspeth and Darkwind watched, the former with approval, the
latter with amusement.

"Tomorrow,

then?  " "Tomorrow."  Master Norten favored Karal with his stiletto
glance now.

"I trust you'll be there, with nimble fingers and sharp pens?  I want
notes on everything, even if at the time we think we've gone down a
dead end.  It might be useful."

Karal sighed.  It was going to be a very long day..

"Yes, sir," he promised.  That made yet another group he was taking
notes for.  At this rate, his fingers would be worn to the bone!  It
was just a good thing he had glass pens now, instead of the old quills
or metal; the glass hadn't worn out yet.

Well, I did volunteer.  And with luck, maybe Natoli will be impressed
with all this diligence.  I get the feeling that nothing impresses her
quite like competence.

Only after he was well on his way down the corridor, walking next to
his master, did he wonder why he'd had that particular thought....
Grand Duke Tremane listened to the tales of woe from his commanders
with a blank expression and a churning gut.

They had all ridden here-ridden, as if this was some barbarian army
rather than the proud Army of the Empire.  Most of them hadn't ridden
any distance in years, but with all the Gates down-again-there was no
other way for them to reach him.

It was very clear to everyone that the Imperial forces were in a state
of barely-controlled panic.  No sooner did the mages manage to fix all
the things that had gone wrong, than another wave of disruption came
along and knocked everything magical flat again.  There wasn't even
time to set up shielding around things!  This was the third time, and
it was worse than the last two; shields that had held through the first
two waves had broken before this third onslaught.

Not one of his commanders cared a bean about gaining more ground in
Hardorn anymore.  All they wanted was for things to get back to normal!
Even the weather-workers were having problems; they couldn't even begin
to control the storms and were just trying to keep the worst effects
off the camps themselves.

Add to that the panic and the disruption in services of all those
terrible storms that dumped purely physical chaos down on the camps,
and you had a recipe for disaster if he didn't do something to increase
the troops' confidence.  Rumors running through the camp right now were
enough to cause even hardened campaigners to worry; new' recruits were
often panicking, and had to be restrained by their more experienced
fellows.  There were tales that Hardorn had bought the services of the
Black Kings in the south, stories that some mage in the Empire itself
had caused this by accident, rumors that Valdemar was unleashing the
hidden powers of their Heralds and white horses.  No one knew, but
everyone had a theory.  Most of those theories painted a grim picture
of the first defeat that the Imperial Army was likely to face in
centuries, if Tremane didn't pull some answer out of his sleeve.

The only trouble was, he hadn't the foggiest notion how to do that.

I pledge you a tonne of incense and a gross of candles each, he
silently told the forty little gods, if you will just grant me some
inspiration on what to do in this situation!

But inspiration and intervention, divine or otherwise, was clearly in
short supply at the moment.  None of the forty vouchsafed him a
reply.

"We have to do something," General Harde said, at last.

"No matter what your orders are, you have to order us to do something,
or the troops will assume you've lost your nerve and we've lost the
situation."

"Consolidate," he said finally.

"Everyone pull your men in, and consolidate our forces around this
keep.  To the coldest hell with the battle plans; I want every soldier
right here where we can stay in contact by runners if we have to.  With
all the men we'll have here, we can build purely physical
fortifications.

Abandon the front line; the Emperor is hardly in a position to find out
what we're doing right now, anyway."

Oh, if only the Empire is suffering the same effects that we are!  he
prayed.  Chaos there will save the situation for me here.  Chaos there
will convince the Emperor that I am not exaggerating my troubles to
cover my own incompetence.

And if this is something that Charliss unleashed on me, on his own
loyal soldiers-He did not finish that thought; it would be treason, no
two ways about it.  He was not ready for treason.

Not yet.

"But what about supplies?"  one of the commanders asked.

"How are we going to keep such a huge force fed?"

"I don't know yet; I'll have an answer for you when we finally bring
them all in," he promised.

"I have supplies here for the whole Army for about two weeks before
we'd have to go on lean rations.  Meanwhile, there are rebels out
there, and they are still picking at us; we're better off with all the
men in one place, rather than stretched out along a line that reaches
across half this benighted country.  I don't want to lose any units by
having them cut off from me."

That put some spine back in them; with firm orders to carry out, his
commanders were a lot more comfortable.  And with a march ahead of
them, followed by the physical labor of building fortifications, the
men should remain tractable until the work ran out.

Better get the engineers to work on designing a wall using only the
materials on hand, and mostly hand-labor.  And after that, well, if I
have to, I'll march the whole damned lot all the way back to Imperial
soil, he thought grimly, dismissing his commanders.  He turned his
attention to the reply to last night's urgent request for information
from his tame scholars.  He'd literally ordered them out of their beds,
and set them to work all night.  I may go down in disgrace, but I won't
leave these men to be picked off two and three at a time by a pack of
barbarians.

At least he'd transported his whole library here before everything went
to hell.  Somewhere, some time, something like this must have happened
in the past.  He'd ordered his scholars to abandon their search for
information on Valdemar and concentrate on looking for just that.  He
was, by the gods, going to find out when there were disruptions like
this, where they occurred, and most important of all, what the people
back then did about it!

My lord; the letter read-the Chief Historian had been impressed enough
by the salty language of his order to keep his report concise and omit
all the flowerly nonsense usually pasted into such documents.  Then
again, the Chief Historian was now working without mage-lights,
mage-fires, running water, or any of the other comforts he was used to.
That alone must have impressed him that the situation was urgent.

These disruptions that we are now experiencing were unusual enough that
we were able to eliminate most of the texts in your library
immediately.  I and my three colleagues are familiar with the history
of the Empire, and we knew that there would be nothing in the Official
Chronicles-which meant that we began our search in the copies of texts
we had that predated the foundation of the Empire itself.

Well!  Tremane sat back in his chair, taken aback.  He knew that the
fact that he actually owned copies of pre-Imperial texts was something
of a fluke, and due only to his own interest in history.  Most people
didn't own anything nearly so old;

he'd paid a healthy sum in bribes above and beyond the cost of the
books to get some of those books, too, and now he was very glad that he
had.

First, I must caution you that these texts are a jumble of many archaic
tongues, and it is going to take some time to translate them precisely.
We have all agreed on the general gist of what we found, however.

Second, the texts themselves are the personal papers of a mixed group
of ancient warriors.  Some were-we think-mercenaries, and others were
liege men to a Great Lord of some kind.

Well, that certainly fit in with the official history of the Empire.
Tremane cupped his chin in his hand and read on.

We have gathered from the papers that this group was part of a much
larger force; that they were cut off from the rest when their enemy
gained an unexpected and decisive victory.

They were warned by their Lord that they must flee as far and as fast
as they could, by means of a Gate.

Interesting.  That was not part of official history, which stated that
the group had marched off on its own to carve out conquest for
themselves.

Why they fled, we do not yet know; our guess, and it is only a guess,
was that the Great Lord intended his enemy's victory to be an empty
one, and meant to ensure his enemy claimed only ashes by destroying
everything before he actually took it.  Be that as it may, it is clear
that they did build a Gate to reach a location they knew was relatively
safe, far eastward of the place where they had retreated after being
cut off.  Then something happened as they were passing through the
Gate, and a catastrophe of-we believe-a magical nature, flung them
farther away than they had ever intended to go.  This landed them in
completely unfamiliar territory-territory that became, as you have
probably anticipated, the heart of our Empire.  In the days that
followed, a series of disruptions that one writer terms "magic-quakes"
occurred; another writer describes them as "aftershocks."

These disruptions seem on first blush to match the kinds of troubles we
are experiencing now This was exactly what he had been hoping to find!
Elation built in him only to be crushed, abruptly, by the words that
followed.

You were most urgent in your orders that once we found a match to our
circumstances, we should discover what those ancients had done to
remedy their situation.  I have no good news for you, my Lord.  Once
again, my colleagues and I are unanimous in our understanding of these
papers.

Our ancestors did nothing.  They could do nothing.  They simply waited
for the magic-quakes-or aftershocks-to end, or destroy them.
Eventually, of course, the disruptions ended, they consolidated their
position, and the rest is official Imperial history.

Tremane buried his face in his hands.

They waited it out.  This was not good news.

But I am going to have to deal with it.  He was not one to try to
pretend that bad news wasn't the truth.  If anything, he tended to act
as if bad news was only the shadow of worse to come.  It would be a
good idea to act that way now.

His mages were in a panic; the waves of disruption were growing
stronger, not weaker, as each one passed.  His instinct to get the
Gates up first, and start hauling supplies through them as soon as they
were up, had been the right choice.  They had supplies enough to last
them well into the winter at half rations, now, and if they could just
get the Gates back up a few more times, they might get enough to last
all the way to spring on full rations.

No.  That was the wrong choice-get the supplies, yes, that should be
the priority, but why waste time on getting several Gates up, when he
only needed one?  just the one to the western-most Imperial supply
depot, the one for foodstuffs.  Forget weapons; he wasn't going to
allow his men to waste a single arrow until he had decided what his
long-term plans should be.  Forget reinforcements; he had all the men
he needed to hold firm, and too many for an orderly retreat, if it came
to that.  He would have all his mages concentrate on getting that one
single Gate back up, and he would forge the orders he needed to loot
the depot, and to the coldest hell with honesty and procedure, and
anyone else who might need supplies from it.

It's easier to apologize than get permission.  He could make amends to
the Emperor later, if he needed to.

At least he knew one thing; it was less likely now that Charliss was
actively sending this against him.  However, it was still possible that
Charliss had known this would happen, and had sent him off on a doomed
mission to be rid of him.

And condemned hundreds of thousands of good soldiers with me.  That
made him angry; the loyalty of the Army to the Emperor was legendary.
To have that loyalty betrayed so callously was a betrayal of everything
the Empire held sacred.

Which isn't much.  When he thought back on the state of the Court, of
the corruption deep in the bureaucracy, perhaps he shouldn't be angry
or surprised.

He shook his head.  It didn't matter.  What did matter was that while
he was maneuvering to get his army into a defensive position, there was
Valdemar, virtually unscathed, poised, and waiting.

If I were the Queen, I'd strike right now.  I'd bring in Karse, hit the
Imperial lines at a dozen places and break us up into manageable
pieces, and then wipe the pieces out at my leisure.  I wouldn't
hesitate.  Just arm the natives, and they'd probably take care of most
of it for me.  That would give me Hardorn with a minimum of effort-and
I might even be able to penetrate into Imperial territory before it got
too expensive.

He had to do something to keep Valdemar so busy with its own troubles
that it wouldn't have the leisure or the coordination to strike now.

Unfortunately, that meant using a weapon that he'd held in reserve
because he hated it so much.

But a man threatened will use anything to stay alive.  I am fighting
for not only my life, but the lives of my men.  I cannot hesitate.  I
will not hesitate.

He would not entrust this to an aide or a messenger.  Instead, he
unlocked a drawer of his desk and removed a square of something heavy
wrapped in silk.  He laid the square in the middle of his desk and
unwrapped it, uncovering a piece of polished black obsidian-glass,
perfectly square and perfectly flawless.

This was another reason why all candidates for the Iron Throne should
be mages.  Some messages were too important for anything but personal
delivery.

He reached into the drawer again, and brought out a hand sized portrait
of a man; it was an excellent likeness, though the man himself was
hardly memorable.  This was a good thing; it was not wise to employ a
man who was distinctive as a covert agent.  With the portrait was a
lock of the man's hair; the physical link needed to contact him.

It was also the physical link that any decent mage could use to kill
him if he became uncooperative, as all agents knew very well.  There
was nothing like having a little insurance, when one dealt with covert
operatives.

Using the portrait, he fixed the agent's image in his mind, and reached
for the energies of his own personal reserve of magic.  He did not care
to trust the lines of power hereabouts;

his mages had already warned him that they were depleted and erratic.
What these disruptions had done to them, he did not care to speculate.
While he relied on his own protected pool of power, he should be immune
to the disturbances around him.

He stared into the black glass, emptying his mind of everything except
the agent and the need to speak with him, flinging his power out as if
it was a fishing line, and he was angling for one fish in particular.

His power slowly drained out as he sought and waited;

sought and waited.  This might take a while; he was prepared to wait
for as long as it took.  His agent was not in command of his own
movements, and it could be some time before he was free to answer the
call.  That was fine; a mage must learn patience, first and foremost,
before he could build any other skills.  A mage must learn
concentration, as well, and Tremane had ample practice in both
virtues.

The marks crept by and the candle burned down, and at long last, past
the hour of midnight, the answer came to his call.

The agent's face formed in the glass, expression anxious and
apologetic.  Tremane thought, with a curl of his lip, that the fool
looked even more ineffectual than he did in his portrait.

Why had anyone ever chosen an artist as a covert agent?

"My Lord Duke!"  the man cried, his lips moving in the glass, his voice
as thin and weak as a fly's buzzing whine.

"I beg you to forgive me!  I could not get away!  I-" "You are wasting
my time with apologies," Tremane said curtly.

"Here are your orders.  Release the little birds."

The agent's face went dead white.

"My-my Lord?"  he faltered.  " All of them?  Are you certain?

"All of them, Tremane ordered, curtly.

"See to it."

Before the fool could waste his time and resources further by arguing
or pleading that this would place him in danger, Tremane broke the
spell.  The agent's image vanished from the glass, quickly as a candle
flame is blown out.  Tremane paused for a moment, massaging his
temples, before he folded the silk around the obsidian and put glass,
hair, and portrait back into the drawer.

Would the agent survive his appointed task?

He would if he was careful, Tremane decided.  There was nothing about
the job that left him vulnerable to discovery.

The "little birds" should already be in place, and setting them free
could be done at a distance.  If he was stupid, he might be caught,
though.

Then let him suffer the penalty of stupidity, Tremane decided with
uncharacteristic impatience.  If he is caught, he has done all he need
do, and he is expendable.

He was rarely so ruthless with an underling, but this man was no agent
of his choosing, and he had not been particularly useful until now.

He clenched his fist for a moment, as a pang of regret for what he had
just ordered swept over him.  This was-ugly, unclean, and underhanded.
It was neither honest nor honorable.

It would be the first real stain on his conscience or soul.

He had ordered the deaths of men before, but they had always been death
in battle or other circumstances where both sides knew what they were
getting into.  He knew that he would spend at least one sleepless night
over this and probably more to come.

This was the death of innocents, noncombatants.  Yet an Emperor had to
be ruthless enough to order just such an action to save the lives of
his own people.

But I had no choice, he told himself, staring up at the black glass of
his window, so like the black mirror he had just used.

I must save my men.  This is war, and I had no choice.

So why did it feel as if he had betrayed, not only his honor, but some
significant part of his own soul?

Florian

There were seven days left before the next wave, and Karal was not
altogether certain he was going to live that long.

There were simply not enough marks in the day to do everything he had
to.  Then again, he was not the only person working to exhaustion; the
mages and the engineers were all walking around with dark rings under
their eyes.  The only reason he was getting any sleep at all was
because he was seeing to it that Ulrich got a decent rest every night,
and then dropping into slumber shortly thereafter.

The mages did their shielding work in the morning, when they were all
fresh; then came a break for lunch, then their meeting with the Master
Engineers, and then their own meetings.

Karal was not always present at the latter; the mages needed his
reports on what the engineers were doing, more than the reverse, since
An'desha was making himself available to them for explanations and
demonstrations.  Karal had to wonder where he was getting the energy.

Generally he kept himself as unobtrusive and invisible as
possible-except where Ulrich's health was concerned.  It had taken a
major effort of will to march right in on the mages and demand that
Master Ulrich be allowed to get some rest, the first time he'd gotten
back to the suite after returning from the Compass Rose only to find
that Ulrich was not in his bed.  He was nothing more than the merest
secretary; he had no standing and no authority among such luminaries as
Elspeth and Darkwind!  But Ulrich's welfare was the most important job
he had; Solaris had entrusted him with seeing that his mentor remained
hale and well, and staying up until dawn, snatching an hour or two of
sleep, and getting up to work complicated magics was going to wear him
to nothing in a very short period of time.  He didn't think the others,
being much younger than Ulrich, were aware of how quickly he could be
exhausted.  So he had gathered up all of his courage, walked straight
into the meeting, and respectfully "reminded" Ulrich that his master
had left orders to be told when midnight arrived so that he could get
enough rest to work the next day.

Ulrich had looked momentarily startled, then had given Karal a long,
hard look.  Karal had done his best to wear an expression of bland
implacability.

I won't go away, sir, he'd thought hard at Ulrich.  He'd never known
whether or not his master could read thoughts as he had often
suspected, but if Ulrich could, he was certainly getting an "earful"
now.  Whatever it takes to persuade you to get some rest, I'm going to
do it, even if I have to fabricate emergencies, even if I have to
recruit Altra.  Though how he was going to persuade the Firecat to go
along with the scheme, he hadn't had a clue at the time.

He still didn't know if Ulrich could read thoughts, but his mentor had
risen with thanks for the "reminder, and had excused himself from the
meetings whenever Karal appeared after that, and all without a
contradictory word thereafter.

Still, if Karal felt as if he was constantly on the verge of
exhaustion, how must Ulrich feel?

He knew what was driving them all; he felt it himself.  Beneath it all,
underscoring every waking moment, was the sense of urgency.  Hurry,
hurry, hurry, whispered a tiny voice.

Don't waste any time.  You don't have time to waste.  Find the answer,
find it now, before it's too late.

Some time, soon, too soon, scant months from now, it would be too late.
The real storm would break over their heads, and Valdemar was closer to
the center of one of the two places in peril than any other land and
people-Except for the Shin'a'in.

And except for the small group of Kaled'a'in that had made their new
home on the very edge of the Plain.  Those were the gryphons' people,
and although Treyvan and Hydona said nothing about it, Karal knew that
they were as grimly worried about their little group as the Shin'a'in
ambassador was worried about her own people.

There was an option that no one liked, but which would at least save
the lives of those in peril.  Before the Storm actually hit, the people
themselves could move.  It wouldn't be easy, though; by then,
disruption-waves would be arriving daily, making it impossible to set
up Gates.  They would all have to move the hard way; overland, by foot
and horse, and even the Kaled'a'in "floating barges" would be useless
unless the mages spent all their time and energy in holding shields
against the disruption.

By then, though, the lands around the area would be the next thing to
uninhabitable.  There would be no possibility of anyone leading a
normal life, not when your crop plants were suddenly warping into
things that could kill you with flung thorns or poison, and the beasts
of your fields had turned into rabid killers.

Karal had the latest maps spread out on the table in front of the
fireplace and was studying them while he waited for Ulrich to return
for lunch.  These were the maps predicting the areas of effect from the
next disruption-wave.  It would come exactly one and one-half days
short of a fortnight, and the circles of "change" would be twenty hands
across-enough that now a large animal could conceivably be caught
inside one.

A Shin'a'in horse, for instance.  Or a Valdemaran bull.

Or a wild deer; it didn't matter.  The "rabbit" had nearly taken off
someone's hand; anything larger would be deadly to whatever was within
its range of movement.

Karal shivered at the thought.  With luck, and the help of all the
Heralds out on circuit, they could warn people to keep their livestock
at home that day, or confine them away from danger zones.  That was in
Valdemar, and it still left the possibility that some large game animal
would be caught in a change.  Altra had taken a copy of the map this
morning as soon as he had made one, and had vanished with it; evidently
now the Firecat had no problems acting as a messenger to Solaris.

That took care of Karse-again, except for wild animals, and they would
just have to chance that.

Presumably Firesong could send the information to the Hawkbrothers by
magic-and they in turn would pass it to the Kaled'a'in and the
Shin'a'in.

Prince Daren had sent a Herald off last night to Rethwellan, but there
were no Priests or Heralds in Rethwellan to distribute the warning.
There were none in Hardorn either, nor in the icy wilderness up above
the Forest of Sorrows, nor in Iftel.

There was no way to tell anyone farther south than Rethwellan, except
if the Shin'a'in got around to it, nor were there any ways to
distribute warnings there.  Their only hope was that the wave centering
on Evendim would be so weak by the time it got that far, that the
combined effect with the one centered on the Plain would be
negligible.

It wouldn't remain that way for long, though.  Sooner or later the
waves would be strong enough that the warping effect would be felt even
farther away than Ceejay, and at that point, the waves would be coming
more often, too.

Somehow, someone had to spread the word.  Somehow, they had to find the
answer to stopping this thing.

Hurry, hurry, hurry, before it's too late.... Nothing could be done
about the Pelagirs or the northern mountains.  What would happen when
the beasts that were already strange and deadly, out in the Uncleansed
Lands, encountered these warping forces a second time?  One wag of a
student had suggested that they might just go back to being rabbits,
mice and tree-hares.  That was an amusing thought, but unlikely.

And what about the Empire?  There was still an army out there.  What if
whoever was in command decided that Valdemar, Karse, or both were the
cause of all this?  They had command of far more magic than either land
did, and an unlimited supply of troops, or so it seemed.  What if they
decided this was an attack, and decided that it was worth carrying the
battle to the enemy?

As if that thought had been a cue, the door opened, and Ulrich stepped
in.

The sound of his limping footstep made Karal turn, with a frown of
worry on his face.  Ulrich should not be limping, not unless he was so
exhausted that even walking was an effort:

His frown deepened when he saw the pale, translucent skin above
Ulrich's beard, and the dark circles beneath his eyes.

"You've been overworking again," he accused.

"I've been under sleeping Ulrich corrected.

"I had troubling dreams last night, and this morning I urged that our
work consist of sending out warnings, maps, and the formulae to
calculate the schedules, not only to the Tayledras, Shin'a'in shaman,
and Kaled'a'in, but to every mage-school any of us knew of.  It
occurred to me that in the schools there is always someone teaching or
practicing a scrying spell, and we needed only to "interrupt" what was
already in place.  The Blue Mountain and White Winds mages were
particularly helpful there."  He smiled wanly.

"We covered quite a bit of ground, so to speak."

"That's all very well and good, but-" Karal stopped himself in mid
scold shaking his head at himself.

"I'm sorry.  I sound like your mother, or at least a nagging son, and
I'm only your protege and secretary.  Forgive me, Master Ulrich.  " But
to his shock and delight, Ulrich not only did not take offense, but he
smiled again, this time with real warmth.

Wan sunlight reflected from the white plaster-adorned mantel fell on
him, accentuating his pallor.

"You have every right, and if I had a nagging son, or any kind of son,
I would hope he would be precisely like you.  You are a never-ending
delight to me, Karal.  I had thought when I first took you as my
protege that I would always be a little disappointed in you because you
were not a mage.  I was wrong."

"Wrong?"  Karal replied vaguely, more than a little stunned by the
sudden turn this conversation had taken.

"Very wrong."  Ulrich limped across the floor to him and hesitantly put
one hand on his shoulder.

"You are something more important than a mage, and much rarer, my son.
You are a warrior of the spirit and a healer of the soul.  You have
more compassion than I can begin to understand, and you are already
showing the beginnings of true wisdom.  People trust you instinctively,
and instinctively you sense that and try to help them, even as you do
your best not to betray that trust.

You will be a great Priest in the purest sense one day, the sense that
has nothing to do with magic, power, or politics;

that, I think, is why Altra was sent to you."

Karal trembled under Ulrich's hand; this was not anything he had ever
expected to hear, and he plainly didn't know what to think.

"Yours will not be an easy path, I fear," Ulrich continued.

"But I can tell you one that you should make the time to speak to.
Herald Talia is one who is very like you; her abilities differ in that
she is a healer of the heart, rather than the soul, but otherwise she
will understand you better than anyone else you are ever likely to
meet."

"B-but-Solaris-" he faltered, blurting out the first thing that came to
mind.  Why is he talking like this?  He sounds as if he thinks he might
not be here while I still need himUlrich shook his head.

"Solaris is something else entirely;

the Prophet and the Leader are concerned with the needs of the people
as a whole, and not with the needs of individuals.

Solaris will not be able to help you-although you may be called upon
one day to help her."

Karal dropped his gaze to the floor, a lump in his throat, confusion in
his heart.  Ulrich put a finger under Karal's chin, and raised his face
so that Karal was forced to look into his eyes.

"In one thing, Talia will not be able to help you, and you will have to
find your own way.  The way of the true Priest is often solitary; he
can sometimes tread a parallel road with another, but sooner or later,
their ways must part, and they may not come together again.  Your life
belongs to others, and I think you already understand and accept that,
although you have not put it into words for yourself.  If you are very
lucky, you may find a partner who can understand or accept that.  If
you are not, there will be heartache.  If the heartache comes, remember
what you are, and that if you may not be the lover of one, you will be
beloved by many."

Karal blinked up into Ulrich's eyes, trying his best to understand what
his master was saying, and not quite grasping it.  Ulrich looked down
at him for another heartbeat or two, then released him with a dry
chuckle.

"Ah, my dreams have made me fey, a little mad, or both," he said
lightly.

"Either that, or I am so hungered that I am seeing shadows of a future
that may never happen.  Did you bespeak lunch?"

Karal released a sigh of relief and nodded.

"And it's odd that you should have mentioned Herald Talia; she wanted
to talk to both of us about An'desha.  She says that he is all knotted
up over something, and she thinks we can help him."

"Well, perhaps we can," Ulrich began, just as a light tap signaled
someone at the door.

"Come!"  Ulrich said immediately; the door opened and the Lady Talia
herself stepped inside, followed by the page with their lunch.  For a
moment, there was a little confusion, as Karal quickly cleaned the
papers off the table, the boy maneuvered the tray onto the waiting
surface, and everyone sorted themselves out.  The boy bowed quickly and
left, Talia and Ulrich exchanged greetings, and Karal'started into the
other room to fetch a third chair.

He never even got as far as the door.

Something-some strange sound, or maybe not a sound at all, just a
feeling-made him whirl around, every nerve afire with the certain
knowledge of danger, deadly and imminent.

The fireplace was decorated with plaster ornaments much like the
Council rooms and most of the other suites in the Palace.  They were
set into the wall on either side and above the mantel, a series of
whorls and scrollwork, with four larger whorls, one just off each
corner of the mantelpiece.

A shrill trilling sound split the air just as the plaster of those
whorls split and shattered, releasing something that sprang out into
the room and hung, hovering, in the air.

Karal didn't get a good look at them; they made his eyes hurt, and no
matter how he concentrated, the very air blurred around them.  He only
had an impression of a diamond-shape of sharp blades, frightening and
deadly.

He didn't think, he acted, instinctively flinging himself in front of
Talia, keeping his own body between her and them.  If anyone in this
room was in danger, surely it was Talia!

In the next instant, Altra was in front of him.  Every hair on the
Firecat's body was on end, and the Cat howled a piercing battle cry
that rivaled the whining trill of the devices.

The diamond-blades moved; the two nearest Karal flew at him as fast as
a pair of glittering dragonflies.  He flung himself backward, trying to
knock Talia to the floor to shield her.  He expected at any moment to
feel one or more of those blades piercing his heart-But there was a
sharp crack, and two of the devices vanished altogether in a flash of
fire, one that originated from Altra's extended claws.  The third went
careening sideways, into the path of the fourth, deflecting it-But not
enough.

The device slammed into Ulrich's chest with enough force to knock him
to the floor, as the second device embedded itself in the wall.

The trilling stopped, leaving silence, and the sound of harsh, bubbling
breathing.

"Ulrich!"  Karal screamed, as he scrambled to his feet and flung
himself down beside the Priest.  Talia was right behind him, and
stopped him before he could pull the damnable device out of Ulrich's
chest.  The Priest was still breathing, but he was unconscious, and a
thin trickle of blood appeared at one corner of his mouth and ran down
the side of his face.

"Don't touch him," Talia ordered.

"I've called for help.  I know some Healing, let me-" Obediently, he
moved aside and let her be the one to remove the device.  Fearlessly,
she pulled it out, and the wound whistled for a second until she
slapped her hand over it, blocking it.

"It's a lung-hit, that's bad," she muttered under her breath,
distractedly.

"Very bad-where is that damned Healer?

Karal hovered beside her, in an agony of helplessness, wanting to do
something, anything, and unable to aid her at all.

"Ulrich, Master," he whispered, one hand on his mentor's forehead, the
other on his shoulder on the uninjured side.

"Please, help is coming, don't leave me, I need you, don't leave me."

Time just did not feel like it was moving right.  Nothing felt like it
was moving right.  This couldn't really be happening Karal thought
through a mental sludge.  The sounds of their voices and movements
seemed truncated as if they were down a well, and Ulrich's halting,
gasping' breaths were too loud.

Then, finally, the door burst open, and a dozen or more people crowded
into the room, at least two of them in the green robes that denoted a
senior Healer in this land.  They swarmed over Ulrich, shoving aside
both Karal and Talia.  A moment later, they carried the Priest away,
leaving Karal and Talia behind, with one other person.  Karal started
to follow, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"Let me go," he spat, grabbing the hand to pull it off.  But another
hand grabbed his wrist and made him turn, and he found himself looking
into Kerowyn's sober green eyes.

"You can't help Ulrich, and you'll only get in the Healers' way," she
said, bluntly telling him the truth that he didn't want to hear.

"But-" He looked at her, and unexpectedly burst into tears.

Talia put her arms around him-and strangely enough, so did Kerowyn.
Both of them held him while he sobbed hysterically.

" Why?"  he wept.

"Why?  He never hurt anyone!  He was an old man!  He never hurt anyone!
Why?"

Neither of the women said anything to him, which was just as well,
since he wouldn't have been able to hear them or respond.  They simply
made soothing sounds at him and supported him as time wobbled and spun.
After a moment, or a candle mark Kerowyn detached herself and left him
to bury his head in Talia's shoulder while the Herald stroked his hair
and swayed back and forth with him in her arms.

Terrible grief shook him; he couldn't see, couldn't hear, couldn't even
think.  The only things in his mind were the dreadful sound of the
blade-device thudding into Ulrich's chest, never-ending, and the sight
of Ulrich's body hitting the floor.... It was exhaustion that finally
brought him back to himself.

His tears stopped, mostly because his eyes were too sore and dry to
produce another drop.  Dully, he allowed Talia to lead him to a chair,
and he sat down in it.

Kerowyn knelt in front of him, the two devices in her hands.

"Ulrich wasn't the only one attacked," she said gently.

"The Shin'a'in ambassador was killed outright, and it was just pure
luck that the other mages were with the gryphons when more of these
things came after them; they all managed to knock the things down,
though Treyvan and Darkwind each took a wound.  It looks, at the
moment, as if someone hid these damned things in plaster ornaments in
the rooms of every single one of the foreign mages."

He blinked at her, his eyes gritty and swollen.

"Why?"  he asked stupidly.

She shrugged.

"Either someone wanted to eliminate all the ambassadors, or that same
someone wanted to eliminate all the mages, and he settled for getting
the foreigners because the rest of them live in the Herald's Wing and
he didn't have access to that part of the Palace."  She tilted her head
to one side, and frowned.

"Come to think of it, he wouldn't have access to Firesong's place,
either.  Maybe that's why there were four in here; the other two might
have been meant for Firesong and An'desha."

He shook his head again.  Why  " he persisted.

"Why try to kill anyone?  And who would it be?"

Kerowyn's mouth tightened.

"Figure it was the Empire that planned this, and you'll probably have
your answer.  Since I don't recognize these things, and I thought I
knew every kind of assassins' weapon there was, the Empire would be my
first choice for who did this."

Her words set his frozen mind in motion again, and almost against his
will, a myriad of possibilities occurred to him.

"If I wanted to break up the Alliance, I'd kill all the ambassadors,"
he said reluctantly.

"If Valdemar couldn't protect the envoys in the Palace itself, the
allies might assume it was too dangerous to ally with Valdemar against
the Empire.  It's possible that some of the allies, like Karse, might
even blame Valdemar for the deaths.  It might only be incidental that
the targets were mages."

Talia's eyes went wide, and Kerowyn's narrowed in speculation.  " That
hadn't occurred to me," she admitted.

"But it's an even better reason than killing them to lessen our
magepower."

His mind was still working, out of long habit and training with
Ulrich-Oh, Ulrich-I've lost you.  We've all lost you" The Empire would
believe that this is an ordinary alliance, especially with Karse and
Valdemar," he continued;

now that his thoughts were set in motion, they wouldn't stop until he
followed them to the end.

"They can't know that Solaris is working under a divine decree; they'd
assume that the death of her envoy would mean she would go back to the
old assumption of Valdemar-as-the-Land-of-Demons.  That would be why
there was a device in here for me, even though I'm not a mage-so that
there would be no witness to the contrary.  "

Kerowyn's lips thinned, and she nodded once.

"That makes the best sense of all.  Good work, Karal.  I'm going to
take these to Elspeth and Darkwind, and maybe they can take them apart.
You are being moved to another room, as quickly as I can get my people
in here to move your things."

He saw immediately why she had said that.

"There's an Imperial agent in the Palace, isn't there," he stated
flatly.

"Someone who had access to all the rooms, and the ability to hide those
things in the plaster."

"And I bloody well don't know who it is," she agreed.

"So I want you and the rest of the foreigners out of here and into the
Herald's Wing.  Or better yet, I'll move you in with An'desha and
Firesong, if they'll take you.  Firesong got at least five of those
things all by himself."

He looked up at her as she stood, and he felt his lower lip starting to
quiver, his eyes starting to burn.

"What about-" he began.

Ulrich's in the best of hands, Karal, Talia said gently.

"It's too soon to tell-but he is an old man, and we both know that he's
been overworking, putting himself under a lot of strain.  " He nodded
and looked quickly down at his hands, before Kerowyn could see the
tears starting to form in his eyes again.

Kerowyn left, but Talia stayed, so that when he began to sob again,
this time quietly, she was there to hold him.

Talia stayed with him for the rest of the day; later in the afternoon
Kerowyn returned with her hand-picked crew of tough-looking mercenaries
from her own Company, packed up everything in the suite, and carried it
out-off to Firesong and An'desha's ekele, she said.  Karal stifled his
tears when they came in; he just didn't want to cry in front of these
hardened soldiers.  They'd think he was being childish; surely they'd
look on him with contempt.

But one of the toughest-looking turned in the middle of the packing
when Karal saw them carrying out some things of Ulrich's and choked
back a sob.  The man put down the robes he had draped over his arm and
dropped down onto his heels in front of Karal's chair.

"Don' be 'shamed t'be a-grievin', boy," the man said, patting his hand
awkwardly, his speech slow and so thickly accented that Karal barely
understood him.

"This kind'o thing don' get any nor easier e'en for the likes o' we.
Gie yer tears t' a man who deserves 'em, an' take ye no shame i' the
weepin', aye?  Sure, an' we won' think th' less oye.  " He stood up, as
soon as Karal nodded numbly, and picked up his burden again.  Karal
just let the tears flow, then, and ignored all the comings and goings
until the sun set, and the now-empty room filled with darkness.

"Do you want to go to the Healers' Collegium to wait, Karal?"  Talia
asked gently.

"Or would you rather wait here?"

There was nothing for him here; the rooms held not even the scent of
incense from Ulrich's robes-not that he could smell much after all the
raw-nosed sniffling.

"I'd like to go to Healers', I think," he said thickly.

"If I won't be in the way."

"Of course you won't be," Talia replied warmly.  She offered him her
hand.

"Come on, I'll take you there."

Somewhere he lost track of the walk, or else it was all swallowed up in
misery.  The next thing he knew, he was sitting down again, in another
room, this one full of well-worn, ancient benches.  The whole place had
a sad air of waiting about it, interminable waiting.  Talia was walking
toward him as he looked up, suddenly aware of his surroundings again;

she must have left him here without his noticing.

,.-"There's no change, Karal," she said, and bit her lip.

"I

you; you'd know it if I did.  That's not a good sign.

--.ained consciousness."

death o~ ~er hand on his shoulder.

"You want me to," she offered, and he she had much more important
things boy's pain.  Thanks to Florian, he knew d how important she was.
He knew that be touched and grateful that she had given him so much of
her time today, but right now, there was room for nothing but grief.

"You have to go," he told her.

"I-I understand.  I'll manage."

She searched his eyes for a moment.

"You do understand, don't you?"  she asked, wonder coloring her
voice.

"Thank you for that, Karal.  If you can't bear it, send for me."

He nodded, and she walked off quickly, but with a slight limp.  He
watched her go, then turned his thoughts inward.

He prayed, even though he wasn't quite certain what to pray for.  It
would be no kindness to Ulrich to force him to live, if living meant he
was trapped in a helpless body that held nothing but pain.  Those
blades were long-long enough to have pierced through the chest and
damaged the spine.  Perhaps that was why Ulrich had not awakened.... He
tried to remember what Ulrich had taught him-that Vkandis was neither
some cosmic accountant, who weighed and measured a man before deciding
if he lived or died, nor was He a grand torturer, inflicting punishment
after punishment upon the living to find their breaking points.  We
have free will, all of us, and Vkandis interferes very little in our
life in this world, Ulrich had said.  He does not play with us as a
child plays with toy soldiers or dolls, nor does He test us to see what
we are made of.  He allows us to live our lives and make our own
choices, and only after we cross to join Him does He judge us on the
basis of what we have and have not done with the life and free will we
were granted at birth-and how well we have kept our word in promises
made to Him.  What we choose to do intersects with what everyone else
in our lives chooses to do; sometimes those choices mean joy, sometimes
sorrow, often a little of both.

That may be why good things sometimes happen to evil people.

Most assuredly, with no cause by the Sunlord's hand, bad things
sometimes do happen to good people.

So it was by free will that whoever it was had laid those deadly traps,
and Ulrich and he had been the ones to encounter them.  It was by sheer
circumstance that there had been four of the things, one too many for
Altra to deal with.

In fact, had Altra not been there-by the Sunlord's own will-he would be
dead right now.

But I wish it had been me and not him!  he cried to Vkandis.

Oh, Sunlord, I wish it had been me!

The marks crawled by, tedious and slow as an ancient tortoise, plodding
painfully toward midnight, and then toward dawn.  People came by at
intervals, presumably to see if he was all right, but they did not
disturb him, and he did not speak to them.

Finally, though, someone did stop, and touch his shoulder.

He looked up, and the sympathy in the Healer's face told him everything
he needed to know.

He could not show his sorrow before all the strange faces, sympathetic
though they might be, and he could not burden Talia further by asking
someone to disturb her rest and bring her to him.  Instead, he refused
all offers of consolation and stumbled blindly away from the building,
shaking with sobs he could not give voice to, throat so choked with
grief he could not even swallow.

It was not yet dawn; frost-covered grass crunched underfoot as he
wandered out into the waning hours of the night.  He had to go
somewhere ... life would go on, and now he was the sole representative
of Karse here.  Where had Kerowyn said she was moving his things?

The ekele.  An'desha and FiresongThat was bearable.  Better them, than
to try to make a place among strangers, Heralds whose names he didn't
even know.

Now that he had a destination, he set off through the darkness.

Once he was out of sight of the Healers and their unwanted,
professional sympathy, he allowed the tears to come again.  Blinded as
much by his weeping as by the dark, he felt his way along the path to
the gate in Companion's Field; got and slipped inside-where he stopped;
or rather, collapsed against the gate g with great, racking sobs that
did absolutely nothing to  agony of his loss.

wanted profess again.  Blinded 2 s way along t and slil re he

-~i his mind was hesitant, but the symI am not Talia, but I am here for
you.:

and buried his face in the white shoulder et his trembling body as the
Companion lay down.  His tears trickled through the silky white mane
that presented itself to him.  He clung to Florian's neck and wept and
wept until his throat was sore, his eyes were nothing more than slits,
and his nose was so swollen and stopped up that he had to stop sobbing
because he couldn't breathe.

The breathing of the Companion at his side was steady and soothing, and
after what could have been a candle mark the pace of his own breathing
matched Florian's.

"Karal, I am with you.  This might not be the best time, but there is
someone who sorrows as much as you do,: Florian said hesitantly.

"He needs you very badly, and right now he has no one to comfort
him.:

Unlike me ... The unspoken implication had not escaped Karal.

"Wh-who?"  Karal asked dully, wiping his nose.

"Listen,: was Florian's only answer.

Obediently, Karal stifled his sniffling for a moment.  As he strained
his ears to listen over the sound of the river nearby, he heard what
Florian was talking about-a high-pitched wail so much like a baby's cry
that he was startled.

A baby?  But what would a baby be doing out in the middle of the
Field?

The wail came again, so full of heartbreak and pain that Karal had to
respond to it; he walked in the general direction of the sound, Florian
following behind.  A few moments later, he knew what it was-not a baby,
but a cat.

"Is that Altra?  " he asked, incredulously.

"Yes,: Florian replied.

"He hasn't told you the whole truth, Karal.  The Firecats are almost
exactly like us-like Companions, except that they have magic to protect
themselves, and they can move themselves the way someone who has the
Fetching Gift can move an object.  They are mortal, they eat-he's been
stealing food from the kitchen-and they have no more idea about what is
going to happen in the future than you or I do.:

"That was why he didn't know that the disruption-waves were coming, he
only knew something was going to happen."

Karal replied absently, distracted for the moment from his grief by
this revelation.

"Yes.  And that was why he didn't know you were going to be attacked
until it happened.  Nor does he know who your attacker was.  He blames
himself.: Florian's mental voice was saddened and subdued.

"I can understand that only too well.  I had thought about urging you
to take a break this morning and come out here for a ride on Trenor;
you haven't seen him for days.  I keep wondering what would have
happened if I had done that instead of just thinking about it.:

"What's the point in rasping away at yourself with might-have-be ens

Karal retorted.

"All you do is make yourself hurt more-" "I know that.  You know that.
It is Altra who needs to hear that.: They were practically on top of
the wailing now, and Karal made out a white form curled into a ball of
misery, wailing disconsolately into the night.  Karal's heart and his
resolve to stay controlled broke at the same time.

"Altra-" he cried, flinging himself down in the grass beside the
Firecat.  He took the Cat into his arms exactly as Talia had taken him
into her comforting embrace, and his tears started again.

"Altra, Altra, it wasn't your fault."

"I had to choose,: the Cat cried in his mind.

"I had to choose, and I was sent for you, so I had to choose you..

"And you almost saved both of us anyway," Karal told him, holding his
furred body tightly, as the Firecat shivered with more than physical
cold.

"You aren't the Sunlord, Altra, you can't know everything or be
everywhere at once.  You did your best.  I know that."

"But I couldn't-save-him I: The heartbreaking wail began again.  Altra
had no way to shed tears, so Karal did the crying for them both.

Florian stood vigil over them, a solid, comforting presence in the
dark, until they were finally too tired to weep anymore.

In the end, Karal picked up the exhausted Firecat-who must have weighed
nearly half what he himself did-and carried him to the ekele, with
Florian walking beside them.

Firesong was still awake, but he said nothing when he met them all at
the entrance to his home, neither about the lateness of the hour nor
Karal's odd burden.  He only gestured for Karal to follow and led the
way to that peculiar room draped to resemble the interior of a tent.

And this was where Karal talked to Altra until the sun rose, telling
him all the things he had tried to tell himself, and in so doing,
seeing the truth in those things.  That was where they finally slept,
spent and exhausted-but neither one alone.

When Karal awoke, he knew by the sun that it was well into the
afternoon.  He'd slept far later than he had thought he would, and
Altra was still curled against him.  The Firecat woke as soon as he
moved, though, and raised his head to look at him with shadowed blue
eyes.

"Altra?"  he said, quietly.

"I will be all right,: the Firecat replied.

"The pain-it is bearable, now.  We have things we must do; you
especially, and he would not thank us for neglecting them.:

Karal rubbed at his eyes; they were sore and gummy, the lashes all
stuck together.  His nose and cheeks were tender from scrubbing at
them.  Odd how such little discomforts distracted a person from grief,
but not enough to be more than one more burden.

He had awakened with a heaviness of soul that cast a gray shadow over
everything.  He knew that he ought to be hungry, but he had no appetite
whatsoever.

He scratched Altra's ears; the Firecat didn't seem to mind being
caressed like an ordinary cat.  All of his things were here, piled into
baskets at the sides of the fabric-draped room.

Was this supposed to look like the inside of a Shin'a'in tent?

Probably.  So this would be An'desha's room, though he doubted An'desha
used it much.

Now he wondered what it was about An'desha that Talia had wanted to
talk about.  If she hadn't come to their suite, would things have
fallen out any differently?

No matter.  He should follow his own advice, and not torture himself
with might-have-be ens  The danger from the disruption waves hadn't
gone, just because Ulrich was-His eyes stung.

There was still work to do.  He should get changed and do it.

"Altra, you ought to stay here and rest."  The fur under his hand felt
harsh and brittle, and Altra looked in poor shape, as if the events of
yesterday had completely depleted him.

"I'll be back after I find out what everyone else is doing."

"Everyone else-the mages and the Prince, that is-is are?-coming here,"
Firesong said from the doorway.  Karal's head snapped up and he
started; he hadn't heard anything at all to indicate that Firesong was
in the hallway.

"With an unknown agent somewhere in the Palace, the others are
reluctant to trust that he or she might not be somehow listening.

The ekele is safe enough; I supervised every bit of the building
myself, and before you arrived I checked for more such little gifts as
were distributed yesterday."

The Hawkbrother entered the room and sank down on his haunches beside
the pallet that Karal and Altra shared.  He studied Karal for a very
long time without saying a word;

Karal didn't say anything either.  He was too tired, and too
grief-laden to play at verbal fencing with the Healing Adept.

If Firesong wanted to know something, then he could damned well ask
it.

"I think I understand, now," Firesong said, out of the blue.

"What?"  Still less was Karal ready to trade non sequiturs.

"What An'desha sees in you."  Firesong continued to sit on his heels,
watching Karal measuringly.

Karal traded him back look for look.  Firesong was baiting him, and he
was not going to rise to it.  Maybe the Hawkbrother meant well, trying
to distract him from his sorrow, but he'd chosen a bad tactic to use.

"Talia wanted to talk with you and-" Firesong hesitated, then went
gamely on.

"She had already spoken with me.

An'desha is in the midst of a crisis, she thinks; he is afraid of
setting his feelings free, and he is afraid of losing control of
himself if he keeps examining those "Ma'ar' memories.  Evidently they
are the most powerful and the most seductive of all.  falcons bane was
mar, purely and simply, and mar was as close to sane as anyone of his
ilk is ever likely to be.  He had reasons and rationalizations for
everything he did, and I suppose that is what makes his memories so
seductive."

Firesong shrugged.

"An'desha is afraid of much, and I have lost patience with his
timidity.  Frankly, I do not think he is going to be of much use to us
unless he can face what he has inside him without being afraid of it,
and I know he will not be of much use-ah-to us, if he keeps shutting
off how he feels."

"That's what you told Talia?  " Karal asked.

"And now you," Firesong confirmed.

"Now, more than ever, we cannot afford to have anyone handicapped, and
at the moment An'desha is like a hooded falcon."

"Or a racehorse with hobbles and blinders."  Karal nodded.

"Let me think about this."

"Fair enough."  Firesong stood; today he had chosen to dress all in
white, as if to represent the winter that drew nearer with every
passing day.

"I-I am not always this insensitive.

If I had a choice, I would not have mentioned it until you were feeling
better.  It is a burden you could do without."

"But we don't have the time for sensitivity," Karal acknowledged.  " I
understand."

"You can bathe in the pools below," the mercurial mage said then,
changing the subject completely.

"There is food in the kitchen.  The others will be here shortly."

And with that, he turned in a swirl of long sleeves and crystal bead
fringe, vanishing as silently as he had arrived.

Food.  No, he still didn't want to even think about food.

Nor about all the times that Ulrich had teased him about how much he
ate-No, wait.  This is all wrong.  I should think about things like
that.  He should remember as much as he could; there was good advice
buried in nearly everything that Ulrich had told him, and now he was
going to have to glean as much of it out of his memories as he could.

"He used to offer me cat-mint, you know, as a kind of joke, as if it
would affect me as it does a real cat.:

Altra looked up at him from the pallet.

"And what did you do?"  Karal asked obediently.

s e im o ma e I in o ca, an serve it in a el e fashion.: Altra
sighed.

"It was funny at the time "It will be funny again," Karal promised
warmly.

"I'll bring you something to eat, if you like."

"So Florian spilled my secret, did he?: Altra actually snorted, and
looked annoyed for a heartbeat.  Ah well, I couldn't stay mystical and
inscrutable forever, I suppose.  Please bring me something that isn't
breadish or vegetablish.:

"I'll be glad to, as soon as I have a quick bath."  At least Altra
still had an appetite.  That was something, anyway, a sign that the
Firecat was on the way to recovering.

He found that he felt better after a bath and a change of clothing.  It
did help that there was nothing at all here to remind him of Ulrich. He
didn't think he would be able to maintain his own fragile stability if
there had been.

He still had no appetite, though; rummaging around in the larder didn't
do anything to remove the lump of cold grief from his stomach.  He
confined himself to taking care of Altra;

he found some fish that was so fresh it must have been caught that very
morning, and decided that someone in the two-person household had seen
Altra for what he really was.

And while the Firecat didn't precisely fall on the offering as if he
was half-starved, he certainly polished every scrap off during the time
it took Karal to change into clean clothing.

I'm the only Karsite representative, now, he thought, as he examined
his clothing.  Until Solaris sends someone else-it's me or no one.  I'd
better look the part.

He chose one of his formal robes, and carefully arranged his sun-disk
pendant over the front placket.  He wished there was a mirror.

"You look very impressive,: Altra observed from the bed.

"You've grown since you came here.  You're a bit young for an envoy,
but as old as some ruling nobles I've seen, even as old as some
reigning monarchs.  I've even heard of Sons of the Sun no older than
you:

Karal tugged his tunic straight.

"I'll have to do," he replied.

"There isn't anyone else for the moment."

"You'll do very well."  Once again, Firesong had appeared out of
nowhere.  He eyed Karal carefully and nodded with satisfaction.  " No
longer the retiring little secretary.  Very good.

Let's go down, the others are waiting."

"You'll be fine,: Altra murmured.

Well, he would, if appearance was all that counted.  He only hoped he
could be so confident of his abilities.

The subject, inevitably, was the attempt to uncover a presumed agent of
the Empire.

"I've checked and rechecked the servants under Truth Spell," Elspeth
told them all as Firesong and Karal took their places in the circle.
Beside her, Darkwind nursed a bandaged shoulder, and the male gryphon
had a stitched-up cut in his right wing.

"They're all exactly what they seem to be, so it can't be one of the
regular servants."

"It could be one of us, you know," Karal put in reluctantly.

Prince Daren grimaced.  That had not escaped me.  It could also be any
of the other ambassadors and envoys, including those of long standing.
Whoever this agent is, it is likeliest that he has been among us for a
very long time, and he could be one of a number of foreigners we trust.
It is a bit difficult to persuade them to be examined under Truth
Spell."

"Difficult?"  Firesong put on his best sardonic look.

"Only if you are not willing to risk an incident."

"Selenay is not," Daren replied flatly.

"We have enough of an incident on our hands already, although
mage-messages have come from Solaris this morning saying that she is
aware of what happened and that it changes nothing."

Only that Ulrich is gone ... and I promised to take care of him.  Karal
tucked his head down so that his grief would not show until he got his
face back under control again.  Altra must have gone to her with the
news, before he fell apart.  No wonder he looked so depleted.

"That leaves-what?  Something like a hundred possible suspects?"
Kerowyn hazarded.

"And a good chance that whoever this is will do something again."

Karal frowned.  Perhaps associating with the engineers had put an edge
on his reasoning ability, but he was certain he could narrow the field
down more than that.

"Wait a moment.

It can't be that many.  It has to be someone who is high enough in rank
that no one would question seeing him anywhere in the Palace, but low
enough in rank-or apparently ineffectual enough-that no one would ever
notice him.  It also has to be someone who would have a reason to be in
and out of people's rooms at least once this year.  If this is an agent
of long standing, then surely the Empire is using him to gather
information-so it has to be someone who has a reason to receive and
send packages at intervals of more than once a year.  He couldn't have
sent his information by magic messengers before this year, remember?
You had a guard against magic until then."  Once again, his own
intellect had seduced him into concentrating on something besides
grief.

"That virtually eliminates all of the Palace servants."

Kerowyn gnawed on her lower lip.

"That does eliminate most of my suspects," she admitted.

"It could be one of the personal servants of o'Yes, and it could be one
of your nobles."  Darkwind was quick to point that out.

"It would not be the first time that Selenay had had her own intrigue
against her."

"The weapon, though-it had a residue of magic that made me think it was
targeted to a specific individual," An'desha said shyly.

"That would imply that your agent is a mage himself, or more likely,
found a way to gain access to something personal from each of his
targets to imprint the weapons with their intended victims."

"Then planted them into the walls."  Kerowyn looked baffled.  " Now you
open it up to everyone in the Palace except the servants."

Karal pondered his next words long and hard before speaking them.  How
expendable am I?  Realistically, very.  And I have Altra, who will try
to protect me.  I think that I must do this.

"I can offer a possible trap," he said carefully.

"With myself as the bait.  Two of those weapons were meant to eliminate
me; let me place myself where our agent can come at me.  I honestly do
not believe he will try to take me again, so soon.

I think that he will try to ascertain what Solaris' position is, and
whether or not the Alliance is in jeopardy, due-" He couldn't say it;
he choked up.  The others gave him time to recover.

After a struggle, he got control of his voice again.

"If disrupting the Alliance was this agent's primary goal, he will want
to talk to me almost as soon as I appear in the halls of the Palace.
Let me go walk there, and see who comes to offer condolences and fish
for information."

"and what if this agent decides to ensure the Karsite defection by
eliminating you?  " Kerowyn asked quietly.

He twitched his mouth in what was supposed to be a smile.

"Have you not been training me in enough self-defense to keep myself
alive until help can come?  Magicked weaponry is difficult to come by;
if this person wishes to strike again so soon, I think he will have to
do so through conventional means.  That requires skill, opportunity,
and time.  I will assume he has the first, I will give him the second,
and I will deny him the third."  There.  Hopefully, he sounded like the
self-confident Karsite envoy.  He certainly didn't feel like the
self-confident Karsite envoy.

Kerowyn continued to gnaw her lower lip.

"I like it, and I -don't like it at all," she said finally.

"I don't like it, because it puts you in so much danger, Karal.  I like
it, because it has a good chance of wink ling out our agent.  I
wouldn't ask it of you, but if you are volunteering-"As am I,: Altra
said, for Karal's benefit alone.

"You were right in thinking that I can roam the corridors with you and
protect you.  I shall do better this time.:

"i am," Karal said firmly.

"What is more, I am ready now."

"Well I'm not-or rather, my men aren't."  Kerowyn reached over and
patted his knee.

"Give me a chance to get set up, say, after dinner.  Don't come to
formal dinner; that will make it look as if there might be trouble with
the Alliance.

Then come on over and roam to your heart's content.

Among other things, you can reassure some of our own people that things
haven't deteriorated to the point of war quite yet Karal sat back and
let them discuss the weapon itself; they were mages, he was not, and
what they had found did not mean a great deal to him.  At least he
could do something now, though.  That helped, a little.

Only a little, but it was a beginning.

In the evenings, after formal dinner, Ulrich had often strolled in the
gardens with the rest of the courtiers.  During inclement weather, the
same leisurely strolls took place in the hallways and the small
informal audience chambers.  The weather was barely warm enough for
both to be in use, so Karal resigned himself to a long evening with a
great deal of walking.

Most of the Valdemarans did not seem to know quite how to treat him; he
had been the insignificant secretary, and now he was the only Karsite
representative at Court, and he had dressed to reflect that rise in
position, though the velvets were too warm for the indoor venue and not
warm enough for the gardens.  Most of the courtiers eventually opted
for brief and uncomfortable expressions of regret and condolence,
approaching him, making graceful but painful short speeches, and
scuttling away again.

For the first few marks, no one even mentioned the fate of the
Alliance, and as Karal alternately sweated and shivered, he began to
wonder if this had been a fool's errand.

The first person who did was the Seneschal, a situation so absurd that
Karal almost burst into hysterical laughter.  The only ones that were
privy to Karal's little ruse were the mages; Prince Daren had decided
that it would be better not to let any of the Councillors in on the
subterfuge, on the grounds that they were very bad actors, and would
probably give the whole thing away.  The Seneschal was pathetically
transparent in his attempts to divine Solaris' position from Karal's
attitude, and to keep up the illusion that Solaris was still undecided,
Karal was forced to be distinctly cool to the poor man.  It took all of
Karal's ability to keep from revealing the whole trick with his
reaction to the poor fellow's disappointment in learning nothing.

He eliminated the next few "fishers" on grounds that they were not
likely to have a pretext that would let them move in and out of private
rooms at will.  Then came another long, dry spell; his sober face and
black robes seemed to put people off, making their expressions of
sympathy hurried and nervous.

He resigned himself to a fruitless, boring evening.

Ah, well, at least I tried" Master Secretary?"  said a squeaky voice at
his elbow.

He turned, and had to think long and hard before he could identify the
fellow who had greeted him.  He was utterly nondescript to begin with,
and had the demeanor and apparently the personality of a mo leah my
condolences, Master Secretary," the mole said, squinting at him and
twisting his hands nervously together.

"You probably wouldn't recall me, I suppose, I'm not important or
wealthy or-" The spot of green paint caught in the cuticle of one
finger gave him away.

"Of course I recall you, sir," Karal replied, in a properly subdued
manner.

"Master Celandine, is it not?  The painter?"

"The artist, yes, and I was terribly grieved to hear about Master
Ulrich, terribly," the mole replied, his fingers knotting together
until his hands resembled a nest of worms.

"I hope-I

pray-that your gracious mistress will not take this incident badly-oh,
dear, no-that would be dreadful, dreadful-" "I suppose from the
Valdemaran point of view it would," Karal replied, with careful
neutrality.  There was something about this man ... something nagging
at the back of his mind.

"oh, I'm not from Valdemar, but it would be personally dreadful for me
all the same," Celandine replied.

"My pigments so difficult to obtain, you understand, and before the
Alliance so terribly expensive-" A tiny thread of warning slipped down
Karal's back, and his hands went cold.  He's always sending people off
after pigments and colors, I remember him saying that when Ulrich sat
for a portrait.  He must have at least one package coming in every
fortnight or so!  Could it be?  Oh, surely not!  This fellow was so
ineffectual he couldn't possibly be their quarry!  Everyone at court
made fun of him and his pretensions of genius!

Then again, came the nagging response, wouldn't that make him ideal for
the part?  How better to observe people than when they think you're
insignificant?

"-I wondered if your mistress would still be interested in that
official portrait, or if she would prefer to wait until the next envoy
was assigned or even have your little sketch turned into a portrait
instead?"

Bright Sunlord!  Didn't An'desha say the mage must have had something
personal in order to set the weapons, or some kind of image?  This man
paints portraits, he sketches people in Court circles all day long and
no one ever thinks anything about it!

"Karal,: said Altra carefully, "I think you may have something in this
one.  Can you get him to take you to his studio?

I may be able to find real evidence, rooting around like a cat.:

"Perhaps," he said, assuming more dignity.

"I have been given to understand that if the Alliance continues, the
latter would be the most likely option."

The mole's tiny black eyes lit up, but before he could say anything
else, Karal continued.

"That portrait of my-my Master, though, the one you mentioned," he
continued, and it did not take any acting at all for his eyes to mist
over.

"I would like to have it for myself.

is it anywhere near completed?"

"oh, yes!  Yes, it is!"  The mole was positively babbling.

it would you care to come to my studio to view it?"

"Excellent,: Altra applauded.

"I'll warn Florian and he can warn Kerowyn through Sayvil.  Go with him
now, before he changes his mind!:

"I would very much like to see it," Karal said in complete and sincere
honesty as he wiped his eyes.

"Please."

The mole eagerly led the way down the hall toward the quarters of those
who were not quite highborn, but were not servants, either.  Altra
padded along behind, tail in the air, pretending to be a house cat  The
mole either didn't notice him or didn't care.

The mole's studio lay at the farthest end of the corridor, and Karal
had a moment of trepidation when he realized that there was no way that
Kerowyn could have them followed down here without it being painfully
obvious.  And if the mole left the studio door open, he would see if
Kerowyn sent anyone down after them.  Celandine might look like he was
short-sighted, but as Karal already knew, there was nothing wrong with
his eyes.

"I'll shut the door behind me,: Altra told him.

"Just enough that he won't be able to see down the corridor.  With
luck, he'll be so excited that he won't notice.:

That was exactly how the next few moments played out;

Celandine ushered Karal into the cluttered, crowded studio with much
bowing and scraping, and Altra slipped in behind them, nudging the door
closed without Celandine noticing.

The place was a mess, with easels and half-finished sculptures on
pedestals everywhere, supplies piled on top of furniture and spilling
down onto the floor, blank canvases stretched onto frames and leaning
against the walls, and dust all over everything.  Karal doubted that
the servants ever even tried to clean in here.

In fact, the mole was only interested in getting Karal to the area
where several canvases stood on easels, covered with drop cloths.  He
positioned Karal in front of one of them, and made a great deal of fuss
about getting the lighting absolutely right, before whisking off the
cloth.

Karal did not have to simulate his reaction.  Whatever else the mole
was, he was also a genuine and superb artist.  He had captured Ulrich
in one of his rare moments of relaxation;

good will and humor glowed in his face, and a half-smile played on his
lips.

Karal's eyes filled, and two tears ran down his cheeks unheeded.

He took an involuntary step forward; the painting only improve on
closer inspection.

Celandine smiled, baring tiny teeth in an expression of greed and
satisfaction at Karal's reaction.

"My-good Master Celandine, you are-" Another tear escaped down Karal's
cheek, and he shook his head as he wiped it away.

"There are no words.  There are just no words.  I must have this
painting."

Celandine fussed over the canvas, preening, as he dusted the easel
unnecessarily.

"Well, I must admit, I was rather pleased with the way the robes came
out.  You folk who affect black-oh, forgive me, but it is so difficult
for an artist to render properly!  This particular shade of sebeline
along the crease for instance, that is my own little secret for
simulating the seen of good black velvet-" He nattered on, but Karal
had frozen in place at the foreign sounding word for the streak of
blue-white pigment that ran along the top of one of the sleeves in the
portrait.  That was not a Valdemaran term' "No.  It's not.: The murmur
of quiet noise in the background ceased, as Altra froze as well.

"Stall him, Karal!  I need time to have Mindspeech with an expert!:

"How did you make the eyes look so-so-" Karal choked out.

That was enough to set Celandine off again, this time on a much longer
dissertation, about reflection and transparent colors and glazes.
Meanwhile, Karal waited, the back of his neck prickling, as he tried to
recall if Celandine had ever been in their quarters.

Then, as Karal leaned forward to look at the painting more closely, and
noted the distinctive whorls of the background, he remembered.  He was.
Not only to make the preliminary sketches, either!  I found him there
poking at those decorations one afternoon, complaining that every time
some plaster decoration cracked.  the Seneschal ordered him to repair
it on the grounds that he was an artist!

Celandine was a sculptor, who could probably reproduce anything he
chose at will.  He had access to plaster.  He had put himself in a
position to plant whatever he cared to by allowing the Seneschal to
order him to fix broken decorations!

And all he had to do to be called into a particular room was to crack
the original himself-before, during, or after the portrait sitting

"Karal!: Altra called panic in his mind-voice for the first time since
Karal had met him.

"That word, it's Imperial tongue--what's more, the pigment is only
mined somewhere east of Hardorn!:

Celandine had worked his way in behind Karal as he spoke of colors and
pointed this or that effect out.  The prickling on the back of Karal's
neck had become an agony.  He tried to watch the mole out of the corner
of his eye without being obtrusive.

:

KARAL!:

Karal did not need Altra's mental scream to warn him; he had sensed
Celandine's sudden movement half a breath before.

Karal ducked under the blow and whirled at the same time, then dodged
past the easel and the painting it held, winding up facing the
artist.

No-the agent.

The artist was gone; in his place was someone far more dangerous, and
nothing at all like a mole, more like a cornered rat.  Celandine's
beady black eyes glittered dangerously;

he had a mallet in one hand, and a sharp palette knife in the other.
The edge of the knife had a nasty, sickly green tinge, and Karal had
the sinking feeling that it wasn't paint.

"He'll kill me, you know," the artist said, his voice deceptively
calm.

"Who?"  Karal asked urgently.

"What's wrong?  Why would anyone kill you?"  Stall for more time.  Help
has to be on the way.

"The Grand Duke.  Tremane.  I'm not his man.  I'm expendable.

I didn't finish the job.  The little birds flew, and only pecked out
the heart of one of the targets."  The glitter in Celandine's eyes
wasn't danger, it was madness.  He feinted with the knife, and Karal
winced backward.

"He'll kill me; he has my likeness and my hair, he can do it.  Unless I
finish the job, right now."

He feinted again, and Karal flinched.  He obviously knew what he was
doing; he had all the moves of an experienced knife fighter.  Karal's
best bet was to keep him talking.

But Celandine rushed him; he ducked and sidestepped and barely managed
to avoid the knife and the mallet blow aimed at his head.

"If I get you, I can leave you in the garden with one of Elspeth's
knives in your heart," he continued.

"We made copies, you know, just in case.  You know the one I'm talking
about."

"Actually, no I don't-" Altra's mind-voice was frantic.

"Karal!  I can't get him!

You're in my line of attack!:

Karal stepped to the side at once, but Celandine lashed out viciously
with the mallet, and he stepped back again hastily.

"The one Elspeth left in the heart of our ambassador, of course!"
Celandine said, as if he was some kind of dolt.  Then he blinked.

"You're playing for time!"  he accused, and slashed at Karal with the
knife.

"Karal!  There's poison on that knife!  Stay out of reach-use something
as a shield.:

A shield-something Celandine wouldn't want damaged!

He grabbed one of the canvases at random as Celandine drove him back,
and held it in front of him as he backed toward the windows.
Celandine's mouth twisted in a snarl.

"Put that thing down, you idiot!"  he screamed.

"How dare you put your hands on-" He never finished the sentence.

There was a crash of glass as all the windows shattered at once.  Karal
ducked instinctively, crouching and making himself as small a target as
possible as shards of razored glass went everywhere.  Celandine came up
out of his fighting crouch in shock and glanced around wildly-Then a
dozen crossbow bolts hit him at once from the direction of every
window; his body jerked wildly in a grotesque parody of a dance then he
dropped to the floor, eyes already glazing in death.

Karal dropped to the floor as well, as his knees gave out.

"Karal!  " Kerowyn leapt through one of the broken windows and crashed
through the easels to get to him, knocking paintings in all
directions.

"Karal, are you all right?  Did he scratch you?  Sayvil said there was
poison on his blade.  Are you-/ "I'm all right, I'm fine," he replied
weakly.  "oh, dear Sunlord, I have never been as grateful for any
lessons in my life as I am for yours."  He hugged the painting to his
chest, and took deep, steadying breaths.

"He was going to kill me and leave me with a copy of one of Elspeth's
knives in me.  He said they got it when she left one in their
ambassador."

He was babbling and he knew it, but he couldn't stop himself.

Altra finally wormed his way through the tangle of art supplies and
tumbled easels, and began winding around and around him frantically,
purring loud enough to make both of them vibrate.

"Elspeth's knife?"  A large man climbed over the windowsill with a
crossbow in each hand; after a moment, Karal's mind put a name to him.
Skif.  He wasn't a mage, but he often sat on the Council with
Kerowyn.

"Elspeth's knife?"  the man repeated, scowling ferociously.

"Demons take it, I knew that thing was going to come back to haunt
us!"

Karal started to shiver, when he happened to look down to see just what
painting he had snatched up as an impromptu shield.

Ulrich's warm, amused eyes gazed up at him; he froze for a moment, then
burst into tears.

Karal at the Iftel Border Are you sure that you're ready for this?:
Altra asked anxiously.  :

This is going to be very dangerous for you.:

Karal shrugged, and shook his head.

"Actually, I'm quite sure that I'm not at all ready for a confrontation
like this," he admitted to the Firecat.

"But we just don't have a choice.  An'desha needs help; besides being
afraid of allowing his emotions free play, he's locking down his anger
because he is certain that if he lets it go, he'll use his powers to
hurt whoever he's angry at.  The problem with doing that is that it
just makes things harder for him the next time he's angry."  Karal
rubbed the side of his nose thoughtfully.  " He has to discover that
'control' doesn't always mean 'containment."  He's got to see that the
simplest solution isn't always the right one."

The Firecat washed a paw thoughtfully.

"I saw how he was when they told him how near you'd come to being
killed-both times,: he said.

"Terrible anger-then nothing.  He just turned it all inside himself.:

"Terrible anger is dangerous when you are--or were-an Adept who
specialized in destruction," Karal said grimly.

"Someone has to prove to him that he can lose his temper and his
self-control, vent his emotions, and not hurt anyone in the process.
Then he'll feel safe enough to go after those very emotional memories
of Adept Ma'ar and learn all the destructive magic that Ma'ar knew.
Firesong thinks the Ma'ar memories are important; I know that they have
to be the key to this situation.  I can't tell you why I'm so certain,
I only know that I am."

Hurry, hurry, hurry.  That sense of terrible urgency made him as tight
as a strung crossbow.  The sense that time was running out on them was
stronger than ever.

"But are you the best person to do that?: Altra asked, with complete
logic.

"Shouldn't it be someone who's also a mage, who can defend against his
attack if he should lash out?  He can turn you into a cinder, and you
haven't got any kind of protection.: The Firecat looked up at him with
large, bottomless blue eyes, full of candor and concern.

"I'm not completely certain even I could protect you against his full
power, in a killing rage.:

Karal sighed.

"That's why it has to be me.  It has to be someone so completely
vulnerable that An'desha knows that person is defenseless.  It has to
be someone who knows An'desha well enough to make him rage with anger
in a very short time.  Firesong won't do; Firesong could hold his own
against any attack An'desha could launch, and what would that prove?
And it has to be done, because if it isn't, I think he'll be
incinerated.  Talia and Firesong both agree with me.  If he keeps
turning his anger inward, one day his power will turn inward as well,
and it will consume him."  And besides,: Altra added, he's your
friend.:

"That's right," Karal agreed.

"He's my friend.  Friends help friends.  We're both strangers in this
Valdemar place.  Sometimes friends are all we have."

- He didn't have to mention all the nights this past week that An'desha
had held him while he wept out his grief for Ulrich; Altra knew all
about that, since he'd been there.  He didn't say a word about the
thousand little kindnesses that An'desha had shown him since-and the
way he had gently deflected Firesong's resulting jealousy.  None of
that really mattered anyway.  What did matter was that An'desha needed
help, and it was help that Karal could give him.

In the larger picture, if he didn't help An'desha, they might never
have their "breakwaters" to use against the disruption waves

The latest one had caught at least one large animal that Karal knew of,
turning it into a monstrous killer that had savaged an entire herd of
cattle before twenty men shot it full of arrows.  Word had trickled
back that the Tayledras Vales were suffering damage to their special
shielding.  According to Master Levy, the engineers and mathematicians
had constructed a pattern of increasing power to these waves.  Natoli
had explained it to him, and he had felt the jaws of time closing on
them.  Something had to be done, and done quickly.

It had taken Karal the better part of the afternoon to work up the
courage to face this particular trial.  It had been relatively easy to
steel his nerve to face a possible enemy, but to have to face a friend
who just might kill him-that took a different kind of courage
altogether.

Now, though, he was as prepared as he was ever likely to be.  An'desha
was hiding down in the tent in the garden, already shaken by a
preparatory confrontation with Firesong, carefully planned and
choreographed by Karal and the Healing Adept beforehand.  The effects
of the last disruption-wave were over, which meant there would be no
interference from that quarter.  Now, if ever, was the perfect
moment.

As always, his eyes met the painted eyes of Ulrich in the portrait he'd
hung on his wall.  I hope I'm doing the right thing, Master, he told
the painting silently.  I'm not as sure of this as Altra and Firesong
think I am.

He really didn't expect an answer from the portrait, and he wasn't
surprised when he didn't get one.  He tugged his tunic into place, and
headed down the stairs into the garden.

An'desha had been getting alarmingly predictable in his reactions to
emotional confrontation; now that Karal had the fabric-draped room-for
Kerowyn did not want to risk another assassination attempt and ordered
him to stay in the ekele for the duration, or at least until Solaris
sent official word of what she intended to do-An'desha had no other
refuge than the small tent in the garden.  Whenever he was upset or had
an argument with anyone, that was where he went.

He had been spending a lot of time in that tent, and the number of
times in a given day he was retreating to it was increasing.

Karal nodded to Firesong, who was lurking just out of An'desha's
hearing.  Firesong's jaw tightened, and he nodded curtly back. Firesong
didn't like this any better than Altra did; he liked his part in it
even less.  He was going to have to create a very tough mirror-shield
around that tent to hold in whatever An'desha let loose.

If there're going to be any victims here, let's keep it to one.

The expendable one.  I am expendable.  I am stupid.  Here I go.

He pulled the tent flap aside and dropped down on his heels next to
An'desha, who was sprawled on his back with his arm over his face,
cushioned by a pallet identical to the one that Karal now used for a
bed upstairs.

"Down here again?"  Karal said incredulously.

"What's wrong this time?"

An'desha didn't even remove his arm.

"Firesong.  He does not understand.  He wishes me to sift through the
memory fragments of Ma'ar again."  An'desha's hands clenched into
fists, and his mouth tightened, sulkily.

"He will not understand.

Those memories are very old, and to read them I must grow very close to
them."

So?"  Karal let scorn creep into his voice.

"I think that Firesong is right, An'desha.  You aren't thinking of
anyone or anything but your own self.  You are, quite frankly, becoming
a spoiled brat.  We have been coddling you, making allowances for you,
and now you have no more spine than a mushroom!  " An'desha sat up,
suddenly, his mouth agape with shock, staring at Karal with a
dumbfounded expression.

"Wh-what?"  he stammered.

"You are spineless, An'desha," Karal accused.

"You know yourself that what we need lies in your mind, and you are too
frightened to even try to look for it!"  He let his own expression grow
pitiful and petulant, and pitched his voice into a whine.  "

"Those memories are dangerous, they might hurt me, I am afraid of
them-' as if we all aren't afraid of much worse than a few paltry
memories!"

"But I-" An'desha began, his eyes glazed with shock at the way Karal
had abruptly turned on him.

"But you.  Always you.  What about the rest of us?"  Karal asked.

"What about all that we have been doing?  What about the losses, the
harm that we have suffered, while you have been curled here in your
little cocoon of self-pity, feeling, oh, so put-upon?  What about the
Tayledras, who are trying to piece their Vales together again, the
Shin'a'in who fear their herds of precious horses will turn into herds
of monsters-what about the Shin'a'in ambassador who died a few days
ago?  What about them?  What about Karse?  And Rethwellan?  " An'desha
was on his feet now as he tried to push past Karal.

Karal shoved him back rudely, not letting him leave the tent, and
evidently it never occurred to him that he could just turn and slash
his way through the walls to get away.  An'desha backed up a pace, and
Karal shoved him again, getting right up close and shouting into his
face.

"You are a spineless, lazy, selfish coward, An'desha," he spat.

"You've been playing the poor little wounded bird for too long!  I have
had quite enough of this, and so has everyone else!  It is about time
you started doing something to help, instead of whining about how
afraid you are!  We're all afraid, or hadn't you noticed?  I was
afraid, when Celandine nearly killed me, but you didn't see me whining
about it, did you?

You don't hear Firesong whining about how exhausted he is, even though
he is working on shields until he is gray in the face!  " An'desha's
face had flushed to a full, rich crimson.

But he wasn't angry enough yet, and Karal kept right at him.

"You don't hear Darkwind whining about how put-upon he is, even though
his shoulder still isn't healed and he is working night and day with
the other mages!  It's time to stop whining and start doing something,
An'desha-or go find someone else to whine at, because we are all tired
of you!"

An'desha's face was contorted out of all recognition, but Karal
continued the verbal abuse, continuing to attack him for being
cowardly, selfish, and spoiled.

An'desha's hands were clenched at his sides, and he stood as rigidly as
a tent pole and there were colors swirling around those clenched fists;
brilliant scar lets and explosive yellows, mage energies that, if they
were visible to him, were probably quite potent enough to flatten an
entire building.

He'd seen Ulrich strike down something by magic once, and the powers
gathering around An'desha's hands right now were twice, perhaps three
times as bright.

He wanted to run.  Every nerve in his body screamed at him to turn and
flee.  Every hair on his head felt as if it was standing straight on
end from the power in this little space.

But instead of fleeing, he did the hardest thing he'd ever done in his
life; harder than facing Celandine, harder than coming to this strange
land in the first place.

He stepped back a pace, spread his hands, and sneered.

"Well?"  he taunted.

"I'm right, aren't I?  I'm right, and you're too spineless even to
admit it!"

And he waited for An'desha to strike, still holding that merciless
sneer on his face.

The air hummed with power; he'd read of such things, but he'd never
experienced it.  Now every hair on his head did stand straight on
end-And An'desha's control finally exploded.

"Damn you!"  An'desha screamed.

"Damn you.  I'll There was a flash of orange and white, and the energy
dissipated, draining away into the ground so quickly that in one breath
it was completely gone.

An'desha collapsed down onto his pallet, folding up as if he was
completely exhausted, his face pale and pained.

"Damn you," he repeated dully, as Karal dropped down to his side in
concern and a fear that he'd managed somehow to make An'desha burn
himself out.

"Damn you, Priest, you're right."

He looked up, as Karal tentatively touched his shoulder, eyes bleak.

"You've been coddling me, and I've been unforgivably selfish."

d, which obviously astonished him, for An'desha "I'm right twice," he
pointed out.

"I told you ---qtimating yourself, believing that be Falconsbane or a
Maar, ght that if you 'lost conntrol of everything.  Well.

idn't you?  You were afraid nne our old memories, because ngry with
someone, you'd ar re you are, after doing no there I am, un singed
unflatsent me through a wall, or tihere, back in control again,

An'desha stared at him.

"You mean-all that was just to prove to me that-" He reddened again.

"Why, I should-I-" Karal raised an eyebrow at him.

"And?"  he said impudently.  " Why don't you, Adept?"

"Because you aren't worth the effort it would take to blow you through
the wall, Priest," An'desha retorted, a ghost of a smile lurking around
his eyes.

"And because it's not worth taking on your vengeful god as an enemy
just so I can get some satisfaction!  Damn you!  Why do you have to be
so right~ "It's not my fault!"  Karal protested.

"I can't help it"' "Pah!  " The young mage mock-hit his shoulder.

"You revel in it, and you damn well know you do!  One of these days
you'll be wrong, and I'll be there to gloat!  " The ghost of a smile
had become a grin.

"Just wait and see!"

"I'll be looking forward to it," Karal replied, and he meant every
word.  A moment later, Firesong looked in on them both, with a small
but loving smile on his handsome face.

After all that, though, he felt an obligation to be there along with
Firesong when An'desha worked up his own courage and took the plunge
into those old, dangerous memories.  It became something of a vigil for
the two of them; An'desha lay in a self-imposed trance, looking much
like a figure on a tomb, while the two of them watched, waited, and
wondered if they might have been wrong in urging him to this.  Firesong
hadn't expected it to take more than a mark or two, but the afternoon
crawled by, then most of the evening, and still the trance showed no
signs of ending.

"Is this getting dangerous?"  Karal asked in a whisper, as Firesong
soberly lit mage-lights and returned to his seat beside An'desha's
pallet.

"No---or not yet, anyway," the Adept replied, although he sounded
uncertain to Karal.

"I have been in trances longer;

for two or three days, even."

But those were not trances in which you pursued the memories of
power-hungry sadists, Karal added, but only to himself.

Still, nothing had gone overtly wrong yet.  There was no point in
conjuring trouble.

He wished that Altra was here, though.  The Firecat had waited just
long enough to be sure that he had survived An'desha's anger, then had
vanished without an explanation.

He could have used Altra's view on this; if Solaris' behavior was
anything to go by, a former Son of the Sun should be much more familiar
with trances and their effects than he was.

A hint of movement riveted his attention back on An'desha.

Had his eyelids moved?  If the lights had been candles, he would have
put it down to the flickering shadows, but magelights were as steady as
sunlight.  Yes!  There it was again, the barest flutter of eyelids as
the sleeper slowly, gently awakened.

A moment later, and An'desha opened his eyes and blinked in temporary
confusion; Firesong poured the tea that had been steeping all this
while, and helped him to sit up, then offered him the cup.  An'desha
took it, his hands shaking only slightly, and drank it down in a single
swallow.

"How late is it?"  he asked, as he gave the cup back to Karal, who
poured more tea for him.

"Evening.  Not quite midnight," Firesong told him.

An'desha nodded.  Karal watched him covertly, and was relieved to see
nothing in his expression or manner that was not entirely in keeping
with the An'desha that he knew.

"I

discovered that we have been laboring under a misconception," he said,
finally.

"Before Ma'ar died, there was a time when he had to deal with the kind
of situation we have now, although the initial destruction was of a
single Gate and the spells of the area around it, and nowhere near so
cataclysmic as what came later."

Firesong nodded with excitement in his eyes, and Karal leaned
forward.

"So what did he do?"

An'desha sipped his tea before replying.

"It isn't so much what he did, as what his enemy did," he said.

"He wasn't concerned with the effect of the waves outside his domain,
so he simply built the sort of shield that I think we've been assuming
we'd need all along."  An'desha shook his head.

"That would be a dreadful mistake," he continued.

"A shield wall alone would simply reflect the waves again, and the
reflected waves have the potential for causing more harm than the
original waves!  " Karal sat back for a moment, and pictured the
physical model that the engineers had constructed, a large basin filled
with water, the bottom covered with a contour map of Valdemar and most
of the surrounding area.  He thought about the experiments that Master
Levy had been making, dropping large stones into the basin over
"Evendim" and "Dhorisha

Plains" and watching the wave-patterns, seeing how those patterns
interacted.

And when the waves reached the edge of the basin, the experiment was
over, because they reflected from the edge and made new and different
patterns that had nothing to do with the ones he was studying.

"I see it," he replied, "but-" "But it was what Ma'ar's enemy did that
was interesting-and more importantly, appropriate," An'desha
interrupted.

"Instead of making a flat shield wall he literally created a
breakwater, exactly what Master Norten has been talking about;
something that not only stops the waves, but absorbs their force. 
Ma'ar studied it and knew how to recreate it, but he considered it a
waste of his time and resources."  He paused.

"Because he knew how to recreate this, so do I. What's more, I also
know how to recreate his shield wall  If we combined both-we can absorb
the waves coming at us, and we can reflect the rest back at the
Empire!"

Firesong sucked in his breath, and Karal sat back on his heels.

"I don't know if we ought to do that, " Karal said at last, troubled by
the implications.

"Does the Empire deserve that?  " Firesong shot him an incredulous
look.

"You say that after what they've done to you?"  he exclaimed.

But Karal shook his head.

"They didn't do anything.  There are two, perhaps three people who are
responsible; Celandine, who got what he deserved, this Grand Duke
Tremane, whoever he is, and possibly the Emperor.  They, the whole of
the Empire, is very large, and composed mostly of people who aren't
even aware of the existence of Karse."  He sighed.

"Firesong, don't make the mistake that we of Karse did for so long with
Valdemar.  Don't make the Empire into a vast conspiracy of faceless
enemies who are all personally responsible for what the leaders do and
do not do.  There are thousands of perfectly innocent people in the
Empire, who do not deserve to have their chickens turn into
child-eating monsters just because a few ruthless people caused us
harm."

Firesong shrugged, but Karal could tell by the troubled look in his
eyes that he had listened to what Karal had said.

"And don't make another mistake," he continued.

"Don't assume that because a leader ordered something be done, that he
had any idea what the consequences were going to be.  Unless you have
someone like a Herald or Solaris, who has a-" he grinned wanly, for he
sensed Altra padding in the door just at that moment, "-a rather
insistent and altogether meddling four-legged conscience always at his
side, leaders are just people, and they frequently forget to think
before they act."

"Indeed,: Altra said sardonically.  A very nice speech.  Meddling, am

I?

He only reached out and scratched Altra's ears, a caress that the
Firecat "submitted to" quite readily.

"That's all very well, but we still need to do something about the next
wave coming in, don't we?"  An'desha replied pragmatically.

"Once I can think properly again, we need to get all the mages
together.  I can explain this once, and get the questions over with."

"Should I bring over Master Levy and Master Norten as well?"  Karal
asked, assuming that it would be his task to find everyone and notify
them that their presence was needed.

An'desha considered that for a moment.

"I believe so," he said finally.

"They can find the key points where we can place our defenses to do the
most good; I think their formulas will be useful there."

Karal was struck, suddenly, by the fact that An'desha sounded different
somehow; it was nothing very obvious, and he wasn't saying things that
he wouldn't have said before, but it was the way he said them that had
changed.

He's-by the Sunlord, he sounds older, that's what it is!

He doesn't sound like a half-child anymore!  He sounds-yes, and he
acts-his true age!  Karal didn't say anything, but the change delighted
him; so far as he was concerned, this was all to the good.

"One wonders what Firesong is going to make of an independent
An'desha,: Altra remarked, as if to himself.  The same thought had
occurred to Karal, just as Altra made the comment.

Well, there was nothing to be done about it.  Firesong was just going
to have to cope.  Whether the Adept liked it or not,

Karal was certain that this change in An'desha was not going to be
temporary.  Firesong should be allowed a little time to recognize it
and deal with it in private.

"Or not,: said Altra.  Karal aimed a sharp thought-jab at the Firecat;
once in a while it would be nice to have a private thought or two!

"I'll go tell the others that we'll have a meeting in the morning," he
said, getting to his feet.

"And I'll be back only when I find them all.  Don't bother to wait for
me."

He trotted off down the hall and down the stairs without giving either
of them a chance to reply.

But was it his imagination, or did he actually hear An'desha say "We
won't," and chuckle?

By the time the morning was half over, the Master Craftsmen had
narrowed down the "necessary" key points for the new shields from
several dozen to the absolute minimum.

There would be three major, essential points of blockage, and several
minor points.  The minor points could all be handled by sets of Master
Mages, and all of them were within a few days' ride of Valdemar.

"We have enough mages here, between Herald-Mages and the envoys, that
we can post people to each of those minor points," Elspeth said,
pursing her lips over her list of available personnel.

"This shouldn't be a problem."

"But here, here, and here-" An'desha pointed on the map to the three
major points-north, in the heart of the Forest of Sorrows-south, at the
border of Karse-and east, at the place where the borders of Iftel,
Hardorn, and Valdemar all met.

"These are problems.  The breakwaters are unstable in their first
stage; they actually require the energy from a wave to stabilize them
and make them self-supporting.  You will have to have either two Adepts
or one Adept and two Masters to create them, join them to the two
others, and hold them until the wave comes."  He studied the map, and
put his finger on the third point.

"This one will be the easiest, but the most vulnerable; it's like the
keystone of an arch.  It will need less power, and more craft.  And the
mages will have to be at the site in order to create the breakwater and
join it into a whole."

Elspeth grimaced.

"We only have four Adepts," she pointed" out gently.

"And we only have a few days to get them in place, before the next wave
comes."

An'desha took a long, deep breath.

"You have two Adepts, one Healing Adept-and me."

Firesong turned to stare at him, and it was as.  clear to Karal as the
color of his eyes that he had no idea what An'desha meant.

"You have a Sorcerer-Adept," An'desha elaborated.

"A creator.

The kind of mage who actually made living beings.  All of Maar's
knowledge is mine, now.  I know how to build these breakwaters because
in a sense, I've done it before.  I can work with two Masters; you
don't have to pair me with Firesong.

Firesong paled but said nothing.

Elspeth's mouth formed a silent "oh," but she wisely bent her head over
her list.

"Right, then-let's think about how we get the Adepts in place."  She
bit at the end of her quill, and looked at the map.

"For obvious reasons, at least to some of you," she said, finally, "I
think that Firesong and I should go north.  We can Gate there-" "We'll
probably have help," Firesong muttered.  Elspeth's mouth quirked,
although Karal had no idea what he meant;

evidently this was a private joke.

"Hydona and I arrre Masssterrrsss," Treyvan said.

"Darrrkwind can Gate parrrt of the way, then we can carrry Darrrkwind
in the basssket.  We have done ssso beforrre."  He cocked his head at
Hydona.  " Ssso, sssouth orrr eassst forrr usss?

"You will go south.:

Everyone's head came up at the imperious mind-voice.  Altra jumped into
the center of the group, landing right on top of the location of the
eastward key-point.  The Firecat posed like a statue, holding a folded
and sealed parchment packet in his mouth; with the exception of
An'desha and Firesong, the rest of the group gasped, and Karal guessed
that they were finally seeing the Firecat as he really was, and not in
the guise of a household pet.  You and the gryphons will go south.
Darkwind.: Altra repeated.

"For reasons I am not permitted to reveal at this time, Karal and I
will accompany An'desha to the east.:

"Karal and you?"  Elspeth said incredulously.

"But he's not even a mage!  He's not even an envoy!"

"He is an envoy now: Altra dropped the parchment packet on the table.

"Solaris has decided.  Karal will replace Ulrich.

He is a full Sun-priest now, and a channel for magic as Ulrich
recognized when he was a child.  I am a mage.  Karal, one Companion,
and I will accompany An'desha.: Altra stared her down, and she finally
dropped her gaze.

"So that's how all those miraculous documents of Ulrich's were getting
here!"  Prince Daren exclaimed.

Altra favored him with a faintly approving look but said nothing.

"Wait a moment.  You said one Companion," Elspeth objected.  " Who is
the Herald?"

"There is no Herald.  Florian is un partnered  He, too, is a mage and
will use Karal as his channel as well,: Altra shot back.  Although we
may not work magic as a human can, we are mages and can support as
Masters with Karal as our channel.:

Elspeth looked back up at him, her face showing nothing but
disbelief.

"This is impossible!"  she cried.

"You're breaking all the rules!"  And who made those rules?: he
countered, just as swiftly.

Karal cleared his throat.

"This is Altra," he interjected mildly.

"He is what we call a Firecat; and he is-something like an Avatar.  I
don't think any of you are aware that there were four of those Imperial
weapons targeted for Ulrich and myself.  Altra dealt with two and
deflected the third."

Everyone in this room had seen the swiftness and deadly power of the
weapons at firsthand; they stared at Altra with surprise and growing
respect.

"We of Karse generally consider it wise not to argue with a Firecat,"
Karal concluded as the silence grew.

"They are often acting on orders."

"As I am now,: Altra stated.

"There are reasons for what I have said.  Those reasons do not yet
concern you, and may never concern you.  The future is fluid and
subject to change.:

And you are being your most inscrutable and infuriating, Karal thought
hard at the Firecat.  Altra turned his head slightly in Karal's
direction, and dropped one eyelid in a quick, but unmistakable, wink.

Elspeth was clearly fuming.

"Look, you-Avatar or not, I won't be manipulated on some grand playing
board of-" She stopped in mid-sentence as Altra turned to face her
directly.

"I understand,: the Firecat told her with surprising gentleness.  :

Please believe me, Lady Elspeth.  What I have been ordered to tell you
is not meant to manipulate you all like so many game pieces-it is to
ensure that you have the opportunity to exercise your free will.: He
sighed, and somehow conveyed the impression of a burden of terrible
grief.

"The future holds the secrets, not I, Solaris, or even Vkandis.  Ulrich
should have been here.  He was an Adept, although he seldom made that
known.  It would have been he who accompanied the gryphons in the east,
Elspeth and Darkwind together in the south, and An'desha would have
gone north with Firesong.  This is not optimal,.  now Florian and I
must serve as the suppliers of power-you have not enough Master Mages
to cover all the minor points and send two with An'desha.  Besides,
there is another consideration.  Karal is the most acceptable
substitute for a-a guardian-that must be placated by a presence it will
understand.  The guardian is not intelligent, but it will recognize
Karal.  I am not yet permitted to tell you why.  Be assured that when I
can, I will-although-:

His ears twitched.  :-I have the feeling that by that time, you will
have deduced the reason for yourself.:

"Guardian," Elspeth muttered to herself, and her eyes dropped to the
Firecat's hindquarters-or rather, where those hindquarters were set.

"Bright Havens!"  she exclaimed.

"Iftel!"

The Firecat bowed his head to her.

"Precisely.  Check Master Levy's calculations.  You will find that the
middle key point stands at the exact joining of the three countries.

Because of the mages who are available at this moment, this key-point
requires a certain diplomacy where that guardian is concerned.  You
will be working Great Magics that will become one with the border of
Iftel, after all; the guardian must be reassured that this will cause
no harm.  Originally, this would have required two Adepts, or Ulrich
and the gryphons.

Now it requires a balance of four workers.  Two will stand in and for
Valdemar-:

"That will be Florian, obviously," Elspeth stated.

"The other would be An'desha?  " "Yes-and two will stand in and for
Iftel.  That must be Karal and myself.  The Vkandis Priest-mages still
in your land would not be recognized by the guardian as legitimate;
although they are good men, and women, they are mages first and Priests
only as an afterthought.  Talia-: the cat paused.

"If Karal were not here, Talia might possibly be an acceptable
substitute, but I am not willing to risk the chance of failure.  It
must be Karal; he is the only one besides myself available that the
guardian will allow to pass the border.

And since he is not a mage, but is a channel, he can support An'desha
with help from myself and Florian.:

"This is beginning to sound like a religious ritual," Prince Daren
said, finally, with a chuckle.  The chuckle died when Altra turned
those fiery blue eyes on him.

"You are not entirely wrong,: Altra replied.

"The circumstances are extraordinary.  If Karal had died along with
Ulrich-:

he paused again :-it is possible that Solaris herself would have been
with you at this moment, at whatever cost.

The situation is that grave.:

"oh, no."  Elspeth said hastily.

"No, no, no!  Talia has told me quite enough about Solaris, and I don't
even want to think about that possibility!"

Altra actually shrugged, although a cat's body was not particularly
suited to that gesture.

"Think on this, then.  It is also true that if you had been able to
learn the magics for the breakwater-shield wall before this last wave,
the key-point would have involved only the borders of Valdemar and
Hardorn.  If you wait until this wave is passed, however, the next will
involve only the borders of Valdemar and Iftel.  You will still need
Karal, which means you would still need me and Florian.: He shrugged
again.

"This is simply the way that things fell out.  There is no Great
Destiny involved, if that comforts you any.:

"Great Destinies generally involve great funerals," Elspeth muttered,
as if she was quoting someone.  Both gryphons -laughed.

"All right; I can accept all this, then.  Thank you for taking the time
to explain."

"Well,: Altra replied, standing up again and walking carefully to the
edge of the table.

"Your dislike of manipulation is well-established.  Infamous, even. Had
I not explained, you might well have found some way to subvert my
orders entirely.

In this case, that would have been a disaster for all concerned.:

"I guess he does know you," Prince Daren whispered roguishly to his
stepchild.  Elspeth blushed.

"Cats," Elspeth muttered.

"They always know.  Why don't we get back to the business at hand,
then?"  she added hastily " I don't care what that cat is, or what it
says it is!"  Firesong said waspishly.

"I do not like the idea of you holding the middle key-point all by
yourself!"

An'desha suppressed the response that had been second nature to him; to
give in to Firesong and defer to his judgment.

We can't afford that now, he thought, chillingly aware of how little
time they did have.  As blithely as Altra had spoken of "waiting until
the next wave," he and Master Levy both knew that would be a very bad
idea.  The wave that was approaching would have intersection-points in
several populated areas.

He knew, as no one else did, what that would do to the humans in those
areas-and not all of those populations were in places that could be
warned in time.

"I don't like it either, kc'chara," he said instead, very quietly.  "
To tell you the truth, I'm terrified.  I'd much rather it was you
beside me; Karal has never served as a channel before, and no matter
how well Altra prepares him for it, this will still be an entirely new
experience for him.  What's more, I don't like the idea of you being at
the most volatile of the key-points!  Elspeth may be an Adept, but she
is very young in her power, and I had much rather that you had someone
experienced beside you."

"You aren't experienced-" Firesong began, then coughed sardonically.

"Of course.  You have all that secondhand experience to draw on,
correct?"

He had not been distracted by An'desha's own, very real, concern for
him.  Ah, well, I tried, An'desha thought.

"You were the one who rightly insisted that I learn to use those
memories," he began.

Firesong interrupted him.  "oh, well, throw my own words in my face!"
he replied angrily.

"And what next?  I suppose now that you have all this experience at
your behest, I am no longer interesting to you!  Shall I expect to find
myself left by the wayside, with the rest of the unwanted discards?"

There was more in the same vein, and it was a very good thing that
Karal and Talia had seen the signs of this turnabout in Firesong and
had warned An'desha.  This would have been very hurtful, had An'desha
not understood what was behind it all.

Firesong, possibly for the first time in his life, was jealous and
afraid-afraid that An'desha would simply walk off and leave him behind.
He could, now.  He was no longer frightened and dependent.  Firesong
had never been in the position of the courter, rather than the courted,
and he had no idea how to deal with it.

Firesong was also afraid for An'desha; the substitution of two mages
and a channel for a real Adept was dangerous enough to make An'desha's
hair stand on end when he stopped to think about it.  Only his faith in
Karal allowed him to even consider it.

Karal will allow himself to be burned out before he breaks, he thought,
as he let Firesong continue to rant.  He has changed, too.

He knew what Firesong's conscious intention was-to make him so
emotionally wrought up that he would give in, and let Firesong find
some other solution to the situation.

There was only one problem with that idea.  An'desha had spent too much
time with Karal.  I suppose a sense of responsibility must be
contagious, he thought, a bit wryly.

"Aren't you even listening to me?"  Firesong cried desperately.  "
Don't you care what I'm saying, what I'm going through?"

"Yes," he replied, reaching out to catch Firesong's hands in his own.

"But more importantly, I have listened to everything you didn't say,
but meant.  You are afraid for me, and you think I am in great danger.
You are afraid I will leave you, that I no longer care for you.  You
are right in the first instance, and completely, absolutely, utterly
wrong in the second."

Firesong's hands tightened on his; Firesong's silvery eyes begged for
something he could hold in his heart.

"I am in danger; all of us are in danger.  If we do nothing, your
people, mine, and all these friends in this adopted land of ours will
suffer, and maybe die."  His eyes, he hoped, told Firesong that this
was wholly the truth, nothing held back.

"If we try to change this plan-" He sighed.

"I must tell you that I do not know what difference the changes will
make.  Altra swears that this is the optimal use of our powers, and
that anything less will not guarantee success.  With all of my
so-called 'experience," I cannot tell you if he is right or wrong, but
I am willing to trust him."

Firesong nodded, reluctantly.

"I will not leave you."  He said that with such force that Firesong
winced.

"I am not tired of you, nor bored with you" nor do I find you less than
my equal."  He allowed a hint of a smile to flick across his lips.

"I do find you my superior in more than you know."  Now he tightened
his hands on Firesong's.

"I have never said this in so many words, ashke, and I believe it is
time that you heard it."

And take this with you, to hold in your heart.

"I love you."  He said it softly, simply, and with all the conviction
in his body, mind, and soul, and not entirely sure that even this would
satisfy him.

But the truth is often enough in itself.  So it was, now.

They made an odd little group; Altra beside Florian, An'desha in his
Tayledras finery beside Karal in his sober black, holding the reins of
Trenor.  An'desha would have to ride Florian as soon as they got
through the Gate; he wouldn't be fit to sit on an ordinary horse
afterward.  They would need to ride for about two days to get from the
place An'desha knew-where he and all the others had crossed into
Valdemar from Hardorn, fleeing the destruction of the capital-to the
place where all three borders met.  All three groups would have to,~
travel about two days to get to their ultimate destinations, once they
Gated as far as they could.  And for the first day, whichever mage had
created the Gate would be altogether useless for much of anything.

Firesong and Elspeth had gone first, then Darkwind and the gryphons.
Now it was An'desha's turn.

He turned to Karal, as if to say something, then turned back to the
stone archway in the weapons-training sane they would all use as their
Gate-terminus.

Karal had heard of Gates, but he had never seen one.  And after a few
moments of watching An'desha build his, he never wanted to see one
again.

It wasn't that the Gate itself was so terrible to look at; it was
actually rather pretty, except for the yawning Void in the archway
where the view of Kerowyn's office should have been.  No, it was
because Karal sensed that the Gate had been spun out of An'desha's own
spirit; An'desha was a pale shadow of himself, as this Gate fed upon
him, a lovely parasite draining his very essence.  It was quite
horrible, and Karal wondered how anyone could bear to create something
like this.

Suddenly, the gaping darkness beneath the arch became the view of a
forest-a place where the forest had taken over the ruins of a farm.

"Go!"  An'desha said, in a strangled voice.  Altra bolted through.
Karal set Trenor toward the Gate; Trenor fought the bit.  The gelding
did not want to go in there!  ' Karal started to dismount, then looked
back at An'desha and saw the terrible strain holding this Gate was
costing him.

With a silent apology, he wrenched Trenor's head around and dug his
heels into the gelding's sides.

Although he wasn't wearing spurs, the startled horse acted as if he
was; Trenor neighed frantically and bolted through the Gate.

It felt as if the ground dropped out from underneath them.

For no longer than it took to blink, Karal's body swore to him that he
was falling; for that long, his senses swore to him that the entire
universe had vanished and he was blind, deaf, and frozen.

Then they were through, and Karal spun Trenor around on his heels as
soon as they had cleared the immediate area.  He saw that this side of
the Gate was the remains of a ruined stone barn, with only the frame of
the door and part of a wall still standing and a view of the sane where
only weeds and tumbled stones should have been.  A moment later,
Florian and An'desha came barreling through, and the scene of the sane
vanished behind them.

An'desha swayed in the saddle; someone had thoughtfully strapped him in
so that he wouldn't fall.  He clutched the pommel with both hands,
leaving the reins slack on Florian's neck; his face was
alabaster-white, and his eyes were closed.

He opened them slowly as Karal rode Trenor up beside him.

"I never want to Gate anywhere ever again," Karal said, putting such
intensity into every word that An'desha sat up straight in surprise.

"I never want to put you through something like that again!"

"It won't be so bad, next time," An'desha replied weakly.

"I promise you.  Next time, we will make the journey in several smaller
portions, over several days."

" There won't be a next time, if we don't," Karal replied acidly.  He
looked down.

"Florian, is he fit to ride?"

"Even if he weren't, I am fit to carry him.  That is why he is bound to
the saddle,: came the reply.

"We have no choice.

Time is speeding.:

"So we had better speed ourselves."  He reined Trenor back and
gestured.  Florian knew the way without a map; he was the best guide
they could have had.

"If you would lead?"

He steadied Trenor, and Altra leapt up to the padded plat'c a
pillion-saddle would have been.  Rris had sworn --lisin Warrl" often
used such a contraption

,jarrior Tarma shena Tale'sedrin, he best speed possible, Altra 't seem
to mind too much, alittle the first time Altra had as on ari eieper
woods, and if he was folI

about I that Karal could read.

he and 0' ds man am I?

A~; j Hardorn, fi Vt rail there, though, since Florian where all
thPan/d rank weeds with no real problem.

He was making good time, too; not quite a canter, but certainly a fast
walk.

Poor Trenor.  Two days of this is going to wear him out.

But there was no choice; every mark that passed was a mark that brought
the next wave nearer-and Natoli had confided to him that there were
several small villages lying where interference-points would fall.  The
ones in Valdemar had been evacuated, of course-but there could be no
such guarantees of the villages elsewhere.

They had to stop this wave.  They had to be in place in time.

When we have done all we can, then it is time to add prayer to the
rest.  That was one of Master Ulrich's favorite proverbs.  Well, they
had done all they could; Karal shut his eyes, trusted to Trenor to
follow Florian, and sent up fervent prayers.

Whenever Karal sensed that Trenor was tiring, they stopped for a brief
rest, water, and food; other than those stops, they rode right on
through the night and on into the next day.  This country was all
former farmland, now gone to weeds and desolation;

Karal didn't really want to ask why it had been left like this.  He had
an idea that the answer would involve the war with Hardorn, and the
little he had learned about Ancar from An'desha did not make him eager
to hear more.

Hurry, hurry, hurry.  There isn't much time.

The countryside was desolate in other ways, too; there didn't seem to
be a lot of wildlife.  Birds were few, and mostly oddly silent.
Although it was late fall and frost soon crusted every dried, dead leaf
and twig, there should have been night sounds; owls, the bark of a fox,
or the bay of a wolf.  The only sounds were the noises they themselves
made, and that very silence was more than enough to put up the hair on
Karal's neck.  An'desha slept in the saddle, as he had since they left
the area of the Gate; Altra was not disposed to conversation, and
Florian had his mind on finding their way.  That left him with nothing
to do but half-doze, worry, and try another prayer or two.

When dawn came, it brought a thin gray light to the gray landscape, and
matters did not improve much.  Trenor was tiring sooner, now, and it
hurt Karal to force him on, but he knew there was no choice.  They only
had until two marks after dawn tomorrow to get into place.

But not long after the sun rose, An'desha actually shook himself awake,
and looked around.

"I remember this," he said quietly.

"This was land that Ancar held briefly, and he drained it while he held
it.  It has made a remarkable recovery."

"This?"  Karal replied incredulously.

"Recovered?"

"You did not see it before the Adept told him grimly, turning in the
saddle to face him.

"Nothing would grow;

nothing.  By next year this may be back to the kind of land it once
was."  His eyes were shadowed by other memories than of this place, and
finally he voiced one of them.

"Maar made places as desolate as this.  The truly terrible thing is
that he thought he was doing right in creating them."

"Because in creating them he served some kind of purpose?"

Karal hazarded.

An'desha nodded.

"He served his own people very well; he made them into a great and
powerful nation.  The only problem is that in doing so, he turned other
nations into stretches of desolation that are still scarred by his wars
today.  For him, nothing mattered except himself and his own people-who
were extensions of himself.  He did horrible things in the name of
patriotism, and thought that he was in the right.  I do not like Ma'ar,
but I understand him.  Perhaps I understand him too well."

Karal heard the self-doubt creep into An'desha's voice again, and
answered it.

"Understanding is the essence of not making the same mistakes,
An'desha," he replied.

"I rather doubt that Ma'ar ever understood himself, for instance."

An'desha actually laughed.

"Well, now that is true enough," he said cheerfully.

"So, once again you unseat my problems before they can dig spurs into
me.  How far to the key-point?  " "Most of the day, if we are not
delayed,: Florian replied just as they topped a hill to find themselves
staring down at a gorge many hundreds of hands below.  The gorge held a
river-a river so full of white water rapids that it would be insane to
try and cross it.

"This should not be here!: Florian exclaimed.

They all stared down at the river below, all but Trenor, who took the
occasion to snatch a few mouthfuls of dried weeds.  And here, right on
schedule, is our delay,: Altra said finally.

" Not necessarily," Karal pointed out quickly.

"There may be a bridge.  Do we go upstream or down to try and find
it?"

"Upstream, I think," An'desha said, after a moment of consideration.  "
It takes us nearer the Iftel side that way."

In the end, they did find a bridge-a narrow, shaky affair of old logs
and rough planks.  Karal had to blindfold Trenor to get him across,
after Altra tried the footing by carefully padding over first.  But
that put them several marks behind schedule, and it was nearly dawn
before they finally reached their goal.

Karal had wondered just how they would know what side of the border was
the Iftel side, and what was the Valdemar side.  As the sun rose, he
had the answer to that question.

"What is that?"  he asked in awe, staring at the wall of rippling light
that lay along the top of the ridge, just above them.

He couldn't see the top of it, whatever it was; it wasn't air, unless
there was a way to solidify air and make it into a curtain of
refraction.  It wasn't water, although it moved and rippled like water
with a breeze playing over it, and Karal was just able to make out
large masses of green and gray-brown on the other side of it that could
be trees and bushes.

"That is the border,: Florian replied warily.

"It wasn't always like that.  Before the war with Ancar, it looked just
like the border between Valdemar and Rethwellan.  but once Ancar tried
to bring an army across it, that was what sprang up.

Anyone who tried to cross it was forced back.  Anyone who tried to
drive their way in with magic-died.  I've heard that there are some
very select traders who are allowed to come and go between here and
there, but they are a close-mouthed lot, and they won't talk about
anything that they've seen over there.:

"I thought they had an envoy at the Valdemar Court," An'desha
observed.

"They used to, a very long time ago.  Not anymore.: Florian let out his
breath in a sigh.

"It's tradition to keep their suite ready for them, but no one has come
to claim it in anyone's lifetime.:

Karal swallowed as he contemplated that shimmering wall of-of-Of power,
that's what it is.  Pure force.  And I'm supposed to walk across it!
And anyone who tried to cross it is dead!

What was more, he was supposed to walk across it right now There
couldn't be more than a mark to go until the next wave was upon them!

"Come on," he urged, as his hands shook.

"We have to get moving now.  We haven't got any time at all to spare!

To set an example, he urged poor, tired Trenor into a clumsy trot,
sending him down the valley, through the knee-high grass, and up the
ridge.  The wall just loomed larger and larger; it didn't change at all
except for the continuous rippling of the surface as he drew nearer to
it.  He sensed An'desha and Florian at his back, but the sheer power of
the wall drove them mostly out of his thoughts.

There wasn't time for finesse, for study, for anything other than what
he was already doing-running headlong into the thing, and hoping that
it didn't decide to kill him, too.

Fear held him rigid and made a metallic taste in his mouth.

He closed his eyes and shouted at Trenor to drive him the last few
spans remaining opened his eyes again, just as they actually reached
it, and passed into it Something seized and held him.

what

He could not move, not even to breathe.  He was surrounded by light,
yet could not see.  He could only wait, while whatever it was that held
him examined him, inside and out.

* * * Priest?  * * * *

Was he a Priest?  An'desha had named him "priest," but it had been in
jest.  Or had it?  Solaris had named him "priest," but he thought it
had merely been expedience.  What had he done to earn the name?

ah

Suddenly, it let him go.  He found himself still in Trenor's saddle,
looking at An'desha and Florian through a curtain of rippling light
that seemed thinner here than elsewhere.

"It is thinner.  That is so we can reach them,: Altra said, urgently.
:

It is coming, Karal, take your position.  Don't just stand there
thinking, move!:

He tumbled off Trenor's back and took the stance he'd been coached in,
bracing himself and holding both his arms out and up.

"Now Into the trance I taught you.:

Obediently, he spoke his keywords and fell into a light trance; not so
deep that he was unaware of everything around him, but too deep for him
to move on his own now.  He wasn't sure what was going to happen after
that; Altra and An'desha hadn't gone into it-A fraction of a heartbeat
later, he realized why they hadn't gone into it.  If they had, he'd
have been too terrified to go through with it all.

From Altra's side, a torrent of power poured into him; from Florian's,
another.  There was something in him that managed to join those two
streams of energy and actually hold them-even though from his point of
view, it was like the one time he'd foolishly mounted an unbroken
stallion.  He was not controlling the power; it was permitting
him-briefly-to hold it!

Then An'desha somehow reached out to him from across the border, and
the two streams of power that had been made one found their outlet.

Now An'desha did something with that energy that Karal could not see,
and could only sense, very dimly, as a blind man might sense a mighty
fortress being built beside him.  He arched his back and closed his
eyes to concentrate on holding the power steady; the longer the power
"permitted" him to hold it, the more control he actually had over it.

It was not easy, and he sensed something else.  If he slipped, it was
going to do terrible things to him, and if he survived the experience,
the likelihood that he would regret surviving was very high.

He no sooner had that unsettling revelation than the disruption wave
hit.

It was worse than all the others combined.

The ground heaved and buckled under him, as if this was the earthquake
that would end the world.  He went entirely blind, but not in the sense
of being immersed in total darkness.

Instead, there was nothing to see but color and light, swirls and
whirlwinds and cascades of color and light.  The light was something he
could hear; it roared and rushed in his ears.  The color had flavors;
iron, scorched stone, and copper.

Somewhere out there he knew that Florian and Altra were still pouring
energy into him; he felt it, hot and primal, deep inside him-and
An'desha needed that power.  So he held to it, even when the light
turned into a million serpents that threatened to crush him, even when
the colors tried to wash him away, right up until everything collapsed
and he was all alone in an unending darkness, and he knew he would
never, ever find his way out again that was when he faltered.

Fear overcame him; he felt the power slipping through his tenuous
grasp.

I can't take this!  he thought, gasping in panic.  I can't do this!
This was for someone like Ulrich, not me!  I can' tHis control slipped
a little more, and he flailed in confusion.

I don't even know what I am anymore.

His heart raced in panic, and he wanted Ulrich.  He wanted to be like
Ulrich.

Then from deep within him came a feeling of conviction, of
responsibility, too strong for even fear to shake.

I have to.  There's no one else.

He held the power, though it writhed and threatened to escape.

He ignored his confusion, fought his panic, and held.

Then, as suddenly as it began, it was over.  Abruptly, he found himself
back on the Valdemar side of the barrier, knee deep in dead grasses,
staring into An'desha's eyes from a distance of no more than an arm's
length.  How he had gotten there, he had no clue.

"The other breakwaters are up,: Florian said, his voice so faint with
exhaustion that it might have been nothing more than a whisper of
Karal's own thoughts.

"All three are joined.

The Iftel border is part of it all.  We did it, Karal.:

Karal sat down in the grass; Altra was already lying down beside him,
completely drained, one very flat Cat.

"We did, didn't we?"  he said, wonderingly.

Ah.: That was Altra.

"I believe that I will lie here for a while.  A month would be good.
Maybe two.  How do you manage with the limits of these bodies?:

"I manage very well, thank you," An'desha replied sharply.

"I had a taste of doing without one, remember?  Don't complain."

Karal decided that Altra's idea of lying flat was a good one.

He felt-he felt as if someone had filled him full of light, then
drained him; as if someone had turned him inside out, left him under
the desert sun for a while, then turned him right side out again.

"There is help coming,: Florian said..A Herald on circuit.

just rest now, until he comes.:

"We did it, he said again, wonderingly.

"We did.  The barriers will hold for now.  We have bought some
breathing space.:

Breathing space.  Time.  He blinked, and looked up at the blue sky.
Maybe a little rest.  All three sounded impossibly good.

Never mind that he was truly going to be the Karsite envoy now, a
position he didn't want, and wasn't sure how to fill.

And never mind that there was a young engineer back in Haven who made
him think very uncomfortable and yet delightful thoughts.

There was still the Imperial army out there-and no telling what they
would do.  Karal himself was now a potential major target for them. And
the cataclysmic mage-storm was yet to come.

But at the moment, it doesn't matter.  For now, they had time; and a
little time-and each other-could be all they needed.

