The Gandalara Cycle II

By Randall Garrett and Vicki Ann Heydron

Book 2 

The Well of Darkness

Preliminary Proceedings:
Input Session Four

—	Enter, please. I see it is time to continue the Recording. 

—Yes .

—You sigh. Are you not well?

—I'm fine, Recorder. But this part of the story is . . . unpleasant for me to remember. To hate someone so much isn't something I'm proud of.

—	Perhaps you judge yourself too harshly.

—Judge. You have told me, Recorder, that you only Record, that you do not judge. What of the All-Mind? Does it form judgments?

—That is a question I may answer in belief, but not in fact. —I'd like to know what you think. Please, it is important to me.

—Very well, then. I believe that the All-Mind, too, merely Records. Only those who seek its knowledge make judgments about what they read there. I also believe it is your purpose, in making this Record, that all who would learn of these events you recount see as clear a truth as possible.

—	That's true.

And do you think that such a seeker would find your hatred unprovoked?

—No. Thank you, Recorder. I believe I can continue now.

—Good. Then, to quickly sum up what has gone before, we return to a point outside Eddarta. You and Keeshah and Tarani have the Ra'ira, a blue gem which confers telepathic powers on one who is already mindgifted. You have brought it out of the city of rivers and slaves, and are taking it back to Raithskar, where it may be properly safeguarded. Now make your mind one with mine, as I have made mine one with the All-Mind . . .

WE BEGIN!

Chapter 1

I breathed a sigh of relief when the last farmland at the outskirts of Eddarta fell behind us.

It wasn't that I found the desert attractive—quite the opposite. Our hurried exit from the city hadn't allowed us time to bring provisions for the desert crossing, and Tarani and I could look forward to being slightly uncomfortable before we reached the nearest Refreshment House, where the Fa'aldu would provide us with food, water, and shelter.

Keeshah would have the worst of it, I was afraid. The big cat's body was even more efficient than ours at conserving water, but he was going to carry two people across nearly two hundred miles of hot, totally waterless desert. If I pushed him, we could make the trip in less than three days, but by the time we reached the Refreshment House at Iribos, he would be badly in need of food and rest.

The hardship ahead of us notwithstanding, being out of Eddarta was like no longer having a toothache. Now that we were safely out of Idomel's reach, I realized that I had felt oppressed and burdened during the time we had spent in Eddarta. The pressure to accomplish our purpose had contributed to that sensation, and my confused feelings for Tarani hadn't helped any. The city itself, however, had disturbed me—it had a character that was distinctly distasteful.

As Rikardon, I was a blending of the Gandalaran memories and abilities of a native with the perceptions and attitudes of a stranger. Ricardo, the stranger, viewed all Gandalaran things from the perspective of a twentieth-century American. Young Markasset, the native, hadn't known a whole lot about his own world. His strong points had been physical skills and emotion, not intellectual curiosity. He had been aware of the fact that slavery was practiced in Eddarta and had, in a general way, disapproved.

Eddarta, however, was all the way on the other side of Markasset's world from his home city of Raithskar, and both cities had been centuries developing their styles. Slavery in Eddarta, though regrettable to Markasset, had seemed as much a fact of life as the beneficial bureaucracy ruled by the Council of Raithskar.

Ricardo Carillo, had studied languages for most of his life. Inseparable from that study was an awareness of the history through which languages developed and changed. Ricardo had a healthy respect for every man's right to choice; he had invested a few years of his life, through military service in the U.S. Marines, in support of that ideal.

Eddarta didn't fit directly into any historical pattern I could identify from human history, but it had the unpleasant elements of several unappetizing periods.

Revenue from land or service didn't belong to the producer, but to his or her "landpatron"—a member of one of the seven ruling families. In feudal Europe, the rise of the guilds had helped break down the feudal system. Crafts hadn't been tied to the land, and a Guildsman had been able to take his art out of range of an ungrateful sponsor.

Travel wasn't all that easy in Gandalara, where everyone except Sharith (which meant nearly everybody) walked, and everywhere they walked was mostly desert. In Eddarta, craftsmen continued to be identified by their work location, just like food producers. A part of their revenue went to their landpatrons, and craftsmen could be called upon for special service with no payment. If a Lord wanted to throw a special party, the fresh fruit and a new set of bronze tableware were equally available to him on request from his landservants.

The Lords of Eddarta, while unlikable, were no dummies. They knew better than to ask of the people on whom they depended for their comfort to do certain kinds of work for them. Slaves were bought, conquered, or condemned to do those jobs.

Besides being useful as personal servants and heavy laborers, the slaves provided Eddarta with a lowest class, so that the landservants could think of themselves as farmers or craftsmen or merchants. While the slaves were totally under the control of the Lords, landservants had the illusion of freedom, though they seldom tried to leave Eddarta.

Their freedom was a political illusion much like the psychic ones Tarani could project. I'm sure that my sense of relief included a feeling of gratitude that we had never been truly a part of Eddarta, and so could truly escape the city.

At least I could.

I wasn't sure what Tarani was feeling, except that the heaviness of her body against my back told me of her weariness. She had managed to nap, now and again—a remarkable feat for one riding second place on a sha'um. I, at least, had the security of direct contact with Keeshah's furred back. Tarani's position, riding the cat's hips, her legs bent and tucked inside mine, was more precarious and less comfortable. That she had been able to sleep spoke eloquently Of how tired she was.

We had been traveling for several hours, and had a substantial head start on any possible pursuit from Eddarta. The moon had set; since little starlight could penetrate the continuous cloud cover, Keeshah was finding his route through scent, memory, and an innate sense of direction. He ran through an eerie silence, his breathing and the whisper of sand under his big paws the only sounds we heard. He seemed tireless.

*Stop, Keeshah,* I said to the sha'um, through the telepathic linkage we shared.

*No.* Keeshah's thought was abrupt, preoccupied; his body continued its pace without hesitation.

*What? Don't you want to rest?* I asked him.

*No.* Again that scary sense of distance, as if he were responding automatically to a routine question that didn't really require his attention.

I had been half asleep myself, dozing with my face pressed into soft fur. The strangeness of Keeshah's mood pulled me fully awake.

*Hey,* I said. *It's been a long night, Keeshah. You may be indestructible, but we're not. Let's stop and catch a few hours' sleep.*

*Don't want to,* he said, finally focusing his attention on me.

Something was still strange, and it was a minute or two before I could pinpoint what it was. Keeshah seemed to be speaking to me from only the surface of his mind. Our usual close contact, that occurred on a deeper level as shared thinking, rather than shared thought, was closed off, blocked.

*Is something wrong, Keeshah?* I asked him.

Hesitation, then: *No.*

He must be more tired than he wants to show me, I decided. He's hiding it because he's eager to get home.

Me, too, I sighed. Markasset loved Raithskar, but he hadn't seen much of the world. I haven't been everywhere in, Gandalara myself, but I've covered a large chunk of territory these past weeks, and I'm in a better position to appreciate Raithskar's beauty, cleanliness, and peacefulness.

I thought of what lay within the leather pouch that rode within the crook of my hip. After I deliver the Ra'ira to Thanasset—and take a week-long bath—I'm going to show Tarani the city. I know she'll love it as much as I do.

Thoughts of Tarani reminded me of what Keeshah's odd mood had distracted me from: the need to get some rest.

*Please stop, Keeshah, * I said.

He didn't answer me for a few seconds, and I found myself considering the astonishing possibility that the big cat might refine—something that hadn't happened since Markasset and Keeshah, both of them youngsters, had formed their unique bond.

Markasset may have thought that he gave Keeshah orders, but I'd never had that delusion. From the day I had awakened in Gandalara, I had been awed by the big cat, and delighted by our partnership. Keeshah had done some things that went against his own wishes, but out of friendship, not in obedience.

Keeshah was three times my size. His razor-sharp claws were as long as my own fingers.

Question, I thought. What does a sha'um do when the carnival comes to town?

Answer. Anything he wants.

I knew the sha'um would never hurt me, but a wave of apprehension swept through me. Keeshah had challenged an ordinary, sensible suggestion. In spite of what he had told me, I knew something was wrong—but not what. That troubled me more than anything else. After all our close sharing, I couldn't tell, automatically, what was troubling him.

Keeshah slowed down, solving at least one problem. *All right,* he said. *Rest. But go soon?*

It was less a question than an ultimatum. I checked my convenient Gandalaran "inner awareness" and realized that dawn was only a couple of hours away.

*As soon as it's light,* I promised. It was far less rest than Tarani or I needed, but I wasn't sure Keeshah would allow a longer delay. The uncertainty was awkward and unsettling.

Keeshah crouched down to let us step off his back. Tarani was still mostly asleep; I heard the raspy sound of shifting sand as she staggered a bit. As Keeshah moved away from us, I reached out to steady her, and she fell into my arms.

I felt a surge of protectiveness and tenderness as I held her. Protection she didn't need; we had been through too much together for me to underestimate her toughness. But the tenderness seemed to be welcome.

Tarani was taller than most Gandalaran women, her body slim and supple from years of dancing, a little thin now from the past several days of hurried travel. I stroked her headfur with my cheek. Her body tensed; she raised her head and brought her hand up to find my face in the darkness.

I pulled her more tightly against me as we kissed. I wasn't thinking of the night in Eddarta, or of the reasons I had turned away from her then. I wasn't remembering her association with Molik, or her engagement to Thymas. I wasn't even aware, consciously, of what Thymas had said just a few hours ago, right before he had left us: "She loves you."

I was just holding her, and it felt good. Then she moved in my arms, stepped away, tugged at my hand. It was too dark to see her face, but I had no trouble reading the invitation.

I had the same trouble accepting it as I'd faced in Eddarta.

Tarani was two women—but she didn't know that, and I couldn't bring myself to tell her.

Whatever force had snatched Ricardo Carillo's personality from the deck of a Mediterranean cruise ship had also brought Antonia Alderuccio, a sophisticated, worldly, and wealthy young woman with whom Ricardo had been talking. Antonia s personality had arrived in Gandalara four years, objective time, before I had awakened in Markasset's body.

More than the time factor was different. I had replaced a Gandalaran personality that had died only moments before my arrival. Tarani had been sixteen years old, and very much alive, when Antonia took up residence.

This was all deduction, based on what I knew of the disruption that had changed Tarani's life at age sixteen, and supported by one startling piece of evidence. In Eddarta, moved by passion, Tarani had spoken my human name, Ricardo.

She hadn't heard the difference from Rikardon, hadn't noticed the absence of a final consonant, characteristic of Gandalaran names for men. The realization had hit me in a shocking flash of intuition, destroying the mood between us.

Now, as then, I struggled with the conflict. Which woman attracted me, Tarani or Antonia? Could I risk telling Tarani the truth, when doing so would expose the lie which had lain between us since we met? Tarani, like the other few Gandalarans who knew I was no longer Markasset, believed that I was a "Visitor" from the ancient past of her own world, not an absolute stranger. I couldn't discuss Antonia without introducing her to Ricardo.

Entirely aside from how she would feel about me, however, my primary question was: how would she feel about Antonia, the alien personality which had detected the sexual value of Tarani's illusion skills, and had guided the virginal sixteen-year-old into a profitable, but life-marking liaison with a powerful roguelord? Tarani had been well taught by Volitar to despise any means by which one person controlled the life of another. I could only think that, if she knew about Antonia's presence and subtle influences, she would feel manipulated, degraded, and furious.

Rejecting Tarani without giving her any reason wasn't honest, or even nice—but .. .

"Keeshah's restless," I said, hanging back from her tugging. "We only have a few hours to sleep—

She stopped, and we stood silent for a moment, barely visible to one another, our hands touching in a carefully neutral manner. At last she asked: "Will it be like this all the way to Raithskar?"

I hesitated. "I don't know," I said.

She released my hand. "The answer, then, is yes," she said, impatience plain in her voice. "I do not know how it is that you can bear the continual pressure of this need, Rikardon, but I cannot. It must either be satisfied or set aside entirely. You have made that choice for us."

"I have no choice," I said lamely. "If I did . . ."

"Speak not of caring," she snapped, then her voice softened. "Not until this—restriction which I cannot understand has left us." An awkward silence followed. "Rest well," she said at last, and moved away from me.

The soft whisper of cloth against cloth helped me follow her movements as she settled herself in the sand and rocked back and forth to dig out a body-shaped groove. After once more fighting and controlling the impulse to join her, I pressed out my own sleeping area.

She was right; the choice was made. And I was no happier with it than she was.

I reached out to Keeshah for comfort, and found him still restless, the odd blockage still present. For the first time since I had arrived in Gandalara, I felt lonely.

Chapter 2

I woke up to a sense of panic. The cloud layer above us was luminous with the spreading waves of color that marked sunrise in Gandalara, and a sleek shadow wheeled overhead. Part of my mind recognized the shadow as Lonna, the large- winged bird who was Tarani's companion, while another part rejected it as the source of the panicky feeling. That disturbance came from inside, and it wasn't entirely my own.

*Keeshah!* I called. *What is it? What's the matter?*

I looked around for the sha'um and saw him, several yards away, looking tense and restless. His tawny fur rippled with color and muscle as he paced beneath the reddening sky.

It was an ordinary sight—usually the sha'um was ready to travel before I was, and his impatience often made itself known to my sleeping mind and awakened me. But this was far from an ordinary morning.

For one thing, Keeshah's movement had a different character. This was no graceful, leg-stretching, wakeup kind of activity. Keeshah took only a few quick steps in any one direction before whirling to start in another. His tail whipped back and forth as he walked, now and then kicking up little puffs of sand where it lashed against the ground.

The most significant change was in the silence. There was usually a soft, growling mumbling noise, as though the huge cat were talking to himself. Often, too, through our sometimes subconscious telepathic link would flow a stream of good- natured banter of the "move it out, sleepyhead!" variety. Both of Keeshah's voices were missing.

It scared me.

"Rikardon!"

There was urgency in Tarani's voice, and I forced my attention to focus on her. She was sitting up in the sand not ten feet from me. The big white bird had settled, wingtips crossed at the base of her tail, on Tarani's outstretched leg, and was crooning softly under Tarani's caressing hand.

"Lonna tells me that we are being followed."

"How many?" I asked, rather sharply. Keeshah's silence was omnipresent, a weight on my spirit. I had to struggle to control the panic that swelled within me—I couldn't tell whether it was Keeshah's feeling, or merely my own reaction to his oddness. "How far away are they?"

Tarani slipped into communication with the beautiful bird, using a mindlink that was only barely similar to what I shared with Keeshah. Tarani had told me that theirs was primarily an exchange of images. The bird could hold images of where to go or who to find, and remember what she saw, so that she had been useful more than once as a messenger and scout. She had also, under Tarani's direction, saved my life in Dyskornis and helped us fight off wild vineh on our trip toward Eddarta. The few seconds Tarani communed with Lonna seemed an eternity.

"Only two men," she said at last. "But there are six dralda with them, and they are barely two days behind us."

"Dralda?" I repeated, groping through Markasset's memory for the meaning of the word. I discovered that, to the young Gandalaran, it really was little more than a word. But if Markasset had never seen the creature it named, Ricardo had some association for its vague image. Dogs, I thought. Wild dogs. Tarani said she formed her bond with Lonna by saving the bird from a dralda. But I've heard the word since then . . . "Zefra!"

"What about Zefra?" Tarani asked.

"I was just remembering," I said. "The night I met Zefra in the garden, she mentioned Pylomel's dralda'." I smiled a little shakily, the strange unrest making it seem as if my. nerve ends were remote and hard to control. "Your mother threatened to feed them my heart, if you came to harm."

She smiled back, and I could see that the thought of her mother's concern made her feel sad and tender. Then she shook her shoulders a bit—a gesture I had learned to associate with moving away from memory—and said: "Yes, she mentioned to me that the High Lord had managed to have some dralda trained for hunting. What puzzles me is—there are two men among the dralda, setting the pace for their travel, and yet they are amazingly close. How can that be?"

I puzzled over that for a moment, too. Keeshah could travel three times as fast as a man—that is, the Gandalaran standard of distance was a "day", referring to the distance a man could travel in one day. Keeshah could travel a "day" in only a few hours. The measurement was based on an average, of course, but by that standard, any man-speed pursuit should be at least three days behind us, maybe four.

"If 'there are only two of them," I said, "that, in itself, would give them a little extra speed. Indomel must have sent them out right after we left." I didn't want to mention the prerequisite to that action. When we had left Lord Hall, Zefra had laid a compulsion on Indomel, her son and—thanks to Thymas's dagger in Pylomel's heart—the new High Lord. For Indomel to have acted so quickly, he'd have had to throw off Zefra's control. What had he done to Zefra then? "That still doesn't account for their closeness," I said. "Indomel must have picked the fastest . . ."

Oh, no, I thought.

"Tarani, the men—is one of them a little guy, with almost a reddish tone to his headfur?"

She nodded. "You know him?"

"Obilin," I said grimly. She looked blank for a second, then realization crossed her face.

"The High Guardsman whom Pylomel sent to claim Kassa," she said, and shuddered. "Not a pleasant man."

That's an understatement, I thought grimly.

"He's the High Guardsman," I said. "I had to fight him to get that place in the guard, and you can bet he's put me together with Pylomel's death. He probably begged Indomel to let him come after me."

"I see that he might be Easter than other men," Tarani said,

"and spurred on by his pride. But the other man—" "Wouldn't dare not keep up, if you see what I mean." She nodded thoughtfully.

"Still," I said, with a reassurance not entirely sincere, "we have a good lead, and Keeshah's speed will increase it quickly . .'

Tarani stared at me as my voice trailed off, but I turned my head away from her to stare, in turn, at Keeshah.

*Must go now, * Keeshah had announced to me through our mindlink.

I refused to understand what he meant.

*We are ready to travel,* I assured him hurriedly. *Must go alone,* he said. *To the Valley. Now.*

Keeshah took a few steps away from me, his head lowered, the powerful muscles of his shoulders tense to the point of stiffness.

"Rikardon?" Tarani's voice was far away, unimportant.

The Valley of the Sha'um—Keeshah's birthplace. Fear crawled in my groin, coated my tongue with bitterness. Markasset had always known that Keeshah would need to return to the Valley one day. The only sha'um who left the Valley were males. They were required, for the sake of the species, to go back and mate. Sometimes they were gone for a year or so. Sometimes—my heart stopped at the thought-sometimes they never came back from the Valley.

*Let me come with you,* I begged.

Keeshah whirled and stalked back toward me, impatience growling in his throat. His mane rippled up around his neck; his tail whipped up a frenzy of dust behind him. The block between his mind and mine dissolved as Keeshah reached out to me, trying to make me understand. Then it was clear that he had been hiding from me only to spare me.

I caught my breath and flinched physically at the onslaught of emotion and need. I wasn't aware of Tarani's hand on my shoulder, her voice urging and questioning. I was in the grip of an obsession, a need far stronger than anything I had ever felt before. It was more than desire—much more.

The female who hovered, faceless, odorless, at the far range of the image which called to me was only part of the need. I longed for the cool sweetness of the forest where I had been born, for freedom from the unnatural bond to the man, for communion with my own kind, and, yes, for the challenge and the passion of the female. It was all one, and calling sweetly, imperiously, irresistably-I had to be free of the man!

I staggered as the contact broke. For a moment I rested, rubbing my hands over my eyes to shake off the lingering touch of Keeshah's rage. Then I stepped forward, my heart aching when the big cat backed away. But I had to touch him once more. I couldn't let him go without saving one memory of his fur against my face, his muscles smooth and hard under my hand. He suffered my approach, and endured my arms around his neck for a moment, then shook himself and sidestepped.

Through the overwhelming tangle of emotions, I caught a light, flickering thought from him: *Can't help it. Sorry.*

*I know, Keeshah,* I told him hurting all through my body and mind. *Come back to me, if you can.*

*Yes.* His mindvoice was faint, fading. *Try.*

He stood only a few feet away from me, but Keeshah was already gone, his consciousness totally absorbed in the need that had claimed him.

It was a stranger I watched, a beautiful, dangerous animal, as Keeshah laid back his ears, tested the air, and ran westward—without looking back.

I was alone.

It didn't matter that Tarani was near me, speaking across the vast gulf of physical space. I saw her, felt her touch, occasionally answered her questions—though usually I didn't bother. I had a memory that she was important to me, that I cared for her. But the memory had the disreality of hallucination, the detached feeling of a dream.

It was almost as though I had been cast back to my first few hours in Gandalara, before Keeshah had touched my mind with his. Once more was I lost, confused, and alone, in the middle of a salty desert moving under a pale, heat-soaked sky.

In that earlier time my fuddled mind had focused on the Great Wall as the only reasonable hope for survival, and I had put all my effort into moving toward it. The high escarpment behind Raithskar had been no more than a blue line on the horizon, probably indistinguishable from the southern "wall" of impassable mountains. Some remnant of Markasset--or his inner awareness, unrecognized then--had fixed Ricardo's attention on the important target.

In somewhat the same way, I was now getting messages from the thinking Rikardon, who seemed so separate an individual that I felt a fierce envy toward him. He had been Keeshah's friend. He had been able to think clearly, make plans, carry them out.

By contrast, I was able only to cling to what he said was important. Yet I grasped at his advice gratefully, relieved that I was spared the enormous effort of making a decision.

This time, too, I had an all-absorbing focus for my energies: the Ra'ira.

The blue jewel, enclosed in my leather belt pouch, burned in my awareness with an almost physical warmth. I couldn't distinguish the discreet elements of its importance to me, or recall the history which had brought me to this point.

I didn't remember that I had pursued the Ra'ira as if it were an ordinary, if symbolically significant, gemstone. I didn't have any conscious awareness of having discovered that it could amplify ordinary mindpower and permit direct telepathy, otherwise unknown between people. Its ancient significance, both in the benevolent formation of the Kingdom and in the malevolent abuse of the gem's power that had brought Kä into ruin, was only a vague fact.

All these were part of a single, rock-solid piece of emotional information: the Ralra was dangerous, and it was my job to take it back to Raithskar, where it would be safe from misuse.

I translated that directive into absolute concentration (44 two physical actions. One—keep the Ra'ira safe. I actually ' held the pouch in my hand, so that I could continually confirm my possession of the oddly shaped jewel. Two—keep moving.

I followed those directives totally. Some part of me saw that featureless sand I marched across. I was aware of a raging thirst, but it never became enough of a need to distract me from those other imperatives. I just kept walking through the heat and fine, salty dust.

It seemed obvious to me which way to go—the same way Keeshah had gone.

It could have been my loneliness pulling me in the big cat's wake. It could have been my awareness that the way to Raithskar lay through the narrow and treacherous Chizan Passages, and that the sha'um would be taking the quickest approach to Chizan. It didn't occur to me to consider that Keeshah's speed was three times mine, and that he had less need for food and water, more tolerance in general for the desert crossing.

It was part of the directive: follow Keeshah.

Tarani didn't agree. She pulled at me periodically, shouting words it was too much trouble to try to understand. I recognized Obilin's name, heard a word that was only vaguely familiar: dralda. Once Tarani tripped me, grabbed one of my feet, and dragged. Lonna was there, too, clutching at the loose fabric of my desert trousers and lifting.

I kicked out, caught Tarani in the stomach, sent her sprawling. I helped her up, said something harsh, and staggered away. I had thought that all feeling had left me, but when Tarani followed after me then, a small gladness crept into the void where emotion had been.

Darkness. It was only slightly cooler, but it brought relief from the eye-hurting vista of pale sand.

We rested. Tarani's humming woke me. I lay quietly for a time, listening to the melody, becoming aware of physical discomfort—hunger, thirst, a trembling weakness. Tarani's hypnotic voice promised relief, if I would yield to it. But it was nearly dawn, and the drive to be moving was on me again. Only weakness kept me still, as I summoned the energy to stand and walk.

I lay idle for so long that Tarani must have believed her mindspell had worked. She began to pry gently at the fingers that enclosed the leather pouch—and the Ra'ira.

The remote gladness I had felt in Tarani's company the day before vanished in a wave of rage. I lashed out with the hand that held the pouch; my fist caught the left side of her jaw. Tarani fell over, rolled, jumped to her feet as I staggered up. I saw, but barely noticed that she, too, was moving unsteadily, that her face looked as parched and puffy as mine felt.

"Traitor!" I thought I was yelling, but the sound I heard was a hoarse whisper. "Is this why you've stayed with me—to steal the Ra'ira for yourself?"

"Fool!" she spat back, caressing her darkening jaw with the back of her hand. "Obilin is almost on us! Can you not hear the dralda?"

Dralda. Pylomel's dralda. Only the barest link existed between the remembered, meaningless words and the sound I heard. The mournful coughing, drifting closer as we listened, lifted the fur along the back of my neck.

"Escape is impossible now," Tarani said. "Do you want Indomel to have the Ra'ira? Throw it away, Rikardon!" she gasped, commanding and pleading in the same breath. "Bury it in the sand!"

I struggled with confusion, watching Tarani warily as she stepped a little closer to me.

"We'd never find it again," I protested.

"It is better lost than in service to Indomel's power," she grated, and lunged to grab the pouch.

I snatched my hand back, tottering in reaction to the sudden movement. "There are no dralda," I snarled. "The sound is one of your illusions, a trick to get the Ra'ira for yourself!" I moved off, waving her away. "Stay back," I warned her.

"It is not an illusion," Tarani said, with such a tone of hopelessness that I found myself swept up in a new confusion.

"We got away from Eddarta," I said. "We brought the Ra'ira away from Gharlas and Pylomel and Indomel. We escaped. The Ra'ira is safe now," I said, with the fierceness of a child who hopes that saying a thing will make it true.

I heard the sound again, blood-stopping in its strangeness and its eagerness.

it's true, I thought, we're still in danger. But I—I have to get the Ra'ira to Raithskar. I've been doing my best, without Keeshah. It wasn't fair that Keeshah had to leave. I've been doing all I could. Haven't I?

They're almost here, I realized in a panic. We'll be killed and Indomel will get the Ra'ira. I've failed. But it isn't my fault, it's Keeshah s. No, that's wrong, Keeshah couldn't help it. It's not Keeshah's fault. It's .. .

"It's your fault!" I cried to Tarani, turning fear and despair into a seething rage. "You think I don't remember, but I do. We were two days ahead of them when Keeshah left, two days. You've been pulling at me, dragging on me, holding us back. If it weren't for you, we'd still be far ahead of them. It's your fault!"

I stepped up to her, my right arm poised for a swing. She stepped back, and her sword appeared in her hand.

"The next time you strike me," she said, "will be the last time."

I stopped, stunned and surprised by the savage menace in her voice and posture.

"You have resisted everything I tried to do to save us," she said, shouting now to be heard over the noise of pursuit. "The dralda have to be following Keeshah's scent, and I've been trying to move us away from Keeshah's track. It may be too late for us," she said, "but I refuse to let your foolishness cost us the final prize.

"Now, Lonna!"

A streak of white flashed by me. The bird's claws raked my left hand; the pain startled me into dropping the pouch. Lonna banked a sharp turn and dipped close to the ground to grab up the piece of leather and its contents.

"No!" I shouted and dived. My hands closed around the pouch just as Lonna grabbed it. "Protecting the Ra'ira is my job!"

The bird screeched; Tarani shouted; the eerie call of the dralda drew nearer. I clung desperately to the piece of leather while the bird's wings beat blindingly against my face and her claws pulled at pouch and hands indiscriminately. I ignored the pain of the scratches, the sting as my bloody hands were pressed into the salty sand.

"Enough, Lonna," Tarani said at last, and there was si- lence. The beating wings stilled as Lonna paused and looked questioningly at the girl. The bird's full weight rested on my outstretched hands, clenched together around the scarred pouch. Lonna rested with her wings folded, but not quite relaxed, her beak parted. She was panting from the effort of our struggle. Tarani knelt by us and smoothed the feathers on the bird s breast.

"Why is it so quiet?" I panted.

Tarani merely looked at me, then coaxed the bird to a perch on her outstretched arm. She stood up. "There is nothing more you can do, Lonna," she said. "Go quickly, and be safe."

The bird launched herself, circled us once screeching her frustration, then flew straight up, her white body disappearing against the clouds.

"Why is it so quiet?" I asked again, sitting up.

All of the desert area of Gandalara seemed flat. Its hilly contours made themselves noticed in two ways—first, by the strain in your legs as you walked up and down the mounded sand; and second, when something or someone, hidden by the gentle hills, appeared as if from out of nowhere.

The dralda appeared now, too excited over the end of the hunt even to howl.

Chapter 3

The dralda were dog-like in the same sense that the sha'um were cat-like—they shared qualities I identified with dogs, but there were differences from the animals Ricardo had known. As with every other mammalian creature in Gandalara, the canine teeth of the dralda were longer and wider than those of their counterparts in Ricardo's world—sharp tusks rather than teeth. This, and a swift impression of the high- shouldered shape of a hyena combined with the size of a great dane, were all I could tell about the animals before one slammed into me, knocking me backward with breath-killing force.

I threw up my arms to protect my face, but I needn't have bothered. The dog merely stood with its forepaws pressing into my chest. I could clearly feel each of eight sharp claws pricking into my skin. Its head loomed over my face, its lips drawn back. A soft growl vibrated through its paws.

I turned my head cautiously. Tarani was pinned under-neath the massive body of another dralda. The remaining animals circled us, seemingly frustrated that their prey had already been claimed. Then, from beyond Tarani, one lowered its nose to the sand and snuffled. It lifted its head and howled; the other uncommitted dralda echoed the cry, and the whole pack of them started off running.

She was right, I realized, through my daze. They were following Keeshah—until they were close enough to catch our scent directly. And if Tarani was right about that? ..

What's been happening to me? What have I done to us?

The long, stout muzzle of the beast turned in the direction the others had gone. The dralda trembled with the conflict - join the hunt, or protect the catch? I held my breath, grasping at the hope that the hunt would win.

Two men topped the dune, one panting heavily, the larger one lurching, clutching his side, groaning with the need for air. Obilin looked down at us, and smiled. The other man dropped to his knees, gasping.

The small man came down the shallow angle of the dune to stand above me. He glanced at Tarani, half-blocked from his view by the body of the dralda that pinned her. "The girl is here," he said. "She's the one the High Lord wants. Her, and this." He leaned over and tried to take the pouch; I jerked it away from him; the dralda growled; Obilin drew his sword and put its point to my throat. "Would you like to live a few minutes longer?" he asked.

I gave him the pouch. He straightened up, and I heard a soft moan from Tarani. It echoed accusingly through my mind.

My fault. Mine.

"We have what Indomel wants," Obilin said again. He pressed the sword's point downward only slightly. I felt a pricking, and a warm trickle of blood. "And I have what I want."

He pulled away the sword and turned to the other man. "The third one abandoned them, obviously," Obilin said. "He can't be far ahead, but he's not important. Go after them, Sharam," he ordered, waving in the direction the dralda had gone. "Call them back."

Obilin didn't get any argument. The man forced himself to his feet and obeyed, traveling in an uncontrolled, bonejarring trot.

Obilin walked around me toward Tarani, laughing softly. Fine particles of sand had settled into his reddish-blond head fur, graying it into a nearly white frame for his small, well- defined features. Obilin's skin was the same color as mine— about the shade a human Caucasian achieves after weeks of effort at tanning. The light color of his dusted hair provided a contrast that made his good looks even more striking. I had seen enough of him in Eddarta to know he was proud of his looks and made a deliberate effort to keep his body finely toned.

I saw the proof, now, of his physical condition. His breathing was nearly normal again.

"This is working out perfectly," Obilin was saying. "When that fool catches his animals, he'll collapse for a few hours. Since we're at least two days ahead of our supply caravan, that gives us some time alone at last, my lovely Rassa—"

He had moved to a place from which he could see Tarani's face clearly, and now he flinched back in shock.

"Tarani!' he said.

Tarani, too, jumped in surprise. The dralda, paws on Tarani's shoulder and stomach, growled softly. "How—how do you know me?" she asked.

Obilin didn't answer her. He slapped his forehead with his free hand—he still held his sword—and exclaimed, laughing: "By the Last King, I should have guessed! Rassa's reappearance, when all the gossip said that she and her father had fled from the former High Lord's romantic interest. Zefra, that old fraud—do you know, she actually had me believing that she had forced me to deliver that false message to Pylomel? And if those weren't clues enough—the bird!" He shouted with laughter. "I thought that bird looked familiar, but I still didn't put it all together until I saw your face." He stopped laughing. -And a lovely face it is," he added softly.

He dropped the point of his sword to Tarani's cheek; I saw her eyes, still open, staring up at the little man. The swordpoint traced a path along Tarani's jaw, seemed to linger forever at the softest point of her throat, then finally moved down her chest and pressed down the woven fabric of her tunic, outlining the shape of her breast.

His breathing had.vickened again.

"Ah, lovely Taram, he breathed. "I confess that I never dreamed that this moment might come. I am even more grateful, now, that we have these private moments. Before the others arrive you shall do for me what you did, so beautifully, for Molik."

Tarani and I gasped simultaneously. Tarani hated that name, hated the memory of her service to the roguelord. She—with Antonia's hidden guidance, I was sure—had fulfilled Molik's sexual fantasies with her body and her mindpower, in exchange for something she wanted very badly—a traveling show, in which her power of illusion and her dancing provided decent, innocent entertainment. Molik was dead now, but Obilin had rekindled that terrible memory. More horribly, he planned to make her re-live it.

Suddenly, the lingering confusion cleared from my mind. I got us into this, I was thinking. I got Tarani into this. We may get killed, but, by God, she won't suffer through that again!

"You touch her, Obilin," I said, my voice dry and raspy, and you're a dead man

Tarani's head snapped toward me, her face betraying recognition of the change in me. Obilin looked around, too, surprised by my outburst, but obviously unworried.

Tarani grabbed the neckfur of her dralda and twisted on the ground, shoving the dog against Obilin's legs.. I swung my clenched hands hard at the side of my dralda's head. It flinched away; before it could regain its balance, I was out from under it, on my feet, the weight of the steel sword welcome in my bloody hands. Desperation had restored some of the strength leeched out by the desert. Tarani was up, too, the sword she had dropped held out in front of her.

Obilin backed cautiously, keeping us both in sight. His eyes narrowed when he saw my sword, and he smiled his slick, offensive smile.

"Well, well," he said. "What's this, another disguise? The humble, if troublesome, mercenary Lakad turns into a rich prize!" He made a mock bow, keeping his eyes up. "This is indeed an honor, Rikardon. And I sympathize with your feelings for the lady. Unfortunately, that does make you a rival, doesn't it?" He pointed his free arm at me. "Tars. Mara. Attack!"

The dralda, who had kept their distance from the swords, bunched their muscles and aimed themselves at me. I braced myself to meet their charge, but suddenly they backed away, whining and whipping their heads from side to side as if in pain.

"They will not obey you, Obilin," Tarani said, drawing his attention toward her. "Your name meant nothing to me, and I did not recognize you dressed to serve a different master," she said, referring, I supposed, to the green uniform of the High Guard. "But when you spoke of Molik—I remember you now, salt-scum. You are the source of the Living Death. You stole slaves and sold them all over again to Molik, to die in his service."

Obilin was retreating from the girl's tall, crouching form. Tarani's fury was palpable, fascinating. She may have been using her mindpower to keep Obilin's attention fixed on her—because he was backing straight toward me. I lifted my sword and brought it down hilt-first with all my strength.

But Obilin had his own kind of power, drawn from years of fighting. Suspicion surfaced, and at the last possible moment, he twisted around. The hilt of my sword only grazed his shoulder, Instead of attacking me, he dropped his sword, threw himself into a backward somersault, and came up on his hands. He bucked a double kick into Tarani's chest.

The girl went down like a stone, the wind knocked out of her. Obilin leaped over to her, swung a backhand blow, and she was out cold.

I was on my way to help her when both dralda hurled themselves at me. I braced myself against their weight and slashed out with my sword. One fell back with a useless front leg, but the other had its teeth in my arm and was dragging me around in a circle as it dodged my sword.

The pain in my arm was nothing compared to the pain in my mind. Damn it, this is all my fault, I accused myself again. If I hadn't been so damned sorry for myself when Keeshah left, if I'd paid attention to my responsibility to Tarani and the Ralra . . . unnhh . . .

Something hard hit the base of my skull, and everything went black.

Misery, anguish, remorse—none of those words can describe the way I felt when I woke up with pain shooting up my arm, an ache throbbing in my head, and guilt hovering in my mind like a thundercloud. I reached out to Keeshah for comfort . . .

Add loneliness.

I opened my eyes to see Obilin standing nearby, examining Rika, turning it so the sharp, steel blade winked brightness at me . . .

Add hatred.

Tarani's face came into view. Even with her dark headfur gray with sand and her cheek swelling from Obilin's blow, she was beautiful.

"I'm sorry," I said.

Obilin turned at the sound of my voice. "Awake? Good." He put Rika through his own baldric and came toward us, tossing and catching the leather pouch. "Perhaps one of you would like to tell me what's in this little package?"

"Look for yourself," I said wearily.

"I'm afraid that's impossible," he replied. He stopped beside me, facing Tarani. "You see, the High Lord gave me very specific orders. He wanted 'the woman' alive, and `the pouch' unopened."

"Your loyalty is commendable," I said. "Flexible, too. How long had Pylomel been dead before you accepted those orders from Indomel? One hour? Two?"

"On that score," he said, kneeling beside me, "you are very wrong, my friend. Indomel has had my loyalty for quite a while. It suited him to have me serve Pylomel."

"I suppose you had his permission to sell slaves into the Living Death?" I asked, repressing a shudder.

The Living Death was an assassin group, dying men and women brought away from the copper mines and given a short life of luxury in exchange for assassination and suicide. I had faced two of them, and it wasn't an experience I wanted to repeat.

"I take something of little value," Obilin said with a shrug. "If he knew, Indomel would probably compliment my enterprise—before he had me killed, of course." He laughed. "Aren't you wondering," he said, after a moment, "why you're still alive?"

"You tell me," I said. I was having a hard time finding the energy to talk. Obilin had the Ra'ira, and Indomel would have it soon. Keeshah was gone. I wanted to slip away from it all, drift into a sleep from which I'd never bother to waken.

Only one thing kept me from doing it. Tarani's hands were busy with Obilin's water pouch, cleaning and dressing the wounds on my hands and arm. Her touch was a reminder that it wasn't just my life I'd be throwing away.

She might be better of on her own; I argued with myself. Just then, Tarani moved slightly, pressing her knee into my side. I looked up at her, and she managed a smile.

Obilin noticed the look we exchanged. "Yes, you're right, the lady is partially responsible for your well being. We determined, after several, ah, contests, that she can't control me and the dralda at the same time, so we struck a bargain—I let you live in exchange for her promise not to use her power on me.

"What she doesn't know, however," he added, standing up to pace around us, "is that you're far more valuable to me alive than dead." He laughed again. "I had no intention of killing you in the first place."

"Then that means the bargain is off, doesn't it?" I said. "He's talking about the reward, Tarani. Worfit, remember?"

She nodded. "The roguelord in Raithskar. You thought he had sent the Living Death after you, when it had been Gharlas who had wanted Dharak dead."

The sound of Dharak's name brought a flood of memories, of him, of Thymas his son, of Thagorn. We could use a troop of Sharith about now, I thought. Just Thymas and his sha'um, Ronar, would help. I winced from the pain of a wound greater than the ones Tarani was treating. Hell, all I need is Keeshah . God, I wish he were still with us.

"Worfit is no longer in Raithskar," Obilin said. "He has taken over Molik's operation in Chizan—every inch of it. He does hate you, Rikardon," he said, pointing the pouch at me. "That's a story I'd like to hear someday. When I first heard about the reward, it was ten thousand zaks for you and the sword, dead or alive. After you were spotted in Dyskornis, the ante went up—ten thousand for the sword, and ten thousand more for you— alive

He knelt again, and brought his face close to mine. He was, indeed, a handsome man if you could look only at his body. But his personality was too visible. He wore his nastiness like a top hat.

"It's not the money I want, Rikardon," he said. "You're going to be a goodwill gift to the new master of Chizan's rogueworid. I'll expect the money, too, but I'll trade half of it for the privilege of watching whatever Worfit has planned for

you. It should start out personal dealings off well."

"You haven't met him?" I asked.

"Not yet," he said. "Though we are already doing business. Is there something I should know about him?"

"Nothing you don't already know about yourself," I said. "You're a perfect pair."

Obilin laughed again and rocked back on his heels. His laugh stopped abruptly. "It has just occurred to me that neither of you seem surprised about Worfit's new position. Could it be that you already knew Molik was dead?" We just stared at him. "A-huh."

He stood up. "Well, the bargain isn't off," he said. "If I had to choose either Worfit or Indomel to offend, it would be Worfit, I assure you. So you and the lady are coming hack to Eddarta with me. After I turn her and this," he waved the pouch, "whatever it is, over to Indomel, I plan to take an inspection tour of the mines—except that Rikardon and I will really go west to Chizan, exactly as I did the first time I saw you, lovely lady." He bowed slightly.

"However, keep in mind that I have the sword, which is worth as much as the man. Your power doesn't frighten me, now that I have seen its limits. If you use it to try to escape, I promise you he will die."

"It is a bargain, Obilin," she said.

"No!" I started to protest, until I looked into Tarani's eyes. Anger and contempt for Obilin burned there, and determination and—shattering what little pride remained to me— protectiveness. 

 The fierceness of that look, hidden from Obilin, was such a contrast to the meekness of her voice that I was stunned into silence.

"I'm almost sorry," Obilin said, "that your feelings for him make the bargain practical." He tossed up the pouch, caught it again. "Tarani."

We both looked at him.

"There is something else I want. You know that. Is there nothing you will take in trade?"

Tarani started to shake. I felt the trembling in her hands, in the knee which still pressed against me, in the sand which lay between us. I saw the thought in her face: Could she get the Ralra back that way? I was watching when the answer hit, too: No. Don't trust Obilin. Through it all, even greater once the answer was clear, I could sense her rage that he should even ask.

Her stage training showed. Face and voice were composed, hiding the seething fury, as she said: "There is nothing I want that much."

I had been so fascinated by her reaction that I'd ignored my own. Now I discovered I was shaking inside, too. And there was nothing to be gained by hiding my feelings.

"Obilin."

He turned his gaze to me, and his face went pale. "Don't mention it again," I said.

He seemed about to say something, then he changed his mind. He backed away and sat down near the two dralda, who lay panting nearby.

"Don't stay for my sake," I whispered to Tarani.

She had finished bandaging my arm and washing the less severe scratches on my hand. She lifted my head and helped me take a sip of water—enough to cool my mouth, not enough to choke my swollen throat.

"Where would I go?" she whispered back.

Chapter 4

The other dralda and their handler, Sharam, returned within the hour. When he had rested, Sharam entered into a whispered discussion with Obilin. It quickly turned into an argument, and ended with Sharam shrugging and moving off toward his animals. Obilin came over to us.

"There is another part of the bargain," he said, his voice allowing no disagreement. "Sharam tells me his dralda think they have been chasing a sha'um. I have never seen one but I know enough to be sure that if one had been with you, he would still be with you."

I tried not to let my ace show how much that statement hurt me, and I worked on another puzzle.

If Obilin knows about the sword, why doesn't he know about Keeshah, too? Of course—he's heard about me the way every rogueworid district in Gandalara has heard about me— from Worfit, who wouldn't give out information which would discourage anybody from coming after me. Worfit has simply neglected to mention that his target usually travels in the company of a very big, very protective cat.

"I conclude, therefore," Obilin said, "that the sha'um was an invention of the lady's, to confuse the people who saw you leave Eddarta, and to mislead the dralda. Tarani, you will not use your power at all on the journey back to Eddarta. On anyone. Understood?"

Tarani nodded. Obilin turned away, and from that moment on treated us as indifferently as he might treat slaves.

We rested the remainder of the day and the night, and moved slowly eastward on the next day. Toward dusk, we met the supply caravan which had followed Obilin from Eddarta, and my thirst and hunger were satisfied for the first time in what seemed like years. The journey became routine after that, physically easier as Tarani's tending helped my body heal, but mentally burdensome with every step we took closer to Eddarta.

Though neither Tarani nor I dared mention the Ra'ira, I was  sure that it was as much on her mind as it was on mine. Obilin had set up the marching order so that we were together—more from unwillingness to bother any of his men with my care than out of consideration for us—and both of _us did a lot of staring at the leather pouch swinging at Obilin's belt. It was as though the blue jewel sent out a glow visible only to us.

It was usually when the group stopped for the night or assembled to begin the day s march that she and I found ourselves more alone than at other times of the day. On the morning of the fourth day, I broke what had become a weighty silence between us.

"In the desert," I whispered to her, "it made sense to stay with Obilin's group. But we're coming into farmland. You could survive here. You know how much a promise from Obilin would be worth—you don't need to keep a promise to him . . . especially not on my account."

She had taken off her knee-high boots to empty and dust them, and was in the process of putting them back on. She waited until both boots were on, then stood up to face me. "It is not my promise to Obilin that keeps me here," she said quietly, then looked at me directly. "Nor is it you—except that escape will be more likely to succeed if we are together.

"Succeed?" I said. "Like this one did, while we were together?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Did you know Keeshah would leave us?" she asked.

I had to swallow a huge lump to open my throat for speech. The absence of the big cat still hurt—all the time, every minute. Underlying every thought was a continuous fretting: would Keeshah come out of the Valley?

"No," I managed to say.

"Then you can hardly take credit for our capture," she said. The other men in the group had finished assembling their backpacks and were gathering closer. Obilin had a look of impatience I had learned to recognize as ready-to-move-out, and was walking toward us. As always, when he saw Tarani, a new expression crossed his face—sort of a soft amusement that spoke of secret plans.

Tarani turned her back to him so he couldn't see her face and whispered: "My promise lasts only until we reach Eddarta. Be ready." Then she reached out and pressed my shoulder with her hand.

Except for her tending to my wounds, it was the first gentle touch we had shared since Keeshah had left. I was moved by her forgivingness and encouragement, but there was no time for words. I pressed my hand over hers and, for that one moment, we were together again.

Obilin hadn't missed the gesture or its significance. There was no change in his outward manner—that is, his orders to the group were no less gruff—but there was a special look for me when I came into his visual range.

Our entry into Eddarta wouldn't have rivaled Caesar's return from Gaul. Dusty and tired, the troop of us dragged our way closer to the sprawling city that was the domain—but not the dwelling place—of the Lords of Eddarta. The seven Lords and their families lived in a second city that crowned a rise of land above Eddarta. "Lord City" was joined to what I thought of as "lower Eddarta" by a wide, paved road and a rushing line of water that was one of the larger branches of the Tashal River.

Sight of the shining river stirred me in many ways. First and most basic, Markasset came from a culture which was reminded daily that the difference between living and dying— for a man or for a city—was the presence of water. Beyond that, seeing this and the other branches of the Tashal tumble their way down from a point so high on the River Wall that the cloud cover obscured it reminded Markasset of the Skarkel Falls and River that shimmered behind Raithskar. If Markasset's personality, as well as his memories, had been present in this body, he would have been homesick.

I felt the tug of longing, too—but for a different "where". It was impossible not to look at the river and see three people clinging to a cluster of rope-tied reeds . . . to remember the sight and smell of torches burning in the still night air . . . to sense, rather than see, the hulking outlines of the sha'um against the wavering light . . . the gold-filled belt .. .

 (I put my hands to my waist, surprised by the memory. The belt was there, the goldpieces securely hidden within the leather. How could I have forgotten it? I wondered. It's a fortune. Could I have used it with Obilin—no, I answered myself immediately, and felt a quick thrill of hope.But it may yet come in handy, I thought, and slipped back into the memory.)

The gold-filled belt arching toward the shore trailing a rope . . . the cat's snatching at it, pulling . . . joy spilling from Keeshah, even while he complained.

*Wet,* he had said, laughing in his mind while his body carried us away from Eddarta.

*Keeshah!* I called, and touched only emptiness. Oh, God, Keeshah .. .

Tarani touched my arm, and I jumped. The sudden movement set off the restless dralda, leashed two to a man behind us, and their howling upset every vlek within a range of two hundred feet. Those traveling with us or in our direction weren't much of a problem, since the people leading them had allowed us plenty of distance. But there was a group coming west with twenty or so of the stupid pack animals strung out in a long line. The vlek handlers had been doing all right, so long as their goat-size charges had been merely suspicious of the passing dralda. Pandemonium broke loose when the dralda started making noise.

I could well understand the vleks being terrified--/ felt threatened by the fur-lifting sound the dralda made. But that didn't make the sudden confusion and noise any easier to bear---vleks bawling, dralda howling, men cursing. I felt as if I could crawl right out of my skin.

The men were doing their best to hold the dralda, but apparently it was only the handler who could calm them into silence. That took a hand touch and some intense concentration, and wasn't guaranteed, as the first one proved, just as the handler reached number four. Six dralda, one man, big noise.

The caravan people were yelling at the guards who held the dralda; the guards were yelling at the handler, who was yelling back in frustration. I sympathized with his situation; I knew he had to be calm in order to soothe the animals, and nobody would leave him alone long enough to do his job.

Obilin finally got into the act, shouting his own people into silence.

I realized that Tarani and I were alone.

"Now," I whispered, grabbing her arm and edging her toward the caravan. "Get away while you can."

She pulled her arm out of my grip. "Without the Ra'ira?" "You said Eddarta," I reminded her. "This is Eddarta. Now go."

Once more I tried to push her into the confusion of the caravan. She pushed back—so hard that I staggered.

I stared at her trying to understand. We both knew that her ability to disguise herself through illusion would see her safe from the city, at least. She had as much as told me that she wasn't hanging around on my account—that is, not in order to protect me, or out of loyalty. That left only what she had said: the Ra'ira. I started to tell her that I'd get the Ra'ira and meet her somewhere, but then I wondered. We had been a team of three when we escaped with it the first time, an Tarani's skills had been an essential part of that team. Could I do it alone?

It's obvious why she won't go, I thought painfully. She's accepted the duty to return the Ra'ira to Raithskar. I've flat proved that I can't be counted on. She won't leave until that stone is safe in her own two hands.

Tarani watched me think about it, and sensed when I'd completed the logic. Then she pressed my arm with her hands and whispered: "You see, we are both needed for this task."

Kind of you to include me, I thought bitterly. I knew full well how irrational it was to resent her consideration of my feelings, but I couldn't help it. You'll be the one to do it, if anyone can. Providing either one of us lives past seeing Indomel.

Our moment of aloneness ended abruptly as Obilin charged

over to us. "Help the handler calm them," he ordered Tarani. A dagger, hidden from everyone but me, pressed against her

ribs when she tried to move past Obilin toward the dralda.

"You see how he does it," she protested. "A touch is necessary—"

"A touch wasn't necessary when I ordered one to attack you," he reminded her. "I won't have you display your power, but neither will I waste any more time with this nonsense. Silence the dralda!"

"But the handler is soothing—what I did was different, a command. It—I hate doing that—enough of it will make them useless to the handler—they will turn on him—"

"Do it!' Obilin ordered.

Tarani clenched her teeth, closed her eyes '. . . and the dralda were quiet.

I looked from the animals, who were shuffling their feet and shaking their heads slightly, as though they had been stunned, to Tarani, whose face had gone past its normal paleness into a sick pallor. The skin had shrunk back against her skull, hollowing the areas beneath her fine cheekbones.

She opened her eyes and reached for my hand; I held it while the trembling passed. As always, Obilin showed enjoyment of her discomfort, disapproval (if not actual jealousy) of our closeness, and anticipation of a final confrontation with me.

By now, I thought, he ought to be able to read me well enough to see how much I'm looking forward to it, too.

When Tarani had made her move, the dralda had voiced, in chorus, an upswinging whine of surprise. The noise itself had been bad enough; when it ended so abruptly, everybody— man and beast— became quietly alert. I guess even the vleks figured that it wouldn't be wise to attract the attention of anything that could scare a dralda.

So when the return column resumed its journey toward Eddarta, the only sounds were Obilin's clipped orders and the whisper of leather-shod feet against the hard-packed dirt of the roadway. The silence was positively eerie, and we carried it with us long enough for me to catch the content of what was whispered among three men who passed us leading a pack vlek loaded with baked goods.

"Obilin!" one said in surprise. "Who is that with him?" "In his proclamation, Indomel said that Obilin had gone after the intruders . . ."

"Intruders my left tusk," the other snorted. "That dralda whelp killed his father himself, I say!"

"Sssh!" the third one cautioned. "Speak softly of the High Lord! And anyway—doesn't this prove that he was telling the truth? There were intruders."

34	The Gandalara Cycle: Volume 2

"Those can't be the ones, though!" the first man protested. "They had sha'um."

The group had my full attention then, but they were moving further away, and I had to strain to catch even snips of the rest of their conversation:

". .. drank too much faen . . .

". . . other people . . ."

"All of them crazy . . ."

too dark to see the people clearly . . ."

“. . .at  there were sha'um, I tell you!"

Laughter and protestations, all in suppressed voices, faded as we left the group behind us.

The conversation had given me two important pieces of information.

First, lower Eddarta's understanding of what happened that night had to be varied and tenuous, based as it was on a blend of official statement, rumor, and skepticism.

Second, I wouldn't call Indomel beloved of his people. Even the two who had defended him seemed more concerned with whether he had been truthful than whether he had suffered any grief over his father's death.

Maybe they know him pretty well already, I thought. Certainly the "change of command" doesn't seem to have affected them much. I sighed. But, then, it wouldn't. After all, it's part of the system. People come and go, but the High Lord has had his place in this society for centuries. They accept him in the same way they seem to have accepted slavery— they don't worry about it unless it involves them directly.

That brought to mind a topic I had been avoiding. Slavery, I thought. I wonder if that s what Indomel has planned for us?

We were in the city proper by this time, and Obilin released his grip on Tarani's arm and moved down the line, tightening the formation to make the marching group less an obstacle to other pedestrians. Whispers followed along behind us—as did a ragtag group of kids, until Obilin barked at them.

I reached for Tarani's hand. She returned my grip, and even managed a quick smile. "I fear for Zefra," she whispered.

The thought had crossed my mind, too. It was obvious that Indomel knew the RaIra still in Eddarta was a phony. What had that discovery done to Tarani's mother, whose mindpower had been boosted by her confidence that the glass bauble would give her extra strength? When we had left Eddarta, Zefra had revealed her long-hidden mindgift, had succeeded in dominating Indomel, if only temporarily.

"Indomel doesn't strike me as the forgiving kind," I said, knowing it wasn't a comforting thought for Tarani. "But he's not stupid, either. Did you hear those men a little ways back? The Eddartans are already wondering if he's behind his father's death. He wouldn't dare take any steps toward his mother—it would be like admitting he killed Pylomel, too. I doubt if Zefra is much worse off than she was before."

Except, I thought, that her "edge" is gone—she's revealed the strength of her mindgift to Indomel, and he'll guard against it. She's truly helpless now.

And are we any better off? I wondered. Apprehension closed in around my chest, weighing it down so that it was hard to breathe. Tarani talks about escaping as if it were already done. But Indomel knows her power, too, and will take precautions. As for me—I don't have Keeshah, and I don't have Rika.

Obilin has Rika. Sharam was too tired to notice that Obilin had a different sword, and when the others arrived, Obilin

I hid my sword in one of the packs.

We do have information, I remembered, thinking of Obilin's involvement with Molik and Worfit, and his possession of what amounted to one of the greatest treasures in Gandalara. Then the hope of bargaining with that information died. And Indomel has the means to get any information we have—the Ra'ira.

I fought back my despair to return Tarani's hand-squeeze. The column had spruced itself up and picked up the pace. We were beginning the long climb to Lord City. Obilin came up on the other side of Tarani and cupped his hand protectively, possessively around her elbow.

Obilin won't tell Indomel Tarani's history, I thought. He hasn't given up wanting her for himself.

Chapter 5

The small troop marched up the hill and through the arched gateway that separated the Lords of Eddarta from the society which supported them. I expected that we would be taken directly to Lord Hall, the octagonal building which commanded the center of attention immediately on entering Lord City. I suppose I was remembering the old Western movies of Ricardo 's world, and the mock trials that were set up for "hoss thieves and russlers". I think I expected Indomel to be eager to gloat over his triumph. I know I just wanted it to be settled as fast as possible.

But my expectations and the High Lord's plans had little in common. Tarani and I were led along the entry path which approached Lord Hall. Instead of going in, we were taken around the periphery of the hall, under the continuous portico, to the covered walkway which led to the dwelling section assigned to the Harthim family.

I should have expected this, I thought, as we moved along the stone-laid walk. Indomel will treat this as a personal score, rather than take a chance of exposing Tarani s power to other members of the Council.

When the guards had passed into the Harthim entry, which was formed by the sides of buildings, there was a perceptible change in mood. The doorways opening from the entry led into the living quarters of the High Guard or to sentry stations. Either way, it felt like home to these guys, and I found my own mood lightening with theirs. Ever since our capture—hell, since Keeshah had left me—I had felt suspended, drifting, unable to anchor myself. Now, at least, there would be an end to that sense of disassociation. Once I learned what Indomel's plans were, I could begin to figure out how to defeat them.

I still had some notion that Tarani and I would be dragged into a courtroom-style audience with Indomel; he would gloat and preen and pronounce sentence; then we would either be killed (resolution of an unsatisfactory sort, I thought) or left alone to plot our escape. I was eager to find out which, to get this first step over with.

Obilin halted the column and waved the men with dralda off in the direction of the garden where I had first met Zefra. The handler was wearing a frown of concentration as the men grinned and tugged hard on the leashes of their animals. It came as no surprise that they would be glad to be rid of the beasts. But the dralda followed sullenly, dragging back against the pressure of the leashes. I glanced at Tarani, but her face was a perfectly composed mask. She had said that using her power on the dralda could produce some side effects. But' what did I know about dralda? This could be their normal, "What fun, it's back to captivity!" reaction.

Obilin still had hold of Tarani's arm. He waved again, and two of the guards moved in on me and started to "usher" me out of the entryway.

I dug in my heels and brought the guards up short. "We're together, Obilin. You can't split us up like this!" I said.

Obilin only laughed, and the guards pulled at me again.

I drove the elbow of my good arm into one man's midriff, then swung the same fist at the other guy's chin. A lot of frustration found release in those simple movements. That, combined with the men's fatigue, sent them down for the count.

I stepped toward Obilin, but he had his sword out and we both knew he really wanted me to advance against him.

"No," Tarani cried, and started toward me. Obilin's hand on her wrist pulled her back, leaving one of her arms extended in my direction. There was pleading in her voice as she said: "There is no purpose in this. I will be safe, and so shall you." She lowered her eyes, and a transformation took place.

I had already surmised that some of the discussion our passing had stirred in Eddarta had centered around Tarani. Her physical resemblance to the Lords was startling. That's not to say that no lower Eddartans had her unusual height or smooth black headfur or delicate and graceful facial planes. I had seen several individuals with similar physical characteristics, though they were more rare than I would have expected, assuming the natural passions and power of the Lords and what little I knew of genetics.

But Tarani had something no mere combination of genes could create: style. Perhaps it was her years of cultivating a stage presence. It could have been an imitation of Zefra, who knew thoroughly the subtle uses of power. Whatever the source of the change, it was visible and effective. Tarani turned back to Obilin and the little man stepped backward in surprise. He looked around quickly, and paled slightly when he saw that we were, for this passing moment, alone.

"By birth," Tarani said, "I am the natural daughter of Zefra and Pylomel."

"Indomel's sister?" Obilin breathed. "No wonder he was so anxious to have you brought back here."

"Indomel's elder sister," Tarani corrected, and waited for the significance of that statement to penetrate Obilin's thinking. "I see you understand that there is no affection between me and the present High Lord," Tarani said, with the slightest extra emphasis on the word present. "Understand, also, that I am not an ordinary prisoner. Rikardon is not to be harmed."

Obilin's thin face flickered with plots and calculation, but in the end he seemed to decide that Tarani had won this round. He smiled sardonically.

"You have my word," he said softly, "that as far as it lies within my power, your friend will be cared for well. As for you—" He shrugged. "—I expect you will see to your own safety."

He called for two more guards, and didn't relax his defensive stance until they each had one of my arms.

These men were fresh and strong, and the effort of clobbering the other two had drained the last of my strength. The one I had elbowed was getting his breath back. He stood up and gave me a look so nasty that my gut muscles tightened in anticipation of his blow.

"Give him one of the smaller rooms," Obilin ordered. "Two men will be posted at his door in four-hour shifts—you two take the first shift. He is not to be talked to or allowed to leave his quarters. But neither is he to be injured. Clear?"

The two new guards nodded. The third one checked his fist in mid-swing.

"Clear?" Obilin repeated. The third one nodded and stepped back, obviously unhappy. "Tend to Mossan, then get some rest. Tell the others who were with us that they have three days off."

He turned to Tarani as Mossan was fireman-carried into the barracks area. "Will these arrangements be suitable?" he asked, with just a touch of sarcasm.

"Yes, they will do for now," Tarani said as she crossed the few paces between us, this time shaking off Obilin's restraining hand. She put her hands on my chest, and her touch was oddly comforting. "We will meet again soon," she whispered and, right there in front of God and everybody, kissed me.

She went with Obilin, then, and the memory of her kiss - was made sweeter by his parting look.

That's another round you've lost, Obilin, I thought as I was

led to my "quarters."

The room I was led to was just like the one in which Willon had installed me, when I had hired into the High Guard as a mercenary named Lakad. One wall was covered with pegs and lashed-reed shelves for my nonexistent wardrobe. There was a small table and a couple of chairs, and a fluffy pallet for sleeping. This room had two features the other one had lacked, however.

Sturdy shutters covered the window. Small sliding panels had been arranged to allow light and air to flow through latticed reeds. The shutters were braced from the outside, making the shutters not much less effective at containment than the stone walls around the window.

One of the guards returned with the other new item: the Gandalaran -equivalent of a chamberpot.

I had a feeling I was in for a long, dreary wait, and I wasn't disappointed. I had always believed that it's impossible for a thinking person to be bored, that even in enforced physical idleness, one's mind could be active. The trouble with that theory is that certain mental "activity" can be much worse than boredom.

There were two natural directions for my mind to turn: Tarani and Keeshah. Was one all right? Would the other come back?

I had been installed in my "cell" close to dusk. When I watched the red light of dawn creep in its latticed pattern across my unused pallet, I realized that I was hurting everybody by worrying. One more day of concentrated anxiety and I'd be so physically drained as to be useless to Tarani in any attempt to escape.

So I resolved not to think about them any more. (Except that I couldn't stop reaching out for Keeshah each time I lay down to sleep. The pain of finding emptiness never diminished.) And boy, was I bored.

The first couple of days were okay. I set up a disciplined calisthenics program to counteract my restlessness. I explored every inch of the room, looking for something to use in aid of escaping. I channeled my thinking toward my favorite unsolvable riddle: where, how, and why?

Where was Gandalara? Its physical features and its inhabitants were both like and unlike those of Ricardo's Earth; the coincidence tantalized me and the impossibility of a definite answer frustrated me.

How did Ricardo's personality wind up in Markasset's body? There was more than one why". Why was I here? Why Markasset's body? Why me at all?

I knew the Ra'ira was bound up in the answer to that third part of the riddle. I doubt that anyone but Tarani and me could have defeated Gharlas, because of our individually unique human/Gandalaran minds. Gharlas had planned domination over all of Gandalara, but he would have produced only strife and the eventual destruction of a centuries-old civilization.

But, with Thymas's help, we had defeated Gharlas; the man was dead and no further danger to us or Gandalara. But was the Ra'ira safely back in Raithskar? No. Was that our final purpose—to get that blasted, beautiful gem to safety? It seemed logical. But, then, I had been logical twice before: first when I deduced that my Gandalaran obligation was to prove the innocence of Markasset's father, Thanasset, and again when screwing up Gharlas's crazy plans seemed enough to do. Logical I had been, and wrong both times.

I couldn't help feeling there might be something more, something I didn't know yet. That suspicion generated frustration and a renewal of the cycle: why the hell had I been stuck in the middle of this?

Two days of that kind of thinking convinced me it was as bad as worrying about Tarani and Keeshah. So I made another resolution: one step at a time. And the next step was, if possible, to get the Ra'ira out of here and back to Raithskar, where it could be guarded by men of honor. Focus on that, I told myself, and quit bugging yourself about things you can't possibly control.

Having thus made the decision not to think about the things worth thinking about, for the next three days If was bored past imagining. I asked my silent guards for a set of mondeana. After three hours, I seemed to have exhausted all possible combinations of the six dice-like pieces. I inquired about reading material, but Gandalaran books are handwritten and precious; my guards snickered at the request. I did continue the calisthenics; they were all that kept my spirit's up.

On the morning of the sixth day, I was told I would be seeing the High Lord.

I was allowed to bathe and given a change of clothing. It was an inexpressible relief to be clean. The loose-fitting desert outfit I had been wearing—dark green trousers with a tan tunic—resembled well-used dusting rags.. -

I knew, from its performance in my daily activities, that my arm was mostly healed, but it was still a pleasant surprise to wash away the dirt and find only a tracing of a scar zigzagging the area where the dralda's teeth had scored.

It was hardly surprising that I was given a guard's uniform to wear, considering where I was being held. All Gandalarans wore a variety of styles in trousers and/or tunics made from woven fabric. The elegance of any outfit was determined by the softness of the fabric, the quantity and delicacy of decorative work, and coordinated color combinations. Uniforms— that is, look-alike dress identified with a particular group— tended to be monotone. The Fa'aldu wore long white tunics. The Peace and Security Officers in Raithskar were identified by gray leather baldrics. The Sharith wore tan desert tunic and trousers, with the addition of colored sashes for rank identification.

The High Guard uniform was no exception: trousers slightly more fitted than the flowing desert style, and a sleeveless tunic, both in a mossy green. It was dressed up a bit more with boots and baldric of a dark leather that didn't match badly with my belt, which I was allowed to keep.

As I walked between my two guards out of the barracks toward the huge structure that was the traditional family home of the Harthim Lords—who, according to Eddartan law, were usually the High Lords, as well—it wasn't lost on me that I looked a whole lot like any other High Guard member.

Except that my companions each carried sword and dagger, and I didn't have a weapon. Any sword would have felt good in my hand, but I wanted Rika back.

Thinking about the steel sword reminded me of Obilin, which turned my thoughts to Indomel, which made me wonder about Zefra, which generated a pang of anxiety over Tarani, which brought me full circle to Obilin again. I hadn't seen the man since he'd ordered my imprisonment. Absence hadn't made me any fonder of him. And that made me think of Rika again.

Quit fretting, I ordered my subconscious, which ignored me. Indomel has some of the answers you want, and we're nearly there.

We went into the Harthim house by the front door. I found I was surprised to find it fairly ordinary, though scaled slightly larger and richly furnished. My time in this house on my last trip had been spent in Zefra's quarters, in a back wing which bordered Pylomel's beautiful garden. Ricardo was expecting the High Lord himself to live like Louis XVI, surrounded by courtiers and flagrant wealth.

,Maybe this was just Pylomel's influence, I thought. All that gorgeous stuff hidden away in the treasure vault—Gharlas called it. Pylomel certainly was a hoarder. And Indomel hasn't had time to change anything, even if he wanted to.

We went through the huge center room—in a more modest home, it would be called the midhall—and entered a small parlor. I was facing a huge double-doored entryway. The guards saw me into the parlor, then left me alone.

Not for long. Obilin opened the double doors and bowed mockingly.

"Do join us, Lakad."

Lakad was the name I had used to get into the High Guard. It was also the only name by which Indomel knew me

So you're keeping my secret, are you, Obilin? I thought as I edged past the High Guardsman. For your own purpose, of course. But I won't spoil it for you. The less Indomel knows about me, the better.

Chapter 6

Indomel was seated in a room that tried to create the illusion of informality and failed dismally. For one thing, the standard stone ledges were missing. The chairs—seven of them—had frames of wood, not the more common Eddartan material of bamboo-like reeds. The fabric which served as seat and back was thickly embroidered. Thread ends, poking up here and there, betrayed age and wear.

For another thing, the chair arrangement was designed to make Indomel the focus of the room.

Seven chairs—this must be an "unoffcial" Council chamber, where the Lords really make their decisions. I'd certainly be able to think more clearly here than in the shadow of that tall bronze panel.

For me, the focus of the room wasn't Indomel—it was Tarani, standing with Zefra behind the young High Lord's chair.

I let out a great sigh of relief. Tarani looked well, if a little tense. The only thing that mattered to me right then was seeing the flash of joy that crossed her face as I came into the room. She regained her composure quickly; I took that as advice, and controlled my impulse to run right over Indomel and scoop her up in my arms.

A couple of other factors counseled me to restrain myself. This "parlor" felt like a courtroom. It spelled danger I couldn't predict.

It doesn't look as though Tarani's on trial here, I thought. The way she's standing there with Zefra, both of them dressed formally, she seemed more part of the jury. That would indicate that Indomel-trusts her? Not in a million years. At least that she's protected in some way. I don't want to screw that up for her.

So between shame and speculation, I merely walked into the room and stood calmly in front of Indomel.

The boy had changed little since the last time I had seen him.

He bore a family resemblance to Tarani and Zefra. The delicacy of bone structure was less noticeable, in Indomel's face, than the flatness of his cheeks and the sharpness of his widow's peak. The tusks which occupied the position of human canine teeth seemed extraordinarily large because the other teeth were slightly smaller than normal. His eyes dominated the face, looming dark and large from underneath the minimal supraorbital ridge that seemed to be a Harthim characteristic.

Physically, he was nearly identical to the Indomel I had met in Lord Hall. But there was a subtle difference in his bearing. Then he had been a spoiled child—not a harmless one, as his secret connection with Obilin attested—but a child.

As the High Lord, he had more mature and cautious a bearing, but no less nasty a nature.

"Do sit down," he said. "One should not learn the manner of his death while standing."

It was an obvious attempt to rattle me, but I wasn't buying. I'd been living with the prospect of immediate death for the last six days. And I had the feeling he was just goading me.

"You aren't going to kill a man who just had his first bath in weeks," I said, taking the chair that was offered. Obilin remained standing by the door, looking extra alert. Tarani was watching us with interest. Zefra was staring out the window. Indomel and I were the only ones sitting.

"Perhaps we have fastidious executioners—had you not considered that, Lakad?"

Indomel really believes my name is Lakad. Not only has Obilin kept his mouth shut, but neither Tarani nor Zefra has been forced to reveal anything about me. I looked again at Zefra, who hadn't moved since I'd come into the room. She stared off out the window I faced, a disturbing blankness to her face. Can that be an act? I wondered. Whatever it is, captive or not, Tarani still has some power over the High Lord.

For the first time in six days, I started to feel hopeful. "You forget, High Lord," I said, managing not to pronounce the title sarcastically, "that I've had dealings with the High Guard. I'd say that, given the chance to kill somebody, they'd be much less interested in style than in efficiency."

Indomel laughed at that, and relaxed back into his chair.

"You have described yourself, my friend. For did you not enroll in the High Guard, just before the unfortunate death of my father? You are not yet released from that duty and you shall be placed, at Obilin's request, directly under his supervision.

I looked at Obilin, who couldn't quite hide a smirk of satisfaction.

"Obilin appropriated . . . the sword I was carrying," I said. "May I have it back?"

-A bold request," Indomel said, not missing the fact that Obilin and I weren't the best of friends. "Especially from a man who could as easily be executed as hired. Were it not that the lady Tarani has convinced me that the third member of your group, a man whom Zefra identified as Sharith, was actually and independently responsible for Pylomel's death—"

"Sharith?" Obilin interrupted, taking a step into the room. "Then there were sha'um?"

Obilin's surprise was welcome. It's clear that Obilin and Indomel haven't talked to each other much. Now, if I can just keep it straight about who knows what .. .

"A sha'um," I corrected him. "It left with Thymas."

"Your friend abandoned you so readily?" Indomel said, then smiled. "Ah, I think I see, The lady Tarani was a source of conflict between you. As I believe she is between you and Obilin. Am I right, Guardsman?" he asked, looking at the little man with amusement as Obilin's face darkened. "Of course I am right."

Indomel stood up and paced slowly inside the wide semicircle of chairs. He was wearing a floor-length tunic and vest, tied with a jeweled rope; there was a soft clinking as the rope ends swung against each other in response to his movement.

"I welcome the attachment between you and the lady Tarani," he said. "Because it offers me certain assurances. She has been most persuasive in her efforts to keep you alive, and has made certain—uh—concessions on your behalf."

"Concessions"? I wondered. I had a heart-sinking memory of Pylomel and his peculiar appetites. Surely not his own sister, I argued with myself Or would he have taken Obilin's part . . . God, no!

"You will have heard that I am of a thrifty nature, Lakad. It seemed wasteful to provide food and shelter to a strong and healthy man, whose fighting skill has been well proven—hence the decision to, um, extend your enlistment in the Guard."

He paused in front of my chair. "The lady Tarani is being treated with honor," he said, "but that could change at any time. Only those of us in this room—yes, I am aware of Obilin's knowledge—know that I have a natural elder sister. Should even a rumor of this reach beyond the five of us, Tarani's comfort will be threatened. Should you fail your assigned duties as a High Guardsman, she will suffer. If you try to escape, she will die. Is that stated clearly enough?"

"Yes," I said. I was trembling. I dared not look at Tarani.

Indomel nodded, seemed to relax, and then smiled broadly.

"As to your specific assignment," he said, "I was faced with a dilemma, caused by Obilin's personal feelings toward you and the lady Tarani."

Obilin stiffened at the sound of amusement in the High Lord's voice.

"On the one hand," Indomel continued, "Obilin is totally loyal to me, and will in all things obey my wishes." The High Lord moved over to the small man, at least fifteen years older than himself, and put his hand on Obilin's shoulder.

Ricardo had once seen a human pat a dog on the head with just that air of condescension. Obilin reacted in just about the same way—except that his ears wouldn't fold back.

"On the other hand," said Indomel, "I have a great deal of sympathy for his admiration of my sister and his hatred of you, and I would prefer to spare him the embarrassment of letting his feelings violate his loyalty. I have promised, after all, that you shall live.

"Therefore, you shall report to Obilin directly, as he requests, but from a distance. As of this moment, you will be in charge of the Lingis copper mine."

I don't know who was more startled, Obilin or me.

"Me? Supervising slaves? I won't do it!" I exclaimed.

Indomel laughed. It sounds as though you've been talking to those stupid Raithskarians," he said, then whirled on Obilin, his mood change swift as lightning. "Go prepare the transfer orders. He will leave immediately."

I had to hand it to Qbilin. The rug had just been pulled out from under him, but he recovered quickly, betraying his reaction only in a slight shakiness in his voice. "Naddam, the present supervisor, is a good man, High Lord. What reason shall I give for replacing him?"

"Think of something," Indomel shouted. "The death rate among his slaves is higher than anywhere else. Tell him it's punishment for working them too hard. Tell him it's reward for such devotion to his work. Just write the order."

It was unquestionable a dismissal. The High Guardsman backed out of the room and closed the double doors, glaring at me all the way.

"Raithskar," Indomel said, and took a deep breath to calm the rage he had let us glimpse. "The name reminded me of a matter which does not concern Obilin." The High Lord went to a shelf area on the wall behind me and lifted a wooden box. He set it on a lower shelf, opened it with his back to us, and turned around with both fists closed.

"Where," he asked, "did you get this?" He opened his left hand to display a blue jewel, darker blue lines hinting at a crystalline structure deep within it. Tarani and I both gasped.

There seemed no point in hiding that part of the story. I had twisted in the chair to watch his movements. I turned back around and spoke with my back to the High Lord.

"Gharlas stole it from Raithskar," I said. "We got it from him.

"Not this one, you didn't," Indomel said. He came into the center of the grouped chairs, kicked aside the edge of the carpet and threw the jewel hard at the marble-slabbed floor. It shattered with a surprisingly soft sound.

"Glass, as I discovered shortly after you left Eddarta--at least, as I suspected, when my dear mother proved to be overconfident of her powers. I took it from her, reserving just ment on the :gem in favor of further experimentation. She .. .

He looked at Zefra, who merely stared back at him, unflinching. She hadn't yet said a word.

"The lady Zefra was punished for her temerity, I assure you. My next thought," Indomel continued, "was to wonder how the three of you had arrived in the Council Chamber. It was unthinkable that no one would have seen you enter, equally unthinkable that anyone, seeing a stranger go into the Council Chamber, would not alert the guard.

"There are two doors into that room. It is well known among the Harthim that Troman's Way exists, though its secret has long been lost to us. Once I suspected you had somehow discovered it, and entered the Council Chamber through the treasure vault, I was understandably anxious to verify that the treasure was intact. By that time, I could hear the other Lords shouting about Pylomel's death and searching for me, but I thought it wise to inspect the vault first."

He took a deep breath. "As it turned out, it was very wise. Only I know that Gharlas was killed inside the vault, instead of at the foot of the Bronze, where the others found his body. (A poetic statement, of sorts, isn't it? Yet I was less concerned with symbolism at the time than with the weight of my dead uncle's bones.)

"Only I know," he said, his voice rising slightly, "that the High Lord's treasure has been systematically pilfered, all the jewelry and gemstones replaced by glass imitations. It was at that moment that I began to suspect the truth—that an imitation Ra'ira had been left here, to inspire my mother to over-tax her abilities in trying to control me. A wonderful thing, the mind. Because she and I both believed she had the true Ra'ira, she did actually succeed—temporarily.

"One doesn't imitate what is not real, and the real Ra'ira must have been present in that room, to allow . . . my sister to read the Bronze. That meant that you still had it."

He smiled—a little bitterly, I thought-and opened his other hand. "Now I have it."

Chapter 7

"And," the High Lord added, "I am most anxious to hear how and why it escaped from Raithskar, how it was duplicated, and how it arrived here."

He was only asking for my life story for the past two months or so. I hesitated answering merely because I didn't know where to start. Tarani said nothing.

"In the space of three breaths, you three will be the next meal for the dralda," he said fiercely. "Answer!"

"Gharlas wanted to—" I broke of before I finished the thought.

No point in giving him the idea of "world conquest" if he doesn't already have it, I reminded myself.

—control Eddarta through controlling you," I finished, hoping the pause hadn't been too noticeable. "He spent a long time planning to get the Ra'ira. He had—" Another pause, to avoid saying Volitar's name. "—the same person who duplicated the gemstones make a duplicate. Two duplicates were actually made. Gharlas took one to Raithskar, but managed to lose it before he could switch it for the real one—so he just stole the real one.

"Later, he realized it probably wouldn't do for anyone else to claim having the Ra'ira. The first one was lost and harm‑

] less, but he went back to get the other duplicate. He killed the man who had made it, but didn't actually get it. We had the duplicate; we followed Gharlas here, and—well, you already know we gave you the imitation Ra'ira in order to get ourselves out of here.

Indomel considered what I had said, working his fingers gently around the Ra'ira.

So close, I moaned to myself. I wonder, if I jumped him . . . Tarani caught my eye and shook her head, very slightly. She may not be able to read minds, I thought, but she's getting damned good at reading me. What does she think we can do from more than a hundred miles apart? The copper mines, for heaven's sake!

I felt the edges of despair closing in on me. It was becoming a familiar feeling. Indomel snapped my attention back to him.

"As far as it goes," he said, "your tale is believable, and I accept it. But none of it tells me what I most want to know." He walked over to where I was sitting and looked straight down into my eyes.

I forced myself to look back, into the dark iris and the peculiar, familiar glow behind the pupil, and suddenly I had to fight hard to keep still and control the panic that bubbled at the edges of my mind.

He's going to try his mindpower on me—a compulsion-I can feel it—God! He's as strong as Gharlas, if not stronger‑ but I've had practice now; he can't control me—but I don't want him to know that!—Keeshah, I wish you were still with me, just for the comfort—Oh, Lord and Grandmama Marie, let me do this right...

"How did Gharlas know that the Ra'ira has special powers?" Indomel asked, a slight tremor disrupting the solemn note of command in his voice.

I let my eyes go slightly out of focus, opened my mouth a couple of times as though I were struggling against the compulsion (as, indeed, I was—only more successfully than I pretended), then said, slowly: "He said he found a book in the vault—a journal of the ancient kings—that described what the Ra'ira could do and how it was used."

"I have examined every article in the vault," Indomel said. "There is no such book."

That wasn't a question, so I didn't say anything.

"Where is that book now?" Indomel asked.

"I don't know," I answered, telling the absolute truth.

"Did it—no, you wouldn't know that, either," Indomel said, more to himself than to me. He broke the eye contact for a moment and stared thoughtfully at the jewel and his fingers as they moved, turning the Ra'ira in his hand. "Gharlas would have planned carefully, studied its keeping in Raithskarthere is nothing special in the theft itself, I suppose. It is only remarkable that it took a fool like Gharlas to think of bringing it back to Eddarta."

There was something special in the theft, I thought to myself. But you don't need to know that Gharlas seemed to have the rarest of mindgifts-the ability to actually read the thoughts of another Gandalaran. I ought to tell you, just for spite, but it wouldn't be in character.

Indomel turned to me again, and I stiffened under his spooky stare. "Gharlas would have no reason to lie to you," he said, "so the book he spoke of must exist, and he must have removed it from the vault.

"That could have been done only through Troman's Way. The guards who searched Gharlas's home had no more fortune in finding the entrance than has anyone else in the generations since Troman used that passageway to meet his women. If you came through it, you know how to get into it—tell me.

"The door is on the right-hand side of the entry door," I said. "A wall panel slides back, and you go through sideways to a small landing, and then stairs. But Gharlas opened it, and I couldn't do it again."

"How did he open it?" Indomel demanded.

"Pressure on the nearby floor tiles, a complicated pattern. I couldn't tell you which tiles, what order—anything about it, only that I'm pretty sure that's the way he opened the door."

Indomel thought about that. "The vault has similar tiles, that date from about the same period," he mused. "The same method— where is the vault door located?" he asked.

"Behind the big tapestry—on the other side of the vault from where you must have found Gharlas's body. That's as close as I can pinpoint it."

Indomel smiled. "Well, I expect that's sufficient. It is only a matter of time before I can discover the correct combination."

It's only a matter of time, I thought, before a computerized random selection of alpha characters and spaces recreates Hamlet's soliloquy. A matter of a lot of time. Good luck.

"One more question," Indomel said. "Why are you involved in this?"

Uh-oh. I blinked dazedly at Indomel for about three seconds, worrying furiously the -entire time. Then I thought: Sorry, Tarani, but this seems the safer course.

"The man who made the duplicate Ra'ira was Volitar." At the edge of my vision, I saw Zefra twitch. Tarani never moved a muscle. "I met Tarani and Thymas on their way to visit him, when they still thought Volitar was her father. I tagged along because of Tarani, and happened to be there . . . Gharlas killed Volitar, but couldn't force Tarani to give him the second duplicate. Between her looks and her power, Gharlas figured out that Tarani was Zefra's daughter. Tarani was determined to come to Eddarta to meet Zefra and defeat Gharlas's plans. Thymas and I came with her . . . to protect her," I ended, unable to hide the bitterness I felt.

Some of that was true, some false. But it seemed to satisfy Indomel, and I marked that down as one assessment of his character: He likes simple solutions.

"All right," he said, and I felt the compulsion drop away abruptly.

I relaxed with a sigh of relief. Accepting that compulsion without really responding to it had been a terrific strain. I wasn't sure what "mental muscles" I used at times like that, but I knew it cost a lot of energy. But I wasn't griping. I felt, in fact, as though I was really ahead, for a change—I'd kept Indomel ignorant of my specialness.

The feeling of victory vanished when Indomel put away the Ra'ira, stepped into the waiting area, and opened the outer door. "Get Obilin," he ordered, then came back into the room. "You may now say your farewells to the lady Tarani," he said. "It is the last time you will see her."

Protests of all kinds gathered in my throat, but I put them aside for the one thing which seemed immediately important. "Can we speak privately?" I asked.

"I'm sure that Obilin is eager to accept charge of you, Guardsman," he said. "Don't waste what time you have making ridiculous requests."

Tarani had moved around the chairs; I stood up to meet her. She was guarded, restrained, conscious of the people watching. I was full of grief and guilt and bitterness. In silence, I pulled her into my arms.

There was no passion between us in that moment, but an acknowledgment of linkage, of bonding, of being a single unit no matter what physical distance separated us. And somehow, in the midst of every evil thing that surrounded us and the seemingly impossible struggle that faced us, there was comfort. We didn't kiss, but merely held each other, her body pliant and soft, her embrace as strong as mine.

The door opened. Tarani stirred and pressed her cheek against mine. So softly that I barely caught the words, Tarani whispered: "There is hope." Then she moved away from me, leaving a giant coldness where she had been.

The way to Lingis was straight, hard, and boring. I had a lot of time, in those five days, to remember the final few seconds of the interview with Indomel, the picture of the room indelible in my mind: Obilin stony-faced, Zefra still immobile, Indomel sort of blank-looking. All of them loomed in my remembered vision like statues; even I seemed frozen. Only Tarani was Jive, breathing, warm. She glowed with vitality, and promise, and a curious sort of peace.

There is hope, she had said.

Obilin had led me directly from the house to the gate of Lord City, where a group of guards waited with full backpacks and a lot of suppressed questions. We had stopped just out of their hearing range.

"They will take you to Lingis," Obilin had said. "Naddam will be expecting you in five days, and it is worth the girl's life not to be even an hour late. He will show you the routine before he leaves. Be sure the mine continues to produce as well, but never forget that you are as much a prisoner there as the slaves are."

He had given me a sword, and a folded, wax-sealed sheet of paper. I had put the sword through my baldric, aware of Obilin's alertness, fighting the tempting vision of the sword lashing out, of Obilin falling into his own blood. I had been sickened by the savagery of the image, even more so by the pleasure I felt in anticipation of its execution. That, and the background awareness of the consequences to Tarani, had guided the sword safely and unblooded to its place.

"There is a clerk," Obilin had continued, after a slight hesitation. I had wondered if he had been disappointed that I hadn't tried something. "He sends daily reports directly to the High Lord; he has been instructed to see you every day; the first day he misses you will be the last day of Tarani's life."

He had spoken savagely, and I had seen a new truth part of Obilin's hatred, now at least, was concern for Tarani's welfare. I had control of her fate, and Obilin was losing control of mine. At least, so it had seemed to Obilin and to me.

"One last word," Obilin had said, gripping my arm painfully. "Remember that Naddam is not the only guard in Lingis who reports to me."

He had shoved me toward the group. The six guards— most of whom had been assigned to the rotating schedule around my confinement—had sandwiched me between two columns, and we had left Eddarta.

Naddam greeted me, in Lingis, with understandable resentment. Obilin's explanation—I got a glimpse of the message which had arrived by messenger bird the day I had left Eddarta with the. "official" transfer orders—was patently transparent, and he wanted to know what was going on.

I didn't tell him anything, at first—but Naddam turned out to be a real surprise. He had the same tough-muscled, scarred look as most of the mine guards—generally not the pick of the crop—but Naddam was an intelligent man, as compassionate as his role would allow him to be.

The mine operated from a city-like enclosure two man-days

' away from the Lingis River for which it was- named. Water was hauled in by vlek and stored in rooftop tanks to provide drinking water and an occasional bath.

The slaves were organized into semi-military groups, each of eight groups assigned to a small barracks. Each group had twelve to fifteen slaves and four guards, divided into two teams which alternated resting and working six-hour shifts broken up among the duties of actual mining, hauling, and loading ore, and "camp" duties like cooking, washing, and cleaning. During any given seven-day, one of the slave groups would have it slightly easier on "vlek" duty. Team A wrestled half the work animals into delivering ore to the foundry in Tarling and bringing back water, while Team B tended the other half and took care of the shorter hauling job of bringing mined ore into camp.

Naddam was explaining all this to me as he guided me through the barracks area.

"Every group has more than just the twelve people necessary for both teams," I pointed out.

To allow for illness,' he snapped.

"Or death?" I asked, and Naddam pulled up short. "I heard," I continued, "that the death rate among slaves is higher here than in the other mines."

The Guardsman looked at me squarely, his hands on his hips. He wasn't a young man, as the darkening areas of his yellowish headfur betrayed. "My people get hot meals, regular rest, and more comfort than in the other mines," he said. "As you'd know, if you had any mine experience at all." He turned away in disgust.

The explanation he didn't offer then arrived the next day in the form of a group of slaves being transferred from a mine further north: three men and a woman, all skin and bones, standing unsteadily, coughing violently. Naddam greeted their guards at the gate of the compound with something less than politeness, gruffly directed them to the dining hall, and called his own guards to take the newcomers to their assigned barracks. He caught the woman and supported her during a coughing fit, then handed her to a guard with a gentle touch.

Chapter 8

Naddam walked back to where he had left me, near the command barracks; the gentleness I had seen in his handling of the woman vanished in an explosion of anger.

"Of course the death rate here is higher," he growled. "Every other mine works their people to death, and then— then, as a gesture of kindness—they send the dying ones here to 'recover'. They might recover, with total rest and constant care, but I can't afford that—not in wasting them as manpower and not in the resentment of the other slaves. So I put them on the lightest duty I can, give them extra food portions and as much rest as possible—and, of course, they

die anyway. And a `death' that belongs somewhere else shows up on my record"

"You're not worried about your record," I said.

"What?" Naddam demanded. He must have seen something of what I was thinking in my face, because he repeated the word less belligerently. "What?"

"You're concerned for them," I said, waving my arm in the direction the slaves had gone. "I'd have seen it before, if I hadn't been looking at everything from the slaves' point of view, hating the work and the place and the confinement. I'll bet your record for slaves who survive their sentence and go free is higher than anywhere else, too."

"That's right," Naddam said. "And you're here to change all that, right?" But there was less conviction than question in the remark.

"Wrong. I'm here because Indomel sent me. .I can't tell you why, because doing that will endanger somebody I care about."

Naddam nodded. "I thought Obilin's letter sounded a little out of joint. I'm not being thrown out, is that it? You're being thrown in?"

"That's about the size of it. I think you've figured out that I don't like the idea any more than you do. But it seems as though you're giving the slaves the best break they can expect. I want to keep that up, Naddam. Show me how to do things your way."

He was quiet for a moment, studying me. "I been doing this for ten years," he said at last. "It's not bad duty—the women are grateful for decent treatment." He put his hand on my shoulder, the first time he had touched me. "But now that I know these folks won't see much change for the worse, I'm kinda looking forward to city duty. I'll tell you all I can," he promised.

In the remaining few days of his tenure, Naddam showed me every phase of the mining operation, explaining with some pride that Lingis was unique among the copper mines.

There were seven mines located from Lingis northward along a line that followed the base of the steep mountain range that marked this portion of the "wall" around Gandalara. Only the Lingis ore lode was close to the surface and reasonably shallow. The others used the same techniques I saw at Lingis, but to less advantage as they followed narrow lodes into the sides of mountains.

In Lingis, the people worked in air and daylight, and most of what they did was directly related to mining ore. The mine itself was a series of trenches, six to twenty feet deep, that ridged a hillside, with the newest trench also the highest. The effort of the work crews was divided about equally into three parts. A third worked the current trench, breaking the mountainside into large chunks with stone hammers and bronze pick-like tools. Another third hauled the chunks downhill and broke them down into manageable pieces. That was done by brute force; four people lifted a huge column of rock and dropped it, lifted and dropped, until a big rock was pulverized into pieces no bigger than my fist.

The rest of the crews worked at opening the next trench, and that process was intricate and time-consuming. Once the rock had been laid bare of topsoil and salt layer (much thin ner here than it seemed to be in the Gandalaran deserts, where the Fa'aldu built their homes of three-foot salt-block cubes), an engineer studied the face of the hillside and marked a line with mild acid. Drilling crews placed a six-foot rod of bronze, mounted in a wood frame to stay vertical, over a point on the line. The rod was about six inches in diameter, and its tip was crusted with rock powder. It started digging into the acid scar when the crew pushed the shoulder-high turning spokes, and didn't stop until a hole fifteen inches deep had been drilled—except for breaks to flush out the rock debris with water. Then it moved on to a new spot.

When there were holes at two-foot intervals all along the line the engineer had drawn, the holes were stuffed tightly with three-foot reeds that had been split, wet, and tightly rolled. The reeds were allowed to dry until they were stiff and hard.

I happened to be there on a "new trench" day. All other work stopped, both for the safety of the rest of the crew and because it was an impressive sight to watch.

The trench-opening crew stood above the reed-stuffed holes and worked in close coordination with one another. At each hole, two or three people placed a thin bronze rod with a pointed tip into the center of the stiff reeds, waggled it carefully until it was well seated, then forced it deeper into the opening by measured taps with a rock hammer. The ringing sound of stone on bronze was the only noise on the hillside. The workers didn't strike simultaneously, or even in any detectable rhythm, but there was an inescapable feeling of teamwork to the sound. The blows seemed to slow, become heavier—and then another sound drowned them out. One crack, two, then a series of popping and cracking sounds that grew into a deafening noise.

The work crew jumped backward as, all along the line the engineer had etched, the hillside split open.

I felt like cheering, but I seemed to be the only one, and I realized that, for the rest of them, the feat of engineering just meant more work.

Still, it took only one talk with the engineer to convince me that Lingis duty was, truly, the easiest of all the mines. Elsewhere the "trenches" were only part of the job—as they led into the mountain, the over-hanging rock, too, had to be dismantled. At Tarnel, the oldest of the mines, the working trench was a combination chasm and unsupported tunnel, and the crews worked in dust-choked, dangerous conditions that provoked the coughing disease that claimed so many of the slaves.

So Lingis was blessed with easy access to its ore, as well as a humane manager. Under those circumstances, it didn't surprise me that it was the most productive. And that made it no surprise that the Lingis profits went to the High Lord's family.

Naddam spent several days showing me around and introducing me to guards—a group Ricardo would have named a "motley crew". On his last night at the mine, he invited me to his rooms for a few glasses of barut, the Gandalaran equivalent of whiskey, made from a fermented grain and not bad as booze went. I left his rooms—soon to be mine—late, with the remainder of the bottle as a farewell gift, grateful for Naddam's sympathy and hopeful that the barut would help me get to sleep.

My Gandalaran "inner awareness" had been telling me I wasn't sleeping enough, but it could only warn. It couldn't force compliance on a mind bent on self-pity and worry.

During the days, the company of Naddam and the mental activity of learning what he had to tell me had kept me pretty well occupied. But even then, examining production charts or viewing the mining operation, I frequently found my breath snatched away and my chest squeezed by a flash vision of. Tarani, alone in Eddarta. At night, there were no distractions.

Tonight I was so tired that I found it difficult to worry about one thing at a time, and I was swept through a dizzying assortment of images, each one plunging me deeper into depression. Tarani as I had last seen her—in control but threatened by Indomel and Obilin, Zefra an unknown quantity offering little hope. Keeshah turning away from me. Naddam, a friendly figure, but threatening in that his protection would be absent tomorrow.

One of the most tormenting visions—the memory of Obilin in the desert, tracing the outline of Tarani's breast with the point of his sword—had me in its grip when I heard a noise outside the closed shutters of my bedroom window. The shutters didn't rattle. There was no real sound to the noise at all, merely a whooshing, like wind.

But the only wind I'd encountered in Gandalara was in the high passes that formed the Chizan crossing.

I heard it again and, grateful for the distraction, I went to the window and opened the shutters. I had to clamp down a shout of surprise and pleasure—Lonna was hovering, patiently waiting to be admitted. The sound I had heard was the sweeping of her big wings.

The white bird sailed past me into the room, and I closed the shutters. She swung around the room once, her wingspread making her seem to fill the room, then she slammed into my chest, knocking me over. She made one sound—the soft, hooting sound I had learned to associate with pleasure— then remained silent. But it wasn't the bird's nature to be inexpressive; for a few seconds I was blinded by flapping white feathers, the skin of my ribs and legs both tickled and pricked by her claws as Lonna jumped all over me.

For my part, I was nearly as happy to see her. She would have been welcome in herself as a "friendly face", so to speak. But the manner of her approach—so silent, so wary— could mean only one thing. Tarani had sent her to me. The bird's arrival meant that I wasn't as alone as I felt, and neither was Tarani.

I took all the time necessary to calm and cuddle Lonna, since that was the only reward I could offer her. Then, so eagerly that I was shaking, I took the bulky band from her leg and opened the letter from Tarani.

Rikardon,

I cannot risk sending Lonna to you often, but this one time I must. The situation in Eddarta is not what it seems. Indomel believes that his cruel punishment of my mother has damaged her permanently, and he no longer fears her. But in this he is deceived. Even before I returned, Zefra's daze was partly pretended; with my power to aid her, she is herself again. Indomel underestimates us both.

Free yourself, and take no thought for my safety, my love. No matter what Indomel said, I am in no danger from him. Zefra and I together can protect ourselves from his mindpower, should it come to that. But my brother keeps me well for his own reasons—he has failed in every attempt to use the Ra'ira. He believes I used its power when I read the Bronze, and though I have convinced him that I must have done so unconsciously and cannot school him in skills I do not have, he wishes to win my willing assistance in mastering the gem. I have let him think I am trying, and so have traded something worthless for the thing most precious to me—your life.

In doing this, I gained some time for us all, though it dwindles daily as Indomel grows more impatient. I say again that Indomel cannot harm me; I fear only that his spite will separate me from my mother, or that his vengeance will strike at you. Zefra and I have talked and planned; there is a way to defeat Indomel, but we must act soon. Free yourself, and come to me. Through Lonna's eyes I will know when to expect you, and I will send her to guide you to me.

It will seem years before we meet, my love.

—Tarani.

I thought a lot of things about that letter as I read it and re-read it by lamplight.

Our names are on it, I thought. What if Lonna had been caught? Then, sentimental as a schoolboy, I was shocked and thrilled by two words: "My love". She called me "my love".

But mostly, the words in the letter confirmed what would have been my own hunch, if I'd been able to lasso all the wandering thoughts together in some logical order. Indomel hadn't acted like someone who had just laid his hands on a worldkiller.

He must have tried to read the Bronze himself, I decided. Probably really burns him that Tarani could do it and he can't. Tarani said that any help from the Ra'ira came subconsciously, and I believe her. Considering the fact that Indomel's gift is pretty strong, and he's having trouble, it must take a little time to get the hang of using that thing when and how you want to.

I'd like to think it has the fairy-tale quality of only working for the good guys, but what I know of Gandalaran history proves that idea's a crock. The reason the Ra'ira was in Raithskar in the first place was because it had been misused by the last of the Kings.

Indomel's direct ancestor. It figures.

Now don't say that, I chided myself. Harthim was Tarani's ancestor, too—in blood, if not in spirit. It's ironic, really, that the only person who might lead the way the good Kings did doesn't want any part of the Ra'ira .

So there's a balance of power in Eddarta, in many levels of meaning. And Tarani says she's safe. Can I believe her?

That question helped me put my finger on one of the things that had been bothering me most. In the desert, I had stubbornly dragged Tarani into captivity. Afterward, another pendulum swing of my irrational mind had let me dump all the responsibility on her. I hadn't questioned her leadership continuing in Eddarta because Tarani could deal from a stronger hand than mine. But squirming away in the back of my mind was a nasty little thought, a suspicion that I had won Tarani's undying contempt.

What am I thinking? I wondered. Be logical, at least. If she were really trying to sacrifice herself for me, she'd have said: "Break out of that there hoose-gow and high-tail it for home!" But she said to get away and come to Eddarta. There: fore she's safe, logically.

But logic be hanged, damn it! I thought. What about trust? She said she's safe; therefore she is safe. I've got to get rid of this guilt complex; it's making me see Tarani's motives through a mirror.

What did she say in the letter? I wondered, searching for the remembered line.

"Free yourself soon," she says.

Not "if you can."

"When to expect you ."

Not "if you survive."

Bless her, I thought, my throat so choked that I'd have been crying, if Gandalarans could weep for emotional reasons. She still believes in me.

Then I've got to believe in myself.

The problem is, how do I get out of here? I'm not guarded, but if I leave, you can bet I'll be followed . That wimp Tullenthe clerk Obilin mentioned, an unlikable person—will notify Indomel first thing, of course. There's nothing I can do about that, and Tarani seems to think she can handle Indomel. All I have to do is get my body away from here in one piece.

I walked to the wall pegs where my belt was hanging. I touched it, let it fall across my palm. I was sure the circular shapes would escape the notice of anyone who didn't know the belt was filled with memorial Eddartan gold coins.

There's more than one kind of power, I thought.

For the first time since I'd come to Lingis, I spent a sleepless night profitably.

I sent Lonna back with a brief note. It didn't say much more than Thanks for writing; I'll get there as soon as I can.

Everything else I wanted to say kept phrasing itself gushily, and I decided I'd save Lonna the weight, me the frustration, and that message for personal delivery.

Chapter 9

The next morning, the camp-duty guards and I turned out to wish Naddam a good trip and pleasant duty. When he had gone, I looked over the group I now "commanded".

"I know it's no secret to you," I said, "that my coming here wasn't my choice. But that fact is, I was put in charge, and I am in charge."

I watched them carefully. Several sets of eyes looked away from me and seemed to watch what one man would do—a tall guy named Jaris.

"For the time being, things will continue exactly as Naddam set them up," I said. "I'm not about to mess with success, at least not until I'm sure any changes will be improvements. Jaris, bring the work schedule and duty roster to my office. The rest of you—back to your assignments."

I walked away, my spine tingling from the weight of their stares.

Jaris came into the room in Naddam's quarters that was designated as his office-a broad table and a few chairs, shelves on one wall for rosters, and production records. Jaris was a youngish man for mine work, barely into his twenties, I thought. He was tall and kind of thin, but his slim frame carried whipcords of muscle. I hadn't been able to figure out whether it was a gesture of unity or one of defiance, but the Lingis guards consistently wore only the trousers of the High Guard uniform. Two baldrics—one for sword, one for dagger, lay across Jaris's smooth chest. He adjusted his dagger to rest on the top of his thigh when he sat down at my invitation.

I took the rosters he offered me, but set them aside unread. I let him fidget for a few seconds while I stared at him.

No reason, I thought, that he shouldn't be as nervous as I

am. This has to be right; it doesn't figure any other way. "Ever heard of the Living Death, Jaris?" I asked.

"Who?" he said, almost casually. But I had seen the frac‑

tional start he had quickly controlled.

I guessed right, I thought with relief. Now if I can just handle this right .. .

"I thought so," I said, and stood up to walk over to the window. The slaves who had today's "domestic" assignment were moving about, collecting night waste from the barracks, tending the vleks. One of the men who had arrived recently staggered out of the barracks to which he'd been sent, tried to call to one of the guards, and fell to coughing. His voice had been nearly inaudible at that distance, but the harsh rasping of his cough crackled across the space.

"All the dying ones come here first," I said, "which mews the Living Death—recruited from among the dying slaves— have to escape from here. Lingis has a high death toll; I've seen the records. How many of those corpses are still alive, Jaris? I know Naddam well enough that he wouldn't have the stomach to handle the bodies himself—so you do it, and you don't check real close, do you?"

Jaris dropped the pretense of ignorance. He also dropped his other hand to the hilt of his sword.

"What about it?" he asked.

I shrugged. "Not much, really. I just like to understand things, that's all. And there's something that puzzles me. Molik paid Obilin, and Obilin paid you, right? And now it's Worfit who's footing the bill?"

"Yeah," he said, then repeated: "What about it?"

I hooked my fingers in my belt, crossed my legs, leaned against the windowsill. "I said I've seen the figures," I answered. "And between Molik and Worfit, there was no change in the death rate. Now, I have a proposition for you, but I d hesitate to do business with a man who might have killed ten or twenty innocent people, just so that a change in statistics wouldn't make the wrong people suspicious."

"What's your proposition?" he asked warily.

"First answer the question," I said. "Were those other deaths your doing?"

He shifted in his chair. "You a friend of Obilin's?" he asked.

There was no deception in the way I laughed at that suggestion, and Jaris sensed it.

"Arright," he said. "Arright. I don't work exclusive for Obilin. You're right—there were three seven-days or so when Obilin shut down his operation. I just doubled up on my other business, that's all. I didn't kill nobody."

"Other business?" I repeated, then rocked to my feet, unable to believe the conclusion I'd reached. "Y ou re an agent for the Fa'aldu?"

Jaris was out of his chair, his dagger in his hand. "For a stranger, you sure know a lot. Just who the fleabite are you?"

I held up both hands, palms toward Jaris. "Easy now, I was just surprised, that's all. As to who I am—you don't want to know, Jaris. It can only get you into trouble."

"Yeah," he said, and relaxed a bit—but he didn't put away his blade. "Yeah, I got a feeling you're right. So tell me what you want, and let's get this done with."

"I want out of here," I said, putting real desire in the words. "But I need to know what I'd be getting into."

He considered me for a moment. "You already know about Obilin. The phony stiffs go straight to Eddarta and he takes them from there. The Fa'aldu business—goes by another route."

"Surely the Fa'aldu don't pay you," I said, thinking of the way they lived, trading, never using coins.

"Not them, the slave's relatives, friends, whatever. The Fa'aldu do the planning, and take the fee—I get it when the slave reaches the end of the line, some place in Chizan."

"Why Chizan?"

He laughed, a short, snorting sound. "You know what happens to somebody who's caught after escaping? This side of the world's filled with lowlifes looking to make a fast zak." He grinned, knowing I might put him in that same category. "The slaves who been in the mines—they all have a certain look, y'know? Somebody spots 'em, turns 'em in for a standing reward for returned slaves. Guards go anywhere to get 'em back—anywhere this side of Chizan."

I picked up the two gold coins I'd removed from my belt and left on the windowsill, and I held them so that the light gleamed from them. "Will this buy my passage out of here?" I asked Jaris. "Naturally, I'd prefer the Fa'aldu route."

"Naturally," Jaris said, as he stepped forward, holding out his hand. I pulled the coins back. "You wanna do business or

not?" he snarled.

"I said before that I want to know what I’m getting into.

Where do the Fa'aldu slaves go?"

"I take 'em to Taling when it's my turn to haul," he said, grudgingly. "The Fa'aldu have a contact there—from that point to Chizan, I got no idea where they go."

"How do you account for them being gone?"

"Well, y'knaw, it's a funny thing about that long trip to Taling. Folks that look just as healthy as a vlek sometimes fall right over dead all of a sudden. And there ain't no point in bringing a corpse all the way back here, now is there?"

"When do you have hauling duty again?" I asked.

He grinned. "Now ain't you just in luck. I got to head out for Taling tomorrow."

He reached for the coins again; this time I let one of them drop into his palm.

"Hey!" he said.

"I want the name of the Fa'aldu contact in Taling," I said.

"When we get there," he growled. "You must think I'm stupid; I ain't gonna tell you that till we get to Taling."

"And the deal's off until I know that name," I said.

He tossed the gold coin and caught it. "I got half your money, man," he said.

"And I am not as squeamish as Naddam," I answered. "I don't much like this place, but while I'm here, I plan to do a thorough job. In fact; I will be checking dead bodies personally to be sure they're dead, and reporting any discrepancies immediately to Eddarta. Also, until further notice, you're suspended from water-hauling duty."

His eyes narrowed and I tensed, afraid for a moment that he'd let his anger get the better of him.

"A baker named Rull," Jaris said. "His shop is on the north side of town, the southeast corner of a small square."

I tossed him the other coin. "Tomorrow, then," I said. "Ill change clothes with one of the slaves, so—if you should ever be asked—you didn't even know I went along."

Jaris tucked the coins into his belt.

"I ain't gonna miss you much, Lakad," he said as he went to the door.

"It's mutual," I replied.

When he had left, my knees went weak with relief, and I sagged into the chair behind the desk.

It was worth the money for the misdirection, I thought. Now when they find me gone in the morning, I'm hoping Jaris will think I've headed for Lingis, that the money was a bribe for the Fa'aldu contact's name, and that the main trickery was in the timing. I'm betting he'll lead everybody in that direction, bent on revenge.

Most of all, I'm counting on the fact that Jaris is no smarter than he looks.

That unsettling thought was still with me that night, as I filled a makeshift pack with the portions of breakfast and lunch—both served to me in the office—which I had reserved. Fruit, bread, and cheese, and a few scraps of meat. I had been regularly, with no conscious intention, saving up the small, hard sweets that were served as dessert at the evening meals. Those, too, I packed, reflecting that they would come in handy as quick energy during my long run.

I hoped that it wouldn't occur to anyone that I would set off across the desert alone. These people were uniquely adapted for desert life, with a physical capability to retain water more efficiently than human beings. But water was still essential to their individual existence, even more so to community life. So their cities clustered around the rivers which spilled down from the Wall to irrigate land and quench thirst, and travel was, preferably, a matter of moving from city to city, following the contours of the Wall.

When desert travel was necessary, Gandalarans traveled in groups, lone travelers often waiting days for a caravan going in their direction, and paying in money or service for the chance to travel with the traders. Few Gandalarans felt it necessary to do what I was preparing to do now—endure days of heat and hunger and thirst, merely for the sake of getting from one place to another.

But few Gandalarans have the reasons I do, either, I mused as I tested the cork stopper in the ink bottle. I added the bottle and several sheets of parchment to the bundle I was piling on the cut-up blanket. And fewer still have the experience offaster travel. Riding a sha'um makes you impatient with walking. If Keeshah were here, I'd be in Eddarta tomorrow night, instead of four days from now. The thought made me feel slightly ashamed. The big cat was more, much more, than an animal of burden. If Keeshah were here, this would all be easier, I thought, the pain of loss ripping through me once again, as if he had only now left me. With it came another thought, full of anguish and fear.

Can that be the reason why I've fouled things up so badly? I wondered. All the strength, the ability to think and plan, the leadership I had before—was that mine, or was it only on loan from Keeshah, through our linked minds? And did it go away with him?

No! I fought the insecurity, shaking myself mentally. I was Ricardo before I was Markasset, and I lived a full and decent life with Keeshah's help. His going hurt me, that's all. I've got to get used to the idea of life without him again—for his sake, as well as mine (and Tarani's). Because I know he couldn't control the time and place of his need to go.

I had some excuse in the desert, I admitted to myself, because of the suddenness of his loss. I was in shock. But if I let it get to me now, and interfere with Tarani's plans, then I'll be giving Keeshah responsibility for the consequences. It would hurt him—God, how it would hurt him—to think that his desertion had brought about my death.

I wasn't fooling myself on one point—the next time Indomel got his hands on me, I'd die. I had to keep my wits about me, stay free, and—the truth of this shone out—die by my own hand rather than be used again as a weapon against Tarani.

As I fastened up the corners of the blanket, and used the long ends I had left free to tie the .pack across my shoulders, anticipation and determination swept through me, making me feel more alert and awake that I had in days. I had felt the sensation before, at the moment when planning ended and action began. It was a carryover from Markasset, and it was well entrenched in Rikardon.

I slipped out the window, made my way through the torch-wavering shadows to the water tank, opened the tap, and drank deeply. Then I filled a small leather pouch, the only container I could bring without generating suspicion of my actual route. The cut-away part of the blanket was inside the pack, for the same reason—to leave no clues. The pouch wasn't prepared for water storage and would swell in the heat, stealing some of the precious liquid from me. Even with the special qualities of this Gandalaran body, I knew the water wouldn't be enough to last the entire journey, and I could look forward to a dismal last day.

I'll make it, I told myself, as I moved toward the stone wall of the enclosure. The wall wasn't extremely high—the surrounding desert was a much more effective barrier. I know I'll make it. More importantly, Tarani knows it. She's counting on me, and I won't fail her again.

I ducked back against one of the slave barracks as a perimeter guard rounded the inner corner of the wall. He glanced in my direction, but the shadows hid me well enough. He was wearing such a look of boredom that I nearly pitied him.

When the guard had passed, I moved along the wall to the corner. The small spaces where the stone blocks met imperfectly were nearly useless elsewhere as hand- and toe-holds; there wasn't enough depth to them to support the vertical lifting of a man's body. But here, where one could brace between two walls, using the angle both for support while climbing and for greater pressure at each contact point, those spaces were sufficient.

Wheezing from the tension and exertion, the healed dralda wound throbbing in my arm from the unusual strain of the climb, I dropped quietly into the sand outside the Lingis camp and left it with no regret.

Chapter 10

I pushed myself that night, running hard through the relative coolness of the silvery desert. I wanted as much distance as possible between me and the mining camp before my absence was discovered. Even after the moon set, and the darkness was nearly absolute, I kept moving. Caution slowed my pace, but I had already outrun the desert's edge with the ground-hugging bushes that could trip the unsuspecting. Now there was only salty sand, spraying up behind me and settling soundlessly to the gently rolling ground. As long as I made allowance for the ups and downs, I kept up a reasonably, good pace.

The Well of Darkness

In fact, I felt rather confident and self-satisfied as I ran through the blackness. I was as sure of my direction as if I could see Eddarta in the distance.

That might be Markasset's "inner awareness", I speculated, my mind separating itself from the hypnotic, rhythmic motion of my body. But he's never shown evidence of such a strong link to the All-Mind. More likely, I thought, and a warmth not of the desert filled me, it's a light compulsion from Tarani. Lonna would have reached her before nightfall, so she knows I'm on my way, and she's helping as much as she can. It doesn't feel quite like the compulsion she used in Eddarta to bring us back together—but then, the distance is much greater.

The lady does have power, I thought. Enough, I hope—no, I'm sure, because she said so—to keep Indomel's at bay . But I won't rest easy until I get the Ra'ira and Tarani away from Eddarta's corruption.

I had to pause, and laugh at myself. Until I get them away, I thought. That's a good sign. I'm beginning to feel powerful again, mysel .

That g feeling sank a little the next morning, when

something called my attention into the sky. I could barely see the small, gray-green bird against the grayness- of the cloud cover, but I knew the maufa was on its way to Eddarta, with Tullen's trouble-making report in tow. I don't know whether the maufa or I was more astonished when a piercing shriek sounded and a huge white bullet dropped down from the clouds. The white shape collided with the green one, its straight course zigzagging with the impact; then wide wings opened and the two birds drifted down. Lonna dropped the maufa at my feet and hooted at me. I gripped my forearms and held them out; she settled into the square nest and lay her head across my shoulder.

I sat down, still holding her, and freed one arm to pick up the other bird, tiny in comparison to Lonna, its feathers stained with blood, its neck loose. Why, Lonna, I thought, Why didn't you tell me you were a chicken hawk?

"Tarani sent you, of course," I said aloud. "To gain time. No news to Indomel is good news. What's this you're carrying?"

When my hand felt the lumps under Lonna's wings, the big bird spread her wings and hopped out of my grasp. Tied to her sides, beneath and behind her wings where they wouldn't put direct strain on her powerful breast muscles, were two hand-size pieces of leather, not quite flat. I cut the lacings which held them, and they plopped into the sand, changing shape.

"Water!" I said, picking them up. They were small water bags made of specially treated glith skins. Tarani had put only a small amount of water in each one, out of consideration for the bulk and weight of Lonna's burden. But what she had sent nearly tripled my water supply.

"Tarani, Lonna—thank you," I whispered to the desert.

Lonna stayed with me for three days, feeding on the maufa she killed and flying off in the evenings to find her own water source. Following this straight desert route, the trip back to Eddarta was slightly shorter, but even more boring. I rejoiced when I caught a glimpse of color against the even grayness of the desert.

Eddarta was no exception to the one rule of landscape in Gandalara: where there was water, there also was abundant life; where no water flowed, "life" was brief, very chancy, and preferred night to day. That glimpse of color—nothing more, really, than a change from the gray scrubby bushes that clung to the sand to a greener variety—told me that the city was close.

On the trip from Eddarta, the troop had followed the River Wall out of Eddarta, marching along gentle slopes at the base of the long, sloping wall. Near the city—and the lifegiving waters of the Tashal—those slopes had been thick with crops. From the crest of a hill, we had been able to 'see patterns to the land, smooth geometric shapes that changed color as the crops varied made use of every accessible square inch of irrigated land.

We had quickly left the farms behind us, but for miles beyond them, the land had continued to enjoy the rich base of groundwater supplied by the broad cascade of the Tashal and its myriad branches. The terrain had been wild and overgrown; without the smooth, winding line of road, it would have been slow going. It had reminded me of the terrain near Thagorn, except that here the uncultivated Dakathrenil trees, their woody trunks twisting about only inches above the ground, were mixed with the slim but straighter, coniferous‑looking trees I had seen planted in orchards near Dyskornis. Walking through the one had brought back memories of riding through the other—which had led inevitably to the precious memory of the first time Keeshah's mind, and not merely his thoughts, had touched me. I had been embroiled in a fight with two Sharith, and keeping Keeshah out of it had been an essential element of my disguise—had they seen him, they would have known me as Markasset. So Keeshah had joined me in the only way he could—through our mindlink. His consciousness had merged with mine, providing instant interpretation of sounds and sights and scents that Markasset could not have processed so quickly, helping me win. Then— again for the sake of disguise—he had allowed me to ride the sha um of the other men.

The memory had been with me constantly on that march, alternately a comfort and a torment, as the reality of Keeshah's absence pierced my reverie. I was just as glad now, as I stopped and let my panting slow, that I was approaching Eddarta from just this angle. I had missed that woody area, which had climbed the rolling upward slope of the River Wall and covered a narrow strip of level ground at its base. And I was too close to the wall to meet the treacherous salt bog that was the terminus for every surface water source in Gandalara-- that, too, would have brought memories of Keeshah and our first trip together, out of the Kapiral Desert toward Raithskar. I was approaching Eddarta from the east, entering the cultivated area through an interface of scrubby bushes whose only differentiation from the desert growth was the healthier-looking green of their spiked leaves.

I called Lonna to ground, opened my pack, and wrote a brief note to Tarani. I tied the note to the bird's leg, and sent her off with Tarani's name as directions. Then I dug out a hollow in the sand in the scant shade of one of the bushes and settled in to wait.

It was dark when Lonna returned, and her call of welcome woke me from a deep sleep. It had been the first time in recent memory that I hadn't been troubled with restless dreams of unfilled needs and unanswered questions—whether that meant that the prospect of seeing Tarani had set them at rest, or merely that exhaustion had given me peace, I couldn't say.

The message Lonna carried was brief:

Lord City gate, midnight. tomorrow I will come to you. T .

The packet also contained a few small coins—a thoughtful addition, since I didn't dare try to change the gold pieces I carried. They displayed the countenance of Pylomel, the former High Lord, and had been minted some twenty or so years ago in honor of his planned marriage to Zefra. His plans had been delayed for two years, during which time Zefra had left Eddarta with Volitar, had given birth to Tarani (who had thought Volitar her father until recently) and had been, finally, captured and returned to Pylomel. The memorial gold coins hidden in my belt were rare enough to invite attention— the last thing I needed. The coins Tarani had provided were small in amount, but precious in their usability.

A small doubt crossed my mind, brought on by the realization that it was not only the dimness of light, and the flowing angles of Gandalaran cursive that made the note difficult to read. The words had been written in haste, and for a moment I wasn't absolutely positive that it was Tarani's handwriting.

Lonna was resting on my shoulder. I stretched out my arm and she side-stepped along it until her weight rested on my upper arm. "Did this message come from Tarani, Lonna?" I asked. She hunched forward and spread her wings; I laughed, and tossed her into the air. The big wings beat down, lifting her. "I see you haven't forgotten your stage training," I said, as she circled around my head and settled again on my shoulder. I stroked the feathers on her breast as I walked along. Your word is good enough for me, lady. Let's go find Tarani."

While I had moonlight, I walked on through the bushes and into farm land. I rested, then moved on at dawn. Midmorning I struck one of the wide roads that followed branches of the Tashal River, and led into Eddarta.

The city had no perimeter wall, but looked from a distance as though a giant hand had shaken buildings in a cup, like dice, then cast them in an untidy spill across the lowest slopes of the. River Wall. From the time I stepped onto the road—and I knew it was my only choice, since sneaking around would only draw attention to myself—the skin on my back and neck prickled with the expectation of swordpoints behind me. I reached the outskirts of the city at noon, found myself a mediocre inn, had a mediocre meal that tasted like ambrosia after the hard, dried fruit and meat I had taken into the desert with me, and collapsed into a mediocre pallet for a sound eight hours of sleep.

I woke in the darkness of deep night, my "inner awareness" telling me that midnight was a good two hours away. I was alone in a second-floor room, and slightly amazed that I had rested so well.

I can think of several reasons, I thought to myself while I dressed, why I shouldn't have slept a wink last night. Uncertainty whether Indomel knows I've left the Lingis mine, that just-before-action surge I've felt before when I got close to the Ra'ira, and—certainly not least of all—eagerness to see Tarani again. So why did I just check in here without thinking twice about anything, and pass out?

Exhaustion has to be part of the answer, I finally decided. But there's more, I felt my teeth clench as I speculated. It was Ricardo who found the answer, in a memory from my early days in the Marines, when I'd been a well-trained but green kid on a soggy, enemy-infested island.

It's because I'm not giving the orders any more, I realized. Tarani said escape, so I did. She said meet her at midnight, when I got here I had time to kill, so I caught up on my rest. It's kind of the reverse of Ricardo's wartime experience on Pelihau—when I got there, I was a buck private and I slept the sleep of the dead; when I left, I'd been promoted to Sergeant Carillo by default, and I'd learned to go for days without sleep.

I shrugged. She's the only one who's in a position to know what's going on, I admitted, then felt a twinge of the guilt that still hovered at the back of my mind. And she kept us on track while I was nonfunctional. We're a team, I reminded myself. Getting the Ra'ira out of Eddarta is the only thing that counts.

I slipped the baldric over my shoulder, and touched the hilt of the bronze sword. The Ra'ira-and Rika, if possible, I thought, remembering the sight of Obilin holding the steel sword.

The city was quiet as I left the inn. The caution I had lacked on arrival here had claimed me again—the fewer people who saw me in Eddarta, the better.

At the edge of lower Eddarta, I paused to look up the wide avenue at Lord City. Crossing the desert seemed a snap, compared to walking up that paved, nearly empty road. To my right was the freshness and the rumble of the last fall of the Tashal cataract. It was visible only as a deeper darkness with an occasional spark of glimmering wetness. It called up the memory, once more, of our breakneck escape from the place I was now going.

I shuddered. I hope this is the last time I go into Lord City, I said to myself fervently. This place is unhealthy in more than one way.

I considered going east, out of the city, and trying to approach the gate more circumspectly than marching up the entry avenue. No, I decided. That would probably draw more attention than my just walking up to the front door as if I had good sense and urgent business.

So I gathered my determination, squared my shoulders, and started up the road. By the time I was approaching the wide, guarded gate, the skin between my shoulder blades was itching and crawling.

Markasset was used to enemies you could see, I thought, and Ricardo certainly preferred them to hidden ones.

There were two guards at the gate--standing, not leaning on the stone. Oil lamps set into the wall created a circle of wavering light. Visible through the open archway were spots of light from the short pillars that lined the walk to Lord Hall. All of those lamps had been lit on the night of the Celebration Dance. Only a few glimmered now in the darkness.

And something moved through the uncertain light, coming toward the gate, a darkness visible only when it blocked a lamp. It stopped a few feet inside the city; the guards had their backs to it, and it had made no sound at all. The shape was tall and slim, and I recognized it.

We're sitting ducks, both of us! I thought frantically. Panicky and confused, I stopped my approach to the gate-, unsure whether I was to go in or she would come out.

I stopped.

My legs kept on walking.

Chapter 11

It wasn't the first time I had felt a compulsion, but the experience was unnerving. Never mind walking boldly between two guards who probably had orders to kill me on sight—but who failed to see me. Discount the eerie setting,. with the pale sky, the muttering of the river, the unsteady light, the oppressive sense of danger. What really spooked me was the ease of transition, and the strength of the compulsion. One minute I was walking on my own. The next second, someone else was doing the steering.

I had a wild suspicion, suddenly, that the tall figure might be Indomel, and not Tarani—but that fear, at least, was quickly put to rest. When I could see Tarani clearly, I saw lines of tension around her mouth and across her brow. She was dressed for desert travel in dark-toned trousers and thigh- length tunic. She didn't speak, but took my hand, turning with me to move toward Lord Hall and the walkway which led into the Harthim section of the miniature city.

I didn't speak, either-because I couldn't. I couldn't even tighten my hand around hers in a small gesture of greeting. The compulsion lay on my mind like a weight, numbing everything remotely related to muscular volition, while I walked beside Tarani into Lord City.

. We passed a couple of people near Lord Hall, and there were more guards at the entrance to the Harthim living area. No one took any notice of us. Tarani led me through the back door of the maze of halls and stairways that had been built by generation upon generation of High Lords. We followed a route I had traveled once before, but I doubt I could have gone so unerringly to Zefra's quarters, had Tarani not been with me. As before, there were two guards beside the door. It had been left unlatched; Tarani pushed it open and we slipped through it; she shut it behind us.

The sound of door meeting frame, soft as it was, seemed a signal. The compulsion left me abruptly, and it seemed to take with it every ounce of my physical strength. I groped for the arm of a chair and sank into it.

I felt as if every nerve in my body was vibrating. It wasn't painful, but it wasn't pleasant. It was like the throbbing in a leg that was "waking" after having gone to sleep. I waited for the tingling to escalate into pain, but instead it only subsided, gradually, like water settling to smoothness after a disturbance.

When the sensation was gone altogether, I looked over at Tarani. She was seated in the chair next to me. Glass chimneyed candles—Gandalaran lamps—gave the narrow, windowless anteroom a brightness that might have been cheery, with the knowledge of a bright day outside to boost the feeling. But it was the middle of the night, and my mood was far from cheery.

When Tarani saw that I had recovered from the effects of her compulsion, she reached across the gap between our chairs. Her smile faded as she looked at my face, and her hand drew back before it touched my arm.

"I am glad to see you safe," she said, her voice betraying her uncertainty.

"Safe from the mines," I said, not even trying to hide my anger. "But apparently not from you."

"From me?" she asked. "What have you to fear from me?"

"Control of my own mind," I snapped. I pushed myself up in the chair and leaned toward her. "After crossing half the world to get here, did you think I wouldn't follow you into Lord City willingly?"

"The compulsion?" she asked, 'and seemed truly surprised that I objected. "But surely you see that was the simplest, quickest way? Taking the time to explain would have been a ludicrous risk."

"To bring me through the gate, yes," I agreed. "But after that? No speech, no greeting, you just literally grabbed me, mind and body, and dragged me where you wanted to go."

Her eyes flashed, not with power but with anger. "And is this not where you wished to go, also?" she demanded.

"Yes, but as my own choice," I answered, slapping the arm of the chair.

She stood up and paced to the end of the small room, her arms crossed, the long-fingered hands gripping her shoulders. "Silence was absolutely necessary," she said with her back turned to me. "I was casting a difficult illusion to keep us from being seen. Any sound would have given us away."

"It didn't occur to you that I might figure that out on my own, and cooperate?" I asked bitterly.

"An illusion requires intense concentration," she said, her head bowed. "I thought, if you were free, you might wish to . . ." She faltered, then resumed in a steady, brisk voice. "To greet me in a way that would destroy that concentration. Perhaps I made a mistake in thinking that such a desire might overcome your sense of caution. Perhaps . . . no, truly," she said, turning to face me and throwing back her shoulders, "I knew that the danger I feared would have been real, had I been in your place and you in mine It was foolish of me. No one knows better than I that you are always more mindful of duty than of anything else."

It was a sarcastic remark, calculated to sting, and it hit home.

"I keep forgetting," I said, standing up, "how good you are at illusion. You had me believing that you didn't blame me for our getting hauled back here."

"Why should I blame you," she flared, "when you were spending so much energy blaming yourself? And our presence here is a small inconvenience compared to the Ra'ira being within Indomel's reach."

"Small inconvenience?" I demanded. "Were you hauled off to the copper mines? Have you spent the last four days in the desert, plagued by worry about what you'd left behind and what you'd find in Eddarta?"

The heat of the argument had brought us closer together physically. We were within arm's length of each other when she said: "Were you not just speaking of trust? I sent Lonna with water and money, and she destroyed the message birds. Could you not believe, with that as evidence, that I would see to your safety in the city, as well?"

I grabbed her shoulders; she flinched at my grip. "It wasn't my safety that concerned me," I nearly shouted.

Her hands had caught my forearms. For a fraction of a second, I felt upward pressure, as she started to break my hold. But in that brief pause, I saw reflected in her face a thought that paralleled my own: If I care so much for this woman, why am I yelling at her?

The pressure ceased; her fingers lay lightly on my arms. I could feel their warmth through the fabric of the tunic.

"I was afraid for you, as well," she said, so quietly that I could barely hear her.

I kissed her.

It was worth a four-day trek across the desert.

I continued to hold her close to me, and she made no effort to move away.

"I'm sorry, Tarani. For getting us into this. For seeming not to appreciate your help. Believe me, that letter from you was like a waterfall in the desert. You've been doing the thinking for us for a while, and doing it well." I pulled away' a little, lifted her chin to look into her face. "I promise you, I'm back on the team—all the way back."

That's as true, I thought, as it can be. Keeshah has a part of me with him—but even if the "team" still included him, that part of me would be committed not to the team, but to Keeshah.

My guts seized up with the sense of loss that was no easier to bear because it was familiar by now. I fought off the sensation and said: "Let's get the Ra'ira and leave Eddarta behind us for good."

Tarani hesitated, and I felt my calming paranoia re-activate itself. Seemingly undirected by rational thought, the space between us grew until we were again at arm's length.

"You did say in your letter that you and Zefra have found a way . . .

"to defeat Indomel," she finished, after a brief pause. "But it is not so simple a task as defeating Gharlas, who was truly no more than a thief "

"Indomel," I said slowly, trying to keep my voice steady through the wave of savage eagerness that accompanied the thought, "will bleed like any other man."

"I said `defeat'," she snapped, "not

"Why not?" I demanded. "Because he's your brother?" "No—because he is the High Lord."

"So was your father the High Lord, but you didn't seem to regret his loss," I said.

"Neither," she said angrily, "did I wish his death. If you recall the circumstances, Thymas moved too quickly to give me any opportunity to make a choice."

"And would you have chosen to let him live?" I asked. "After the tortured life he had forced on you and Volitar?"

"I would choose to grant life to any man rather than demand his death," she said, straightening her shoulders.

The gesture seemed to be conscious, and it was a clue to something; part of my mind grabbed hold of it and started tracing a logic path, working beneath and in spite of the emotional turmoil that was dominating my reactions.

"I suppose that is true," I said, recognizing but helpless—no, unwilling—to control a nasty streak that surfaced now and then. "If you'd let Molik live, then any man could expect your mercy. And you can afford the appearance of generous intentions when you know that someone else will do your killing for you."

The first thing to register from the blow was surprise, then shock, then the stinging pain in the skin of my left cheek. My body reacted faster than my mind; I reeled back from Tarani s slap and then raised my hand to retaliate.

She faced me without flinching, but there was more pain in her face than anger.

I held back.

Molik's name did it, I thought. That bastard's memory still has the power to shame her. When we were here before, she wouldn't even tell Zefra .. .

My God, what have I done?

As soon as that logic, memory, and realization flashed through my mind—it took only an instant—I tried to lower my hand.

I couldn't.

In fact, now that I applied conscious effort to things outside my argument with Tarani, I realized there were several things I couldn't do.

Like . . . move . . . speak . . . breathe.

I must have been capable of some movement, because Tarani, looking straight into my face, had to be able to read my growing panic. She whirled away from me; from the corner of my eye I could see the inner door opening and Zefra stepping through.

"Release him, Mother!" Tarani ordered.

"He tried to hurt you." Zefra said in a low voice. "I have said it before, Tarani—you do not need this man."

Gharlas couldn't hold me in compulsion, I thought, mentally gritting my teeth and pushing back against the weight that had taken me over completely, with the same quickness that had unnerved me at the city gate. Zefra gasped with surprise.

"He is fighting me," she told Tarani. "Such a strong mind, so . . . different." She put her hands to her head, as though to shelter her eyes from a light too bright. "What is it, daughter? This man is too strange . . ." She looked at Tarani. "You have lied to me about him. Who is he?"

"He will be no one at all if you do not . . ."

"His death will be your doing, Tarani. Tell me who he is!"

I had been watching this with less interest as the struggle to free myself and the pressing need for air in my lungs consumed my attention. But I did see Tarani draw herself up—and again the gesture rang a bell—directly between her mother and me.

"And you have forced me to this," the girl said quietly. Suddenly she was with me, as she had been against Gharlas, and together we resisted Zefra's paralyzing compulsion. It was different this time. Then I had called up that part of me which had been Ricardo by concentrating on memories unique to a world two-thirds covered with water. But then the compulsion had been less severe, restricting only voluntary movement. Here there was no time. Tarani and I both pushed as hard as we could.

Zefra stepped back as if physically threatened, her arms straight in front of her. "No—oh!" She backed into the door, stood there for a moment as if pinned to it, then collapsed, sliding down to sit in a huddle on the floor. At that same moment, the compulsion let go; my body jerked, and I had to scramble to keep my balance.

Tarani knelt by her mother, reached for her arms, hesitated when Zefra flinched away from her, then persisted until she was holding her mother's upper arms and helping her to a chair. When Zefra was comfortable physically—her daughter turning against her, and proving to be more powerful was a shock from which she would recover slowly, if at all—Tarani stood up and came to me.

I forced myself to meet her eyes as >I said: "I wouldn't have hit you."

To my great relief, she nodded. "I know," she said. "I saw it in your face in the instant before Mother .... She closed her eyes and said: "I am shamed that I struck you, Rikardon."

"I understand, Tarani—it wasn't me you wanted to hurt."

It was her turn to look relieved, then puzzled. "Why can it not always be like this between us, Rikardon? I do not need your words to tell me your meaning, and I feel it is the same for you."

"The Ra'ira," Zefra whispered.

Tarani turned as her mother stood up from the chair and came, walking a little shakily yet, toward us.

"You are near it here," Zefra continued. "And you are using it to see his thoughts. Do you need more proof, daughter, that you are fated to be the High Lord?"

All the clues clicked into place, and I groaned under the revelation. "That's what you meant by defeating Indomel, isn't it?" I demanded. "I don't know why I didn t catch on sooner. When you said that about not demanding anyone's life—that smacked of official policy, not just personal opinion."

I felt the anger kindle again.

"You're not planning to get the Ra'ira and go home, are you?" I demanded. "You're planning a fleabitten war between you and your brother!"

Tarani glared at me for a few tense seconds, then shrugged and laughed. "Thank you, Rikardon," she said, then spoke to Zefra.

"We are still near the Ra'ira, mother. And the silent understanding has faded." She sighed, and smiled at me almost shyly. "It is nothing of power," she said, seeming to speak more to herself than to either one of us. "And it will return. That knowledge makes the time between easier to bear."

I smiled back at her, feeling the sweetness start to grow again. "It was you who first told me that I say things I don't mean, Tarani. I've done a lot of that since I got here. I'm sorry.

"I, too, am at fault," she said. "Though I did not lie to you in my letter, I see now that I chose not to be truthful, for fear you would misjudge my motive.

"I give you my word, my love, that I still wish only to make the Ra'ira safe from Indomel. But the gem is actively and heavily guarded, though the guards have no idea what Indomel's prized treasure really is. I have considered every conceivable plan to get the stone back—yes, even to assassinating Indomel—and there is nothing that can be done, especially in the time left to us."

`Time left to us'?" I repeated.

"The High Lord grows impatient for my `help' to prove fruitful," Tarani answered. "He chafes at the lack of news from Lingis, and has sent special messengers to verify your presence. Once he learns you are gone, my `privileged' position will vanish."

"What about your mindpower?" I asked. "Both of you, working together . . 

"Might be able to control him," Tarani said. "Zefra did once, but only for a short time. He is strong, and alert to a compulsion attack from me. It would be too risky to gamble on making him get the Ra'ira for us."

"A direct victory is impossible," Zefra chimed in eagerly. "The only way for Tarani to get the Ra'ira is to inherit it—as the next High Lord."

"I thought you said you'd considered killing Indomel and rejected the plan," I said.

"We did," Tarani answered. "But that's the wrong way to go about it"

"No, it's better for Tarani to win her place in orderly fashion," Zefra said, pride and a well-remembered fanaticism bringing luster to her face and throat.

It was strange and unsettling to see someone so like Tarani in appearance and yet so different. The mindgift gave them both a look that set them apart from "normal" Gandalarans, but in Zefra that distinctiveness was somehow off-center, unwholesome.

"I can prove her birthright," Zefra continued, "and Tarani can prove her power. But to challenge Indomel empty-handed would be to invite disaster."

"Empty-handed," I mused. "Meaning, I suppose, that Indomel could produce the Ra'ira as confirmation of his right to rule?"

"Exactly," Zefra said, nodding. "The Lords know nothing about its powers, only its history. If Indomel has it, no matter how he got it, they will grant him his place."

"Are you saying that they don't know he has it?"

"He has told no one," Zefra said. "Of that I am absolutely sure, It would suit his style to wield a hidden power, and that may be why he keeps it locked away."

"It could also be," Tarani put in, "that he wishes to wait until he can use it easily before revealing it."

"Either way," I said, "he has it, which seems to be the deciding factor. Are you telling me that we're finished, that there's no way to get at him?"

"No-oh, no!" Zefra said. "The Ra'ira is a thing of legend, a token of personal power. Indomel might show it as a symbol, but he would never reveal its hidden qualities. Tarani need only present the assembled Lords with herself, her mindpower, and a symbol equally old and respected, and the Lords will acclaim her."

I reached into Markasset's memory and searched around. "There is nothing that will meet the need," I said at last, "no talisman of power that will rival the Ra'ira."

"There is," Zefra whispered. "A sword. Ancient. Made of rakor. It has the power Tarani needs."

Rakor was the Gandalaran word for steel.

"Rika," I said, and seemed to feel the weight of the sword in my hand. "We'll have to take out Obilin to get it back— and that's a plan I don't mind at all."

"How did Obilin get the Sharith's sword?" Zefra asked, surprised.

That's right, Thymas still had it when Zefra saw us in the Council Chamber, I recalled.

"The tale is too long for telling now, Mother," Tarani said, dismissing the subject.

"Rika will not do," Tarani said to me. "Serkajon's sword is a negative symbol to Eddarta. It speaks of treachery and defeat. And an attack on Obilin would be as fruitless and dangerous, while we are inside Lord City, as trying to steal the Ra'ira."

"There is another sword," Zefra said, warming to the discussion again. "As ancient as Rika -i ts twin, in fact. The swords were a pair, a treasure given to one of the Kings. He presented one to the Captain of the Sharith and kept the other, saying that they would be a symbol of the loyalty shared by King and Captain."

"Another steel sword?" I asked, reaching into Markasset's memory and finding absolutely no record of such a thing. As far as he had known, Rika was unique in iron-scarce Gandalara: "Supposing it does exist," I said, not caring that Zefra looked offended, "where is it now?"

Zefra answered stiffly. "When Serkajon betrayed Harthim, the Last King discarded the sword. He threw it from him violently, the stories say, all the while raging at the disloyal Captain. At the exodus from the capital, someone went to retrieve it, but Harthim ordered that it should lie where it had fallen, that its shame should be covered with dust."

I closed my eyes and counted to ten. It didn't help.

"It's in Kä, isn't it?" I asked. "All we have to do is find a city that's been lost for centuries, right?"

Both women nodded and smiled as if I'd just won a sixth- grade spelling bee. With one voice, they echoed the name: "Kä.''

Chapter 12

I took a step back from the two women. "Are you crazy?" I said.

Zefra's jaw tensed and her eyes narrowed. "Many in Eddarta believe so," Zefra said. "Take care you do not make the same error."

"Why don't you convince me, then," I demanded, "why it makes sense to go clear across the world in pursuit of something we may not find, when we know that something we could use is right here in Eddarta?"

"Because," Tarani said patiently, "those things are just as inaccessible here, and an attempt to get them is fraught with personal danger for all three of us."

"All we know about the location of Kä is that it's somewhere in the Kapiral Desert. Are you trying to tell me that there's no danger in marching out there with no idea where we're going—assuming, of course, that we get away from here with our skins and walk clear across the world before we start looking?"

Tarani's patience was wearing thin. "Do you hear what you are saying, Rikardon? 'March' into the desert. `Walk' across the world. I think that you do not object to the plan as much as to the discomfort of making the search on foot. The Sharith are few, my friend; the rest of us must walk wherever we wish to go. Yet few people of any sense have died in the Kapiral or any other desert."

"Sharith?" Zefra asked; we both ignored her.

I hate to admit it, I thought, but she may be right. Looking for that stupid city seems a much bigger job without Keeshah. Maybe I'm even afraid .. .

"Everyone else has learned those survival skills," I said slowly. "I have never needed them."

"Then how did we survive walking through the Chizan Passage?" Tarani demanded. "And that terrible crossing from Sulis to Stomestad, with an injured man and a sha'um who slowed our movement?"

I said what I felt, though I knew it had little logic. "Keeshah was there, Tarani. It's different, now."

She put her hand on my shoulder, a welcome tenderness in the gesture. "Keeshah is not the source of your strength, my love. How did you get to Eddarta?" she asked.

. . . ran," I answered.

"The route?" she demanded.

"Across desert," I answered, seeing her point but still fighting it. "But Lonna . . ."

"Lonna will be with us in the Kapiral, as well," Tarani said. "If necessary, she will bring food, as well as water. We can do this, Rikardon. And we must. It truly is the only way we can be sure Indomel never abuses the power of the Ra'ira."

I sighed. "You still haven't told me how you expect to find the city," I said.

"Tarani's link with the All-Mind is very strong," Zefra said. "She read the Bronze; she will be able to find Kä." Zefra moved forward, pressed herself between her daughter and me. "Tarani could do it alone," she said, and turned her back to me.

"Who is this man, daughter?"

"He, not I," Tarani said calmly, "is the key to finding Kä." "What?" Zefra said, beating me to it by only a fraction of a second.

"In body, he is the last of Serkajon's line," Tarani began.

Zefra gasped and interrupted. "That traitor—" I tensed for the attack that was telegraphed in her voice, but Tarani grabbed her mother's shoulders and held her facing away from me.

"In body only, Mother. He is a Visitor. I am convinced that he comes from the time of Kä, from among the Sharith before the end of the kingdom. I—" She glanced over Zefra's shoulder at my face, which must have registered the astonishment I felt. "I have not even told him this, Mother, but I believe he has come to bring the Kings and the Sharith back together. Why else would he have been proclaimed Captain of the Sharith?"

Another gasp from Zefra.

"And the first steel sword, the one Obilin now has, that sword belongs to him. Don't you see, the swords are the symbol of the betrayal of the Sharith. Rikardon is meant to re-unite them. He will find the other one."

"It does not belong to him!" Zefra cried. "It is yours by right!"

"It shall be mine, Mother. And when we return here, defeat Indomel and reclaim his sword from Obilin, then Rikardon and I, as leaders of the Sharith and the Lords, will set the pattern for the future. As we shall be together, so shall those who follow us."

 No I looked over Zefra's shoulder at Tarani's flushed and ,

'earnest face, and my chest tightened until it threatened to stop my lungs. Oh, no. This place has contaminated her- that "absolute power" nonsense, except it isn't nonsense . How long has Tarani been here? Five weeks? Six? All it took was for Tarani to learn that her mindpower is especially strong, and that she's legally—if that word has any application in this contorted society—in line for political power, and she's convinced herself that she can "save" the Ra ira by getting it for herself.

Zefra glanced over her shoulder at me, then sighed and turned back to her daughter. "I must trust your choice in this, Tarani, but I cannot hide my doubts. It may not be as I fear, that he will try to turn you from your purpose. But take care that your feelings for him do not challenge your commitment to Eddarta, to the Ra'ira ... to me."

In other words, I thought grimly, don't let the s-o-b get in the way of your rise to power. The chest tightness was still with me, allowing me barely to breathe. I made a conscious effort to relax. Don't panic, I warned myself. We'll soon be away from Zefra. If Tarani was so easily swayed into Zefra's thinking patterns, maybe she'll swing the other way as easily.

Zefra may even have used a little subtle compulsion on Tarani. The thought was hopeful—because it made Tarani's new direction less threatening—and frightening, because it led the way to another discovery. The tightness in my chest wasn't fear or grief; it was Tarani's doing.

Another compulsion. I'm damned if she can just do this to me whenever she feels like it, I thought furiously.

Grimly, I fought back.

Tarani gasped, moved restlessly, then pulled her mother into her arms. "We must go now, Mother," she said, looking straight at me, her eyes shining in the lamp light. "We'll be back. Care for yourself well."

Zefra turned to me, and the compulsion clamped down. I stood there, outwardly immobile, seething inside, while Zefra stared at me.

"What I have said of you, Rikardon—I am Tarani's mother. If you both return here safely, I will offer my apology, and you will share the love I bear my daughter." Her voice thickened, and she drew herself up—at that moment, she was every inch a ruler, not a prisoner. "If anything happens to Tarani, how- ever .. . "

"Nothing will happen, Mother," Tarani interrupted the threat. "We will both return, soon." She hugged her mother once more; I felt myself bow stiffly.

Tarani snatched up a few things that waited on the ledge at one side of the room: a water pouch, a baldric with sword and dagger, and a second pouch that jingled with coins. She slipped on the baldric hurriedly, then took my hand and led me to the hallway door, paused to open it slowly, and marched us out between the two guards.

We retraced our steps, a little less smoothly than before. I was fighting the compulsion, staggering, forcing Tarani to drag me along physically. There was a bitter satisfaction in the way she gasped for breath and pulled at our linked hands in uneven spurts of energy, but the contest was nonphysical. It wasn't even mental, except as the mind is supposed to be able to control the will. It was a conflict of desire, so strong that it took on some of the character of muscles flexing and opposing. It seemed to me that the purpose of the struggle had shifted. It wasn't that I wanted to voice my objections and she wanted me silent. It was much more basic than that. She wanted to control me, and I wanted to prove she couldn't.

When we approached the city gate, I stopped struggling. Tarani stopped pulling and we rested for a minute, while she quieted her own heavy panting. Such sounds might give us away to the guards when we got nearer. I could see Tarani's face clearly in the silvery moonlight, and she was looking at me with a mixture of curiosity and consternation.

What do you think? I asked her silently. That I'd let this quarrel interfere with our escape? We may have different reasons but right now I want the same thing you do—to get the hell out of Lord City, Eddarta, and this part of the world. The pressure of the compulsion lessened, but I could feel it poised, ready to clamp down again.

Tarani, if you have any skill at thought reading at all, hear this, I pleaded, not quite sure that she couldn't hear me. Take away the compulsion. Show me that you have some trust left for me. Take it all away. Let's walk out of here side by side, partners again.

The compulsion made itself felt again—tight, compelling. She turned toward the gate and took my hand, and Tarani walked me out of Lord City.

She held the compulsion until we were halfway down the ramped road to the larger city.

It was still nearly two hours before dawn, and the road was utterly deserted, the stones of its pavement glistening and slick from condensation. This road and the river branch that followed it closely on the west linked the two parts of Eddarta. The other side of the road—as well as the hillside on the opposite side of the river—was kept free of tall growth so that the Lord City guards could have clear view in every direction downslope from the walls of the city. The slopes weren't cultivated, but the nearness of so much water supported a lush carpet of ground cover that was sort of like the grass Ricardo had known, but taller, multiple-bladed, with fatter stalks.

It was onto this spongy, sweet-smelling carpet that Tarani and I tumbled, the moment she released her compulsion. I caught her off guard, jerked at her arm, and we rolled down the bank of the built-up roadbed into one of the hollows of an uneven slope.

It wsa a gesture of defiance and, I suppose, of revenge. I was mad at her for not trusting me.

I was mad at myself for having lost her trust.

I was mad at her for letting Zefra twist her.

I was mad at myself for getting us recaptured and exposing her to Zefra's influence. I wasn't angry. I was mad, and determined to get some things straightened out, right then. Even though there was no one in sight, I felt exposed, standing on the moon-glittered stones of the road. So I pulled her off the road, not particularly gently, but with only the conscious goal of getting us to a place that felt more private.

The bank was steeper than it had seemed, and we rolled together as we fell. The muscles of her arm and back moved under my hands; her legs tangled with mine; her breasts cushioned my weight as I rolled over her. Clear and sharp as a whip snapping, I felt a different need unleashed in me, absorbing and overwhelming the fury that had started our fall. When we came to a halt, I sprawled full length on top of her, pressed my mouth against hers, and fumbled urgently with the hem of her tunic, groping for the tie that fastened her trousers.

I couldn't have imagined it. She was responding, arching against me, speaking wordlessly deep in her throat, her hands pressing thrills to my neck and back.

The whip snapped again, and she was fighting me. Her hands pushed against my shoulders. A leg that had caressed mine came between our bodies and braced against my hip. I pulled at it, dislodged it, pressed against her. Her forearm slammed the side of my head, sending a blinding flash of pain to my cheek and jaw—and she was free. She scrambled away and crouched, watching me, waiting for the next attack.

It was that posture that brought me to my senses. It wasn't the stance of a woman terrified of a rapist. There was nothing of desperation, even of fear, in the way she looked at me. She was a fighter defying her enemy, challenging him, eagerly awaiting the next encounter.

And I was the enemy.

The fury and the need drained out of me, leaving me weak. I took a deep breath and rubbed my face, ignoring the way my hands trembled. The skin on the left side, of my face tingled, and my jaw felt tender.

I let myself drop to the ground. Tarani moved slightly to keep me directly in front of her, not relaxing her guard. Come on, I thought. I wouldn't blame you if you flayed me alive. I was empty of words. I couldn't explain what had happened, even to myself. How could I hope to ask her forgiveness?

So I sat silently, waiting for her to decide what to do, ready for whatever action she wanted to take.

She laughed.

It was the first coherent sound either one of us had made, and it wasn't the lovely sound I remembered. It was harsh, triumphant, shocking in the silent night. So shocking, in fact, that it even surprised her. It broke off abruptly, and she looked around, as if wondering where the sound had come from. Her gaze rested on me, and she seemed to melt down into a little ball, huddled against the opposite slope of the small hollow.

It seemed like hours that we sat there, struggling—I, at least—to comprehend what had happened. Yet my inner awareness told me it was only a few minutes later that Tarani stirred. I sat up, too, and braced myself. I was ready for what she would say—I had lived it over and over again in those few minutes.

Tarani had approached me gently in the desert and I had refused her. By what right had I now tried to claim her by force? She had responded; of that I was sure. To my already guilty mind, that only made it worse. I was afraid that I had brutalized—and destroyed—her feelings for me.

I didn't say any of that; I expected her to say it. But she only stood up, stared at me for the briefest instant, dropped her gaze, and started the climb back to the road. I followed her and we walked, side by side but not touching, into larger Eddarta.

Chapter 13

The city was wakening, getting ready for the day, but as yet there were few people moving about the streets, and soft echoes of our footfalls ghosted behind us. The city was built mostly of stone, reed, and brick, and it was old—older than any place Ricardo had seen in his own world. It showed its age in the patched roofs, where newly cut reed tops were dark splotches against the aged, bleached thatching. Nearly all the structures in larger Eddarta were two stories high; carefully fitted baked-clay bricks were strengthened with a mortar of dried mud. That, too, spoke in its multishaded patterns of years and years of repair.

In this pre-dawn quiet, the city seemed huge and empty. At midday, the streets teemed with crowds of people. Traders, searching out bargains. Lords, looking for particular objects or merely out slumming. Most of all, Eddartans, looking to purchase those things they couldn't produce themselves -- butchers out to buy bread, a baker looking for a new suit, weavers in search of jewelry.

Eddarta shrank under the force of those crowds, but never gave Rikardon the claustrophobic feeling Ricardo had experienced in some of the older European cities he had visited. This city might be old, but it was still quite modern. In Gandalara, there was no iron-based technology to create a need for newness. Old and obsolete were not the equivalent terms in Gandalara that they sometimes were in the world Ricardo had known.

The streets of Eddarta, built for the foot passage of people, still served their purpose very well. Those areas of the city which permitted vleks and carts had been built with wider streets to accommodate the different sort of traffic, and those streets were still wide enough. It might be that the carts were better made now, but that was the only change in "modern" Eddarta.

It was down one of those wider streets that Tarani led me. When we stopped in front of a door, I asked: "Is this Cam's shop?"

She nodded, not looking at me, and tapped lightly on the door, once, and then twice more.

Cam was the name of a man friendly to the Fa'aldu, part of the group which helped slaves escape. On our way to Eddarta the first time, Vasklar at Stomested had given us Cam's name as someone to go to if we needed help.

The door opened into darkness and we slipped through it.

"Speak ye the word," growled a bass voice to our left. The windows were tightly covered with louvered shutters. As my eyes adjusted to the interior darkness, I could make out a slim shadow against one of the dimly glowing rectangles.

"To drink in the desert," I said, remembering the amusement with which I had heard Vasklar's solemn pronouncement of the "password". Having seen the mines, and having learned what escaping slaves risked if recaptured, I was no longer amused.

"That be an old word, my friends," the man said. "Name the one that gave it you."

"Vasklar," Tarani said. As the light grew with the outside dawn, details became clearer—like the dagger in the man's hand, turning restlessly from a thin black line to a triangular shadow. At the sound of our friend's name, he lowered the dagger and took a step backward.

"Aye, he said two might come. Another word, for surety—a name."

"A name?" Tarani said, confused—but I thought I knew what the man meant.

"Thymas," I said. "He was with us at Stomestad."

The dagger's shadow disappeared, and a strong-fingered hand closed on my arm. "A light not be safe as yet. What need ye? Have ye fed?"

"Sleep," Tarani murmured, and I thought of all she had gone through in the past few hours. Strangely, there was no anger associated with the thought of the compulsion she had held for so long, only awareness that it had required a great deal of energy to handle compulsion and illusion at the same time. Then the struggle—

My mind sheered away from thinking about that.

"We need a safe place to sleep," I said. "Then food, if you can spare it. Then—

"It be enough for now," he stopped me. "Will ye be sought this day?"

"Aye," I said. "It be likely."

His dialect is easy to pick up, I thought, even though this is the first time I've heard it. Come to think of it, the Gandaresh I've been exposed to is strikingly homogeneous. The Lords have a slightly more formal style, but for the most part, Gandalarans from both sides of the world speak nearly the same language. His syntax is different, as well as the inflection—I hope I'll have time to ask him about it.

Cam went to the window, pulled a brace bar, and opened the shutter a crack. A bar of lighter gray spilled into the room, and by that slight illumination, Cam gestured to me for help. For the first time, I could see that this was not so much a room as a storehouse. Goods of different kinds were stacked against the interior walls, packed for travel in bone- handled nets. I saw cloth, and art pieces, and—a long bundle, wrapped in heavy cloth—the gleaming tip of a bronze sword.

A prism-shaped stack of rolled carpet stood away from the walls, in the center of the room. Carn had me lift one end of the top roll, exposing a hollow area protected by an inverted V of tied reeds. Then he started pulling away false ends, short rolls of carpet identical to matching rolls on the other side. In the few minutes we worked, the sliver of gray light had brightened until the entire room was visible. When I looked inside the tent of carpet we had opened, I could see a yawning blackness in the floor.

'Tis not a large place," Carn said, breathing heavily, "but it be room enough for a day's rest. Use the lamp wisely; I'll stamp three times when it's time for ye to come out again. The end of this day, at least."

I brought Tarani from where she rested on a heap of fabric.In the new day's light, her weariness showed in the shadows under her eyes and the waxiness of her normally pale skin. Carn looked at her and caught his breath. I thought he might question us, but he merely said "Aye, Lords will seek such a one."

I crawled through the triangular hollow to the floor opening and lowered myself gingerly to stand on an earthen surface, my shoulders above the room's brick-laid floor. Carn helped me pull Tarani's half-conscious form through the "doorway" in the tent of carpet. In stages, Tarani cooperating as best her exhaustion would allow, I lifted her down through the cellar entry and carried her along a short, shallow ramp to a small room that barely allowed us to stand. I had only seconds to look around before Carn started replacing the carpet ends and shutting out what little light had followed us down. The walls were bare earth, like the floor, and one was sweating gently, creating at its base a small stream of water which leaked out of the room through its own fist-size tunnel.

I marked the placement of the lantern, appreciated the provision of a chamberpot and a water jug; then darkness set in. Tarani shivered, and so did I. It was the first time I could remember feeling physically cold in Gandalara, and I supposed it was the dampness and the nearness of the river.

I had glimpsed a pile of bedding in the nearest corner. I left Tarani momentarily, sorted out pallets from blankets by feel, and did the best I could to make us a bed. Sleep and warmth were too paramount for any consideration of propriety or embarrassment. I pulled Tarani close against me under the blankets. She huddled into the warmth, shivered violently once, and fell asleep with her arms tucked into my chest and her head on my shoulder.

I awoke to a vibration in the ground beneath and around me. The blankness and the dank smell of the place kept me disoriented for a second or two, then a pleasant ache in my arm recalled Tarani's presence and brought the situation into focus.

Must be people up above, I decided. Confirmation came immediately as voices filtered faintly through the cushion of carpet that enclosed the entrance to this place.

Tarani stirred. I eased away from her, yawning, and felt around for the lamp and the sparker, attached to the lamp base by a length of string. I gripped the scissor-like handles of the sparker and snapped the flint against the tiny piece of steel. The noise seemed unbearably loud in that small area, as did the hiss as the wick of the candle caught. But once the chimney was in place, casting refracted light all around us, some of the cold and fear leeched out of us. We could see one another, and the room.

Tarani reached out to touch the lamp chimney with shaking fingers. "The design—it's like—could it be that he made this?"

"Volitar?" I asked, thinking again that I would have liked to get to know the man who had been a father to Tarani. Once a gemcutter, he had adopted a new trade late in his life, that of glassmaker. "Why not?" I shrugged. "It won't be the first coincidence we've run across."

Not by a long shot, I affirmed silently.

Tarani's hand dropped away from the lamp chimney. "For the first time," she said, "I am glad Volitar is dead. Glad that he did not live to see what Zefra has become . . . what she has been always."

She looked at my face, nodded to herself, and smiled bitterly.

"Yes, I see her clearly, Rikardon. In the days I have spent in Eddarta, she has talked of nothing but my rightful place' as High Lord. And in her speech I heard years of loneliness, helplessness, imprisonment, frustration. She is mad indeed, mad with a need for the power which has made her its victim." She sighed. "Nor can I fault her for it. I have shared her cell for only a few weeks, and—" Her voice shook. "And I am no longer confident of my own sanity."

She huddled into herself, the attitude of her body warning me away.

"You're thinking of—what happened on the hillside," I said. It didn't have to be a question.

"Yes," she said. Her voice came out choked, awkward. "I am sorry, Rikardon. I cannot tell you why . . . I mean, I did want . . . forgive me."

She's blaming herself? I thought, astounded. After I attacked her, she's apologizing for not letting herself be raped?

"There is nothing to forgive," I said. Shame overwhelmed me; I couldn't go on. Shame—and something else.

Thought of the hillside had brought forth a tactile memory of Tarani's body beneath me, and with memory came desire. I wanted Tarani again, with the same scary fierceness. I fought to control it, taking deep breaths, clenching my hands until my arms trembled.

Tarani saw my distress, and did exactly the wrong—or the right, depending on viewpoint—thing. She rocked up to her knees, leaned across the distance between us, and put her arms around my neck.

What little control I had, dissolved in that instant.

I kissed her roughly and swung her, beneath me, to the pallet-covered dirt floor. She struggled, pulled her face away, gasped for breath, beat at me with her hands. I pinned her wrists above her head and kissed her again, forcing her legs apart, pressing into the softness between them.

Caught up in need, I started pushing at her rhythmically, the two-layer cloth barrier a torment of frustration. I growled, shifted my grip so that one hand held both Tarani's wrists, and pulled awkwardly at her clothing.

She twisted her face away from mine and gasped: "Let go. Please. Let go." It was then I noticed that the rhythm wasn't mine alone. Her hips rose to meet me, her legs spreading wider with every thrust. "Please let go," she groaned again, and I released her wrists.

For a frantic few seconds, we struggled with the clothes, reluctant to break the haunting, building, compelling rhythm long enough to clear away the barriers. Then she had one leg free of her trousers, mine were pushed out of the way, and her softness opened to me.

We both cried out as I entered her. Tarani's hands gripped my neck, and her mouth sought mine as we moved together in sweet and scary excitement, wanting it to be over, wanting it never to end.

At the last, I broke away from her embrace, levered myself up on my arms, and focused every fiber of consciousness on the fused heat that was both of us, throbbing between her legs. Her hands slid down to my buttocks, gripped and relaxed, not so much guiding as amplifying the rhythm of

our striking flesh, sending tremors of anticipation up my spine.

The moment came when we knew release was imminent. I moaned in joy and grief. Her pelvis twitched, creating a slightly different angle; her legs spread even wider. And, suddenly, I was pounding into the full, flattened softness, pounding and roaring and not hearing Tarani's scream of relief, and joy, and despair.

Tarani's labored breathing brought me back to the world. I heaved myself up on my elbows, and her lungs, relieved of pressure, gulped in air. She opened her eyes, and I knew that she, too, had only now wakened. Afraid to see what lay in her eyes, I kissed her gently.

Her lips were soft, responsive, eager. With a thrill of joy, I felt myself, still joined to her, begin to stiffen. Welcoming it, nurturing it, I let my lips touch her face, her throat. I slipped my hand under the fabric of her tunic and caressed her breast, full and firm. She moved and made a sound—and we took the time, then, to be free of all our clothing.

I kissed her breast and breathed her name: "Tarani".

She held my head against her and whispered back. "Ricardo. Oh, Rikardon."

What did she say? I thought—then lost interest.

We were in the grip of need once again, less urgent for its recent satisfaction, but no less strong. It built more slowly, climbed just as high, and left us, this time, exhausted and at peace. I had strength enough to roll my weight off Tarani. Still joined, we slept.

Chapter 14

A stamping sound from above roused us, then we heard Cam's voice whispering from the opening. Light spilled down from the wide square, wavering and shivering.

Lamp light, I thought. Can it be night again, so soon?

"It be time to go," Cam's voice was saying in a projected

whisper. "I've a meal for ye; I'll leave it here. Did ye hear?" "Yes," I said, as Tarani stirred beside me. "We heard, “Cam. Thank you."

"Aye," was all he said, and I heard his footsteps move away from the opening. He had left the light, which was a good thing. The candle in our lamp had burned itself out while we slept.

Tarani lay in the shadow of my body, so I couldn't see her face when she came fully awake. Neither could I miss the sudden tension in her body. We moved apart, felt around for our clothes. I pulled a tunic over my head, heard and felt it rip, and pulled it off again.

"I think this is yours," I said, holding it out toward the shape which was all I could see of her. It was lifted from my hand and another tunic left there. We sorted out our clothes and dressed, neither one of us suggesting that it would be easier with light.

I didn't know how Tarani was feeling, but I felt clearheaded for the first time in—days? weeks? Light-headed, too—whether from relief or lack of food, I couldn't say. I was a little shocked, definitely embarrassed by what had happened between us, but not regretful.

No, not at all regretful.

The memory of it stirred me in a distant, unreal way— because, in memory, I could leave behind the feeling, identifiable only now, that the need had been separate from us, an entity all its own, moving us, controlling us, using our bodies to satisfy itself. The force, the savagery of what Tarani and I had shared had been wonderful, exalting . . . and terrifying. I had no desire to re-create it.

That was a once-only, I told myself, the product of all our frustration on many levels, expressing itself in the most basic way possible. I think we both would have preferred something more gentle, but at least, now, the edge is off. Gentleness can come later, provided Tarani can cope with what happened. If we get out of this mess alive, Tarani, I promised her silently as I watched her silhouette put on a final boot, I'll

give you all the time you need. Whatever you need. Anything is worth getting there again, both of us willing, both of us reaching for it with our hearts as well as our bodies.

"Ready for dinner?" I asked her.

"Yes, I am hungry," she said, her voice subdued.

I almost reached for her, then, nearly overcome with tenderness.

You just promised to give her time, I reminded myself sharply, and threw myself toward the opening in the floor overhead. She has to find her own answers.

I brought down the lamp and the plate of fruit, meat, and bread, and went back for the pitcher of cool water. We are in silence, awkwardly and separately availed ourselves of the chamberpot, then crept up the ramp and poked our heads out of the floor opening.

"Care," I called out in a whisper.

"I be here," he answered, and stepped in front of the opening in the carpet. He was tall and lanky, with rounded shoulders and long, muscular arms. One eye and one side of his mouth drooped slightly, giving him a permanent, wry expression. "Best be ye hurry a bit," he said.

We crawled out into the storeroom; he stepped back to let us out, then turned away abruptly and walked toward the back of the room. "Leave the city by the second street," he said, referring to the system by which the oldest, main street had been supplemented on alternate sides by parallel avenues. "Yell be met at the joining by two who'll trade clothes wi ye, and give ye instructions for where to join up with Tellor's caravan. Yell need to move quickly, mind."

We had made our way through the rear door of the room into a smaller room that seemed to serve as an office. Cam stopped by a woven-reed door on the opposite side of the room and turned back to us.

" 'Tis a hurried job I've done for ye, but it be the best I could do in shorttime. It be clear ye cannot stay in Eddarta . . ." His voice trailed off, then he closed his mouth and turned toward the door.

"And?" I prompted him. "You were going to say something else?"

" 'Tis naught," he said, but I caught his arm.

"I know you understand the risks you've taken to help us, Cam," I said. "And there is little we can do to repay you. Whatever is important to you is also important to us."

He looked up and shifted from foot to foot. At last he dropped his eyes and said: "Indelicate it be, but hap it needs saying." He rubbed his hand quickly over his face as if scrubbing it. "The noises ye made," he said, all in a rush. Tarani caught her breath, and I'm sure my neck began to redden. "And not but me heard them, neither. Folk passing in the street stopped in to ask of it."

"What—" I had to clear my throat. "What did you tell them?"

Cam had caught the reason for my hesitation. " 'Tis not a jest!" he protested. "Seekers, watchers, might have heard!" Then he flexed his shoulders back, and looked at me with the start of a smile "I spake that my wife was entertaining a Lord upstairs, and a trick of the building made it seem the sounds were below."

"Would your wife support that, if the Lords come questioning?" I asked.

Cam shrugged. "They were strangers who asked—why should they care of my wife's honor? Nor am I wed, in any case."

I laughed, reached out my right hand, and took his. He responded with a warm grip, even though the gesture was strange to him.

"Vasklar is expecting ye at Stomestad in two seven-days," he told us. "To hear the desert folk speak of ye, there is little ye cannot do." He nodded at us, including both of us.

The Fa'aldu would make great publicity agents in Ricardo's world, I thought. They've managed to make me a legend while frequently keeping me from becoming a dead one.

"Keep ye well," Carn said. "Hap I shall hear news of ye now and again."

We were out the door and down the street before I realized that I had never asked him where he came from, how he had acquired that odd accent.

There are some things I may never know about this world, I told myself, and was a little surprised that the thought wasn't frustrating. The only thing better than having curiosity satisfied is having more to be curious about, I thought, not at all sure I believed it.

It was early evening, and the center of the city would be crowded, now, with people relaxing after the day's work. There wasn't a district in this city for places such as I had seen in Raithskar and Chizan—a gaming house, or what Ricardo might have called a casino. But there were plenty of "come have a drink" places that provided tables and game pieces, should the customers want to play a friendly round of mondea on their own. Those places, and the restaurants, would be doing a booming business about now.

But Cam's storeroom was west and south of the main part of the city. As nearly as I could judge it (considering the stacks and stacks of various products I'd seen), Carn must have been a caravan agent, someone who collected the goods for a caravan master to pack and carry to other markets. It was an ideal position for someone who was also an agent for an escape route.

Eddarta wasn't guarded in the sense that everybody had to step through a tollgate and display some identification. You might say that everyone, consciously or unconsciously, guarded everyone else.

The Lords were not liked, but neither was Eddarta a rebel city held under armed guard. The people were bound solidly to their lives by tradition and familiarity, and viewed anyone who turned his back on the system with a mixture of envy and resentment-and sometimes greed. When Tarani and I had entered Eddarta as the tailor, Yoman, and his daughter, Rassa, one of Yoman's "friends" had already moved into his house/shop.

There had to be a few Eddartans who, spotting a native on his or her way out, would go straight to the appropriate landpatron and report or sell the information. Most folks, though, simply noticed it and talked about it, and it wouldn't be long before someone in Lord City heard the news.

Tarani and I weren't natives, but neither were we totally strangers. Enough people had seen us on the way into Eddarta, surrounded by dralda and High Guard, that there was a fair chance we could be recognized.

Caution demanded that we walk through the outskirts of the city boldly, make no attempt to disguise ourselves, and simply take our chances of being stopped before we met our contacts outside the city. The "joining", where the city avenues merged into a single wide road leading eastward, also marked a turning point of safety; past it, no extra light was provided. Until we reached it, however, we walked between waist-high brick pillars that held oil and slow-burning wicks. We couldn't be as clearly seen as in daylight, but neither did we feel as safe as we might have felt, had we been walking through a moon-grayed world under the pale night sky.

Tarani's power, while it seemed much stronger than before, still demanded a great deal of her energy—her fatigue when we had finally reached Cam testified to that. She didn't offer to disguise us, and I didn't ask it of her, because by any measure we had a rough trip ahead of us. She would need all her energy.

There's another factor, too, I thought. We can't become dependent on her power.

Physical disguise was out of the question. Too bad the hooded cloak isn't fashionable in Gandalara, I moaned. I've only seen two kinds of hoods—the jeweled ones the ladies were wearing at the Celebration Dance and, if you could call them hoods, the desert scarves.

We carried such scarves threaded through our belts, and there would have been little danger in wearing them in the normal style—that is, tied around our heads with the long point of the triangle dangling down our backs. Desert dress wasn't an uncommon sight on the outskirts of the city. But the scarf's protective arrangement, with the free end pulled around to cover most of the face, would attract too much attention here.

Skulking about, trying not to be seen, would also be an attention-getter for the inevitable few who would see us. So Tarani and I just walked at a comfortable pace through Eddarta and tried to project a "belonging" image.

There weren't many people on the road, and most of them were going our way—farmers who had brought in their produce and spent their day in the city shopping or drinking. There were more vleks than people, actually, and everybody looked downhearted and tired. Few Eddartans actively opposed the landpatron system. I had heard a lot of gripes, while free in the city when we'd been here before, about general conditions, but they had been largely undirected complaints, as though the people couldn't see that it was the Lords who sat at the center of their unhappiness.

And maybe that's not really true, I thought. It's easy for an outsider to make quick judgments, and through both Ricardo and Markasset, I'm pre-conditioned to dislike this system.

I considered that idea for a moment, and tried to put myself into the perspective of the classes of people I had encountered in Eddarta: a Lord, a landservant, and a slave.

Ah, it's no use, I thought. My biases are too strong. I can't detect a shred of "human" dignity in any of those roles, especially in the Lords. They're parasites, skimming the wealth of this part of the world...

Wait a minute. What makes them different from the major capitalists of Ricardo's world? I wondered. The Rockefellers, the Duponts, the oil cartels—they "ruled" after a fashion. They dictated world economic conditions, the survival of rival businesses, and the very lives of the people who depended on their products. Why don't I despise their memory as violently as I do the Lords?

The All-Mind, I realized. It's not just Markasset's memories I'm dealing with here, but the influence of generations of memory. Whether it's just memory, or really the surviving personalities of all Gandalarans, though, aren't Eddartans just as much a part of it as Raithskarians? So there ought to be considerable support within the All-Mind for the Eddartan system. Right?

I let the problem filter into the corners of my mind and occupy all the places where worry had been hiding. A part of my mind, just before I descended into total preoccupation, recognized that I hadn't had the pleasure of this sort of intellectual exercise since Keeshah had left my mind in shock. The puzzles I had dealt with while trying to stay sane as Obilin's captive—those had been familiar. This was a new 

Those in favor of the Lord system would probably be a minority, I figured, but the Lords were born of the Kings, and the Kings had the support and confidence of the entire Gandalaran population for many, many generations.

The time involved in Gandalaran history was huge and indistinct; I couldn't estimate how long it had been after the meteor before Zanek had become the first King. Neither could I identify when the Kingdom had gone sour or exactly when Harthim, the Last King, had bailed out from Kä and built what was now Lord City in Eddarta.

If I were analyzing this statistically, I reasoned, I'd need accurate time information and, if not actual demographics, at - least some idea of the total population. Undoubtedly, the population of "Gandalarans"—that is, the favorably mutated species that would develop into this present culture—expanded exponentially at the beginning.

I reached into my Gandalaran memory, actively searching for a connection to the All-Mind's memory, but the only result was the recollection of remarks in a conversation between Ricardo—before he and Markasset had been consolidated into Rikardon-and Markasset's father, Thanasset. The older man had mentioned the Great Pleth, something Ricardo had understood as a large body of water, a lake or sea. It had been present in Gandalara when the All-Mind had achieved consciousness—that is, when the radiation-loaded meteor had struck the Great Wall above Raithskar and initiated the mutation which provided the subconscious memory link. Some geologic change—possibly an earthquake triggered by the impact of the meteor—had caused the Great Pleth to diminish and, as far as Thanasset or Markasset knew, disappear entirely. Centers of population had begun to shift toward the walls and the only remaining sources of water.

These impassable walls made Gandalara a closed world, I thought, and let the vision form of the humanoid race, little more than animals, growing in numbers, developing social structure, establishing territories. Foraging for edible plants shifted into planting and cultivating them; a circle of shelters became a town; surplus food appeared, allowing leisure time for the development of tools which would help insure a greater surplus, and more time to spend inventing and creating.

They would have been living between the edge of the sea and the edge of their world, the walls, I thought. There would have been a long period in which the population growth filled in the new land left by the diminishing sea. But it would have been only a matter of time before the retreating shoreline exposed only untenable land. The pressure of continued population growth would have initiated a period of intense competition for tenable land area.

War.

I sighed.

Unpalatable as the idea is, war is an effective deterrent to population growth. Trouble is, it becomes a habit.

Zanek must have had the vision to see what was happening. With the Great Pleth shrinking and already huge desert areas growing, the environment was threatening everybody, and cooperation was the only road to survival.

Markasset, of course, had a built-in reverence for the legendary First King. But Ricardo, too, appreciated what I knew of the man. He had enforced peace, promoted trade, and used the telepathic power of the Ra'ira in some benevolent way to help him. The Bronze—the thin sheet of imprinted metal which concealed the vault door in the Council Chamber, and which Tarani had been able to decipher—had cautioned future Kings in their use of the Ra'ira.

"Seek out the discontented"; it had commanded, "Give them answer, not penalty."

Zanek was a wise man, I thought. No wonder he and the Kings who followed his way were so loved.

But the other Kings—only half of the present world believes that they had any good points.

I almost laughed. Half the world, I repeated to myself. I think I've found the answer. The All-Mind isn't geographically limited to one half of the world or the other, but people are. For instance, look at Thanasset. He's as strongly linked to the All-Mind as anyone who isn't a Recorder. But his knowledge and opinions are hardly universal.

He told me that the Ra'ira had been delivered into the hands of the Kings after Kä had begun to demand slaves. Wrong. Zanek had it at the beginning.

He spoke of the Great Plethas if there had been only one sea.

Wrong. The Chizan crossings mark a division of Gandalara, and the composition of the desert on this side bears every earmark of once having been covered by a salt sea, just like the Kapiral on Raithskar's side.

And he believes that Serkajon's sword was the only steel sword that had ever existed in Gandalara.

Which Zefra swears is wrong.

I stopped the whirling chain of logic and took a mental breather, and approached the conclusion calmly.

In high school, Ricardo had a world history textbook that looked nearly new except for one short, dog-eared section on Greek and Roman mythology—a testament that students study most conscientiously the subjects which are most interesting to them. Perhaps the All-Mind knows everything about the history of this world, but people look only at that part of it which favors their ethical system. If enough individuals unconsciously draw selectively on their links to the All-Mind, part of past history becomes a current belief system. To Raithskarians, Serkajon is a hero. To Eddartans—the Lords, at least—he is a thief and a traitor.

All of which adds up to—don't believe everything you hear.

Has Raithskar mistakenly forgotten about a second sword, or has Eddarta mistakenly remembered it?

Chapter 15

I snapped into the present, anxiety closing my throat so that I could hardly breathe. We were leaving behind the Ra'ira and Serkajon's sword—my sword—to go look for a centuries-lost treasure which might or might not exist. Suddenly all the doubts I had felt when Zefra and Tarani had talked about this project swept down on me—only now something was missing, a layer of dullness, a barrier of simply not caring. Now I was fully awake, fully alert....

And I haven't been, I realized. Between the time Keeshah left us (one thing hadn't changed; pain still zinged through me when I thought of the big cat) and that—urn, what happened in the cellar—I wasn't really here for the full count. But now my head is clear; my mind is functioning again. Well enough to realize we may be doing exactly the wrong thing.

"How do you know there's another sword?" I asked.

Tarani jumped, and we stopped walking. We had left behind the last buildings of the city, and we had outdistanced most of the other travelers. At the moment, there was no one nearby.

"How do I know?" Tarani repeated. "It seems logical to me. The Captain of the Sharith would not have so valuable an article if it were unique."

"A King who wanted to cement the loyalty of the Sharith. I might give a unique weapon to the Captain," I argued.

"Not even Zanek would have done that," she said, shaking her head. "Rakor was even more rare and valuable then than now. The only reason to give up so rich a gift would be for the very purpose Eddarta's legends report—the symbology of twin swords, shared between King and Captain."

"Do you know that, Tarani?" I asked.

"I do not understand what you mean," Tarani said, but shifted her weight restlessly.

"Zefra said you have a strong link with the All-Mind," I said. "Is that how you know? Have you seen it in the All-Mind?"

Tarani shook her, head, not in answer, but at me. "You have strange notions, Rikardon. One does not 'see' in that sense without establishing a direct link."

"You mean, like through a Recorder?"

"Yes," she said, and turned abruptly. Before she could walk away, I caught her arm. She froze, and I moved my hand away quickly.

"You went to Recorder's school, Tarani. Can you—"

"No!" She didn't move, didn't look at me. "I did not complete the study. I am not a Recorder."

"All I want," I said, still speaking to the side of her face, "is more assurance that we're going to something, instead of from something. We're leaving the Ra'ira in Indomel's control, and that bothers me, Tarani. Isn't there some way you can—"

"You accepted the plan in Lord City," Tarani interrupted. "Why do you question it now?"

"I—we—that is, I seem to be able to think more clearly. Now."

I steeled myself to tell her, if she asked, that the shock of pleasure she had given me in Cam's cellar had offset the shock of Keeshah's loss. But she didn't ask. She looked at me for an instant, then lowered her eyes and nodded.

"That," she said softly, "I understand very well."

Well, I'll be I thought. Her, too? Maybe it wasn't just Keeshah's going that left me in that fog. It might have been the whole trauma of being captured, when we were so close to escape. With everything else involved, it might have been nothing more than the ordinary distraction of wanting each other and denying ourselves. That makes the most sense, considering that relief came when desire was satisfied.

Tarani glanced over her shoulder. We were still far ahead of any others, but we could hear them behind us, see them dimly in the wavering lamplight.

"There is no time to debate it now, Rikardon. We are committed to leaving Eddarta."

"Not until we meet our contacts," I said. "We could slip back and . . ."

"And be killed trying to steal the Ra'ira?" she demanded. "And kill Obilin and get Rika back," I answered. "You need a sword; that's a sword."

“Obilin’ is hardly so simple a task," she said. "And you must know, as well as I, which Indomel will not spare us if we are recaptured. Please, Rikardon, it is my judgment that the other sword truly exists, and that we shall be able to find it. Let us leave Eddarta now, while we are so close to freedom."

"We'll find it easily, no doubt," I said, "with the help of my ancestral link to the other sword?"

Tarani waved her hand dismissively. "That was pure invention, to convince Zefra of your importance in the plan," she said. "She does have power, and she believes strongly in my right—my sole right—to rule Eddarta."

I couldn't help feeling some resentment as I remembered the scene, but I was glad to note that the anger didn't return, as well. Good to put things in perspective again, I thought.

"That's why you put the compulsion on me," I said. "So that I wouldn't act surprised and put the lie to your story."

We were silent for a moment, and then Tarani said: "I think I see, now, the reason for your anger. It was not that I compelled you, but that my compulsion showed distrust. Is it not so?"

"It is exactly so," I admitted.

-Even as yours," she said, "My mind was clouded then. But as we have walked, I have thought it through once more. Rika, even should we be able to reclaim it, is still a symbol of betrayal to the Lords. It is the other sword we need to defeat Indomel. Please, Rikardon, show me the trust you would have asked of me earlier."

She stopped talking and I hesitated before answering. I wanted to trust her. I didn't want to hurt her. But I also wanted to know we were doing the right thing. Once we were all the way out of Eddarta, it might be harder to get back safely than it had been to leave—which, so far, I wouldn't have called a picnic.

"I am not a Recorder," she repeated, when she sensed the way I was leaning. Her voice had an edge—of impatience, of fear, of something I didn't understand. "What you would ask of me is beyond my skill." She whirled abruptly and took two steps down the road, stopped and looked back. She held out her hand.

"Are we not together, Rikardon?" she asked softly.

I took her hand and squeezed it, unable to say anything around the fear that had lodged in my throat at the very hint that we might be separated again. I released her fingers, to let her draw her hand away if she wished—but it pressed warmly into mine as we started south again.

Markasset didn't know much about Recorder training, I thought, but then I don't expect anybody besides Recorders know much about it. Tarani mentioned, though, that she had gone into school younger than most students—and Zefra told us that she had asked Volitar to be alert for signs of the mindgift in her daughter. So how young was young? Was she six? Seven? And she left at fifteen. Time enough, surely, to have had a lot of practice at whatever they do. Surely, she couldn't have forgotten her training.

So there must be another reason why she won't try for a link. Maybe there is a special piece of training that constitutes graduation from Recorder's school, which Tarani missed. Maybe it's just that she feels guilty about not finishing.

Now there's another thought. She probably doesn't really know why she left, what with Antonia just dropping in on her like that—

Antonia .. .

A memory came to me clearly from the cellar.

She called me Ricardo, I remembered, astonishment freezing me for a moment, so that my pace slowed.

"What is wrong?" Tarani asked me.

"Nothing," I said, falling into step with her again and thinking: She called me Rikardon, too. I grinned foolishly at Tarani, the only expression I would allow myself of the joy that shouted and sang all along my nerve ends. "I—it's just—I'm glad we're together."

All four of us, I added, feeling a little crazy. Ricardo, Markasset, Tarani, and Antonia.

Tarani glanced sideways at me, obviously still puzzled, but she seemed willing to let it drop. "I, too, am glad," she said.

Or are there five of us? I wondered, feeling a little giddy. Rikardon seems to be a newcomer, a little different from both Ricardo and Markasset. When Antonia and Tarani blend, there may even be six of us. Think of it, six….

When they blend?

What if they don't? Markasset was dead, after all, and Ricardo needed only to absorb his memories, not his personality. It may not be possible for the same thing to happen for Tarani and Antonia.

Yet I didn't awaken in Gandalara as Rikardon. Markasset and Ricardo were separate until Thanasset gave me Rika. When I touched that steel sword....

Holy great day in the morning!

I felt a chill crawling up my arms, lifting the hairs and raising bumps on my skin. It was no more comfortable for being familiar by now. It was fear and eagerness, denial and commitment, bewilderment and comprehension.

It was a sense of destiny.

There is another Gandalaran body with two personalities. And there is another steel sword.

There is another sword, I admitted. But we're not going after it to make Tarani the High Lord of Eddarta. We're looking for it to make Tarani whole.

Since my arrival in Gandalara, I had been struggling with my "destiny". At first I had let myself believe that I needed only to clear Markasset's father of complicity in the theft of the jewel. It was only in Dyskornis, where I had discovered the Ra'ira's special powers and the defense my dualness provided, that I had accepted what seemed to be my true charge—to return the care of the Ra'ira to the hands of honorable men.

I wasn't really unhappy with that decision. Ricardo had spent a pleasant, productive life with the feeling that in teaching language's he was performing a service of importance to society. Markasset had felt no sense of purpose, and had drifted uneasily through his short life.

I couldn't help feeling a little grateful, too. I had been given a young body, a chance at a second life, a friendship bond with Keeshah that had been sustaining and delightful. It seemed that one task in return for that was not too high a price for what I had gained, especially when I was uniquely equipped to perform that task.

I felt exasperated and not a little scared, however, by the piecemeal way "destiny" was revealing itself to me, and by the many opportunities for choice. It would have been easier if I had believed that I was the agent for a conscious, thinking, supernatural force, and that I could count on protection and a sense of commitment from such a being. But that image didn't jibe with reality, with the way I had stumbled into and through things, with all the chances I had had to go in the wrong direction.

And if this isn't proof that there's nobody home, I thought, I don't know what would be. Even a kindergarten-level god should have been able to foresee the need for that fool sword. Why couldn't we have brought it with us, instead of traipsing clear back across the world to get it now? I wondered, and then sighed.

No use pretending this development bothers me, I admitted. The truth is, I'm in full agreement with this particular step along our twisting path—though I'd rather we were riding Keeshah. (The familiar, painful twinge of loss.) Whatever happens when Tarani touches that other sword, it should at least give Tarani some answers to the confusion she must have been feeling.

So for once, "destiny", I shouted mentally, I'm on your side. For my own reasons, it's true. I love Tarani and Antonia, and I think they're both fond of me. I want them to be at peace with one another, work together. Then we'll talk about who's going to be high mucky-muck in Eddarta

I lengthened my stride. Tarani matched it, a look of relief flashing across her face as she sensed that, for whatever reasons, I was now fully committed to finding the second steel sword before we returned to Eddarta.

"We're almost there," I said, pointing ahead.

The lines of lamps on either side of our avenue merged with four others that had followed the other two main roads from the city. Beyond the edge of the bright pool of light at their merging point was a ridge of darkness and above it the pale clouds. The ridge was a virtual wall of the reeds that grew along the edge of the rivers. The roads from the city emptied here into a main east-west thoroughfare that wound along a western branch of the Tashal, one side of the road always bordered by reeds. In the farming areas, the reeds were sometimes trimmed down.

The Lords would have designated reed harvesters, of course, who were authorized to sell the reeds to weavers, furniture makers, paper mills, mine suppliers. But there were also some areas where the reeds were an obstruction to the short- distance water transport system. And I suspected that farmers, by nature and necessity more independent than their city-dwelling counterparts, didn't waste the reeds they removed to give walking room to the vleks which pulled the rafts.

Here the reeds grew in their natural state, thickly clustered, man-high, their delicate fern-like top growth waving slightly as the sluggish bank water stirred the bases of the reeds.

Short of the dark barrier, however, was a bright circle of light—entirely empty.

"Why is no one there?" Tarani asked uneasily.

"I doubt they'll show themselves before we arrive," I answered.

That's logical, I thought, as we stepped into the circle of light and looked around, waiting for the people who were to meet us to appear. So why am I worried?

I could not help feeling exposed here. There was something eerie about the empty, lighted area, so quiet, waiting . . . "It's too quiet," I said.

There were Gandalaran counterparts to most of the life forms Ricardo had known, including the noisy varieties of insects and amphibians who lived in and near water. The river bank was silent, except for the rustling of reeds as they moved to the current's pressure.

"Why would it be this quiet?" I asked.

We heard noise then—behind us. Vleks. '"Upset. Men. Shouting.

"What could that be?" Tarani asked as we looked back toward the ruckus. There was a small rise between us and the travelers who had fallen behind us; we couldn't see what was going on...

"Vleks aren't fond of dralda," said a voice from behind us, sinister, amused.

"Oh no," I said, turning slowly, releasing Tarani's hand and stepping a bit away from her. 'Obilin, how in the name of Zanek did you find us?"

The small man had stepped out from the reeds. Now two dralda melted into the edge of the lamplight, much closer to us than Obilin was. Silent until now, they growled softly and the fur behind their heads seemed to tremble with anticipation.

Tarani took a breath and tensed—and Obilin nodded to someone behind me. Before I could react, an arm whipped around my throat, and the bronze blade of a thin dagger gleamed in front of my face. I gripped the arm with my hands and pulled at it, gasping for breath.

"Do let him breathe, Sharam," Obilin said, and the-tension in the muscular arm eased slightly.

"You can't control both the man and the dralda," Obilin said to Tarani. "And they all have orders to kill your friend if anything, urn, unusual happens. Do you understand me?"

Tarani nodded.

Here we are again, I thought bitterly. Tarani bound because of me. There was no despair this time, however, only fury—and a determination to find a way out of the trap. Amid the frantic creation and rejection of plans was a small kernel of pleasure in being able to "think on my feet" again.

Obilin laughed. "To answer your question, Rikardon, I didn't need to find you, only wait for you. I knew as soon as the messages from Lingis stopped that you were behind it, and that you were free. You had to be coming to Eddarta. When Zefra convinced that fool Indomel that the lady Tarani was too ill to meet with him, I knew the two of you were together and on your way out of the city. I and, Sharam and the dralda have been waiting here for you since noon." He shook his foot, spraying water on the nearer dralda, which jumped, snarled, and edged away. "Uncomfortably, I might add, and at the cost of an excellent pair of boots.

Since noon, I thought. What happened to our contacts? Has he scared them away? Then something else Obilin had said penetrated.

"Indomel doesn't know Tarani's gone?" I asked.

"No. Nor you, either, for that matter. The High Lord has been preoccupied lately. The silence from Lingis disturbed him, of course, but I persuaded him to wait for more definite information before he took any rash action."

"You mean against me," Tarani said. "Indomel would have killed me if he had been certain Rikardon had escaped. You protected us both. Why?"

"That's easy to figure," I answered, before Obilin could speak. "He wants you for himself, Tarani, and he needs me to control you. When Indomel finally figures out we're gone, he'll pretend to look for us, and fail. The High Lord won't be happy with him, but Obilin will have plenty of compensation for that—you and me, hidden away and in his power.

Obilin smiled grimly. "Well stated," he said. "And entirely accurate. Our—shall we call it our trysting place, my dear?" He bowed mockingly to Tarani. She merely glared at him, and he laughed. "In any case, it is prepared for us, and it's time we were on our way. The trip will be more comfortable for all of us if you both cooperate. We shall not, obviously, be traveling by the road. The dralda over there —" He nodded to the roadway behind us, from which there still came the sounds of mass confusion "—are keeping potential witnesses at a distance. They will be allowed to pass, once we are safely off the roadway. Shall we go, please? Now."

Obilin gestured to us with his sword, and the man behind me started dragging me off to my left. I went with, him, staggering but not struggling. I was watching Tarani as Obilin approached her. There was a look about her, one I had seen when she walked on stage and prepared to dance‑

Tarani burst into flame just before Obilin's hand touched her. He jerked his hand back in surprise, but with startling quickness recovered and reached out again. "From now on, your skill will serve me instead of trick me," he promised grimly, grabbing a tongue of flame that shimmered back into the shape of Tarani's arm. "Sharam, cut the lady's friend. Just a little."

"No!" Tarani shouted, and lunged in my direction. Obilin's grip held her back, but Sharam's attention had been distracted just enough.

I grabbed the hand that held the dagger with both my hands, braced my feet on the ground, and arched my body, pushing his arm over my head. The movement threw Sharam off balance; he staggered backward, grunting and straining to bring his arm down again.

"Mara," Sharam grunted, and the dralda on my side of the lighted circle launched itself at me. Obviously following orders from its master, it turned at the last minute and broadsided into me, knocking the wind from my lungs and tumbling me and Sharam off the edge of the road into the spongy ground cover.

The double shock of the dralda hitting me and my slamming full-length into Sharam as we fell made my head swim and loosened my grip. Sharam had taken a knock, too. He pulled his knife hand free, but in the process loosened his hold around my neck. I rolled to the left, striking back with my elbow.

We were nearly out of range of the light. I felt, rather than saw, the knife swing by me, a miss too near to bear thinking about. Both dralda were at the edge of the road, ready to lunge. I pulled out my sword, bracing for the attack.

"Stop!' Tarani called, and the dogs pulled back, shaking their heads furiously, whining.

"Tass, Mara, attack!" Sharam said, no longer interested in Obilin's need to keep me alive. He moved into the light, swung his arm at me. "Attack!"

Obilin's sword pressed into Tarani's side. "Release them," he ordered. They came at me.

The first beast ran right onto the point of my sword. I rolled back and used its body as a shield. The other dralda concentrated on my unprotected legs and I kicked out and scrabbled around, trying to keep free of its teeth and claws. The weight of the dead one made breathing difficult, and its fur muffled and garbled the noises around me.

I recognized the howling I remembered from the desert—it came from the direction of Eddarta, and frighteningly close. And I heard voices. Their tone was angry or fearful, but only a few words reached me clearly.

"Sharam, I told you to leave the others—" Obilin's voice. "I did; I am telling them; they aren't —" Sharam.

Obilin's voice again, menacing. "It is your doing."

The sound of bronze striking bronze, then Tarani's voice.

"Too slow, Obilin. You fleason," she spat at him, and, had I not been quite so busy, I would have shuddered at the contempt and power in her voice. As it was, I found myself listening more carefully.

"I would kill him with my own hands, and then destroy myself, before I would allow you to command me as Molik did!"

The howling came closer, stopped abruptly.

"There," I heard Obilin say. "You may have the mindgift, whore, but Sharam knows his animals. They are his, not yours."

"Are they?" Tarani's voice said, then: "Attack."

The second dralda stopped worrying me; I pushed the dead one away, relieved beyond words to be free of its musky smell, and watched three dralda stalk Obilin and Sharam as Tarani, sword and dagger both ready in her hands, backed through the line of animals toward me. The big, wild-looking dogs were silent except for skin-tensing growls.

"No," Sharam shouted, pointing at me with one hand, Tarani with the other. "They are the prey. Attack!"

The dralda stopped, looked back at us, hesitating.

"Attack, I said! Sharam yelled, and grabbed the nearest one by the fur at its shoulders. He lifted, pulled, tried to turn the animal, then howled in pain as powerful jaws closed on his wrist.

That seemed to decide things. I caught a glimpse of Obilin - backing away from a lunging dralda—but I was moving, myself, by then.

Tarani was right behind me; we ran west along the road. I was trying not to listen to the noise behind us—yelling, snapping, chewing.

Or the sound beside me—sobbing.

A shape loomed up in the dimness of the road; Tarani and I skidded to a halt and crouched back, ready for another fight. "No!" a scared voice cried, while the shape backed away hastily, hands upraised. "I came to meet you. Carn? Tellor's caravan?"

"You were supposed to be at the joining," I said.

"You didn't find enough people already there?" the voice asked sarcastically. "You're lucky I stuck around when I saw who else was waiting for you."

True, I thought.

"All right," I said. "Now what?"

The faceless man dragged us into the reeds, where a small, damp clearing had been cut away. Another man waited for us there, and the two of them exchanged clothes with us.

"The usual plan," the first man said, "is for us to step back out on the road and pretend we're you. I think we'll change that plan, considering."

"You'll have to hurry," the other man said. "There's a river crossing about an hour west of here. Take it, and go straight north—no roads, mind you, directly north.

"That's the only way you can hope to find Tellor's caravan by dawn. He knows you're coming, but he won't wait for you." They slapped us on the back, and pushed us out toward the road.

"Good fortune," followed us as a whisper.

Chapter 16

It was nearly dawn before Tarani and I spoke again. We had located Tellor's caravan and were watching the bustle of camp-breaking.

"Do your clothes fit well?" I asked.

"They fit," she said. "They smell vile."

I had already noticed that.

"Vleks," I said. "I don't think we can look forward to a fun trip I prefer the company of vleks," she said drily, "to that of Lords or dralda."

"Thank you, Tarani," I said, and she looked at me.

In the growing light, I could see the lines at eye corners and around her mouth—they seemed to be a fixture now, worn in by the strain of the past few weeks. I wanted to smooth these lines with my fingertips, but I held back.

Time, I reminded myself. Give her time.

"Why do you thank me?" Tarani asked.

"Your work with the dralda saved us," I said. We both knew that wasn't what I really meant, so I stumbled on. "Thank you for what you said to Obilin."

She drew into herself, holding her shoulders, and turned her face away. "What I did to the dralda—it destroyed them," she said in a small voice. "And as for what I said to Obilin, I spoke in anger—"

She stopped, caught her breath, started again.

"That is untrue, she said.”I meant what I said. Molik was--was filthy inside. Thymas was sweet and kind and joyful— but he felt desire only and that for—not for me, but for the image I allowed him to see. Being with him was more pleasant, and did not involve my gift, but it was not—not basically different from what I had done for Molik."

She snapped around to face me, her dark eyes shining in a way I had never seen before but I would never forget.

"At last I have been touched with love, Rikardon. I shall not permit any other kind of touch."

I leaned toward her, wanting more than anything to hold her against me, just to hold her. But she stepped back and laughed shakily, deliberately lifting the intense mood.

"And in that line of thought," she said, "perhaps it would be best if those on the caravan believe me to be a man."

I forced myself to think instead of want, and I considered her suggestion.

"We'll be on the road for a long time," I said. "A sustained illusion would drain your strength, and we may need it later."

She jumped at that. "You mean Obilin—surely not!"

"No," I said, praying that I was right. "I mean Worfit.''

"The roguelord from Raithskar," she said, nodding. "We will need to pass through Chizan, which he controls now."

"And your skill will help us there," I added. "So—" I looked closely at the people moving in the melee of bawling vleks. "It seems there are female vlek handlers," I said. I smiled at her. "But do wear your scarf," I cautioned her.

"There must be fewer dark-headed handlers than female handlers."

"As you say." She pulled a soiled and wrinkled scarf from her belt, made a face when she sniffed at it, then arranged it over the short, silky fur to hide it. Then she adjusted her weapons—nobody traveled the desert in Gandalara unarmed, so they weren't out of place—and threw back her shoulders. "I am ready," she said.

We went down to meet Tellor, who turned out to be a large man, beefy with muscles, with a rough and physical sense of humor. A joke was met with a roaring laugh and a backslap that, often as not, sent you face-first into the sand. After acknowledging our arrival, appraising Tarani's body with inoffensive appreciation, and turning us over to the vlekmaster, he never spoke to us.

Tenor mastered the caravan. That is, he had contracted with a number of merchants to move them and their goods across the desert. This particular caravan was made up of only very rich merchants, who brought not only goods for sale, but retinues of servants and "sales help"—men and women who would sit within a circle of goods at the markets and talk price to prospective buyers. There were also mercenary guards and us—the vlek handlers.

The vleks were goat-size, with spindly legs, dull minds, and unpleasant dispositions. They were the means for moving trade goods, the poles and distinctly colored awnings that marked a merchant's market territory, food and water for the whole caravan, sleeping pallets, and feed for themselves, and personal travel supplies for Tellor, the merchants, and their people.

A vlek couldn't carry more than about a hundred pounds of stuff on its back, but two to four of the creatures could be harnessed to deep-bedded, two-wheeled carts and the load in the cart could be, perhaps, a third heavier than the total weight manageable by the vleks individually.

If I had had the time to think about it, I would have expected the caravan to be heading for Iribos, the closest Refreshment House to Eddarta. Since Cam had mentioned Vasklar and Stomestad specifically, I would have assumed that the Fa'aldu slave route led from Iribos north and east to the big Refreshment House at which we had left a wounded Thymas on our first approach to Eddarta.

I would have been wrong, so I was just as glad I'd never thought about it. Tellor's caravan was bound on the northern route, aimed directly for Stomestad. A map would have shown it as ten man-days from Eddarta, and normal caravan travel (vlek-speed) would have stretched the time to the two seven- days Cam had mentioned. But this caravan was so big that there were more carts than usual and a lower vlek/cart proportion, so that the animals tired quickly and the wide-based wheels of the carts slowed us down.

It took us twenty-two miserable days to reach the Refreshment House at Stomestad.

In all that time, Tarani and I had little time for speech: none at all for privacy. For the first few days, the work was borderline interesting, as learning any new job can be. But once it became "routine"—that is, as soon as we could perform all the required tasks with dependable competence—it became only work—nasty, hard work.

I had hoped that familiarity with vleks would give me an appreciation of some positive quality I hadn't yet seen in the animals.

Not a chance.

Vleks bawled and bucked and did their best to bite the handler when they were harnessed, loaded, unharnessed, unloaded, fed, or penned in the ridiculous pole-and-rope enclosure that was thrown up every night. They never seemed to be quiet. At night—well, there were over a hundred of them crowded in together, nearly half of them female. For vleks, the odds were that at least five females would be in season at any one time.

We didn't get much rest.

The trip wasn't made more pleasant by the two-legged company, either. Vlek handlers are—to put it kindly—a lower- class crowd. Had I been alone, I might have enjoyed their rough humor and foul language. That, in itself, didn't bother Tarani; she had traveled with caravans before, though not in just this way. What bothered us both was that most of the women who became vlek handlers were the type who didn't object to being the prize in the nightly mondea game.

We were informed of this tradition on the first night.

Tarani objected.

So did I.

It took five nights of her refusal and my bruises to convince the other handlers that we were atypical—and, at that, we were never quite sure they were convinced. So we stayed close together at night, and only one of us slept at a time.

The snatches of rest, brief as they were, brought me pleasant but unremembered dreams that always left me feeling better—calm and almost happy, at least until the needs of our situation made themselves felt. Tarani, too, seemed to waken twice at each rising: once from sleep and again from an open-eyed daze. But Tarani's face revealed a fleeting expression of fear before she moved on about the day's business.

I asked her about it once.

"It is nothing, really," she said. "I have dreams which-are . . . odd. Fatigue and tension, doubtless, are causing them."

She didn't invite further discussion, and I didn't press the issue. I didn't want to discuss her dreams either, because I thought I knew what they were.

It was obvious these weren't the ordinary sort of nightmares—waking from those would have produced relief at the realization they were only dreams. It seemed to me the dreams, in themselves, were not the problem. Rather, Tarani was disturbed by the fact that she was having that particular kind of dream—she had said "dreams", so it wasn't one dream, repeating itself.

I'll bet its Antonia, I thought to myself. Trying to assert control? Or just remembering? I should think that, for a Gandalaran, dreaming about a world two-thirds covered with water would be a distressingly alien experience.

Like me, Tarani quickly, shed the after-effect of her dreams, and we were both kept too busy to think about it much.

We reached Stomestad at last. Tellor called out the ritual request for shelter; the symbolic cloth gates were opened; the vleks were -led in.

Stomestad was the largest of all the Refreshment Houses, but by the time Tellor, the merchants, and all their people had settled into the four-bed cubicles that lined one long wall of the courtyard, there were few sheltered beds left. Those were assigned by lottery to the rest of us; since the caravan would stay in Stomestad for several days, chances were, nearly all of us would get at least one night's sleep indoors.

Neither Tarani nor I won the first lottery. I was disappointed, but when I looked around to commiserate with Tarani, I couldn't find her anywhere in the crowd gathered outside the Refreshment House entrance. I panicked (wondering who else was missing) until I caught a flash of movement at the edge of my vision. A familiar white shape was just sinking out of my line of sight, around the corner of the rectangular, walled enclosure of Stomestad.

A hand tugged at my sleeve. I looked down to see a small boy, dressed in a child-size version of the long white tunic that the Fa'aldu always wore in their dealings with travelers.

"Sir," the boy began nervously. I smiled; he grinned back at me and went on with more confidence. "If it pleases you, sir, the Respected Elder invites you and the lady to speak with him privately."

I remembered the boy from our earlier visit—he was a nephew of Vasklar, the "Respected Elder" in question.

"Thank you, Hil," I said, and the boy beamed at the sound of his name. "We will come quickly."

The boy ran through the opening in the salt-block wall that was the only entrance to the compound. I ignored the curious stares of the crew, who had been too far away to hear what the boy had said, and headed around the corner.

Tarani was playing with Lonna—catching her in the circle of her arms, "letting" the bird slip through and spread her wings to fly, then catching her again. When I appeared, the play stopped, and Lonna took to the air. Tarani came toward me, looking puzzled.

"Still no sign of pursuit," she said.

We had seen Lonna frequently during the trip, but caution had dictated that the bird not join us and make us even more noticeable than we were already. But Tarani had been in continuous contact with Lonna. At first the news of a clear back trail had been good; then it had begun to worry us.

"I do not like it," Tarani said, emphatically. "Indomel must know, by now, that we are both gone. Granted that he cannot know where we are, I would expect him to search every possible route from Eddarta."

I shrugged. "He has the Ra'ira," I said, "and you proved to be little help with learning how to use it. Maybe he's just decided to cut his losses and be glad you aren't in Eddarta, stirring up trouble."

Her eyes harrowed.

"Do you believe that?" she demanded.

"No," I said, and laughed. "Listen, I've got good news and bad news."

"I beg your pardon?" she said.

At last a permanent contribution to Gandalaran culture, I thought. A cliché joke.

"The bad news is," I said, "that we lost the lottery." She groaned.

"The good news is, Vasklar just sent for us."

Tarani brightened. "Then we won't be expected to maintain this—" She slapped her arm. "—fleabitten disguise any longer."

"Not if I have anything to say about it," I promised.

Lonna dropped down to hover in front of me for a moment. I stroked her breast feathers gently, careful not to pull them in the wrong direction as the thick muscles beneath them moved with the slow rhythm of her wing beat. The bird dipped to Tarani for a similar caress, then took to the sky.

I shaded my eyes with my hand to watch her go, until her white body was indistinguishable from the cloud layer.

"Lonna remembers Keeshah," Tarani said quietly, slipping her hand into mine. "Her image of you is always blended with that of the sha'um." She paused. "Rikardon, will Keeshah return?"

We seem to know each other so well, I thought. I forget that I have to tell her some things before she knows them.

"When this happened to my—to Markasset's—father, his sha'um never returned from the Valley."

"But surely that is rare?" Tarani said. "Thymas talked of this once, and he said that the sha'um are gone for a year. Among the Sharith, they believe the sha'um stay in the Valley long enough to see their cubs born and sheltered to a certain age. But no one knows. Those who return do not remember—or at least do not speak of—what occurred in the Valley."

"Did Thymas say that they always return?" I asked.

"No." Sadly, pressing my hand. "This must be very hard for you, my love."

I reached for her then. She came into my arms, but I could feel her trembling. As the seconds passed and the overwhelming need we'd shared in Carn's cellar didn't reappear, she relaxed and returned my embrace.

Too soon for me, we stepped apart and went to see Vasklar.

The Elder was truly old, his headfur dark and patchy. He was scandalized when he saw us, and he sent children scurrying to the bath-house to prepare tubs scented with dried herbs. They were small tubs, little more than big water troughs made of rough tile. Compared to the deep, ceramic- lined tub in Thanasset's home in Raithskar, they weren't much.

Compared to twenty-two days in the unwashed company of vleks and their handlers, it was paradise.

When we were clean and wearing borrowed clothes, Tarani and I joined the Stomestad family at their huge dining table, in the inner courtyard. It was a privilege shared by few non-Fa'aldu; I owed it to Balgokh, the Elder at Yafnaar who had helped me and taken a liking to me. He had spread the word to the other Refreshment Houses. Among the Fa'aldu, I was a celebrity. Tarani—known to them before this as the dancer and illusionist—was welcomed on my account.

At dinner, I recounted the edited story of my arrival in Raithskar, wherein Markasset had lost his memory, mended his loose ways, and helped his father, and had been rewarded with the steel sword, recovered memories, and a new name. The Stomestad had heard it before, but they received it with as much show of pleasure as when I had first told it. I dared not look at Tarani, sure that she was gaping at me in amazement. She had heard part of the story in a different version; she thought I was a Visitor.

It's the pits, trying to remember who I've told what to, I thought. If this sword pulls Tarani and Antonia together— wouldn't it be wonderful to be able to tell somebody the whole truth for a change?

And what will Tarani think when she hears it? I wondered. I've been lying to her about myself since the day I met her. I hope she won t hate me for it.

After we had eaten, Vasklar escorted Tarani and me into a private sitting room.

"And now, my friends," he said. "I will not ask what happened in Eddarta. Thymas and the two Sha'um are missing, Rika is not at your side, and you come back to us in the manner of an escape. That speaks clearly enough of disaster. So I ask only: how else may I be of service to you?"

"Vasklar, we are grateful beyond words for everything you and your people have already done for us," I said. "At this point, we need only what you would provide any traveler— time to rest, and food and water to send us on our way."

"And where does your way lead?" Vasklar asked, squinting at me in the lamplight.

"Through Chizan," I said. "Back to Raithskar."

"A long journey," Vasklar said. "From here to Chizan, what route?"

I exchanged a look with Tarani, and knew we were in agreement on this point.

"The quickest way possible," I said. "Straight across the desert."

Vasklar didn't argue with us. "The Strofaan is the worst-of the deserts," he said. "And the quantity of water you would need—"

His voice trailed off as his mind turned inward, figuring. Tarani spoke into the silence. "Lonna is still with us, Vasklar," she said. "She can carry small amounts of water. If you will provide that, and feed her when she visits—"

Vasklar smiled, his eyes nearly disappearing in wrinkles. "I am old enough that I recognize change when I see it coming," he said, "but still too young to predict its nature. I do know that you two are special in the world, and the agents of change. And knowing this part of the world as I do, I must assume that change will be an improvement.

"Of course, we will provide whatever you need, my friends. Go now to your rest."

We had been given one of the family's guest rooms. Shallow, wide salt blocks created a big platform in one corner of the room, and it was covered by a rich, fluffy pallet.

A double bed, I thought. And the usual courtesy of asking what arrangement we preferred was noticeably absent. Either the Stomestad Fa'aldu are getting crowded, or the way Tarani and I feel about one another is patently obvious.

We were exhausted, just out of one desert and very much aware that we were about to head into another one. Tarani and I slept together in that bed for eight hours and never touched except to kiss lightly morning and evening. There was no tension, no strain, and no urgency. There was caring and togetherness and the pleasure of being secure among friends. I caught the look that told me Tarani’s dreams still disturbed her, but even with that, it was a comfortable time.

On the morning we were to leave, the courtyard was deserted. Tellor's caravan had departed, unmourned and apparently quite efficient without us, two days earlier. Vasklar walked with us to the gate and, according to the ritual, returned our weapons.

"I would ask one favor of you," he said. "When you reach Chizan, send word to us that you are safe. Speak to Pornon, at the High Crossing Inn. The Inn is our last stop for the slaves we help. Take this—" He handed us a thin strip of leather that carried inked Gandalaran characters that made no sense.

Code, I thought. The High Crossing Inn must be the "safe house" Janis mentioned, and this is the way the Fa'aldu find out a slave is safe, so they can release Jaris's commission for payment.

"Pornon will take it to a maufel who is also one of us," Vasklar said as I took what he offered. "When we receive it, we will know that you are safe, and rejoice."

Tarani was the one who brought up the logic flaw. "You will know we have reached Chizan," she said. "Does that mean, necessarily, that we are safe?"

Vasklar chuckled. "I see your point. For escaping slaves, they are truly one and the same--the High Lord's strength does not reach into Chizan."

"Where do the slaves go after Chizan?" I asked.

"We have no idea," Vasklar answered. "It is better that way, I think. They agree not to communicate with the Fa'aldu again after they have sent back their 'safe' sign."

"Then how do you know they have truly escaped?" Tarani asked.

"By knowing that they have not been recaptured," Vasklar said. "The Fa'aldu would hear if it happened. No one," he said proudly, "who has reached Pornon in Chizan has ever been recaptured. Believe me, my friends, the former slaves who have passed through the High Crossing Inn are living now in Omergol or Raithskar, living free lives and, I trust, happier ones than those they left."

I slipped the leather strip into my pouch. "We will send it back, Vasklar. Thank you for all you've done for us."

He became serious. "You are one of the few who know my feelings about Eddarta, how I detest the slave system. When I say that I see in you the beginning of a welcome change, I am sincere. I am honored to be a part of it through any aid I have been able to offer you."

There it was again—destiny. It crawled up my spine, flushed my face, and left me absolutely tongue-tied. The admiration of men like Vasklar humbled me and frightened me.

Impulsively and timidly, Tarani stepped up to the Elder and hugged him, then shouted with laughter when he hugged her back with surprising strength.

It seemed a good omen that we were sent into the desert with laughter as our farewell.

Chapter 17

Vasklar hadn't been kidding about the Strofaan Desert. I figured that, by now, I could count myself a connoisseur of deserts. On a one-to-ten scale for unpleasantness, the Strofaan rated around fifteen. When Thymas, Tarani, the two sha'um, and I had crossed its edge from Sulis to Stomestad, we had tasted the Strofaan, no more than that. It hadn't been palatable then; as a steady diet, it was even less appealing.

As in most of Gandalara, there wasn't much wind, so a nearly invisible fog of salty dust particles hung constantly in the air. We wore our scarves face-wrapped every minute, except when Lonna dropped down to us every day.

Knowing we could count on the bird to bring us water, we had stuffed our backpacks with bread, cheese, fruit, and dried meat—every portable foodstuff Vasklar could provide. We rested while the bird was there. We allowed ourselves to drink more than would have been wise, had we been carrying our own water supply, and ate our largest meal of each day. Then we traded Lonna's full water bags for our empty ones and sent her off again. Other meals, between her visits, were eaten more or less on the run.

We had nothing to do besides cross that desert, so we did was to cross it as fast as we could. Zaddom had taught me a special travel pattern, and Tarani and I followed it, running or walking for four hours, resting for one. The maps I had seen didn't have the direct distance from Stomestad to Inid, the Refreshment House closest to Chizan. Apparently, it was too rough a trip to consider, if you didn't have your own private flying water tank.

I had estimated ten to twelve man-days. With our faster travel pattern, and the discomfort of the trip encouragement in itself, Tarani and I made it to Inid in six days.

In spite of the hardship of the desert crossing, I was feeling good when we reached Inid. The physical pain of the surface wounds inflicted by the dralda in Eddarta—little more than an irritation, really—had faded during the trip to Stomestad, but the shivery memory of Obilin popping up out of nowhere' had been a constant shadow in my mind. Crossing the desert, devoting every ounce of energy to the simple task of survival, had cleared away the mental dross of guilt and fear, and I was simply glad to be alive and with Tarani.

The crossing hadn't involved deprivation, and this long run, so soon after the trip to Eddarta from Lingis, honed my body to a fitness level I was sure even Markasset had never matched. I felt strong and clean in a way water could never clean me. It was as if the sand had scoured away the past and left me ready to face the future.

Tarani seemed to share those feelings. Even though the Inid family welcomed us—Lonna had been making her water- runs to Inid since we had passed the midpoint of the desert—we stayed only one night, enjoying the luxury of eight full hours of sleep. Tarani seemed to be untroubled by her dreams. We were grateful for a bath, clean clothes, and more provisions, but we were eager to get on with what we had to do.

The Zantro Pass wasn't an easy crossing—too high to breathe easily; lots of wind and rock and dust—but we didn't have much trouble. Lonna, no longer carrying her waterbags, rode inside Tarani's tunic. The bird had worked harder than either one of us during the desert crossing, and she showed it in thinness and shortness of breath. She deserved a little cuddling, and I didn't begrudge Tarani's solicitousness toward Lonna.

But their closeness, as always, reminded me of an uncrossable distance.

I could be happy right now, I thought, if Keeshah were with us, or even if I could talk to him. It still feels like an essential part of me is numb and useless.

We reached the slope that overlooked Chizan at nightfall. The lights and the smell of the city were equally noticeable. "Can we not go past?" Tarani asked.

"You remember what the Zantil was like," I said. "We'll need rest, and a fresh supply of water, before we tackle the higher crossing. And we did promise Vasklar to send word back through Pornor.

"Don't worry," I said, putting an arm around her shoulders. "Rika isn't here to identify me, and your headfur doesn't show through the scarf. With our faces wrapped—" I sniffed the air. "—which is a survival tactic in Chizan, so no one will wonder about it—we're indistinguishable from any of a hundred other travelers."

Tarani sighed and nodded agreement. She pulled her water pouch from her belt, poured a little water into her cupped hand, and let Lonna dip some out. She drank some and splashed the rest on her face. The bird flew off to hunt as Tarani and I walked down into Chizan.

The city hadn't changed noticeably from the time when Molik was running things. Water was still outrageously expensive; we bought some with the money Zefra had given to Tarani in Lord City which had been, through the generosity of our Fa'aldu friends, totally useless until now. I had retained my gold-filled belt through all the clothing changes, but those coins were too dangerous to spend here.

In Raithskar, though, I thought, they won't be as noticeable. They're a fair fortune, enough to build a house . . . one with room for several kids and at least one sha'um.

Domestic bliss. I wonder if that's anywhere in my "destiny"?

The High Crossing Inn was easy to find—it was a three- story building made of mud-brick and stone located close to the eastern edge of the city. Like all other such establishments, it had a vlek pen for a back yard.

We'll sleep with the windows closed, I promised myself. Remembering the flea-infested pallets we'd found in Chizan on our last visit, I added: and on the bare floor.

We went in the front door; past an opening on our left that led to the inevitable bar/dining room. A rickety table rested at the foot of the stairs across the smallish lobby, with a man seated behind it, draped over it, and snoring loudly.

"On second thought," I whispered to Tarani, "we've got our water. Why don't we move on tonight, and sleep just this side of the pass? We can cross early in the morning." A daylight crossing of the Zantril had been bad enough; I had no desire to try it at night.

Tarani smiled. "I wonder that the plan did not occur to me," she said. "But since we have come this far, let us at least deliver the message to Pornor."

It did seem that we owed it to Vasklar. I walked over to the man asleep on the desk and poked his shoulder. He came awake quickly, and I stepped back from the dagger that appeared in his hand.

"We don't want trouble, friend," I assured him. "We're looking for Pornor."

He put away the dagger. "You found him. Sorry about pulling the knife; guess I knew falling asleep out here was risky." He stretched and yawned, displaying broad shoulders. He was younger than I had first thought, and in good shape.

I took another step backward, and dug in my pouch for the leather strip.

"Vasklar sent this—" I began, holding it out to him.

He had taken it from me before I finished, and was holding it close to the lamp, reading it. When he looked up, he was smiling.

"I've been expecting you," he said loudly. "Rooms and meals are on the house."

"We won't be staying," I said, edging Tarani toward the door. She was going willingly. Something felt funny; she sensed it too. "Just send the message to Vasklar."

I heard a brutal sound, and Tarani's arm slipped out of my hand. When I looked around, she was on the floor, unconscious. A small man, thin and wiry, stood behind her.

Except for his size and the fact that he was holding Rika, I doubt if I would have recognized Obilin.

His face and neck were crisscrossed with healed scars; he wore a patch over his left eye. When he spoke, his voice grated out in a vicious whisper.

"This is what you left me to," he said, making it clear that he was shouting inside. "But even dralda couldn't kill me. Not me.”

The shock of seeing him was beginning to take hold, and I fought it off. He hit Tarani, I reminded myself, and let the anger burn away any sympathy for the mangled man. And he'll do worse, if I let him.

"Sharam, of course, is dead," Obilin continued. "Indomel finally figured out that you and the girl had escaped together; when the High Guard came looking for you, they found me. They took me to the High Lord, who accused me—much too late, of course—of having deliberately misled him."

The ravaged man stepped over Tarani's inert body and came slowly toward me. I backed away, trying to assess what I saw. There were a lot of scars, but they looked to be shallow, and cleanly healed. His face might look like a sandflea track, I thought, but he seems to move easily enough. A slight limp on the right—not enough to slow him down much. His hands—scarred, too, maybe some loss of strength in the fingers? But Obilin never counted much on strength. It was his agility and quickness that made him a fighter to be reckoned with.

I don't think that's changed much.

How the hell did he know about this place? How did he get here so fast? In the name of conscience, what does it take to kill this man?

Obilin swaggered, the familiar movement confirming his identity, complete with the danger factor.

"You'll be happy to know, Rikardon, that I confessed everything to the High Lord. Who you are. Who she was, and is. The illusionist. The whore. Indomel might have killed me, just for knowing how powerful she is. But I had a strong bargaining point.

"I knew where you were going. Exactly where you were going."

I backed further, glancing over my shoulder to see how much more room there was before I hit the wall beside the stairway. Behind Obilin, a small crowd had clustered in the doorway to the bar. They were watching, fascinated, not even betting on the outcome of the imminent fight.

"Of course, I had to admit to Indomel that I'd been stealing useless slaves and selling them for a profit," he said. "In order to explain that I had also been selling the ones who thought they were escaping safely with the aid of the Fa'aldu. They all come here, you see. On my last visit to Eddarta-- the one during which the lady's talent captured my fascination Pornor approached me about the scarcity of his trade, and we struck a deal. At that time, Jaris was the only Fa'aldu agent in the mines. Now, thanks to my encouragement, there is one in every single mine.

"They send slaves here through the Fa'ladu system. Pornor sends back their silly coded messages, and the mine agent is paid. Meanwhile, Pornor acts as my agent and turns them over to Molik--Worfit, now—who, um, uses them in any way he sees fit."

I thought of Yoman and Rassa, the two escaping Eddartans whose places we had taken. They had thought themselves safe, following the Fa'aldu instructions. I thought of Vasklar, of the people he thought he had saved.

"And what happens if Worfit doesn't want them?" I demanded, letting the rage grow in me, waiting for the right time to move.

"He kills them," Obilin answered with a shrug. "But he pays well for the ones he takes, and Pornor and I split the fee. It is a profitable venture."

Why is he letting me keep him talking? I wondered, suddenly suspicious.

Too late, I saw the men on the stairway. They lunged at me, grabbed my arms, knocked away my sword, and held me pinned. Obilin smiled, and seemed no uglier now than at any other time I had seen that smile.

"No chances this time," Obilin grated. The light mood vanished. The chatter was gone now; he let the hatred show. "Thanks to you, Rikardon, I've lost a very comfortable position in Eddarta. Oh, Indomel still thinks I work for him—that I came here on his behalf, looking for the lady. But I didn't come all this way only to take you back to Eddarta. Oh, no. Not at all."

He moved closer.

"This," Obilin said, stabbing the air for emphasis "is private. I knew when I left that I wouldn't be going back. That's why I brought this along."

He turned the sword; lamplight gleamed against its silvery edges.

"Worfit isn't a selfish man," Obilin continued. "In fact, I find him quite easy to work with. When he saw me, and heard my story, he agreed that I had at least as fair a claim on your death as he does.

"Do you want to hear the bargain, Rikardon?" he asked, his voice getting hoarser and rougher as he approached me. "I had the sword. I traded it to him for your life, on condition that I could first kill you with it. And it is a bargain, Rikardon. Your life isn't worth a fleabite. Especially right now."

He had come so close that I could see the slight rise of the tissue that formed the scars on his face, smell barut on his breath.

"Hold him steady!" he commanded my captors, and lifted Rika over his head.

I was desert-hardened and mad as hell at this little, mangled man who had made so much trouble for us. I was desperate to survive because, without me, I knew Tarani would die. (I didn't have to fear she'd be hurt in the way Obilin so badly wanted to hurt her—I knew she'd find a way to die.) Rage, a living and separate thing, took over my body and fought for my life.

I made such a show of struggling that both men clutched my arms tightly. Then, as the sword started down, I jumped, folded, and kicked—straight into Obilin's face. The sword came down through the air in front of me. I had jumped off-center, to throw my weight against one man; the movement pulled the other man around in front of me. Rika sliced through the back of his calf, and he screamed, hanging on to my arm with one hand and clawing at my face with the other.

Obilin had recovered and was shouting at him to move out of the way. I shifted my weight again and shoved the three of us into Obilin. We all went down in a furious tangle. I was closer to the top. I placed some hurtful punches and pulled myself out of it. I grabbed the table—Pornon was watching from halfway up the stairs—and tipped it over on the struggling group.

For a few seconds I debated trying to sort Rika out of the mess, but I couldn't spare the time. Obilin was driving the other two off of him with fists and sword and curses; he would be free in seconds.

I ran toward the door.

Two of the bar clientele were picking up Tarani, with a studied indifference about where they put their hands.

I stiff-armed into them, knocking them back against the wall. I pulled Tarani away from them and fought the blind rage that was urging me to kill this pair.

The real enemy's behind you, I told myself. These guys—it was nothing personal; she's just a woman to them.

It was a triumph of rationality that I reached for my dagger and cut open Tarani's money pouch. Coins spilled and scattered on the floor. The men against the wall and in the bar's doorway leaned forward. It was a considerable sum; Zefra had been generous.

"I just bought five minutes head start," I said, ducking down to lift Tarani in a poorly balanced fireman's carry. I backed out the door, holding the dagger awkwardly in front of me.

"You want the little guy killed?" the man nearest the door said.

I looked through the doorway at Obilin, who was standing, holding the steel sword. With that, with his fighting skill, with his fury, he'd have a chance, even against these odds.

"Use your own judgment," I said, and ran for it.

Chapter 18

I ran all night, only pausing to rearrange Tarani's limp form across my aching shoulders. At dawn I dragged Tarani into a rocky hollow away from the road, and slept fitfully for a couple of hours. I jumped awake, startled from a grim and fading dream. Tarani lay peacefully beside me, her breathing, disturbingly sharp and shallow.

She should be awake by now, I thought. Obilin must have given her a concussion—and that bouncing last night couldn't have helped her. Panic took hold as I touched her face. At least she's breathing; I tried to reassure myself we must have a sizable lead by now. We'll stay put; I'll let her rest; she'll be all right.

I poured some water on my scarf and bathed her face, then moved my fingers gently over her skull. The size of the knot at the base of her skull frightened me, and I wished for Tarani's healing skill.

We stayed there most of the day, except for graduated movement as the shade pattern around the tallest rocks changed. I dozed fitfully, but even asleep, I was waiting for the sound of a group of men coming up the trail. Never had I felt such appreciation for Tarani's link with Lonna. The bird appeared now and then to hoot mournfully near her mistress, but she left without giving me any information. She could speak only to Tarani.

It was nearly dusk when Tarani made a sound. I scrabbled over the dusty rocks to crouch beside her, resisting the urge to pull her up into my arms. Her eyes opened. "What happened?" she whispered. She pulled one of her hands away from mine and touched the back of her head. "Ouch." Then she looked me straight in the eyes and said: "Obilin."

I nodded.

"Is he dead this time?" she asked.

"I don't know," I said, and told her what had happened. "it’s money well spent," she said, when she'd heard it all. "I hope they tore the fleason to pieces."

Tarani must have seen how her savagery shocked me. "I think of Vasklar," she explained more gently. "How he will feel when he knows where his good efforts have led."

"I know," I said, sharing her bitterness.

She looked around at the rocks. "Where are we?"

"Just east of the Zantril," I said. "I was afraid to take you into the pass unconscious."

"How long?"

"We've been here for most of a day," I said.

"Oh, Rikardon—I'm sorry I have held you back. If Obilin is not dead—if Worfit knows you were in Chizan—"

"Lonna's not too far away," I said. "Can you find out if somebody's following us?"

She closed her eyes. The bird swooped down and settled on a boulder near her, took off, returned. Tarani opened her eyes, and, the pain in them shocked me.

"It must be the blow," she said in explanation. "It hurts to speak to Lonna. But it hurts more to hear what she has to tell. A party of twenty men, wearing backpacks, is coming from Chizan, no more than an hour away. There are two men in the lead. One is Obilin; I'm sure, from your description. The other is not much taller, but wide and muscular . . ."

"That's Worfit," I confirmed, and thought furiously. "Can we sit tight and let them pass us?"

"I do not think so," she said. "Lonna's picture shows the main group moving at a steady pace, with others off on either side, searching." She gripped my upper arms. "Help me up; we must get moving," she said.

I pulled her, slowly, into a sitting position. She no more than got up there than she was pushing me away. She turned her body full against the shade rock and lay there retching for what seemed an endless time.

"You can't travel, Tarani—that blow hurt you."

"I must travel," she gasped. "Help me."

I did, hating the grayness in her face, hurting for her. I pulled her to her feet and held her around her waist. I dragged her first few steps, but then she was walking on' her own, leaning on me for support. We paused twice for retching spasms; then they went away. At the entrance to the Zantril, Tarani sent Lonna out again. The troop was still on our trail, gaining but not quickly. They had decided, apparently, that endurance was more important than speed.

They may be right, I thought, as we clambered down the steep slope into the dust-blown chasm that was the Zantril crossing. In spite of the scarf covering Tarani's face, the dust made her cough, and that made her head hurt more. Lonna had to fend for herself this trip; I saw her once, through the stinging dust, struggling in the wind.

It had taken three healthy people twenty hours to walk through this pass on my last trip. This time, I thought the Zantril was endless. I wasn't sure what day or hour it was when I topped the high point that marked the other end of the pass. I was staggering under Tarani's weight—she had passed out again, several hours ago, and she had never looked really well.

I staggered down the outer slope, relieved beyond words to see the scrubby bushes clinging stubbornly to the hillside. I found a fairly shady spot sheltered from sight of the road, lowered Tarani to the ground, and stretched out beside her. Obilin and Molik notwithstanding, we needed some rest. I drew in deep lungfuls of air, grateful that it didn't taste of dust. After a while, I slept.

Tarani shook me awake. I resisted, clinging to the dream.

I had four legs, very satisfying claws, and tawny fur. The female was a musky presence, a pleasant nuisance with her fussy searching for the right lair. Any defensible place would do for me—a cave, a hollowed-out thicket. But she sniffed and pawed and dug. A nuisance.

I reached far forward with my front legs, dug my claws into the leaf-covered ground, slowly pulled my back out straight, and stretched my back legs one at a time. The sweet smell of the disturbed leaves drifted up to me. The female was off to my left. Water lay near me. I could hear it rushing over the rocks, smell its cool .. .

"Keeshah!" I said, sitting bolt upright. I turned to Tarani, who was looking better, and grabbed her arms. "It wasn't a dream," I said. "It was Keeshah. We're still linked, somehow."

"Rikardon," Tarani said, breaking gently from my hold, "I have an idea."

I stood up and looked northward. "That's the Valley of the Sha'um," I said, pointing to the northwest, to the left of the dark blotch on the landscape that was called—for reasons of appearance, I supposed—the Well of Darkness.

"We're closer here, Tarani. That must make a difference." I turned to her, excited. I grabbed her, hugged her. "Keeshah's still with me!" I shouted.

"And Obilin and Worfit are getting closer!" she yelled against my shoulder. She pushed me away, closed her eyes and pressed her hands to her temples. "Listen to me, Rikardon," she said, after she had taken a few deep breaths. "Lonna woke me with her screeching. Obilin and Worfit are barely an hour short of this end of the pass. Let us send Lonna to Thagorn. We may be able to make it to Relenor safely, and wait there for Thymas."

I forced my mind away from my welcome "dream" to consider Tarani's plan. There was no doubt Thymas would come. If it weren't enough that Tarani asked Thymas, through Lonna, for help, he would be bound through his oath to his father to obey the Captain's orders. But there were bigger questions.

Did we have time to wait for their help, even considering the speed of a hundred men riding a hundred sha'um?

When I'd been named Captain, I had told the Sharith that it wasn't time, yet, for them to go into action. Was it time now, only because the danger was personal to me?

Lastly, Obilin knew we had connections in Thagorn, and might suspect we were doing exactly what Tarani planned.

He would hardly be inclined to wait around for a fang-and-claw army to descend on Relenor.

"Do you really think the 'sanctuary' of a Refreshment House will stop Obilin or Worfit?" I asked.

"Perhaps not them," Tarani said. "Obilin, I know, is too determined to reach us. But the other men—the tradition will mean something to them. Obilin and Worfit will have to come in alone, or force or convince the others to violate the tradition of the Fa'aldu. It will buy us time."

"At what cost to the Fa'aldu?" I demanded, and looked northward again.

"If not the Refreshment House," she pleaded, "let us at least start for Thagorn, and send Lonna ahead. We can stay out of Obilin's reach long enough for Thymas to bring the Sharith."

I pulled Tarani down into a sitting position and faced her. I gathered my thoughts and tried to calm the growing excitement. I knew what I had to do, and I wanted her with me, not out of loyalty, but with full understanding.

"It's no use to send Lonna to Thagorn," I said "It's too far; she's too tired. We'll go north, into the Valley."

She started to protest, but I hurried on. "It's not as impractical as it seems," I said. "There's a passage through the west wall of the Valley. It's a hard crossing, but we can make it—it leads to Alkhum, a little town not far from Raithskar."

She studied my face.

"Do you forget that I know something of sha'um?" she asked quietly. "They will kill us if we invade their Valley." "Keeshah is there!" I said fiercely. "He'll let us through." "But no one else will be able to enter," she mused. "And the Fa'aldu will not be endangered by those who follow us." She put her hand on my cheek.

"It is logical, my love—a measured chance. But I see the truth in your face. You wish to do this only to be with Keeshah again."

I nodded, knowing that the decision was now hers, terrified that she would refuse me.

"It is reason enough," she said.

She didn't say what we both know, I thought gratefully as we pulled out the last of our food and munched while we ran down the slope, aiming northwest. She didn't mention that Obilin and Worfit are too close. The odds for survival in any direction are rotten.

I hurt all over, and I knew she was even worse off her face was set in a steady grimace—easier than flinching with every step. We heard, faintly, the shouting behind us as the troop topped the rise and saw us moving across the scantily covered bottom of the slope. We didn't even look back.

This could be the end of the quest, I thought. She knows it, too. That's why she accepted my need for Keeshah so readily.

Thoughts of the big cat called back the "dream". It was so real, so true, I told myself. It had to be coming through our link. But why haven't I felt it before this? Distance can't have that much to do with it—we left Keeshah two days out of Eddarta, and I could speak to him as easily as if I were riding him.

There was one aspect of the "dream" that I hadn't mentioned to Tarani, and I didn't want to remember now, but it seemed important. Keeshah didn't remember me, I admitted. And he didn't know I was there.

He must have been with me all the time, I thought, but I've only now realized he's there. It can't be that the link suddenly came back—I would have felt it, the way I felt it when I thought it left. He just . . . shut down this part of his life for a while.

I wonder if that's what happens to all of the sha'um, I thought. For their time in the Valley, they're just smart animals for a while, intent on the biological business of continuing their species. It's an entirely different life for them, one they don' remember when they come back into the world they share with their riders.

Tarani and I were keeping a decent pace. Our lead over the men behind us shrank more slowly than I had been expecting. They hadn't been pushing as hard or as long as we had—but neither had they been toughened, recently, by a run across the Strofaan. They had had a reasonably soft life in Chizan, and we had been on the road, not counting our eight-day rest at Stomestad, for more than a month.

My mind stayed with the memory of Keeshah in the Valley, both because it was my only my real contact with him since he had left us in the desert and because of the puzzle the vision presented. Why would 1 become aware of the link now? I wondered. Or at all, for that matter? Tarani said the rest of the Sharith never had a clue about what happened in the Valley.

Excitement gripped me. But nobody else has the same kind of link as Keeshah's and mine. Ours is a different quality, not just communication, but a *sharing - motivations, emotions—

Emotions— I missed my step and fell flat on my face, skidding in the sand.

Tarani was beside me, helping me up. Her eyes were curious, but she didn't waste breath asking questions.

Me, I was busy kicking myself for not seeing the truth sooner.

Keeshah goes into his animal state, I reasoned. The link is still open, though neither one of us is really aware of it. He's troubled by the most powerful emotion he's ever felt, the need to mate. And I can't think clearly because that need is affecting me, unrecognized, through the link. He finds his mate, and courts her, as cats do, with teasing and passion...

I groaned inwardly, remembering a roll down a hillside, and the need that had overtaken me then.

No wonder Tarani couldn't think straight either, I thought. She was trying to deal with a man who was half animal.

I can blame Keeshah, now, for the fierceness of what happened in Cam's cellar. I thought my release had cleared my head—but now I think it was Keeshah’s. That must have been the moment when he mated with the female.

As desperate as our situation was just then, I still wanted to laugh as I thought: It's a good thing Tarani and I were in a private place when Keeshah got laid.

But if I give Keeshah credit for the passion, don't I have to give him credit for the feelings, too? Is what I feel for Tarani all mine, or part Keeshah's feeling for his lady?

It didn't take long to put that worry to rest. All I had to do was call up the "dream" again. The quality of Keeshah's relationship to the female was strictly on an animal level—a good-humored tolerance, respect for their shared purpose, devotion to the concept of family. Not only was there no trace of the tenderness and joy I felt when I looked at Tarani, but I could find no similarity between what Keeshah felt for the female and what I knew he felt for me.

Well, maybe one similarity, I admitted. I've felt that "good- humored tolerance" from him a time or two.

"Rikardon," Tarani panted.

Awakened from my reverie, I realized that my sides were beginning to hurt and that I, as well as Tarani, was laboring for breath.

I checked my inner awareness. Several hours had run by while I had been engrossed in my discovery of the existing Keeshah/Rikardon mindlink. I looked back in sudden panic, but the flapping scarves and puffing dust of the troop of men seemed no closer to us.

"Something's wrong," I said, and looked ahead of us, expecting to see the thickening line of green that would mark the beginning of the forested area in which the sha'um lived. It should have been straight ahead, Obilin and Worfit straight behind us. The line was there, all right, but off to our left, with the running men edging up between it and us.

I wasted breath and a few precious seconds swearing at myself. I had been preoccupied, running automatically; peripherally aware of our lead distance but blithely assuming the direction was right. We had been skillfully herded away from our original goal—no doubt at the instigation of Worfit, who knew of my sha'um connection—and were aimed due north now, directly toward the Well of Darkness.

I studied distances, did some figuring, and came up with disaster if we tried to cut across the path of Worfit's men.

My link to Keeshah is unique, I told myself. I knew it was a long shot—I had seen into his mind, seen the blank place that had once been his friend Rikardon—but I put a part of my mind into gear, screaming "HELP, KEESHAH!" at full volume.

It wasn't just his help I wanted. It was his awareness, a return of the closeness I had missed for so long.

But I couldn't dwell on what seemed our slimmest chance. I clutched my aching sides and looked ahead, searching for some hope in the landscape.

I see now why they call it a well, I thought. We had topped a sharp ridge that seemed to circle the huge, spreading darkness. I stumbled to a stop, less from fatigue than from curiosity and amazement. We were looking into an inverted cone of land perhaps a mile wide. Another step would start us down the side of the cone, which was covered with pale, crumbly-looking rock dotted, here and there,' with chunks of gleaming black. Some two hundred yards deep in the cone drifted a smoggy-looking light fog. It lay across the "well", a light swirling motion suggesting a subtle turbulence. It formed a transparent layer that truncated the cone; we could see the ground clearly enough through its edges.

But if we looked down, toward the center of the cone, that transparent layer merged into a darker one, then one even blacker. We couldn't see the ground, even at the edge of the fog, more than four hundred yards straight down.

"Well of Darkness," I panted. "Perfect name for it."

"I've heard of it all my life," Tarani said, "but I had no idea it was this big." She looked back over her shoulder. "We cannot stay here, Rikardon."

I took her hand and started down the steep slope. It was treacherous going, with the gravel-size rocks sliding out from under our feet with every other step. I had to let go her hand and use both mine to keep upright. Luckily, the slope wasn't perfectly smooth, but stairstepped with uneven ledges.

"Call Lonna," I ordered, a little awed that Tarani had followed me unquestioningly. "They're expecting us to turn aside here, and think they can cut us off then between here and the Valley. We can't cross this—that stuff has to be poisonous—but we can hold our breath and take short dips into it. Lonna can guide us; tell us when it's safe to come up for air."

"They will line the rim and wait for us," she said.

"Not the eastern rim," I panted, "the side away from the Valley. They won't expect that. We ought to be able to work our way around to the north, and climb out the other side. By then, I'm hoping they'll assume we're dead. If not—we'll at least have surprise on our side, and that may give us enough of a head start to reach the Valley."

We had clambered down until breathing was becoming difficult, and I realized that the top layer of gas was even more transparent, once we were inside it.

That makes things harder, I thought, dragging Tarani back up the slope a ways. For this to work, we've got to go deep enough to be obscured from sight. I thought this layer might be breathable, but from its taste and smell, it's richly layered with sulfur. It's going to take all our breath-holding time just to dip down to the heavier layers and get back up in time to breathe again.

I could hear men shouting to one another. They would be standing on the rim in minutes, and if they saw which direction we were taking, we'd be trapped for sure.

"Is Lonna ready?" I asked.

"Yes," Tarani said.

"Aren't you going to tell me this is a crazy idea?" I asked. "You know that already," she said.

She stumbled, caught my arm for support, smiled. I kissed her, lightly.

"Let's go," I said.

We took deep breaths and slid and scrambled down the slope toward the darkness. As we moved deeper into the relatively clear top layer, my eyes began to sting and water, and I was already wanting my next breath. When we dipped into the murkiness below, I had to close my eyes to protect them, and we felt our way deeper.

Tarani tugged at my hand and we struggled back up the slope. We both gave out and gasped for breath a little too soon. The gas stung my eyes and burned my lungs. Tarani's coughing told me she was having the same sort of trouble. We crawled higher, breathing heavily when the air was cleaner and lying still for several minutes. When I felt I could move again, I looked around. We had been traveling eastward on the zig and the zag of our short trip, and were a good distance from our starting point. We lay in clear view, should anyone be looking—but the men who had followed us were stationing themselves along the western rim, and looking straight down.

I felt a surge of hope.

"They're not looking for us," I gasped to Tarani. "I don't think we need to go quite so deep."

The ground trembled slightly, and Tarani jerked up on her elbows.

"What was that?" she cried.

I wondered what the Gandalarans believed the Well of Darkness to be. I found I couldn't tell Tarani what I—what Ricardo—knew it was. Gandaresh had no vocabulary equivalent for volcano.

Unless you count "Well of Darkness" as a generic, as well as specific, term, I thought. This seems to be the only volcano in Gandalara, and a mildly active one, if that ground tremor is any indication.

I ignored Tarani's question and started breathing deeply, getting ready for the next stage of the trip.

I also checked the volume of my SOS signal to Keeshah, and turned it up a notch.

Chapter 19

We had dipped down into that stinging, cloying mess of gases three times more before I finally figured out why we were making such good distance.

"Lonna's watching us and giving you directions, isn't she?" I said.

Tarani only nodded through a spasm of coughing. She looked as bad as I felt.

There didn't seem to be one square inch of surface, inside of me or outside, that wasn't burning from exposure to the gas or stinging from scraping on the rocks and exposure to the gas. I looked westward, but my watering eyes couldn't see the opposite rim very clearly.

"I'd guess we're pretty close to the easternmost point of the rim, directly opposite the group watching for us, I said, "will you ask Lonna if that's right?'

She closed her eyes, and then nodded.

"Then I think we can quit trying to breathe soup," I said. "We can climb up and work around the rest of the way on the far side of the rim."

"Thank Zanek for that!" Tarani gasped, and we started the treacherous climb.

We moved slowly. I felt weak as a baby—I doubted I would have been able to make another trip into that smelly darkness, anyway. Our clothes were covered with a sooty dust that helped them blend in with the color of the slope, so I didn't worry too much about the long periods we lay still, totally exposed to anyone who might be looking our way.

When we got close enough to touch the weathered edge of rock that marked the rim, the ground trembled again, and Tarani whimpered. Lonna swept down from the sky, concern for Tarani's distress drawing her. She hovered about twenty feet above us.

Lonna screeched. It was a blood-freezing cry of pain. My eyes were blurred, but I could hear her wing beat falter and stop. When she hit the ground close to us and started to skid down the slope, I had no trouble distinguishing the dark red stain spreading slowly through the whiteness of her feathers, or seeing the dagger hilt at the center of the stain.

Tarani moaned and crawled over to Lonna's body, catching it by a wingtip before it could slide down into the well. She hugged the bird tight against her chest, rolled to her back and lay still.

"Tarani," I whispered. Her head turned toward me, but her eyes were blank. Utterly blank.

"Obilin!" I screamed, and launched myself over the rim of the crater. "This is the end of it, you bastard! You hear me, Obilin?"

I found my feet and stared around in a wild fury, blinking away the tears that were washing the last of the stinging smog out of my eyes. Obilin waited for me not ten yards away. Small drifts of dust in the air told me he had just now slid back down from this side of the rim.

"This will be the end of it indeed," Obilin said in his damaged voice. "I have not made the error, this time, of trusting others. You always manage to use the others against me. But now—" He pulled the steel sword from his baldric and gestured, inviting me down slope. "We're alone. Worfit's a good man—he followed my instructions to the letter, allowing you to think you had fooled us while I crept along after that idiotic bird. But he has sworn not to interfere—unless I fail. And Tarani no longer has my interest, Rikardon. You. Your death. That is all I care about now."

I drew my sword and moved cautiously down the slope. The red heat of rage had coalesced into a white-hot point of hatred that left me room to think and plan.

This territory is in his favor, I calculated. Lots of room for those quick and fancy moves of his. That's got to be the first priority—limit his mobility.

We circled. He lunged in, swung an overhand blow which I blocked, then leaped back again. The edge of my bronze sword was no longer smooth.

For the first time, I was facing Rika, rather than wielding it.

That's another point on his side, I conceded, then warned myself: He's got the advantage with the steel sword; doesn’t double it by letting it rattle you.

He came in again, swinging low this time. I blocked, whirled, swung—but he had danced away.

Remember, I thought, offense is his strength, defense his weaker skill.	.

I pressed him then, slashing and swinging, forcing him to use his sword instead of his feet. I yelled with every stroke. I outweighed the man, and I was stronger. Fury had restored the energy that had been nearly totally drained only moments before. I beat Obilin back, not caring for the nicks and dents in my own sword. He was quick. I couldn't touch him.

When he realized I was forcing him up the slope toward the rim of the Well, he changed tactics. He started moving faster, slashing in at me between his blocks. Rika was no more than a blur in his hands. We were at a standoff, not moving in either direction.

I let my guard down on the right, hoping I could time it correctly. He lunged in, Rika swinging into my side; I jumped to my left as I blocked. Obilin saw the opening I had left him, and whirled to jump down slope.

I had my dagger in my left hand. As he turned, I jabbed at him, catching the back of his right thigh.

He fell, rather than jumped, down the slope, and I was right on his heels. He rolled to his back and braced Rika in front of his face. I pressed my sword down on Rika, straining my strength against Obilin's, and jabbed again with the dagger. This time it lodged in his side.

Obilin grunted, and the steel sword moved fractionally closer to his body under the pressure of my sword. The little man's good eye, unchanged by the scarred skin all around it, looked at me from above the sword with the same expression of insolent challenge that I had always seen in there.

"You can't win," Obilin gasped in a broken whisper. "Worfit will finish it—for me and for himself."

"But you, Obilin," I said fiercely... "You have failed:

"No," he gasped, taking in a ragged breath. "I haven't killed you, Rikardon, but I have marked you. You and the lady will not soon forget me." His scarred face rearranged itself into the familiar, sneering smile. "It is a . . . satisfactory revenge.

I gritted my teeth and, with a terrible joy, I jerked the dagger in Obilin's side upward to rip a long, bloody gash through clothes and flesh. Rika snapped downward, its tip grating against the rocky hillside.

I threw down the battered bronze sword, picked up Rika with a feeling of meeting an old, much-missed friend, and slipped the steel sword through my bladric. I looked down at Obilin and knew he had been right—his death would leave a deeper scar in me than any I had given him. Later, I might examine the pleasure I had taken in killing Obilin, and judge how it had changed me. Now, I only felt relief, and a sudden return of fear.

I scrambled over the rim of the well down to Tarani. I slapped her lightly; she roused and followed me back up the slope, still clutching Lonna's still form.

She was in touch with Lonna when Obilin killed the bird, I thought, and felt a pang of loss when I thought of the bird's death.

I heard shouting, and looked up to see men running around the rim of the Well, and I felt my last hope give way. The fight with Obilin had taken my last reserves. I was shaking from the inside out, barely able to hold to Tarani's hand.

I pulled Tarani into my arms, holding her and Lonna in what I believed to be our last farewell. I pressed me cheek against Tarani's and reached out with my mind.

*Keeshah*, I thought. *If only I could ride you one more time . . .*

*I COME!*

It was like a shout echoing through a long corridor, at first, a sense of tremendous volume at the source but only faintly heard. Then, as if it had been beyond a barrier and the barrier suddenly dissolved, it was clear and close, the old link re-established.

*I come,* Keeshah said again, the thought more normal in tome. *Close. Do not die.*

I started to laugh, but my lungs still burned and the effort trailed off into coughing.

*Die?* I echoed. *Who, me?*

I gripped Rika, drawing some confidence merely from holding the steel sword once more, and faced south. Six to eight men were racing around the rim toward us, only two or three minutes away. I recognized the squat figure of Worfit in the van of the group.

When I glanced northward, however, I was greeted with a familiar, cherished sight—a lean, tawny figure streaking toward us at full speed.

Keeshah reached us a few precious seconds before Worfit, who skidded to a stop when he saw Keeshah. He turned to give orders, and discovered that he was alone. The other men had stopped several yards behind him. They replied to the roguelord's yelling with shaking heads and a general movement backward.

I was aware of Worfit and his men only marginally. I left Tarani to fling my arms around Keeshah, and I rubbed my face into the fur behind his massive jaw, delighting in the feel and smell of the sha'um. He sidestepped, dragging me with him, and lifted and ducked his head to take full advantage of the rubbing motion.

We were together again, the mindlink clear and sweet, no thought of the past weeks intruding except in our awareness that this was a reunion. Our minds achieved the special and elemental joining that Keeshah and I had shared so often, and emotions rocketed through us—the fierce tenderness of our friendship, the exhilaration of recovered loss, needs and joys and the exquisite reality of being together—until their intensity overwhelmed us and the merging dissolved.

*Go,* Keeshah urged. *Not safe here.*

I looked around. Worfit had gone back to his men and was literally driving them toward us with his hands and sword. They were moving reluctantly, but beginning to feel the confidence of their greater number as more came around the rim to join the group.

Keeshah crouched down and I pulled Tarani toward him. She had remained standing where I had left her, showing little sign that she knew what was going on, but she paused near Keeshah's head.

"Sha'um," she murmured, and reached out to stroke back the fur between Keeshah's eyes.

The cat folded back his ears and gently nosed the bloody carcass in Tarani's arms.

*Bird gone,* he said to me. *Sorry.*

"We have to hurry," I told Tarani gently. She nodded, her eyes still distant, and mounted Keeshah. The girl still held Lonna, and I couldn't bring myself to argue with her. I mounted second, and Keeshah surged to his feet while the group of men closed in cautiously.

Worfit had directed them well; they had nearly circled us. A single gap remained—due north. I spared one second to look directly at the roguelord and laugh, and then Keeshah carried us away from the Well of Darkness.

I didn't have to tell Keeshah where to go. In that moment of close sharing, he had learned directly of our needs, and I had seen his. He took us into the Valley of the Sha'um.

I woke with the roar of a sha'um's fighting challenge vibrating in my ears.

*Keeshah!* I called, disoriented for a moment by the darkness and the odd smell.

*Stay out of the way,* Keeshah ordered me—and memory returned.

The big cat had brought us across the remaining desert into the thick forest of the Valley which seemed, topologically, to be less an actual valley than a triangle of forested area bounded on the north by the Great Wall and on the West by the Morkadahl Mountains, through which ran the Alkhum Pass. He had threaded his way through the flatter area of the triangle and into the foothills of the Morkadahls, where briars and viney growth entangled the trunks of the tallest trees in Gandalara. He had shown us the entrance to a cavelike hollow in the snarled vines above a small clearing. Tarani and I had crept into its shadowy interior and collapsed.

I recognized it now. It had a musky, earthy smell that wasn't the least unpleasant. We had slept on a cushion of leaves and pungent needles, and air and light penetrated the interwoven vines around us.

This is Keeshah's lair, I thought. He brought us home. But what's going on outside?

I shuffled through the leaves to the shaded circle that was the lair's entrance, nearly hidden from the meadow below it by a stand of young trees. I found a place from which I could see into the meadow.

Keeshah was there, facing down a smaller, gray sha'um. Around them were six sha'um I could see, probably more waiting in the shadowy forest. But all the rest seemed content to watch.

The gray lunged at Keeshah, and the two cats clinched briefly then broke apart, snarling at one another. There was blood on the gray's muzzle and along Keeshah's foreleg, but neither wound looked serious. The smaller sha'um closed in again. Keeshah wrestled him to the ground; lay with the gray pinned beneath him, snarling at the others. The smaller sha'um roared and twitched, waited, struggled again, then lay quiescent.

In a swift movement, Keeshah released the smaller male and backed cautiously toward the lair. Another male, bigger than the gray and marked with a nearly white spot along one side of his muzzle, stepped forward.

*Keeshah, what's happening?* I asked, but was ignored.

The two sha'um went into crouch, the fur behind their heads lifting into manes and their tails whipping slowly back and forth. After they had each roared a challenge, their voices were reduced to muttering, deep-throated growls that raised my headfur. The other cats moved back, giving them room. .

And a third sha'um entered the clearing, seeming to appear out of nowhere.

"A female," Tarani said from beside me, startling me. The vacant look had left her eyes. "She's Keeshah's mate."

I didn't wonder, then, how Tarani knew that—I was much too glad to see her responding and recovering from the initial' shock of Lonna's death. And I was engrossed in what was happening in the clearing.

The female was marked for the forest rather than the desert. Her coat was brindled in browns and grays, and her fur seemed thicker than Keeshah's. She made no move to join the fight, but walked over to Keeshah and rubbed the side of her jaw along his back. She paused to look at the other male, but made no threatening gestures. Instead she came slowly up the hill—right toward us.

Tarani stood up and went to meet her.

They assessed each other warily, the pale-skinned woman and the dark-furred cat. Tarani stretched out her hand, palm up. The female stretched her neck and dipped her head to sniff delicately at Tarani's hand. I saw the girl's neck muscles twitch, but she held her arm steady. The sha'um's nose touched Tarani's palm, jerked back, and then pressed in again.

Tarani brought up her other hand slowly and touched the female sha'um's chin. The cat flinched slightly, then stood quivering as the girl's hand moved slowly, smoothing back the fur on the cat's throat.

The sha'um's ears, folded back when she had approached Tarani, relaxed forward under the girl's caress. A sound from the clearing snapped them back again, and the female whirled away from Tarani. Tail thickened and neckfur bristling, the brindled female answered the challenge of the white-faced male and stalked down to stand beside Keeshah, making it clear that he would have to take on both of them.

I'd had enough exposure to sha'um to know they weren't dumb.

The white-faced male backed down. He retreated into the circle of males.

Keeshah took a step forward and called his challenge again, but there weren't any takers. The ring of sha'um shuffled backward until the sha'um seemed merely to fade away into the shadows of the forest.

I discovered I was trembling. 1 moved to stand beside Tarani, touching her elbow to let her know I was there. She jumped, and looked at me with shining eyes.

"Rikardon," she breathed. "We are linked, the female and I. We spoke today for the first time, but she has been with me before now." She spread her arms. "In my dreams I have seen this forest, moved through it on four legs, hunted glith on the plain, wild vlek in the hills above the Valley. Many different dreams, so scattered and seemingly unconnected that their strangeness frightened me."

Tarani put her hand on my arm, and spoke tenderly.

"Now I understand more than my own dreams, Rikardon. I have learned what you and Keeshah shared, and how devastating its loss must have been for you. Your link with Keeshah--?"

"It's back," I said. She smiled and squeezed my arm. "It never left, really," I told her. "It just went inactive because coming to the Valley was a biological priority. When I needed Keeshah more than his mate did, our link came back to the conscious level."

I turned to watch Keeshah and his mate approach us. I scratched Keeshah in his favorite place, just behind the heavy jaw bone. Tarani touched the female more tentatively but, clearly, with no less joy. Keeshah's mate accepted Tarani's attention awkwardly as woman and sha'um began to get acquainted.

"You said you spoke to her," .I reminded Tarani. "What did she say?"

Tarani laughed.

"No words," she said. "And not just pictures, either, the way it was with Lonna." Her laughter died, and her hands clenched in the female's fur, causing the sha'um to sidestep uncertainly. Tarani recovered, and resumed stroking the cat: "Not even you, my beautiful Yayshah," she said softly, "can take Lonna’s place in my heart."

"Yayshah?" I repeated.

"Yes, I have given her that name," Tarani said, pulling herself away from her grief. "As I say, there were no words between us, only emotions and, well, meanings." She shrugged. "You understand what I mean better than I, I expect. Surprise at discovering our link, and—after a moment of hesitation—a sweet, uncomplicated delight. Then she asked me if you were my mate." She smiled, but looked at Yayshah as she said: "I said yes, of course."

"Is that why she joined the fight?" I asked Tarani. "Was Keeshah defending me?"

"I think so," Tarani said. "Why does that surprise you?"

"I figured he was fighting for you," I said. "When I—when Markasset came here as a boy and linked with Keeshah, the other sha'um accepted me, but you're totally a stranger to them."

Keeshah, apparently, had been following my thoughts. *Cub was one of them,* Keeshah told me. *I am a stranger.* I felt the irony, and Keeshah's regret, in his acceptance of being an outsider among his own kind.

*I have done that to you, Keeshah,* I said, but the sha'um forestalled what would have been an apology that would, in any case, have been insincere. I couldn't wish Keeshah back to his natural state if it meant sacrificing his link with me.

*Others wanted you for food,* Keeshah said, radiating contempt. *Female, too.*

"Yayshah?" I said out loud. Tarani looked at me. "Keeshah says the other sha'um, including Yayshah, wanted me for dinner—or," I added, looking around the clearing and listening to my inner awareness, "breakfast."

Tarani stroked the female in silence for a moment, frowning with concentration.

"I think—it seems that wasn't it at all," Tarani said. "She had been hunting, and returned to her lair to find that Keeshah had appropriated it for us. She resented it, but she had a vague sense of her linkage with me, and tried to get inside to see us. Keeshah drove her off, and she waited until he was occupied to return. That gesture we saw—the way she rubbed his back?"

I nodded.

"She was telling him—and the others—that she's his mate and on his side." Tarani shook her head. "Rikardon how is it they speak so clearly to us, but cannot talk to one another?"

"I'm beginning to have a theory about that," I said. "Keeshah says he's an outsider, now, and I think it has more to do with our link than it does with his long absence from the Valley. That 'dream' I had of him, just after we came through the Zantril Pass—I saw him the way the others must always be. He was . . . only an animal, with a native but largely inactive intelligence. When a sha'um links with a man, it gives him a way to use that intelligence, it teaches him how to reason, educates him, if you will."

"So he speaks to man and sha'um in the language each will understand," Tarani said, scratching behind Yayshah's ear with more assurance. "You came here as a child, Rikardon, and bonded with a young sha'um. But I—and Yayshah—how can it have happened?"

I cleared my throat, but found I couldn't say what I was thinking.

Tarani smiled. "Cards cellar," she said. "It occurred to me, too, that if you were linked to Keeshah at the moment of his mating with Yayshah, our--uh--" She broke off, blushing, then continued. "But I am sure Yayshah was with me even before then, Rikardon. On the hillside—remember?—I wanted you, lured you, fought you, and still, throughout it all, wanted you. When I laughed—the sound of it frightened me. I felt I couldn't control my own feelings. She was with me then, Rikardon."

Tarani left Yayshah and came to stand in front of me.

"But her influence was only in the character of my actions," Tarani said. "She added an extra dimension to a passion that was already my own. Knowing that about Yayshah and myself—it tells me something of you, as well."

I took her hands.

"I don't have answers, Tarani, only opinions. Keeshah and I share a mindlink that is special, even among Sharith. You're strongly mindgifted. I'm not saying your power, by itself, set up the link with Yayshah—but it might have made you susceptible. A compulsion is direct mind-to-mind communication of a sort, isn't it? When I came here, it was Keeshah who first spoke to me—perhaps it's always like that, and the boys who don't return from the Valley are unlucky enough to choose cubs who aren't capable of the—what? Curiosity? Initiative? Perhaps they just don't have the native skill at all.

"Whatever it is, Yayshah has it. When she formed the mate bond with Keeshah, who was mind-bonded to me . . ."

"But I told you," Tarani protested, "that it was present before .. ."

"Not before we established our 'mate bond'," I interrupted her. "That happened long before we arrived at Cam's cellar, Tarani. At least, for me it did."

"Then it must be the same for sha'um," Tarani said, smiling up at me. "It is the act of choosing a mate, not of possessing him, which forms the bond."

Chapter 20

Tarani and I found a beautiful spot to wash off the grime, if not the memory, of our ordeal in the Well of Darkness. One of the several small streams which fed the lush growth of the Valley tumbled down a brief cataract and changed direction suddenly, leaving at one edge a small, rock-lined bay of less turbulent water. We came upon it suddenly while following a stand of brambly berry vines, eating as we walked. We weren't the least surprised to find that the bank was free of undergrowth, green and soft with a springy grass-like ground cover. We had already discovered that these hills in the Valley were an endless and delightful mixture of impassable briars, sunny meadows, and open, shaded groves.

We stripped out of our clothes and waded into the pleasantly cool water, tearing up handfuls of the grassy stuff as we went. We found a rocky ledge at the base of the short waterfall where we could kneel waist-high in the water, and there we scrubbed the dirt off each other. Then we moved out onto the grassy bank and stretched out, letting the sun warm and dry us.

The forest around us was alive with sounds—insects, birds, the chittering of small animals. We could hear the muttering of sha'um and, too distant to concern us, the grunting sounds of a boar-like creature Keeshah had warned us to avoid.

Tarani sighed. "I could wish to stay here, Rikardon," she said. “I did not believe such beauty could exist. Indomel, the Ra'ira, Kä — they seem so distant and unimportant here."

I felt the same way. I wanted to live here with Tarani, Keeshah, and Yayshah, to see the cubs born and grown, perhaps to bring up children and cubs together. No roguelords, no politics, no complex destiny to clutter up our lives.

I let the fantasy claim me for a few seconds, then the sound of nearby movement brought me suddenly back to reality.

*Keeshah?* I asked. *Is that you behind us?*

*I guard,* he said.

"Where is Yayshah?" I asked Tarani.

"In the lair," she answered, after a moment. "She misses Keeshah." Tarani looked at me questioningly.

"He's protecting us," I said. "Tarani, we—I have interrupted an important natural cycle. As long as I'm in the Valley . . ."

I didn't have to finish the thought. "I merely dreamed of staying, my love," Tarani said. "We must go soon, and not • only for the sake of the sha'um."

"The search for Kä will be more difficult without Lonna," I said, remembering the joyful moment when the white bird had come to Lingis with Tarani's letter.

Tarani reached across the distance between us and put her hand in mine. "I am glad to hear you speak of Kä," she said. "I had feared you would argue again for Rika as the needed symbol, especially since it is with us again."

"I . . . believe the other sword is what we need," I said. Tarani stared at me as though she could hear what I hadn't said: for your sakes, Tarani and Antonia. I braced myself on my elbow and looked down at her.

"We have to go, but not right away," I said. "After what we've been through, we deserve a little peace, some time together."

I reached for her, and she came hungrily into my arms.

We touched and learned and loved, together but alone, a less wild but no less passionate joining. We slept, woke, and accomplished the mundane chore of washing our clothes, bathed and laughed and made love. For the rest of that day we were free and natural creatures, with no thought but to exist and enjoy one another. When night came, we returned to the lair. The sha'um hunted in the early evening, but returned in the night. Tarani and I woke inside a cozy nest of fur, between the curled, sleeping bodies of Keeshah and Yayshah.

Keeshah and Yayshah walked with us into the western hills of the Valley, toward the Alkhum Pass. Other sha'um appeared along the way to make unfriendly comments, but no one stepped forward to challenge our escorts.

As we moved through the forest—taking a route which zigzagged through sunlight and shadow and avoided the worst patches of thorny briars—I felt the peace fading and the world closing in on me again. I was aware of being dressed for "civilization" with boots and weapons, a money belt and a water pouch.

I felt a poignant regret at leaving the Valley, but no real hesitation. I had intruded on Keeshah's world; I appreciated his tolerance, but I knew I had to go back to my own. I tried desperately to prepare myself to leave him again. It wouldn't be as bad this time, with our link active and the knowledge— absolute sureness--that he would come to me as soon as he could leave his family. But I would miss him.

I held Tarani's hand and reached out to Keeshah's mind as we walked. I sensed restlessness and anxiety in the sha'um, and I attributed it to concern for our safety and anticipation of missing me. I could hardly offer the cat comfort which eluded me, so I merely tried to keep warm, caring thoughts at the forefront of my mind.

We reached a point which seemed to be a natural place to part, where the forest was giving way to patchy green hillside that rose sharply toward the Alkhum Pass. I turned to face Keeshah, to say goodbye . . . and reeled backward as if from a physical blow.

The sha'um released all his anxiety in a flood of garbled pleading, anger, and confusion.

*Stay.

*Others will kill.

*I guard.

*Female; cubs; need me.

*Can't guard and hunt too.

*I will come.

*Cubs; must stay in the Valley.

*Rikardon; desert; die alone.

*Female; soon too clumsy to hunt; die alone.

*Stay.

*Intrudes; female; cubs; important; right.

*No thinking here; lonely.

*No female outside; lonely.

*Female .. .

*Cubs . . .

*Rikardon ..

Yayshah approached Keeshah and stretched out her head to lay her dark throat across his tawny shoulders. Keeshah pressed into her caress briefly, then sidestepped with a snarl and aimed a clawless swat at her nose.

The female sank instantly into a crouch, her ears flattening. She growled, and was answered with a roar. She lunged past Keeshah, took several long jumps up the hillside, then turned and planted all four feet firmly. The fur behind her head lifted in a mane, and her lips trembled back from her teeth, exposing the wide, sharp tusks at either side of her mouth. A sound so low that I wasn't sure I heard it floated down the hillside to us.

Keeshah's mane lifted; his tail fluffed and whipped back and forth as he paced indecisively, keeping his eye on the female.

They don't need a mindlink to understand each other, I thought to myself.

Tarani whirled on me. "Keeshah can't leave the Valley!" she screamed, and started pounding on my chest with her fists.

I grabbed her shoulders. "Tarani!" I shouted. "Is that you or Yayshah talking?"

A look of understanding replaced the scowl on her face, and she brought one hand up to touch her forehead. "I—It's difficult to separate myself from her in this, Rikardon. It touches such a basic need—mate, family, all her survival instincts are involved.

"Is Keeshah truly thinking of coming with us? Leaving her?"

"He doesn't know what he wants," I said. "I think I really fouled up his life, forcing the link to become active again this early. He can't quite regain the 'animal' state he was in, but that same instinctive need to protect his family is still very strong. His loyalty to me, and his loyalty to her—he's caught between them."

I'm sorry, Keeshah, I said, but only to myself. I didn't know I was going to precipitate an identity crisis. If there had been any other way to get out of the Well of Darkness alive, I would have taken it.

"He loves you both," Tarani summarized it. "Oh, Keeshah, how hard this must be for you . .

She walked over to the pale-furred sha'um, who paused in surprise at her approach. She smoothed the fur along his wide jaw, then put her arms around his neck.

Keeshah twisted his head around and rubbed his ear against Tarani's shoulder. Then he pulled away and crouched down to the ground—in the mounting crouch.

*I will come,* he told me, the tone of his thought final.

I felt as confused as Keeshah had been. I was delighted (with, I admit, a touch of gloating) that Keeshah had chosen me above Yayshah. Tarani's gesture had been a reminder of friendship--a relationship of choice, unavailable in the Valley, where circumstance and instinct ruled. Keeshah cared deeply for his mate, but the fact that his mate was Yayshah was a biological accident—it had simply happened that way. Keeshah's bonding to Markasset could be put into almost the same category—that it was mere accident that Keeshah had been the cub whom Markasset first met in the Valley.

But Keeshah had lost Markasset in the Kapiral Desert. He had consciously and rationally accepted me as his friend, and I had shared more of his life, his thoughts, his feelings, and his being than Yayshah could match. His feelings for her stemmed from a limited, if powerful, aspect of his personality. Having experienced a larger dimension through Markasset and me, he could no longer content himself with anything less. For the second time, he chose me, and I was glad.

Yet I sensed his lingering concern for Yayshah. I knew little of the habits of wild sha'um, but in that brief, blurry onslaught of feelings from Keeshah, I had seen his image of her future. No other male would take his place. She would grow too large to hunt successfully. When the time came for her cubs to be born, she would be alone and feeble. I hated that picture almost as much as Keeshah did.

From the hillside came a long, high-pitched roar. Yayshah launched herself downward and came to a quivering halt, crouched and snarling, not three yards from where Tarani stood, tense and watchful, close to Keeshah.

"She knows Keeshah has decided to leave," Tarani said in a dazed, singsong voice. "She is frightened, and sad—Great Zanek, how much she cares for Keeshah. He is strong, and handsome, a fine hunter. Their cubs—there will be three— will have his high shoulders and great strength. The cubs— will they live if she cannot even hunt for herself?"

Tarani crossed the space to the female, her voice a moan of grief. She knelt beside Yayshah, who trembled at the girl's touch but still watched Keeshah with a wild expression.

I felt rooted to the ground, mesmerized by Tarani's recital of Yayshah's agony.

"She has always known that Keeshah is different—how proud she was when he chose her! - but until we came to the Valley, she didn't know what had caused the difference. She knows, now, that he has seen the world outside. She has looked into my mind and seen my memory of Keeshah, and is even more proud of him. She knows his difference has touched her, too.

"He must go among men again, and she cannot deny him because touching me has shown her what he would give up to stay with her. She is curious, afraid, needful. She wants Keeshah with her. She wants her lair—it took her a long time to get it just right. But more than anything, she wants Keeshah with her when the cubs come . . ."

The distant look faded from Tarani's eyes and she stared at me in amazement. "Rikardon, she is thinking of coming with us!" 

I didn't question it.

*Keeshah,* I said quickly. *The female wants to come along.*

I felt relief from him, mixed with uncertainty. *True?* he asked. When I had confirmed it, he asked hesitantly: *All right?*

*You're asking me for permission?* I said. *Of course it's all right with me. The decision is up to you and Yayshah.*

Keeshah stood up and moved slowly toward Yayshah. Tarani stepped out of the way as the female rose to meet him. The sha'um touched noses, then Keeshah rubbed his mate, starting cheek to cheek and moving past her, leaning against her; until only their tail tips were touching.

I joined Tarani and put my arm around her waist. "Will Yayshah come with us? I whispered.

"I do not know," Tarani whispered back. "It is a more difficult decision for her. No female has ever left the Valley, cubs have never been born or nurtured anywhere else. To leave now goes against all her instincts."

"Yet she wants to," I said.

"Yes, for Keeshah and for me." Her voice revealed an awe that was totally familiar to me. The friendship of a sha'um is a humbling experience. "I never considered it, Rikardon, and I would not have asked it of her. But I do want her with me." Her eyes lit up. "It is a petty thought, I know—but I . . . it would please me to be the first woman to bring a female sha'um from the Valley."

I turned her to face me.

"Another symbol of your 'right to rule' in Eddarta?" I asked.

"Perhaps," she said. "But not one which would replace the second sword.”

"Perhaps it is only that I wish to be what Vasklar named me, an agent of change." Her mood lightened suddenly. "And perhaps I only wish to see Thymas's face, if I should have occasion to ride a female sha'um into Thagorn."

I smiled at the image. Thymas, young as he was, was a dyed-in-the-wool traditionalist. It would be easier for his father, the Lieutenant of the Sharith, to accept a woman Rider than it would be for Thymas—even if, or possibly especially if that Rider was Tarani.

"If she comes with us, we'll see Thagorn again soon," I said. "There are sha'um there, and free-running vlek for game. It's the most natural place I can think of, outside the Valley, for her cubs to be born."

"If she comes with us," Tarani said. "She still has not decided—and I do not think she will decide until forced to."

Keeshah seemed to have the same thing in mind. He touched his nose once more to Yayshah's, then came to crouch down in front of us.

*Go,* he said. *Now.*

That last was said impatiently, and Keeshah had my sympathy. The suspense was about to kill me, too.

*Will the female come with us?* I asked him as I mounted. I would never again take for granted—if, indeed, I ever had done so—the security and pleasure of Keeshah's muscular back beneath me.

*She must choose,* he said. *I go.*

Tarani stepped close to mount behind me. Yayshah made an odd sound, shook her head vigorously twice, and then ran over to stretch her neck across my back to touch Tarani's chest with her muzzle.

"She will come with us," Tarani said, in an emotion-choked voice. "She wants me to—to ride her. Oh, Rikardon, is it safe? For the cubs, I mean? For her to carry my weight?" 

"I'd say she's the best judge of that," I said, and ducked as Tarani scrambled over Keeshah's back in her eagerness to get to Yayshah.

Tarani stroked the dark fur between Yayshah's wide-set eyes, and I discovered for the first time that there was more difference between Keeshah and his mate than size and coloring. The female was proportionally narrower across her shoulders, and her muzzle was pointed more sharply. And the curve of her belly was rounder.

Noticeably rounder.

With hands and words and mind, Tarani guided Yayshah into a version of the mounting crouch - she didn't want her weight to pressure the unborn cubs—and mounted carefully. Yayshah stood up, balancing Tarani's weight awkwardly, and paced around a bit, getting the feel of carrying a rider.

*She's going to come with us, Keeshah,* I said happily.

*Desert?* he questioned worriedly.

*No, I promise you we'll wait until the cubs are born to go into the desert.*

*Good,* he said, and surged to his, feet. *Go now. Home?* He meant Raithskar, and the stone house in Thanasset's back yard, where Keeshah had spent most of his life.
*Not yet,* I said. *We'll go to Thagorn first.*

As we headed south, Tarani asked: "Where are we going? The Alkhum Pass is west of us, is it not?"

"I told you how hard a crossing it is," I said. "I wouldn't ask a pregnant lady to go through that. We'll visit Thagorn, instead."

"What about Worfit? Could he not be waiting for us at the edge of the Valley?"

"He might," I admitted, thinking about Worfit for the first - time in what seemed ages. "But those men with him were none too eager to tackle one sha'um—I don't think he'll get much support for a plan to attack two sha'um, do you?"

We rode on in silence for a while, moving slowly so that Yayshah could become accustomed to Tarani.

*Woman knows female?* Keeshah asked me.

*Yes, Tarani talks to Yayshah the way I talk to you,*  I agreed.

*Why?* I sighed.

*I don't really know, Keeshah. I think it has something to do with you and me being together, and with Yayshah being your mate and Tarani mine.*

*Woman have cubs?*

I laughed, and Tarani jumped at the sudden sound. "Keeshah just asked me if you were pregnant," I said, then stopped short. "Uh—you're not, are you?"

She stared at Yayshah's left ear. "I would not have allowed . . . I was not fertile," she finished awkwardly. "This is not the time to think of such things, Rikardon. There is too much to be done. The sword. Eddarta. The safety of the Ra'ira." She held out her hand, and I took it. Riding this slowly, we assumed a position close to a normal sitting position. "You knew, long ago, that it was for you to safeguard the Ra'ira. I share that need, that duty, and I will not be free until it is done."

You will not be free, I countered to myself, until you hold a steel sword in your hands and reconcile Antonia with Tarani.

"Afterward . . ." She let the word hang in the air.

"Afterward, we'll find a place like this," I said, waving to indicate the tall trees and dappled, leaf-covered ground, "and let our children get to know our cubs." I squeezed her hand. "Ready to try a run?"

Her face lit up.

We lay forward on the sha'um, gripping their shoulders for security. Keeshah had been waiting for the chance. He sprang forward and stretched out, and trees seemed to fly by us. I watched Tarani and Yayshah long enough to tell that they were getting the hang of it, then I closed my eyes, pressed my face into Keeshah's fur, and let myself join him in the pleasure of the run.

*I missed you, Keeshah,* I told him, knowing that he could hear more emotion than the words could convey.

*Female slow,* he said, and it was more a boast than a complaint—and it wasn't, as far as I could see from Tarani riding, eyes closed, shoulder to shoulder with me, very true.

*Yayshah's keeping up with us,* I said, puzzled.

I felt a wash of good feeling from him, the basic physical joy of the run mingling with contentment. For a moment, I studied his pace, the way his body moved beneath me.

*Keeshah, you're matching her, aren't you, so she won't fall behind?*

*Belong together,* he said.

*Yes we do, I thought. All of us.*

*****

END PROCEEDINGS: INPUT SESSION FOUR

—I withdraw our minds from the All-Mind, and now yours is free of mine .. .

-- Are you well? You tremble.

—Yes, Recorder. I tremble. Obilin's death, the satisfaction of it . . .

—If I may speak as a person, and not as a Recorder? 

—Of course.

—Were I to have held the knife at that moment, the result would have been the same. Obi in was truly an evil man. 

—Thank you for saying that, Recorder. Now I must go .. . 

—Yes, the Record is a user of time. When you are ready again, call upon me.

@@@@@

Book 2 - The Search for Kä

Preliminary Proceedings:
Input Session Five

—	I didn't mean to startle you, Recorder.
—	
—Forgive my surprise. I hear the festival proceeding. Is your participation not required?

—It was, but for now my part is done, and I had no interest in seeing the rest of it.

—Is that anger I hear in your voice?

—Less anger, I think, than exasperation. The story is changed, again. Only a little more than last year, but by that small amount it is less true.

—	People will always prefer the story they hear from their friends to the one which must be retrieved from the All-Mind by a Recorder. And a story changes in the telling. It is the process by which history becomes legend.
—	
—I understand that, Recorder, and I might as well try to stop an angry sha'um as try to reverse the process. But actually witnessing it reminded me that I have been neglecting the task I set myself, that of placing the truth as I know it into the All-Mind. If it is convenient for you now, I would like to continue the Record.

—	Of course. Please, make yourself comfortable.
—	
—What about you, Recorder? Why aren't you celebrating outside with the others?

—I have shared your truth. Like you, I have no need to hear it retold as legend. I think, too, that only the time of your arrival was a surprise. I felt that you would require this service of me today.

—"Require?" Never, Recorder. Request, yes. I have good reason to respect your skill and appreciate its value. If the time is not convenient .. .

—I have said that it is. If you wish to Record, you must first calm yourself. Neither the All-Mind nor I, as its channel, will be able to accept your thoughts smoothly if they are not more ordered than your outward restlessness would indicate.

—I apologize, Recorder. I suppose I am anticipating this session. The concentration required is so complete that it feels very much like reliving the experiences as we are Recording. And the very act of making a Record reminds me . . .

-You are speaking, now, of the tale not yet Recorded?

—Yes .

—Then wait for the telling of it. For now, relax and listen while I prepare myself by recalling the scene which was last Recorded. You and Tarani had, once again, fled Eddarta. You were forced to leave behind the Ra’ira, but you have reason to suspect that it is safe from misuse because Tarani reported that her brother Indomel was having little success in learning its use. You plan to find the ancient city of Kä and retrieve a potent historical symbol, a sword which is the twin to Rika, both swords made of the rare metal, rakor. . With the second sword as a talisman, you believe that Tarani can win the support of the other Lords, and take her place as Eddarta's High Lord.

—That was Tarani's only goal, Recorder. I had a different reason for searching for the sword. I knew that Tarani, like me, was a blend of a human and a Gandalaran, except that in her case, both personalities were active. I believed that Tarani, who seemed consciously unaware of Antonia, would achieve integration through the same sort of medium which had turned me into the blended individual called Rikardon. Rika had been my catalyst; I believed that the other sword would work for Tarani.

—But she knew nothing of this other goal.

—No. To tell her would have meant exposing what I thought of as my betrayal, a lack of total honesty between us. We had achieved a physical and emotional closeness that I treasured above all things.

—So we resume now with you and Tarani leaving the Valley of the Sha'um with Keeshah and his mate, who violates all history and instinct by leaving the Valley. Recall your feelings and thoughts at that time . . . good. Now make your mind one with mine, as I have made mine one with the All-Mind. . . .

WE BEGIN!

Chapter 1

"You were right," Tarani conceded, when we had ridden well out of the Valley of the Sha'um. "It appears that Worfit has not chosen to wait for us."

"More accurately," I said, "his men gave up—I doubt that Worfit has quit his hunt for me, or that he ever will."

Tarani stretched forward to stroke the fur along Yayshah's lower jaw. The gray-and-brown brindled sha'um slowed, and pressed her cheek into Tarani's hand.

I watched the cat's eye shut and the girl's expression change as they slipped into mindlink communication. For Keeshah and me, who had formed our link when the huge tan cat had been a year-cub and the Gandalaran body I was wearing had been twelve years old, the flow of conscious thought between our minds was nearly second nature. Tarani and Yayshah, both fully adult, had formed their link only recently. For them, communicating took special, conscious effort—but I could see that it was becoming easier.

Tarani's face lost that distracted look, and she smiled at me with some embarrassment. "Forgive me," she said. "It is only that Yayshah—when we speak—

The sha'um were walking, taking it easy by inclination and on my orders, so that Tarani and I were riding in a position more upright than usual, one much closer to a conventional sitting pose. I reached across the distance between the cats and took Tarani's hand in mine.

"When you talk to Yayshah, what is it like?" I asked.

"It is very different from the way Lonna and I communicated," she said.

A shadow passed over her face at the mention of Lonna. The big white bird had helped us through some tight spots, and had seemed to be genuinely fond of me. But I only missed Lonna; Tarani had lost her. The bird had been her friend and companion for years, the inspiration of Tarani's dream to have her own entertainment troupe, and one of its stars. Not even the magic of a sha'um's friendship could replace what Tarani and Lonna had shared.

"Lonna gave me images," Tarani continued. "Yayshah speaks in impressions—do you understand what I mean?"

"I think so," I answered. "Not just a picture, but what she feels about it—fear or contentment, or whatever?"

"Exactly," Tarani agreed. "And she is trying to use—well, not words . . ."

"Conversation," I supplied, "is a deliberate attempt to convey or solicit ideas—the most sophisticated use of language. Language is only a code; you can think of a word as a unit of information. The direct contact with the sha'um makes the code unnecessary. Keeshah and Yayshah use units of meaning."

Tarani was staring at me, the dark eyes looking extraordinarily large in the pale and delicate contours of her face, made more angular by the loss of every unnecessary ounce of weight. I wondered, fleetingly, if the past few weeks of protracted physical effort showed so clearly in my body.

"You continue to surprise me, Rikardon," Tarani said. "The way you speak of contact with the sha'um—"

"Is it different for you and Yayshah?"

"Not at all," she said. "Your description is precise—but not, I feel sure, the product of a sudden insight. You have thought much about the nature of communication, have you not? To what purpose?"

What have I done? I wondered, mentally trying to shake myself alert. She asked Rikardon a question and Ricardo, the language professor, answered her. I slipped right into my old "lecture mode" - a mannerism totally foreign to Markasset and, until now, to Rikardon.

"Talking with a sha'um is fairly new to me, too," I said, "even though Markasset had been doing it for years before I arrived. I've never been able to take it for granted—I've thought about it a lot, that's all," I finished lamely.

"I do forget that you are a Visitor," Tarani said, referring to a situation in which a surviving personality returned from the Gandalaran All-Mind to the body of a living person. Apparently this had been a rare but documented occurrence in Gandalaran history, and I had allowed my friends to believe I was such a case. "You have told me little of your earlier life—do you remember it clearly?"

"Yes," I answered, then groaned inwardly.

Wrong answer, I thought. Now she'll be curious, and I'll have to dodge around the truth—that I come from a completely different world. I might be able to hide it without actually lying, but she'll pick up on the fact that I was

"Covering up," the way she detected the "professor" in me.

And if I had to lie outright, then I'd have to remember which lies I d told—I can't let that get started.

I must have been wearing my discomfort on my sleeve because Tarani said: "I will not ask of the past now. One day, perhaps?"

I nodded. She smiled, and squeezed my hand lightly before she let it go and lay forward across Yayshah's back, slipping into mental contact with the sha'um.

I felt awful, as though I had broken my mother's favorite vase, then hidden the pieces in the trash, hoping she wouldn't notice.

I wish I could just tell her who and what I really am, I thought. But I just don't know how it would affect her. I'm reminded of a scene from Anna and the King, in which a fracas starts because an educated teacher shows the royal children a map with Siam represented in its true proportion to the rest of the world. Tarani doesn't even know there is more to her world, much less that other worlds exist. The Gandalaran cloud cover has blocked the speculation of the nature of the universe that started in Ricardo's world the first time a man saw a star.

She found it difficult to understand why someone would want to study language—because hers is nearly homogeneous, as unquestioned a fixture of her life as the impassable mountains she calls "Walls." How much harder will it be for her to accept the idea that Gandalara—which seems to me to be two humongous valleys which, placed end to end, are no more than sixteen hundred miles long—has to be only a fraction of the land area on this planet?

But "culture shock" isn't the only reason I'm reluctant, I admitted to myself.

Tarani lay with her cheek pressed against Yayshah's back, just behind the cat's shoulder. Her eyes were closed, and the look of distraction was fading, the muscles of her face relaxing as she dozed off. Awake, Tarani was a formidable woman, strong and competent. Asleep, she looked even younger than her twenty years, thin rather than slim, touchingly vulnerable.

Our relationship exists on many levels, I thought. We have fought the same enemies and lain together, sharing battle and passion and what we have come to believe is our destiny. The one thing we haven't shared equally is the truth about our pasts.

Tarani told me about her "arrangement" with Molik under duress, before she really knew me, but the fact remains that I do know how she earned the money to put together that show. She thought that her dancing was all she ever wanted, and worth using her illusion power to help satisfy the roguelord's lust. But that earlier relationship was still affecting her when I met her. It wasn't until we faced Molik, and she admitted the shame was more in her perception than in her .actions that she was able to forgive him and herself, and be free.

Free of the shame, I corrected myself, but not of the memory

She was occupied at that time with worry over Volitar, the man she had known as her uncle, and whom Molik had kidnapped—to coerce Tarani into helping a pair of assassins he was sending after the Lieutenant of the Sharith. When Molik (thanks to Thymas), Volitar (thanks to Gharlas) and Tarani's show (her own choice) were all dead, the girl's past was still with her.

I think that some of Tarani's feeling of "destiny" can be attributed to her need to have some new direction in her life. She came with me, partly, in order to leave behind her past.

That's why I can’t bring myself to tell her the truth about Ricardo and Markasset, I realized. It's not only that she has trusted me, and that I've been lying by evasion whenever we've discussed my "dual" nature. If I tell her about Ricardo, I can't see any way not to tell her about Antonia, too—and that troubled period that centered around Molik will come sharply into focus again, with a slightly different perspective.

Antonia Alderuccio had been with Ricardo Carillo on the deck of that cruise ship when the meteor—or whatever it was—had hit us. She had been a recent acquaintance, and I had been so occupied in Gandalara that I had given her little thought, except to regret that someone so lovely and charming had been lost. It hadn't occurred to me that she might have come to Gandalara, too—until I had heard Tarani, in a moment of distracted passion, pronounces my name "Ricardo." A man's name without a consonant ending is totally alien to Tarani's culture. I had realized, then, that Antonia had come into this world four years earlier, objective time, and in a different way.

I had occupied a body whose Gandalaran personality had recently died; Antonia had been forced to share her "host" with a live, native personality.

I'm absolutely convinced that it was Antonia who taught a sweet and sheltered sixteen-year-old girl the power of her body, and showed her how to use it. I'm also sure that Antonia has only meant to help the Gandalaran girl. Except for intensifying the conflict between control and helplessness that all adolescents suffer, Antonia's worldliness and maturity have generally been assets to Tarani. The human presence gave Tarani the same protection from Gandalara's mindpower that I have—a dualness that isn't subject to a uniquely Gandalaran force. But Antonia's undetected influence has brought a great deal of confusion and distress into Tarani's life.

Tarani and I have talked about the fact that two people such as we are needed, right here and right now, to keep anyone – least of all her cruel brother Indomel—from using the Ra'ira's power as a telepathic channel to tyrannize and, ultimately, destroy Gandalara. Ricardo and Antonia, it seems, is equally part of that destiny. I can't help being afraid that, once Tarani knows the truth, I'll be linked with that past she's trying to avoid, and—I shuddered—and she'll run from me, just as she runs from her past now.

I'd lose her, I thought. Them. Tarani and Antonia. I love them both, with passion, respect, protectiveness, tenderness, humility- - with a magnitude neither Ricardo nor Markasset ever experienced.

When we find the sword—please, God, let that sword be the agent of their union.

I realized that I was actually and sincerely praying—the first time in a long while. And I was a trifle embarrassed to realize that what I was really praying for was what Ricardo would have called a "cop-out."

I want the union between Tarani and Antonia to do my explaining for me, I realized. I want Tarani to understand and forgive, all in one blinding flash of comprehension.

I sighed.

It would be nice to be able to talk to Tarani without having to hide anything. Right now, no one knows the truth‑

*I know.*

I jumped when Keeshah's thought touched my mind. The feel of his fur under my hands and his body between my legs brought me vividly back to reality.

*How is it, Keeshah,* I asked, when I had recovered from my shock, *that you can follow my thoughts without my knowing it, but I have to ask what you're thinking?*

I was referring to our conscious conversation, not the rare moments in which he and I merged so completely that we could share one another's sensory perception.

*You think more, * he said.

I laughed aloud, remembering at the last second to muffle the noise so that I wouldn't wake Tarani. Yayshah looked around at me, her eyes slitted and her ears cocked back warily, then returned her attention to the route we were taking.

We had left behind the thick, tangled greenery that characterized the Valley of the Sha'um—although, strictly speaking the area was less a valley than the verdant foothills junction of two mountain ranges. The Morkadahls ran roughly north and south, and another - range of high mountains, which  formed part of what the Gandalarans called the Great Wall, ran roughly east and west. I guessed there must have been a network of small streams trickling down from the higher ground, and probably a sort of underground delta effect, to support the lushness of the Valley.

We were traveling south, following the eastern edge of the Morkadahls. The countryside here was much like what I had seen on the western side of the range—twisted and curling Dakathrenil trees mixed with lots of species of bushes. Unlike the towering forest that marked the home of the sha'um, few of these plants grew more than six feet high, preferring to cling to and shade the water-giving ground and, in the process, provide homes for the variety of small animals, insects and birds that shared their space.

Moving across the overgrown ground should have been little problem for the sha'um, who were accustomed to the much taller, more complicated, and occasionally barbed undergrowth of the Valley. But I could see that Yayshah was moving with exaggerated caution, placing her feet carefully.

*She's having a harder time than you are, Keeshah,* I said. *Is it because of her cubs? Is it hurting her to travel?*

*Don't know,* the cat replied.

There was an overtone of worry in Keeshah's mind, and something more. I felt a sudden sense of alarm.

*What's bothering you?* I asked him.

*Female here because of me. Cubs. Afraid. Don't want hurt.*

*Don't take all that blame on yourself,* I said gently. *Yayshah came along because of Tarani, too—because she can talk to Tarani the same way you can talk to me.*

I felt a sense of agreement from him. *Woman knows what female needs. I don't.*

There was sadness and guilt in the thought, guilt I was forced to share. Keeshah had been deeply enthralled in a period of his life which excluded me, a time when he had been totally preoccupied with the biological need to mate and reproduce. In order to achieve perfect communion with those needs, he had instinctively cut off the conscious functioning of our mindlink. He had been mate and father only, totally devoted to Yayshah.

Tarani and I had been cornered near the poison-filled volcanic crater the Gandalarans called the Well of Darkness. In desperation, I had called to Keeshah. Nothing short of imminent physical danger to me could have penetrated that instinctive blockage, I was sure—but Keeshah's devotion to me had let him re-establish our conscious link, and he had come to us. His presence had saved our lives.

Once he had broken it, Keeshah had not been able to achieve again the natural communion he had forsaken. Yet his loyalty to his family was still in operation, making him feel selfish and concerned that his preference for me would interfere with their welfare.

*I know it troubles you that you can't take care of Yayshah the way you think you should,* I told Keeshah.

*But look at it this way—there are three of us now who love her. We won't let her or the cubs come to any harm.*

Chapter 2

When Tarani awoke, I asked her about Yayshah's caution.

"She moves easily," Tarani said, after slipping into and out of a quick linkage with the female sha'um. "And I sense only a little discomfort because of the cubs. But her eyes seem to be hurting—I think the light hurts her eyes."

"Of course," I said. "The Valley is shady and relatively cool—she must be suffering from all this light and heat." I looked up at the sky which was, as usual, smoky gray with the cloud cover. I didn't have to gauge the position of the brighter spot that marked the sun to tell that it was mid-afternoon; my Gandalaran inner awareness operated like a perpetual clock.

"Let's stop here and rest," I suggested. "We can move on after dark, if we feel like it—it will be easier traveling for Yayshah."

We found a spot between two tall boulders that was relatively shady. Yayshah snuggled down until she was both on and in the bushy growth at their feet, and went promptly to sleep.

*Hunt,* Keeshah told me, and bounded away, headed for the higher hills.

"Keeshah's concerned about Yayshah," I told Tarani, as we rearranged some vegetation to make a comfortable resting spot beside one of the big boulders. "Can you tell me how long it will be before the cubs are born?"

Tarani opened her backpack, dipped her hands in, and brought them out full of berries. She tipped one handful into my cupped hands and shook her head.

"I truly do not know, Rikardon," she said. "If Yayshah were still in the Valley, she would know, probably down to the very minute. It would be . . . natural for her.

Natural? I wondered. Meaning instinct? Or simply the same sort of inner awareness as the people has? That would mean that the sha'um have their own equivalent of an All- Mind. Not surprising, I thought. The very fact that sha'um can link with men and communicate rationally is proof of their intelligence.

But why would it need to be theirs? They might share ours. Keeshah and Yayshah have as much a sense of individual identity as do Tarani and I—more, I corrected wryly, considering that the question of "Who are you?" is a multiple-choice test for Tarani and me.

"You say she would have known, in the Valley," I said to Tarani. "Do you mean she doesn't know, now?"

"I think she does know, at least in a general sense," Tarani said. "But she cannot tell me. She does not think in 'days' as we do. When I ask, she says only: 'soon.' "

I looked over at the silhouette of the sleeping female. As she rested on her side, the underslung swelling that held the cubs—she had told us there were three—mounded out, higher than the cat's hips, and rose and fell with Yashah's breathing.

"We'll be in Thagorn in two days," I said. "The cubs won't arrive before then, will they?"

"If the birth were that close," Tarani assured me without hesitation, "she could not have left the Valley. For the last day or two, she will be too large and weak to move around much."

Tarani finished her berries and set aside the pack. I had been collecting my berry pits in one hand; now I threw them all away from me and watched them scatter into the ground cover. I leaned back against the boulder. Tarani joined me and rested her head against my shoulder. I put my arm around her and drew her close against my chest.

"I miss the feel of your body against my back when I ride, “I said, my mouth brushing her dark headfur. "If Yayshah ever gets tired of you . . ."

She punched me in the side, and we wrestled playfully for a few seconds. She pulled free and knelt a few feet away, panting from the exertion, but laughing at me.

When her gaze fell on Yayshah, I felt a twinge of jealousy at the tenderness that appeared in her face. Only a twinge.

"I think it good that we are going no farther than Thagorn," Tarani said. "When I asked you if it would harm the cubs for me to ride her, as she wished, do you recall what you said?"

"That she's the best judge of that," I answered.

"She may not be," Tarani said seriously. "She is the first of her kind to bear cubs outside the Valley, and she can rely on instinct only to a limited extent. She will know when the cubs are endangered, of course, but I do not feel sure that she can prejudge what will endanger them. Do you see'

"I see," I assured her. "But remember that in Thagorn, she will be in as natural an environment as we can provide for her—forested hills, free-running game, the company of other sha'um. Please don't worry, Tarani," I said, aware that I was repeating the same thing I had told Keeshah. "Yayshah will not suffer harm from any action of ours."

"I hope not, Rikardon. I—I couldn't bear it. Volitar died because of me, and Lonna—" Her voice choked off. I felt an odd sensation, like the crawl of an electric shock up my arm.. Only this was not physical. It tingled in my mind. And it seemed to be getting stronger.

Is Tarani doing this? I wondered. Or is somebody doing it to her?

Whatever it was, it was most certainly affecting Tarani. She was kneeling in the viney ground cover. Her hands—long, finely boned, graceful—tensed on her thighs, and her whole body went rigid. She started making gasping sounds.

Yayshah twitched awake and looked at Tarani.

"Forgive me, Yayshah," the girl gasped. "I would control it—but I cannot—" She's doing it herself, I realized. She's doing it to herself.

"Tarani," I whispered, scrambling over the short distance between us to encircle her wire-tense body with my arms.

She struggled, pushing at me almost feebly, as though her hands had gone to sleep and she couldn't quite judge where they were. "Rikardon, please let me go," she moaned.

I held on to her squirming body with some difficulty. The fur on the back of my neck and on my hands stood on end. A charge was building inside Tarani, a kind of pure-thought energy that seemed to reach out to touch my mind, which recoiled as if it had been singed. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Yayshah surge to her feet, her eyes wild, and the fur around her neck rippling out.

"Get away," Tarani said, her voice muffled against my shoulder. Her efforts to free herself intensified. "Please, darling, move away, get away from me I do not want to hurt your'

"No," I said—yelled, rather, for the sensation felt like a physical noise. "I won't let you go. Whatever this is, we'll beat it together."

In a sudden reversal, Tarani threw her arms around me and held on desperately. Her whole body was trembling; I could almost feel her fear in my fingertips. The shift in balance tipped us over. My shoulder struck the ground just as all hell broke loose.

Tarani screamed, and the sound was both expression of and reaction to the searing raw emotion that burst forth from her. It was as though everything she had lived through in the past five years had been gathered together and distilled to the essence of experience, mixed liberally with Tarani's power of illusion, and broadcast in one giant feedback whine.

Fear joy guilt love loneliness disappointment shame frustration anger anxiety pride triumph love grief fury sadness satisfaction pride shame terror fury love guilt rage fear .. .

It was. instantaneous.

It was devastating.

I blacked out.

Keeshah woke me, nuzzling my shoulder with a whiskered cheek, my mind with his anxious questions. My head hurt. Something . . . something had happened—but what?

*All right? Rikardon? All right?*

*Uh-n-n . . . yes, Keeshah, I'm okay, I think.*

I opened my eyes to see his head looming above me, the silver-flecked gray eyes fixed on me. I knew he wouldn't believe I was really okay until I touched him—but when I tried to lift my arm, I discovered that it was cramped and tense, clutching Tarani's still form.

Memory.

Panic.

I fought it down, freed one hand, and touched her throat. I breathed again when I felt the slow, strong pulse beating there. I noticed, now, that she was breathing easily; I had been too startled and frightened to sense the significance of that rhythmic pressure against my chest.

I forced my stiff body to move, and rearranged Tarani until I had my other arm free. I /aid her back into the vines gently, then went to get my water pouch and pour some of the lukewarm liquid into my headscarf. Like the rest of our clothing, it had seen better days, but the coarse linen soaked up the water thirstily. I returned to Tarani and pressed the wet cloth to the girl's forehead, cheeks, and throat. My hands were still shaking.

Wake up, Tarani, I urged her silently. Please, wake up. The girl's eyes popped open, and her body went tense as a bowstring.

"Easy," I said. "It's over. Take it easy, sweetheart."

The wildly staring eyes turned toward me and focused, and my heart jumped at the look of joy that swept into her face. She levered her upper body away from the ground and threw her arms around my neck.

"Thank God you aren't hurt, Ricardo!" she said.

In Italian.

A chill crept up my spine. I held her tightly for a moment, then I pulled gently at the girl's shoulders, separating us. The joy had been replaced with puzzlement and fear.

"Rikardon," Tarani said, clenching and unclenching her hands around my upper arms. "What happened?"

"Don't you know?" I asked her.

She looked at me in confusion, seemed about to speak, then turned her face away. She pulled a leaf from a vine and began shredding it with her beautiful hands.

"I only know I feel . . . peaceful."

I put my hand on her cheek and turned her face up to mine. For a moment, I searched that face for any sign that she knew she had just spoken to me in a language totally alien to her. But it was just the same as it had been on that first occasion in Eddarta.

Tarani had no idea what she had said.

What Antonia had said.

I avoided that thought and tried to answer Tarani's question. "You've been letting grief and sadness builds up in you for a long time, Tarani. You haven't had a chance to let any of it go—you've been through too much, too quickly. What happened—well, you screamed, that's all. With your voice . . . and your mind."

"My mind . . ." she echoed, then panic wrenched her away from my grasp. "Yayshah!" She jumped to her feet, looking around for the brindled gray cat. A rumbling from the spot between the boulders betrayed Yayshah's location, and Tarani ran headlong toward the dark female.

Yayshah crouched awkwardly, her tail lashing and her neckfur raised into a spiky mane. She backed away as Tarani approached her; pulling back her lips to expose the wide, sharp tusks at either side of a range of formidable teeth. Tarani faltered, stopped.

"Yayshah—please," Tarani pleaded, moving forward slowly and fighting to keep her voice steady. "Do not be afraid, it is over—"

I tensed, knowing it was foolish, that there would be nothing I could do if Yayshah attacked. It was only when the female calmed and Tarani placed her hands on the furred head that I felt myself relax.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Keeshah watching, seemingly unconcerned.

*Did you know Yayshah wouldn't harm Tarani?* I asked him.

*Tell woman to leave,* Keeshah said, not bothering to answer me. *Female must eat.*

Keeshah moved back up the hillside, and began dragging the carcass of a glith toward us. The glith were deer-sized animals that lived both wild and domesticated. Remembering our recent diet of dried foods and berries, I had an impulse to cook glith steaks for dinner. Looking at the bloody carcass, its throat torn clean away, changed my mind.

I started to call Tarani away from the female sha'um, but the girl was already walking toward me. "How odd," she said. "It was almost as though Yayshah did not recognize me."

Maybe she didn't, I thought. Maybe she sensed that moment when you were Antonia, in the same way Keeshah knew Ricardo was different from Markasset, when I woke up in the desert.

Tarani was watching me. "Did you hear me, Rikardon?" she asked. I nodded. "Have you no guessed as to why Yayshah acted that way?"

"None," I lied, mentally shrugging my shoulders. "Remember, your experience with Yayshah is unique—very little of my understanding of Keeshah's behavior will be transferrable to Yayshah."

She was quiet for a moment. "There is something you are not saying," she said at last. Before I could frame an answer, she laughed and stretched. "Ah, but I feel too well, too clean to begrudge you your secrets, my love." She turned, whirled, twisted—danced across the rough hillside with all the grace and beauty I had seen in her when she had performed on stage. Even in her tattered desert tunic and trousers, wearing glith-hide boots that had been scarred and ripped by the pebbly slopes of the Well of Darkness, she was elegant, and I shared her joy in that physical expression of her mental release. Yet I couldn't share it completely.

Tarani doesn't even know she knocked me cold with that psychic blast. She took my word pretty easily for what happened—didn't ask questions, contradict, apologize. That's very unlike my articulate, outspoken, inquisitive Tarani.

She's blocking the memory of the outburst, I realized. Little wonder; it must have been brutal- for her. But she's also blocking that moment of total confusion while she was waking— the few seconds in which Antonia surfaced.

That's three times, now, that Antonia has spoken clearly and directly to me—each time with words of love.

Why do I get the feeling that, in spite of all the complications, I'm a very lucky man?

Tarani was cheerful the next day and I decided, no matter how scary the experience had been for both of us that I was glad she had found some expression for the emotions she had been repressing. Nothing was said between us about the incident; she seemed to forget it, and that suited me just fine.

It was on the afternoon of the following day that Keeshah woke me from a movement-lulled daze to announce: *Sha'um. Man.*

I sat up as we topped a rise and saw the sha’um and rider at the base of the hill. The animal stood halfway in a clearing, his hindquarters still hidden in high brush. His head and ears were up, and his nose pointed in our direction.

The Rider was sitting high behind the cat's shoulders, stretching as tall as he could, scanning the hillside. The wide-brimmed desert hat of the Sharith uniform effectively hid his face, but I recognized the pale marking that swept up one cheek of the sha'um. I remembered him as Borral, and that gave me the identity of the Rider.

"Baden!" I shouted. "Up here!"

The boy's head snapped up and he waved wildly. "Welcome, Captain!" he shouted back. "We have been waiting . . ." Tarani and Yayshah came up beside me.

The boy's arm froze in mid-wave. His legs relaxed their normal tension against the sha'um's side, and dangled awkwardly; Borral moved slightly to balance the boy's shifting weight.

Tarani's look of weariness was replaced by one of delight, and she stroked the fur on the dark female's neck. "Come, Yayshah," she said. "It is time you began to meet our friends."

The boy's pose didn't change as Yayshah made her way, carefully and heavily, down the gentle slope of the hillside. I directed Keeshah to follow her, stirred by an amorphous uneasiness. That feeling didn't improve when I got close enough to Raden to see his face clearly in the shadow of his hat brim. The slack jaw and gaping look of surprise, I had expected. But his eyes were stretched wider than I would have thought possible, under his prominent supra-orbital ridge, and his gaze was fixed on the two females with what I can only describe as a look of sheer terror.

"Baden, is it?" Tarani asked. "I am Tarani, and this is—"

Tarani leaned forward to bring her left hand backward along the female's jaw. The boy interrupted her, his wild eyes turning to me.

"Captain, would you and--er—the lady Tarani mind—I mean—if you would care to rest here—I'll tell the others that you and—er—the lady Tarani have come back—that is, if you—"

"We'll wait for you here, Raden," I said.

"What?" Tarani demanded.

The boy glanced at her briefly, then looked at me with an unconscious pleading.

"Take word back to Thagorn, Raden," I said. "Say that Tarani and I—and our sha'um request the shelter of the Sharith."

"Aye," was all he said, nodding vigorously while he and his sha'um . . . "escaped" is the only word that really fits.

As soon as the boy was gone, I slid down from Keeshah's back—and was met by a frontal assault by Tarani.

"Did I hear the `Captain' of the Sharith ask for shelter among people who owe him allegiance?"

Challenge sounded in her voice and emanated from the tense lines of her body as she faced me. I bristled, but caught my anger just in time. She doesn't know what t went through in accepting that "allegiance," I reminded myself. The doubts I felt, the responsibility I shouldered, the . . . totalness of feeling during the ceremony. It's not an "I say, you do" kind of situation; it's bigger than that. But I can't explain all that to her—not now, when her every thought and emotion is taken up with Yayshah's welfare.

"You heard the Captain of the Sharith admit that there is no existing protocol for our present situation, and invite a committee discussion for establishing some."

"Protocol?" she echoed, then relaxed a little. She even smiled a little. "I think I see," she said. "The boy was startled by seeing a woman riding a female sha'um. You wish to give the others more warning. Is that not it?"

"Yes," I agreed, lying by implication and breathing a sigh of relief when Tarani accepted that answer and turned away.

In point of fact, she had pinpointed only part of the reason I had, on impulse, moved our "official" meeting with the Sharith away from the wall which contained and protected the valley which contained Thagorn. The rest of it would have been less comfortable to explain to Tarani.

It had taken seeing that boy's face to remind me that the entire body of Sharith had not ridden with us, desperate for our lives, back into the Valley of the Sha'um with Keeshah, that they had not witnessed, participated in, agonized over Yayshah s choice to leave the Valley. Their understanding of the situation would be based, at first, on merely visual evidence—that a woman had brought a female out of the Valley, a pregnant female, at that.

I couldn't project what their reactions would be because, in spite of my title, I wasn't part of their tradition-centered society. Neither Ricardo Carillo of twentieth-century Earth nor Markasset of Raithskar could identify closely enough with the Sharith to have any insight as to whether their view of a woman rider would be respect or contempt, awe or outrage.

My only prior experience with their attitudes had occurred through Thymas, who had been willing to let the woman he loved be bounced and dragged in an uncomfortable cargo net, slung between two Riders, rather than consider the possibility of Tarani riding second on his sha'um. Yet there had come a time, after that, when Thymas would have invited Tarani to join him, if his sha'um had been capable of carrying double. Time—and exposure to the real Tarani—had been all it took to break him out of his attitudes.

That's really what I'm doing, I thought, buying time. If there's going to be a confrontation, I want it out here, away from public view, where we'll have time to explain, negotiate, whatever it takes to make Thymas and Dharak see the real situation.

It took only one look at Tarani to tell me that, far from -my having deceived her with my "easy answer," she had simply not required any further explanation. If her silence and the grim set of her jaw weren't evidence enough that her logic had followed my thinking, Yayshah's restlessness would have expressed Tarani's mood.

The female settled down only to grumble to her feet and paw at the ground in another location, tearing new growth and scattering dead leaves and digging a shallow trench to accommodate the bulging curve of her belly. In contrast, Tarani stood dead still in the center of the clearing, her arms crossed, and waiting.

Keeshah tried to help Yayshah with her bed making, and got a clawless swat across his nose for his trouble. He snarled and retreated and, for once wise, I followed him. I found a smooth-sided rock half-buried in the undergrowth at the edge of the clearing and used it as a backrest. Keeshah sprawled out beside me, stretching his neck to lay his head across my legs. I scratched behind the ear I could reach, and we drifted off into a communion of contentment.

Keeshah's head lifted suddenly, startling me awake—and making me aware that I had dozed off. The clearing looked the same, except that it was Yayshah who was still and Tarani who paced.

The female sha'um had dug and crawled her way into the thick underbrush; it wasn't until I caught the reflective glow of her eyes that I could look for and distinguish the silhouette of her body against the green-black of the shadows.

As I struggled to my feet, dusting off what passed for my clothes, Tarani stopped her pacing and looked southward, shading her eyes against the bright sky with her hand.

"Yayshah tells me another sha'um is approaching—but only one. Can it be the scout returning?"

"It could be," I said, "but it isn't. Keeshah recognizes the scent. It's Ronan"

Tarani snapped around to face me. "Thymas?" she asked. "Alone?"

"That's how it looks," I agreed, suddenly torn with indecision. I shouldn't say this, I thought, then said it anyway. "Would you—um, would you like to be alone when he arrives?"

She stared at me several heartbeats longer than I thought I could stand. Finally she sighed, and some of the tenseness seemed to drain out of her stiff shoulders. "If I were not so concerned about Yayshah," Tarani said, "that remark might have made me very angry—as yet it may, when I do have will and energy to spare. What will it take, my love, to put Thymas in your past as well as mine?"

I hoped I would have said something sensible in response to that, like an apology for being stupid and insensitive—but movement in the southerly brush drew our attention. A smallish, tan-colored sha'um stepped into the clearing, nearly carrying a smallish, good-looking young man.

I had no difficulty recognizing Thymas, for three reasons. First, even if I hadn't remembered Ronar myself, Keeshah's mindvoice acknowledged the other sha'um with wordless caution—the initial antagonism between Thymas and me had stimulated a lasting lack of trust between our sha'um.

Second, the twisted tip of a Dakathrenil branch caught at the wide brim of the boy's uniform hat and dragged it back, revealing the startling pale headfur that provided such a handsome contrast to his brown-toned skin. The short, bristly but-soft headfur of most Gandalarans started out anywhere from blondish to golden brown and darkened with age. The light color and extraordinary thickness of Thymas's headfur was a family trait; it made his appearance distinct.

Lastly, as the hat caught on the branch, the bead-tightened string that fastened under the chin dragged the boy backward, half off the back of the sha'um—and the snarl of frustration we heard from this Sharith marked him unmistakably as Thymas.

I tried to control a smile, but Tarani didn't bother. She laughed out loud.

"Hello, Thymas," she said.

The boy's body and voice stilled for a moment, then he let himself fall off the other side of the sha'um. He scrambled out through the space under the belly of the cat, who lifted one front paw and watched him curiously. He was hatless; he whooped with delight and came at us, catching each of us in a one-armed hug.

I was touched and startled by his uncontrolled display of gladness, and I returned his quick, hard-muscled hug with a surge of fondness for the boy.

Man, I corrected myself. And while I'm at it, I'd best remember who he is—probably the next leader of the Sharith and that we've fought and ridden together. It's not fair to him to define him only in terms of what he once was to Tarani. We had a rocky start, but he's my friend now, too.

I felt slightly ashamed that I couldn't hold back the familiar afterthought, always present when I considered Thymas in action or motive: I think.

He let us go, saying: "It took you two long enough to get here. I have had our scouts riding triple distance, watching for you, ever since I got back. When you have rested, you must tell me . .

He seemed to really see us for the first time. His pleasure at our meeting had given his face an unaccustomed look of openness and youth. I watched it change, return to its normal intent seriousness as he absorbed the significance of Tarani's thinness and the tattered rags we were wearing.

"I should have stayed with you," he said at last. "What happened?"

It had never occurred to me to wonder what our fate might have been if Thymas had remained with us, and I paused now to let speculation sweep through me.

Ronar couldn't have carried the three of us, even had he been willing, I thought. And I can't see that I'd have acted any differently with him there—I would still have been stubbornly, compulsively, insanely possessive of the Ra'ira. It's possible Thymas and Tarani, together, might have knocked me out and Thymas could have gotten away with the stone. It's also possible that Obilin and his dralda would have caught all of us, and the presence of a sha'um would have made the "cover" story I gave Indomel less acceptable, so that we would never have had the opportunity to escape again.

Hindsight is next to useless, anyway, I sighed to myself. Thymas, Tarani and I each did exactly and only what seemed right at the time. The boy doesn't need to feel any responsibility for something he couldn't control.

While I was thinking all this out logically, Tarani reached out a hand to Thymas's shoulder and squeezed it. "You would only have put yourself into danger, as well—which would have gained nothing," she assured him softly. Her thumb traced the scar left on the boy's neck by the vineh who had attacked us on our way to Eddarta.

Thymas caught his breath at her touch, and grabbed her hand. "The wound had healed," he said bitterly. "I left you because—" -

Because three's a crowd, I finished the thought for him. Because you knew Tarani cared for me. In your place, loving her, not wanting to hurt her, knowing her affection had changed—I'd have been mighty uncomfortable.

Tarani finished the thought aloud, with a less personal answer. "Because it was time for you to leave us," she said. "There is no purpose. Or value to restructuring the past, Thymas."

"What did happen?" he demanded, He dropped Tarani's hand, paced away from us and turned back, every muscle tense. "The Ra'ira?"

He was asking me, and I had to remind myself of Tarani's words in order to fend off the guilt that bounced up from a not-too-well-hidden corner of my mind. In spite of all my effort, the idea of admitting failure to Thymas made me feel like a truant schoolboy, and hard on the heels of guilt came resentment that the boy had such power over me.

I choked on that flood of emotion, and managed not to express any of it. Once more, Tarani answered in my place.

"Indomel has the Ra'ira," she said. "But he has had ill luck learning its use. It will be ours again soon."

"Soon?" Thymas gasped. "What does that mean, 'soon?' We went all the way across to Eddarta, we had it' in our hands—what happened?"

"Do not speak to me in that tone," Tarani said.

Quietly.

Thymas took a step backward.

"It will be easier on all of us," I said, "if we only have to tell this story once.. Will the Lieutenant be joining us here, or shall we ride to Thagorn to meet him?"

Nobody missed the message hidden in those words: You're second banana, boy. Take us to your leader. Thymas bristled and turned to me, obviously more comfortable with the familiar challenge I represented.

"My father doesn't know you're here," Thymas said. "But Raden—surely the scout reported—"

"To me," Thymas said. "It's the way things are done, now. And he made no sense, with his chatter. I decided to check it out for myself before I troubled Dharak."

I resisted asking how important information could "trouble" the Sharith leader. I also had some questions about "the way things are done, now" according to Thymas's interpretation, but I held them back. I even tried hard to sound civil.

"Then let's confirm Raden's 'chatter.' Tarani, would you like to introduce Thymas to our new friend?"

"Yayshah," Tarani called quietly.

The female sha'um had remained absolutely still since the entry of the strange sha'um into the clearing. Ronar had to have been aware of the female's scent, but he had, apparently, been too occupied with recognizing and keeping an eye on Keeshah to inform his rider of her presence.

Thymas jumped as the bushes behind me shook and the massive form of the darkly brindled female materialized from the shadows. Yayshah moved cautiously, her gracefulness only slightly impaired by her bulk, to stand between Tarani and me.

"Thymas, this is Yayshah," Tarani said, reaching up under the cat's throat to draw her hand along the left side of Yayshah's jaw. "As you can see, she carries cubs. She and I seek the shelter of Thagorn, so that her cubs may be born among their own kind."

"So it is true," Thymas breathed, staring with shining eyes at the female. "Baden will have my apology—as do you, Tarani, for . . . for my doubts," the boy said, with a slight but deferential from-the-waist bow. "May I greet Yayshah?"

"We will be honored," Tarani said.

Thymas stepped toward the female, his hand extended to touch her cheek.

Yayshah stood still, but her neckfur lifted.

Keeshah, still behind me, stepped closer, a soft warning vibrating from his throat.

An equally soft answer came from Ronar, who tensed and crept toward us from behind Thymas.

Thymas looked around at both the males, puzzlement clearly written on his face.

"Yayshah's cubs are also Keeshah's cubs," I said. "I've told Keeshah you mean his mate no harm." I was doing just that through my mindlink with the sha'um as I spoke to Thymas. "Keeshah left the Valley early; it will take some time for him and Yayshah to be comfortable with other people around."

"Yayshah is Keeshah's mate?" Thymas asked. I nodded. The boy sighed. "As I should have known," he said and, to my amazement, bowed to me in exactly the same manner in which he had bowed to Tarani. "It is still my wish to greet Yayshah. Will Keeshah permit it?"

If Tarani had been blessed with neckfur, I would have been able to hear it snap to attention. For once, though, I was ahead of her—because my reaction to Thymas's question was identical to hers. "The choice is solely Yayshah's," I snapped.

"Yayshah will greet you willingly now," Tarani said, stroking the female's neck in a soothing gesture.

I could see by the look she threw me that Tarani was struggling to keep her thoughts calm. Thymas looked at me for confirmation of her permission; I became interested in a pebble beside my right boot. From the corner of my eye, I watched Thymas move in toward Yayshah, hesitate once as the female twitched her head into a slightly different position, and finally stroke the fur under her chin.

After a few seconds under Thymas's touch, the female's ears came forward and her eyes closed. Everybody relaxed. A little. Thymas stepped back finally, his face glowing with pleasure.

"Thagorn is honored that Yayshah has chosen to come here to shelter her cubs," Thymas said. "On behalf of the Sharith, I . . ."

"Only the Lieutenant may speak for the Sharith," I interrupted.

Thymas whirled on me, struggled for a moment against his anger, and then gave up. "What you mean is, I have no right to speak for the Sharith," he snarled.

"I mean that, no matter what you say, we won't ride into Thagorn without Dharak's consent."

"Rikardon, can you think that Dharak would serve us differently than Thymas?" Tarani asked.

"No. I just want—"

"You just want to remind me that you are the leader of the Sharith, not I. Well, Captain, why bother Dharak at all with so small a matter as the first female sha'um who has ever left the Valley, and the first woman . . . Rider?"

The word shocked us all, coming from Thymas. Tarani came around Yayshah to take the boy s hands.

"I am not yet all that is implied by that honored title," she I said. "But I am deeply moved that you can accept . . . what has happened for Yayshah and me."

"But there, you see, is the answer," Thymas said, smiling as he held Tarani's hands in his. "You have done this thing; therefore it must be right."

That kid's moods are as reliable as venetian blinds, I thought. Snap—light. Snap again—dark. Smile at her, snarl at me.

Just a minute, though, I reminded myself. Wasn't I treated to an elegant bow of respect just a moment ago? But that wasn't the "Captain"—oh, no. That was the Rider of the mate of the one and only female sha'um ever to leave the Valley, with Tarani, who can do no wrong!

I realized I was working myself into a four-star snit, and I stopped and took three deep breaths. The breathing helped. What didn't help was that Tarani and Thymas were still hands-on, eye to eye and nobody had noticed my extraordinary display of self-control.

What the hell's the matter with me? I wondered. Isn't this what we wanted—for Tarani and Yayshah to be greeted and accepted as part of the Sharith?

That's what I wanted from Dharak and the rest of the Sharith, I reminded myself. But Thymas is different. There's a lot of emotional history tied up with Thymas. His relationship with Tarani has to be part of it, but there's more to it, I know. Maybe the rest of the Sharith didn't really count. Maybe what I wanted was for Thymas to accept Tarani because I am "his" Captain.

I closed my eyes against the scene of closeness between Thymas and Tarani.

You idiot! I scolded myself. You're going to make a real mess of things if you don't sort Tarani from Thymas—her love from his respect, his feelings for Tarani from his feelings for you, and your reaction to both.

While you're at it, work on recognizing the Rikardon/

Tarani team as something different from the Keeshah/Yayshah bonding. Because of the nature of the link between man— check that—Gandalaran and sha'um, the feelings of the four of us for one another are all intertwined. It would be easy, but dangerous as hell, to assume the Gandalaran emotional link is exactly parallel to the one between the sha'um. Yayshah and Keeshah are committed to one another in a natural, instinctual way. You and Tarani have chosen one another— "destiny" notwithstanding. As far as I can tell, "destiny" has brought us together to fight together—loving one another was our own idea.

Thymas turned to me again, his manner icily formal. "I will ride quickly back to Thagorn, tell Dharak about Yayshah, and relay your request. Please follow at your convenience."

"If Dharak denies our request?" I asked.

"I doubt," Thymas said, with a trace of sarcasm, "that he would send me to you with such a message."

"Dharak will not refuse us," Tarani said.

Thymas smiled at her. "No, he will not refuse you—at least," he added, with a sardonic nod to me, "it is my opinion that when you reach Thagorn, the Lieutenant himself will honor and welcome you—" There was just enough pause to be noticeable. "—both of you. Tarani. Captain."

Ronar, complying with the boy's mental request, moved closer to Thymas and crouched. His eyes never left Keeshah, and I could still feel my sha'um's wariness toward the other cat. Thymas mounted Ronar, who surged to his feet, whirled, and headed south through the broken brush that marked their entrance. They stopped long enough to allow Thymas to retrieve his hat from the stubborn branch and wave it at us in farewell.

Tarani was smiling in the direction Thymas and Ronar had gone. "Being a friend to Thymas can be very trying," she said. "But rewarding. There can be no one else as full of contradiction and surprise as he is; his company is never dull."

She had been stroking Yayshah absentmindedly. The cat became restless and stepped away. In following the sha'um's movement, Tarani caught sight of the look on my face, and laughed.

"Rikardon, why do you refuse to give me credit for objective perception of other people? It surprised you that I recognized Zefra's madness and it seems obvious that you expected me to accept Thymas's swiftly changing moods without irritation."

"I guess I tend to put other people—and their feelings— into categories," I said. "Thymas—well, my feelings about Thymas are pretty complicated."

"And you believe mine are not?" she asked.

"I believe you love him," I said. "A lot can be forgiven if you love someone."

"Forgiven, yes," Tarani agreed, coming toward me. "But not necessarily ignored."

She put her hands on my shoulders, and her face grew serious. "We were discussing this before Thymas came, I believe?"

"We were," I agreed. "I didn't have an answer for your question then, but I do now. Thymas will never be part of my past,' Tarani—or yours. He is part of us as we are now. I know that you still love him." She tensed, but I stopped her intended interruption by pulling her against me. "I also know that what you feel for him is different, less . . . special than what we share. I say I 'know' that—my mind believes it, but my feelings don't learn as fast."

She pressed against me, her arms around my neck, and we stood there for a moment. I was nearly overwhelmed with the knowledge of the value of what I held, the loss I would feel if she were never to touch me this way again. She seemed to be in the same sort of mood, for when she finally pushed at me gently, signaling me to let her stand back, I could feel a trembling in her arms.

"It moves me to hear you speak directly and honestly of what you feel," she said. "It seems, at such times, that I can truly touch you, that a barrier I sometimes sense between us is missing. Now, while you are open to me, listen with your 'feelings,' Rikardon. The kind of future a man and a woman might expect, a home and children and just being together, cannot be ours until we have settled the matter of the Ra'ira. Indeed, for that reason, we may never see such a future. But I remember that, even while we are busy with what we must do, even while other people and other things capture our attention and our time, the very center of me is unfailingly and lovingly bound to the very center of you. We are linked, as surely as you and Keeshah, or Yayshah and I—with the difference you defined a few days ago. You and I cannot communicate these feelings directly; we must depend on words, and words can lead to misunderstanding." She smiled.

She's remembering one of the many times in recent history that I opened my mouth and started chewing on my foot, I thought. I wish I could forget a few of those.

"I ask you, Rikardon, to speak to me as clearly as you can, and I promise the same to you."

"It's a deal," I said, moving the words around the lump in my throat. "And for starters, how about this? Speaking for Markasset and myself, we have known and loved many women, in this life and . . . and in my other life.".

Hypocrite! I accused myself. I'm still covering up the truth: Is this speaking "clearly?"

I pushed the guilty voice aside, answering: Yes, it is the clear truth as far as my feelings are concerned, and they are most important right now.

"Tarani, we—I—have never known anyone, man or woman, whom I admire, respect, and cherish more than you."

She gasped, and I felt her shiver. "You have a gift for language, Rikardon, and you have seen that your words have power over me. What you have just said will always be my favorite truth, for it speaks what I feel for you, as well."

I held her again for a brief and tender moment.

"As you pointed out," I said, "we must tend to other tasks—like introducing Yayshah to the Sharith and her new home."

*Good,* Keeshah grunted, as he stepped out onto the wide, brush-free caravan road. *Easier.*

I echoed his sentiment. It had been bad enough breaking our own trail across the rocky slopes of the Morkadahl foothills, where brush and boulders presented equal obstacles. For the last half-mile or so, we had been moving further downslope, looking for the road we had just found. Without the occasional bare rock to keep the ground clear of ground cover, we had been breaking trail literally, crashing through tangles of brush and forcing our way past natural walls of f vines, interlaced among the twists of curly trunked, wild Dakathrenil trees.

We might have chosen merely to cross the higher slopes and enter Thagorn from the side, but nobody suggested it. The valley held rich, well-watered soil, and beyond the cultivated areas—meaning the higher slopes—the wild growth made the stuff we were moving through look like the Kapiral Desert. Tarani had made that trip once, on foot, and still carried faint scars on her hands to testify to the struggle it had been. For the sha'um, with their greater bulk, basic four-point balance and less efficient grasping capability, going that way would have been unrelenting misery.

Besides, we had made a point of requesting permission to enter Thagorn's valley, and that meant, by every tradition Ricardo or Markasset recognized, going in by the front door—in this case, the front gate. The caravan road came west, more or less, from the Refreshment House at Relenor and led south, more or less, right in front of Thagorn. From there it followed the Morkadahls around the southern tip of the range and headed north to Omergol, a crossroads city noted for the richly veined green marble its natives mined from the hillsides.

Many of the Gandalaran cities I had seen were surrounded by walls, but there was no other wall like Thagorn's. It was more like a dam than a wall, its upper edge stretching level across the narrow opening into a fertile, steep-sided valley. Its lower edge followed the shallow-dish contour of the ground. At the center of its hundred-foot span, the wall stood some thirty feet high, and a double gate filled half that height. The doors of the gate were made of thick layers of laminated wood and braced with bronze fittings, and they were usually closed.

As the sha'um topped the ridge that marked the edge of Thagorn's valley, I could tell that the gate stood wide open— not because I could see the doors, but because I could see the people who formed a double line along the road and through the entrance to Thagorn's protected valley. The Sharith formed the edges of those lines, but behind them thronged the women, children; and "cubs"—boys thirteen to sixteen who had sha'um and were in training as Riders.

The line of people ended halfway between us and the gate, and at its opening, waiting to greet us, stood Dharak and Thymas, the boy a step or two behind his father. There had been the murmuring sound common to a crowd of people waiting for something. The hillside had blocked it from us, but we heard it—for the merest instant—as we came over the top. A frantic whispering sound reached us as all eyes turned in our direction—down from the throngs on the wall, up from the waiting people. There was a long moment of total silence, then a roar of noise rose from the throats of the Sharith.

Yayshah flinched back at the sound, ears flattening and neckfur lifting. Tarani was startled, too, and I recalled that she had not been present at my "installation" as Captain, when I had been honored in this way.

They were shouting my name. It had moved me then, and it touched me now. Equal parts of pride and humility straightened my shoulders as I pulled myself into a sitting position and urged Keeshah downslope at a slow and steady pace.

I realized that Yayshah and Tarani weren't with me, and I directed Keeshah to slow even further, to give them a chance to catch up with us. When they didn't come up alongside immediately, I became alarmed and glanced quickly back.

I've been thinking about Yayshah being accepted by the Sharith, I realized. It never occurred to me to wonder whether it would work the other way around.

My fears had been groundless, though; Yayshah was following with no more display of unrest than an occasional twitch of her ears. Her bulk added to the already impressive stateliness of a sha'um's gait. I felt, as I looked at her, the reverence common to men, of Gandalara and of Ricardo's world, a sense of the mystery of maternity. Added to it was a purely Gandalaran awareness, awe of the cat and of what it meant to see her here, outside the Valley of the Sha'um.

I made a very slight hand signal to invite Tarani to ride beside me, but she shook her head and kept Yayshah a couple of yards behind Keeshah. We were nearing Dharak and Thymas, so I didn't have time to argue with her, but I felt disquieted as I turned to face the Sharith.

The third repetition of "Rikardon and Keeshah!" faded just as I stopped some five yards from the end of the reception line. Dharak took a step toward me, and it was only then that I realized there were no sha'um visible, except for Keeshah and Yayshah. I slid off Keeshah's back to meet the Lieutenant on foot. It didn't matter much—mounted or walking, a man with a sha'um had an emotional and physical advantage over a man without one—but it made me more comfortable to be eye-to-eye with the straight-backed old man.

"Welcome back, Captain," Dharak said, fairly glowing with pleasure and extending his hand in front of him. I shook it, touched by the sincerity of his welcome and his adoption of my greeting gesture over his own.

"You look well, Lieutenant. I'm glad to see your arm has healed."

He flexed his left elbow. "Shola has great skill at setting broken bones," he said, and laughed. "It comes from much practice."

He looked me up and down.

"Shola will be glad to ply her kitchen skills on you, my friend; you look in need of a good meal."

"I wouldn't mind several," I said, pulling at the shoulder of my ruined tunic, "after I've had several baths." Shola was, most certainly, in the crowd around us, but Dharak's speaking of her as if she were absent reminded me that, for the moment, the Lieutenant and the Captain were engaged in a formal ceremony of greeting. "But I am not alone, Dharak, and I may enjoy your hospitality only if it is also open to all those in my company."

"Thymas has already presented your request, Carillo."

A tremor in Dharak's left arm drew my attention to his hands; they were clenched into fists.

So it did bother the old man that Thymas kept the scout's report to himself! I thought.

"There is another that must be heard," Tarani said as she walked forward to stand, sha'umless, beside me. Dharak and I both turned to her in surprise—Dharak, no doubt, because she had interrupted whatever he had rehearsed to say to us, and I because of the peculiar tone of her voice. After an instant's study, I identified it, with more astonishment, as timidity.

"Dharak, you were injured—and your Captain might have been killed—because of me. I ask your pardon for the role of deceit and betrayal I played on that day. I also ask that you do not allow feelings toward me to color your decision about the female sha'um who walks with me now. She is in desperate need of rest. Though I wish to be close to her during this critical period, we cannot truly be separated—and if you cannot, in conscience, admit me within your walls, I will be content to lodge elsewhere, if I know she is comfortable."

Dharak stared at Tarani for what seemed a long time—but perhaps my perception was colored by the fact that I was holding my breath. Finally, the Lieutenant held out his hands to Tarani and spoke with touching gentleness.

"Thymas has told us why that happened, Tarani, and I would gladly have traded this broken arm for the life of the man you were trying to protect. Not my life, perhaps," he added with a smile, "but a broken arm—certainly."

"You are kind," Tarani said, placing her hands in the old man's. "I wish I could forgive myself so easily."

"You are welcome among the Sharith, my dear, as is your companion." He glanced at me, hesitated, then faced Tarani squarely again. "May I greet her?"

Well, I thought, at least Thymas and Dharak talk to each other. I'd swear that it was Dharak's first instinct to ask my permission to greet Yayshah, just as Thymas did. The boy had to have warned him against it.

Tarani released Dharak's hands and took a small step backward. The gray-brown cat came forward slowly. Tarani reached up with her left hand to stroke the side of the sha'um's _muzzle and said: "This is Yayshah."

Dharak let the cat examine his open hand until her ears came forward, then rubbed behind her ear. I could almost feel waves of tenderness and awe from the watching crowd as Yayshah closed her eyes and twisted her head against his hand. After a moment, Dharak stepped back into position between the rows of Riders, and the crowd's mood became more crisp.

"Captain, the Sharith are honored that you pay us the courtesy of requesting what you might command. Again, welcome—Rikardon and Keeshah, Tarani and Yayshah."

A shout rose from the crowd—no words or names, just a joyful sound. I felt my throat tighten with the special joy and terror that a demonstration of the respect of the Sharith always brought to me. Beside me, Yayshah flinched slightly, but I saw Tarani's hand moving on her neck, calming the big cat.

When the roar had died down, Dharak spoke again. "We have one request, Captain. You will have noticed that our sha'um are not with us." I nodded. "I can speak for the Riders, my friend, but not for our sha'um. Until we can be sure that Yayshah is accepted among her own kind, we are asking our sha'um to remain on the far side of the river, except when their Riders call them for exercise or patrol. We ask, therefore, that Yayshah and Keeshah find their home on the nearer side of the river, at least temporarily."

*Keeshah, they want you and Yayshah to stay on this side of the river for a while, away from the other sha'um. Do you have any objection to that?*

*Food there?* he asked.

I tried to remember. The Sharith kept tame herds of glith for their own meat, but allowed a large herd to run wild on the slopes of their valley, to provide natural game for the sha'um. I knew that the tame herds were restricted to the farther side of the river, which was the main residence area for the Sharith, but I couldn't see the possibility, much less the value, of placing any restrictions on the wild herds.

*I think so, Keeshah. If not, I'm sure Dharak will see to it that you have good hunting.*

*All right,* Keeshah agreed.

The mental exchange took much less time than a vocal conversation would have consumed. It was barely a second after Dharak had made his request that I looked toward Tarani, who moved around Yayshah so that I could see her nod, her head.

"The sha'um consent," I told the Lieutenant.

Chapter 5

We walked into Thagorn between the lines of cheering people—Keeshah and I in the lead, followed by Yayshah and Tarani, then Dharak and Thymas. The boy had stood by mutely throughout the ceremony of greeting, and he disappeared into the crowd as soon as we stepped through the gate.

The crowd started to dissolve, the crisp lines behind us fragmenting into clumps of people who drifted through the gateway, smiled at us uncertainly and from a distance, edged around us, and set off for the bridge that led to the family dwellings across the river.

I felt a coldness creep in, where a moment ago there had been only the warmth of joy.

"Dharak—" I began, but when I turned around, Shola was standing beside her husband, her eyes on me.

"I, too, bid you welcome, Captain," she said, extending her hands. "Our home is open to you—to you both. If you'd care to come with me now—?"

"Thank you, Shola," I said. "We will see our sha'um settled, and then accept your invitation with pleasure."

"Thank you, Shola," Tarani said. The Lieutenant's wife gave the girl a brief glance and nod, and then walked away.

The moment of silence that followed Shola's rudeness was awkward. Finally, Tarani spoke, her voice clipped and tight to conceal the hurt I knew she felt.

"Perhaps it would be better if I—"

I interrupted her. "Tarani and I will avail ourselves of one of the vacant houses," I told Dharak, not trying to hide my anger. "Join us later, and we will talk."

"Please, Rikardon," Dharak said. His use of my name, rather than title, caught my attention, as did the whispered pleading in his voice. "We must talk later, in truth—but for now, I beg you, it is very important that you and Tarani share our home. Shola—I will speak to her. If you can be tolerant for only a little while, she will change, I promise you."

Promise? I thought. Only a fool—or a desperate man— would promise the actions of another person.

"Tarani?" I asked.

She shrugged. "I spoke the truth to Dharak; as long as Yayshah is comfortable, I care not where I rest. You may choose for both of us."

I nodded to Dharak. "We will join you shortly," I said, and led Keeshah from the roadway without looking back at the Lieutenant.

I was deeply disturbed.

That's what I get, I told myself, for thinking simplistically, and identifying Thagorn as only a place of rest. It's a place of people, which means it's just as busy and complicated as any other city—more so, I'd say, with sha'um part of the citizenry.

When Tarani and I arrived at the Lieutenant’s home, which was the only single-residence building gate side of the river, it was Dharak who greeted us, showed us to our rooms and offered the use of his private bathhouse. He and I waved at Tarani as she passed the uncurtained door of my bedroom; she smiled and flipped the end of her towel at us.

"I'm ready to talk," I said. "Why was it so important that Tarani and I stay here? I stayed in the barracks on my last visit."

"At your own request," Dharak amended. "And only before you became Captain." He looked away from me, walked to a chair and examined the lattice-wood construction of its back. "I have spoken to Shola—with what result, I confess I do not know. If you find her company intolerable, Rikardon, then she and I will move to a vacant house, and you and Tarani may have this one."

I wanted to tell him what I thought of that idea, but I held back. Dharak's an intelligent man, a wise leader, I thought, but this residence thing—he tenses up and won't look me in the eye. Something's screwy here.

"Answer my question, Dharak," I said.

Something in my voice made him stop his fidgeting. Standing with his hand on the chair back, still facing away from me, he sighed and spoke.

"You remember, of course, that when you were here last, I had the feeling that Thymas was achieving a place of leadership among the younger Riders?"

I remember. You said you hoped the Sharith would be more united under the leadership of me as Captain. I suspected, at the time, that it was your main reason for pressing me to accept."

The old man faced me then, snapping around in what was almost an "attention" pose. "It was not!" he denied. He would have said more, but I waved him silent.

"I told you what I believed then," I said. "I no longer think so, in spite of the present situation."

"The present situation?" Dharak echoed.

I had begun to put some things together, and I didn't like the answers I was getting. I let my anger show.

"Yes, the present situation, in which you are using the Captain of the Sharith as a weapon in a power struggle against your son. Why else would it be so important that I stay here, even when it may mean discomfort for Tarani?" I wanted to ask, as well, why Shola was acting so coldly toward Tarani, but that seemed beside the point at the moment.

I watched Dharak's face display shock and guilt, then harden into determination.

"What I do is no worse than what Thymas has done. Since his return he has used the—I will call it 'glamour' - of his association with you to win, ever more strongly, the loyalty of the young Riders. The division is growing, Rikardon. You are entirely correct; I thought your presence in my home might be taken as a confirmation of my place as leader. This is more than a personal conflict between father and son, Captain. You know that the scout brought Thymas news of your arrival, but I heard nothing of it until Thymas himself brought me your request—after first attempting to greet you 'officially' for the Sharith. He would have liked nothing better than to surprise us all by riding beside you and Tarani into Thagorn."

"Then you believe he kept the news from you deliberately?" I asked.

"I do," the old man affirmed. "He knew I would not embarrass us all by withholding my approval after he had invited you—Yayshah included—to stay with us."

"Did he have reason to fear your disapproval?"

At that, Dharak paused. "No," he answered at last, "not if he had taken the time to think it out logically. But our .. . conversations have not been graced with rationality lately." He slapped at the edge of the- chair and muttered under his breath. "Rikardon, the boy opposes me at every turn."

"Purposely?" I asked.

"Yes!" Dharak nearly shouted, then added more calmly, "Or no. It does seem we have a natural bent toward looking at things differently. Purposeful or not, however, the result is that we seem always to be at opposite ends of any situation.

"In the matter of your arrival—he could not have doubted that you, personally, would be welcome. But as to Tarani and her sha'um . . . he might have felt I would disapprove solely because he wanted them to stay."

I shook my head and placed my hand on the Lieutenant's shoulder. "Could he have thought, my friend, that your actions might be more influenced by Shola's wishes than by his?"

Dharak gripped my forearm with his hand and chuckled. "How well you read people, Rikardon."

"Tarani once said something of the sort to me, with as little reason. Shola has hardly been hiding her bad feelings toward Tarani," I said.

"Not from Tarani, perhaps," Dharak said, "but from me— she will not discuss it at all. It amazes me, Rikardon. At the mention of Tarani's name, Shola turns into a salt block. In all the years I have known her; I have never had to deal with this . . . this silence before. Anger, yes. Fury on occasion. Quiet despair when we finally accepted that our other son would never return from the Valley of the Sha'um. But in those, we were together. She aimed her anger at me; she shared her grief with me. This—cold, isolated bitterness con- founds me."

"How long has this been going on?" I asked him.

"Since you and Thymas left in pursuit of Tarani."

I left Dharak and walked to the unglassed window. The latticework shutters stood open to reveal a view of the river, on the opposite side of the house from the main road and bridge. I braced my arms on either side of the narrow window and stared out at the peaceful countryside. Some three hundred yards away, the valley floor rose steeply into brush- covered hillside. High on the irregular slope, I caught a glimpse of tan moving with startling speed, flashing in and out of sight as it passed behind hills and denser brush.

I reached out for Keeshah with my mind, and found him busy and joyful, concentrating on getting the glith he had just killed back to Yayshah. I didn't bother him, but the familiar touch comforted me in this home that had been open and warm once, but seemed so no longer.

"With your permission, Dharak," I said, "I'd like to try to talk to Shola about this."

"Do you know what the matter is?" he asked, his voice revealing a blend of consternation and delight.

"I have a couple of ideas," I admitted. "Mostly, though, I'd like to make it clear that if Tarani is not welcome here, I cannot accept your hospitality." I looked over my shoulder at the Lieutenant. "And I will not stand for your vacating this house, Dharak. No matter what you feel the effect will be on the Sharith as a group, Tarani and I will leave."

"I understand, Captain," he said, the tone of his voice convincing me that he did understand, but still wasn't very happy about the situation. "It would seem there could be more important duties for the Captain of the Sharith than to settle domestic quarrels."

"There will be," I said, realizing as the words came out that they were a promise I didn't understand, but one I believed.

"Destiny" again, I thought.

"The Ra'ira?" Dharak asked.

I heard footsteps coming down the hallway, and wondered if they meant Tarani was through with her bath. Swiftly then came an overwhelming need to wash off the grime on my own body. I turned, took Dharak by the shoulder, and walked him firmly to the door.

"I told Thymas that story would have to wait until we were all together, so Tarani and I would need to tell it only once," I said. "I'm telling you the same thing."

Tarani appeared in the bedroom doorway just as Dharak and I reached it. Tiny droplets of water dull to her dark headfur, creating silver highlights in her widow s peak.

Tarani flinched back, crinkling her nose. "Forgive me, Rikardon, but now that I am clean . . ."

"I know," I assured her, laughing. "I'm going."

"Until dinner, then," Dharak said. He nodded to Tarani, pressed my arm lightly, and disappeared around a bend in the hallway.

The Lieutenant's private bathhouse was functional and elegant, very similar to the one I had used in Thanasset's back yard in Raithskar. The roof of the small structure was bordered with brownish tile and covered with wood to form a sun-warmed reservoir for water from the nearby river. Opening the fill valve on the tile conduit and cleaning &rime from the drain filter were daily tasks for the "working ' group of older children, though occasionally they were pre-empted as punishment duty for Riders.

Someone must scrub this tile every day, I thought, as I lowered my body into the tile-lined depression that formed a deep, narrow tub. As I remember, Thanasset's tub was this well-kept, too—and he doesn't have a rotating duty roster to take care of such details. All he has is Milda.

The thought of Markasset's father and aunt stirred memories and longing. They were good people, sincere and caring. They had accepted me as a stranger, and even when they had learned—I had told them the truth as soon as I had known for sure—that Markasset's identity was dead, they had accepted me as family.

I stirred the pleasantly warm water and slid further down to let it lap over my shoulders. The water's touch had awakened all the abrasions and muscle soreness I had been ignoring for the past several days, then it had begun to soothe them. I sighed and closed my eyes, homilies like "It's the simple comforts that mean the most" and "You never appreciate something until you have to do without it" wandering through my mind. I braced my body, slipped into a languid reverie, and relaxed—truly relaxed—for the first time since I had left Raithskar nearly eight weeks before.

The slight chill of the cooling water roused me. I applied soap and coarse washcloth to my skin, opened the drain, and stepped out. It was only then that I realized that I had failed to bring a robe or fresh tunic. I rubbed away most of the water, and then wrapped the roughly woven towel around my middle. I left the bathhouse with my skin tingling and my feet bare; I carried my boots and the rags I had been wearing at arm's length.

The aroma of roasting meat greeted me, and I left the stone-laid path to go around the back of the house to the kitchen side. The ground was covered with grassy plants; the wide, soft blades cushioned the sound of my bare feet as I rounded the corner of the house.

A girl was tending the fire in the bottom section of' the domed brick oven. She shoved the ceramic door back into place and turned toward the house at about the same moment that I became part of the view. She shrieked, whirled to run, stopped to look, blushed furiously, and started to giggle.

I tried not to laugh with her—even a bare-assed Captain needs dignity. Lucky for me, Shola had heard the commotion and now she hurried out the door, drying her hands on her apron. She did a fair job of hiding her own amusement as she scolded the girl.

"Yena, where are your manners?" Shola said. She took the boots from my hand and held them out to the girl. "Take these down to the river and freshen them—mind you shake off all the dust before you touch them with water. Go on, now."

The girl took the boots, looked me over one more time, and then fled, still giggling. Shola reached out for my clothes, and then seemed to think better of it. "If you will put those on the ground beside the house, Captain," she said, rubbing her hands on her apron as if she had actually touched them, "I'll see to it Yena burns them—after dinner.

I tossed down the clothes and unconsciously mimicked Shola's gesture, rubbing my hands on the towel—which came loose. I grabbed at it in panic and replaced it before it slipped too far. I discovered I needn't have worried; Shola was looking at the heap of shredded cloth.

"Your clothes speak of suffering, Captain." She looked up into my face, her own expression soft and caring. "They make - me grateful to have you with us again."

"Thank you," I said. "You make me feel welcome, in every way but one."

Her face closed down and turned away. "If there is anything you need, Captain—" she said her voice formal. I touched her arm.

"I think you know what I need, Shola."

Come on, Shola, I urged her silently. Talk to me. Don't shut me out.

For a moment I was afraid she was going to do exactly that, and I was poised on the edge of disappointment. Then she took a deep breath and announced to the wall of the house: "I am not the sort, Captain, who can pretend what she does not feel."

"Then why not say what you do feel?" I asked her.

She looked at me then, her eyes flashing. "There is no place in the Lieutenant's home for rudeness."

"You have made a place for it," I said, more sharply than I had intended.

"Have I not been polite to her?" Shola demanded.

"A cold and insincere gift that speaks your disapproval more clearly than words," I said. "You're deliberately trying to hurt Tarani. I want to know why."

"This is a personal matter between us, Captain—hardly worth your attention."

"I see," I said, meaning that I could see how this attitude was frustrating Dharak. "Tarani and I will be moving across the river after dinner, Shola."

"What? But . . . you cannot do that, Captain!" she said, stepping between me and the kitchen door as I moved toward it.

"Of course I can," I said. "As I recall, there are a number of vacant homes; we will not inconvenience anyone."

"I do not mean that," Shola said.

"What else could you mean?" I asked. Her lips tightened as my point got through to her. "Could you mean," I asked more gently, "that some actions say more than one thing to the people who see them? That our moving out of the Lieutenant's house could be seen by the rest of the Sharith as what it is—a reaction against your negative feelings toward Tarani—or as what it isn't—a withdrawal of support for the Lieutenant?"

"Please, Captain, it is bad enough between Dharak and his son; would you make it worse?"

"I would make Tarani comfortable," I replied.

"Is she more important to you than the good will of the Lieutenant of the Sharith?" Shola demanded.

"I have no fear of losing Dharak's good will—or Thymas's, for that matter," I said. "But the answer to your question is—yes."

Shola gasped. "That woman—will her evil never be done?" she raged.

"Evil?" I repeated, shocked.

"What would you call it, Captain, to seduce a boy for the sole purpose of murdering his father? To reach for power in every possible way—leaving the boy for his commander, coming between father and son so that neither might challenge the one she has chosen, going so far as to bring a sha’um mother to a strange place for the sake of winning respect she does not deserve!"

I flinched back from the tirade. I was glad that I had finally provoked a response from Shola, but slightly overwhelmed at its vehemence.

"What has Thymas told you," I asked, "of what happened when we left Thagorn?"

"Nothing," Shola said, obviously surprised by the apparent non sequitur. "He has said nothing, except that you obtained what you sought, and that Gharlas is dead."

I nodded. It fit.

I straightened my shoulders and looked down at the Lieutenant's wife. "I won't tell you you're wrong about Tarani, Shola. My saying it won't change your mind. But ask yourself how much of your anger toward Tarani is based in fact ‑ incidentally, you don't have all the facts—and how much in fear."

"Fear?" Shola said. "Surely you cannot believe I would fear a woman like that!"

"Fear of your family breaking up," I said. "Isn't it easier to blame Tarani for driving Dharak and Thymas apart than to admit that neither of them is perfect, and those they're creating their own problems?"

I moved around her and stepped up to the kitchen door. "Do you still intend to leave?" she asked.

"Not tonight," I said, looking over my shoulder at her. She seemed smaller, somehow, uncertain. Maybe I got through to her, I thought. "If our leaving were to disrupt the leadership of the Sharith, right now you'd blame that on Tarani, too. You've had a long time to build up your anger—the least we can do is give you a day or two to really get to know Tarani. I only ask that you keep an open mind, and see her as herself, independent of me or Dharak or Thymas. Will you do that for me, Shola?"

She hesitated. "I will . . . try, Captain. I can promise no more than that."

Chapter 6

I was still thinking of Shola as I turned down the hallway that led to the two guest rooms. I paused at my doorway, and then continued on to stop before the tapestry hanging that provided private entry to Tarani's room. I had my hand up to knock on the flat stone sill when I heard a man's voice from inside the room. The words were softly spoken and indistinguishable from one another, but I recognized the voice.

I lowered my hand and went back to my room.

I was sitting on the edge of the pallet-lined ledge that served as a bed when Tarani knocked at my door half an hour later. I was dressed in a fresh "uniform"—tan trousers and tunic, with darker leather belt and boots (baldric and sword omitted)—and my hands were clenched together between my knees. The knock was so soft that I wasn't sure I had heard anything until Tarani pushed aside the door hanging and looked into the room.

"Rikardon? Why did you not answer? Why are you sitting here in the dark?"

"Dark?" I echoed, and then realized I could hardly see Tarani as she walked across the room. As she passed in front of me, I heard a silky, whispering sound.

Tarani threw open the latticed shutters. The light that entered was already touched with evening dimness, but it brought Tarani into clear focus. She was wearing a long gown of a pale golden color. The fabric was soft and sheer, and shimmered when she moved. It was simply cut to drape softly at the neckline and fall in a clean, straight line to brush the floor, and it had full sleeves that tied at her wrists. The shape of the dress accented her unusual height; its color complemented the paleness of her complexion and made the darkness of her headfur more striking; the effect of the outfit was to accentuate her regal bearing. Tarani looked like a queen.

She came toward me, smiling. "The dress is a gift from Thymas," she said. "He traded for the fabric, and asked Jori to make it for me. He called it a replacement for my dancing gown, but it seems much more elegant to me. Do you like it?"

I stood up to meet her, and took her hands. "You look magnificent in it, Tarani. Who is Jori?"

"Thymas's sister, the one who married Solenin. Have you not met her?"

"No, though I do recall the name, now."

"She is a good person, dotingly fond of Thymas, and I am grateful to her." Tarani's voice turned flat, "Shola, too, gave me a gown to wear this evening."

When she didn't go on, I said: "One of Shola's gowns would be too large and too short for you."

"Her gown is an ill fit in more ways than one, Rikardon. It was a bitter and grudging gift."

"When did she give it to you?" I asked.

"She met me on my way to the bathhouse and told me she would leave it in my room," Tarani said. She squeezed my hands. "Rikardon, even in this gown, I do not anticipate this evening with pleasure."

"I understand how you feel, Tarani," I said. "I want to ask a favor of you."

"A favor?" she said, frowning slightly. "Of what sort?"

"Silence," I answered. "When it comes time, this evening, to talk of Eddarta and Gharlas and Yayshah, I want to be the one to tell the story, and I'd like your permission to use my own judgment as to how much to tell."

She lowered her eyes. "Tarn's cellar?"

"Maybe," I said. "Who you are. What the Ra'ira is. Our plans. I may not tell all of it, but I want to feel free to make that choice without fear of surprising or hurting you."

"I am grateful for your consideration," she said, looking up at me again. Even with the light behind her, there was a glow in her dark eyes. She smiled. "I would like to say you need not have asked, but I fear you know me too well. You have my promise; I shall not interrupt you. You do not require my consent to reveal any matter relating to the Ra'ira; that is your choice, as leader of the Sharith. I give you the permission you ask, to share your personal knowledge of me.

"Thank you," I said, feeling humbled by her trust—and guilty, as usual. "Aren't you going to ask me why?"

She laughed and put her hands on my shoulders. "It would spoil my evening," she said. "I am so intrigued, now, that I am actually looking forward to the dinner I dreaded only moments ago."

I put my hands on her waist and pulled her a little closer to me. "There's something else I need to tell you," I said. She only tilted her head. "The reason it was dark in here when you came in—I knew Thymas was in your room. I closed the shutters to avoid eavesdropping."

"Why do you tell me this now?" she asked.

"Because of my promise—to be honest with you whenever possible. I came in here arguing with myself and fighting jealousy. I reminded myself that the last time I jumped to a conclusion—when I saw you kiss Thymas goodbye in Stomestad—I landed flat on my face."

She laced her fingers together behind my neck. "Would you have told me this," she asked, "if I had not mentioned Thymas? After all, this fine dress might have been Shola's."

"I would have told you anyway," I assured her. "I can't seem to help feeling jealous of Thymas and suspicious of his motives whenever he's around you. I want you to know that I have those feelings—and that I am learning to control them. This time, I didn’t jump to any conclusions.

"Oh, but you did," she said, smiling. "You assumed he was inside my room, did you not?" I nodded. "He came to my window.

It was a small point, since Tarani's window was like mine - knee-low and ceiling-high, and plenty wide enough for Thymas to step through, had he wished. But in Gandalara, as in the world Ricardo had known, there are different degrees of privacy. A man and a woman talking together in full view of any passerby—whether or not anyone was, at that particular moment, passing by—was less suggestive of intimacy than that same couple holding their conversation enclosed within the walls of a room.

It made enough difference to me that I blurted out an admission that I had checked for the more welcome possibility. "But—when I closed my shutters, I didn't see . . . Oh." see you remember that my room is at the corner of the house, and has two windows. And there is another item of information you do not have," she said. "The gift of the dress was second priority for Thymas. He told me that he had come to talk with you, but that you were not in your room."

"To me? Did he say what he wanted to talk about?"

"No. And I did offer to bring you a message. He is.... different, Rikardon. There is a sadness in him, and little of the easy friendship we once shared. He seemed uncomfortable while we talked." She sighed. "Has Thagorn changed so much, Captain, or is it we who have changed?"

"The world is changing, remember?" I said. "Otherwise, would there be a female sha'um in Thagorn? How is Yayshah, by the way?"

"Rather cranky, I fear. Her mind is seeking a lair that her instincts will accept, but so far she has not achieved that compromise. The terrain in Thagorn is very different from what she knew in the Valley. And, unlike Keeshah, the Valley is all she has known. She will settle down in time."

"The cubs? Do you have any closer idea of when they are due?"

She shook her head. "There is no pain, only a heaviness that grows, day by day. I cannot say." She pulled me close and put her head on my shoulder. "It is not only Yayshah's relief I feel in being here, Rikardon. I am weary of traveling. I welcome the chance merely to be still for a time. I could wish for only one thing more—that we be accepted as friends here, and not—"

She broke off and pulled back suddenly.

"That is the difference I sensed in Thymas," she said, her eyes sad. "Distance. Almost a shyness. Courtesy with an undertone of fear, not at all the simple respect of one person for another."

"The respect of a follower for a leader," I said gently. "Because he thinks of me, now, as yours? The Captain's woman?"

I almost laughed, but I could see Tarani was hurting. I had learned this lesson weeks ago, when I had swung violently between my commitment to become Captain and a deep need to be only one of the group. The look on her face brought back that pain.

"Because Yayshah came with you from the Valley," I said. "It's only here, among the Sharith, that the enormity of that simple act can be truly appreciated."

"But that is not an achievement, in the sense of planning and accomplishing a difficult task," she protested. "It—it merely happened."

The way, I thought, that it "merely happened" that Ricardo Carillo woke up in Markasset's body.

Tarani's arms tensed against my shoulders. "Among the Lords of Eddarta, I should welcome this . . . acknowledgement of difference. There, only power commands respect, and only fear assures obedience. Among the Sharith, people whom I respect and care for as friends, this distance is disturbing, Rikardon. I am—it frightens me."

"Good," I said.

"Excuse me?" she said.

"I said, `good,' " I answered. "You understand that when people treat you that way—sincerely, not out of fear as might be the case in Eddarta—it means they believe that you are wiser or stronger or more capable of being right than they are. Because you care for them, you don't want their trust in you to hurt them. If that responsibility didn't scare you, I'd be worried."

A frown crossed her face. "I hear contradiction in your words, Rikardon. First you say that it is not my association with you that brings me this special respect, and then you speak as though I have some role as leader among the Sharith. I do not."

"Not yet," I amended. "Because you're a Rider, you have a place in Thagorn. Because you're a woman, the first woman Rider, nobody's sure what that place should be.' I smiled at her. "Don't be too concerned, darling. One thing well do this evening is make it clear that you're only a guest here, on your way to Eddarta."

"Perhaps that is why Shola seems so hostile toward me— she fears I will take her place of authority over the women in Thagorn. If that is so, then I need only assure her—"

"You need only let me do the talking, as you promised," I reminded her.

Her eyes glowed as she looked up at me. "This is part of the reason you asked my silence, is it not? To spare me the burden of confronting Shola to regain her friendship?"

"It is part of the reason," I admitted. "Not the only one. It must be nearly time for dinner," I said, and realized that I was getting anxious to have this done. "Shall we go?"

"In a moment," •she said. My anxiety faded as her arms slipped around my neck and her face tilted up to meet mine.

Dharak and Shola were waiting in the dining room, already seated. Dharak stood up and came to the door to greet us when we arrived, his pleasure genuine, and his admiration for Tarani obvious — to us and to Shola.

Dharak's wife was dressed in a tan sleeveless gown embroidered with gold thread at hem and neck. Jewels glittered at her wrists and throat. I surmised, from the quick flash of hurt in Tarani's face, that the gown Shola had given her would have compared badly against Shola's elegance.

Tarani said nothing to Shola, but turned to Thymas, who was arriving right behind us, to thank him again for his gift. Dharak looked at Thymas suspiciously.

Shola glared at Tarani.

Thymas, whose capacity for subtlety seemed to be expanding, acknowledged Tarani's thanks with a smile, and then announced: "Dinner smells wonderful."

I sighed and pressed the boy's shoulder as he passed me.

It is always hot in Gandalara, but it was frosty around the dinner table that night. The meal was delicious: strips of well-roasted glith served with savory vegetables, a richly grained bread with a creamy spread, and spiced fruit for dessert. It had Shola's expert touch, to be sure, but it was served by Yena and two other girls, who looked mainly at the dishes they carried, with an occasional sidelong glance at Tarani.

Conversation was little more than sincere compliments to Shola on the quality of the meal, to which she responded with a smile and a nod. It seemed to me she was trying to imitate Tarani's regal and composed manner, with little success. It was clear that, even had she worn the plainer, ill- fitting gown, Tarani would have outclassed Shola, and both of them knew it. Tarani proved it by being gracious but aloof, betraying none of her feelings. Shola proved it by projecting an air of resentment and defeat.

Dharak and Thymas, A opposite ends of the largish table, sat with their shoulders hunched, their neck muscles tense, and said very little. They might have been sensing the undercurrents across the table—I was sitting at Dharak's right with Tarani beside me and Shola across from me—and deliberately staying clear of them. They might have been caught up in their own tide of competition.

One thing's sure, I thought. This meal is being wasted on this group. I'll be very surprised if we don't all get indigestion later.

The meal finally ended, and the girls began clearing away the dessert dishes. It was the host's place to suggest an after-dinner drink at this point, and it had been Shola's habit to excuse herself from what was usually the "business end" of an evening such as this. I had thought that Tarani's presence might change things, but Shola stood up to help the girls— whether out of habit or in eagerness to escape the tension in the room, I couldn't say. I stood up with her, and she stopped in surprise.

"Please stay, Shola," I said. "I have promised a full accounting of what has happened since I left Thagorn. I know Dharak would share it with you, later, but I prefer that you hear it from me."

She stared at me for a moment, and then dropped her eyes. "As you wish, Captain," she said.

Dharak cleared his throat. "Perhaps, Captain, we would be more comfortable in the sitting room? Would you care for some barut?"

"Later, perhaps, Lieutenant. For now, I feel the need of a clear head.

I walked around the table and offered Shola my arm. She took it with an air of surprise. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Thymas extend his hand to Tarani, who smiled, shook her head, and followed us on her own.

Good for you, I thought.

Chapter 7

When the others had found places in the large room - Tarani on a padded ledge, Shola and Dharak in free-standing chairs, Thymas on a fluffy rug in the corner—I found myself wondering how to start what I had to say.

I'm the Captain, I reminded myself. If I want these people to communicate clearly, I guess I need to set an example. "The Ra'ira is more than it seems," I said.

Thymas's whole body jerked in surprise, and I turned to him.

"There will be no secrets among the people in this room, Thymas," I said. "And there will be only honest answers to any question I may ask. Is that understood?"

I looked around the room, and everyone nodded. Dharak looked grim, Shola a little frightened, Thymas angry but resigned. Tarani alone was totally composed, because she had expected something like this.

"Thymas, I know that you have told the Sharith very little about our time together—only enough to clear Tarani of blame, and assure them that our purpose was accomplished. I believe you kept silent because you felt the story—and the decision of how much to tell—was mine to make. Is that true?"

"Yes," Thymas said.

"I also think you kept silent because to tell the entire story would have been to reveal what you believe to be your own failure and disgrace. Is that true?"

Thymas moved, crossing his legs, sitting up straighter, finally looking right at me. "Yes, I was ashamed to tell—"

"We'll get to that," I interrupted. "Since you came back, you've been trying to make up for that failure, haven't you, by relieving your father of some of his tremendous responsibilities, by trying extra hard to be a leader?"

Thymas only nodded. I whirled around to face Dharak, who was leaning forward in his chair.

"This seems to surprise you, Dharak. What did you think your son was doing, trying to take command of the Sharith from you?"

"No," the Lieutenant exclaimed. "That is—not really . . .” "Not really?" I echoed, raising my eyebrows.

"Well, yes," he blurted out—to his credit, less angry than confused. "We disagree frequently, and many of the Riders side with him. I have been afraid of a division among the Sharith and—yes, I thought Thymas wanted such a thing."

Thymas made a wordless sound and rose up to his knees, but I didn't give him a chance to say anything.

"If it came to a choice between you and Thymas, who do you think the Sharith would choose?" I asked Dharak. "Captain!" Shola said. I ignored her.

"Dharak? Answer. Do you believe they would choose Thymas over you?"

"Yes!" the white-haired old man shouted. "Why would they not? He is young, dedicated, and strong—"

"Everything you're not?" I prompted. "He knows what he wants, while you're confused, is that it? When we talked about my becoming Captain, you as much as admitted that you see change coming but can't predict or control it, and it scares you. And you think Thymas is younger, more adaptable, more sure of himself. Look at what happened the night Tarani danced—you got yourself hurt, and Thymas killed the man who hurt you. That's proof, isn't it, that he's' the better man? Isn't that true?"

"No!" Thymas shouted.

"Let, him answer!" I snapped.

Dharak lowered his gaze. "It is all true," he said, rubbing his hands together. "It is all true."

"Captain," Shola said. I turned around; she was standing up. "You cannot keep me silent, Rikardon You have shamed a fine man in front of his son—I thought no one could be so cruel."

"Did you think you had exclusive rights to cruelty?" I asked. She gasped. "What else would you call the games you've played with Tarani—doing everything you can to make her feel inferior and unwelcome, while meeting the letter' of courtesy?"

"I would call it the treatment she deserves!" Shola fired back.

"Why?" I demanded.

"She never loved my son! She tried to kill my husband! Her deceit and treachery have driven them apart. I have no cause to treat her with honor!"

"Not even if doing so would heal the break between Dharak and Thymas?" I asked.

She looked surprised, then her lips thinned. "It would not help."

"You're right," I said. "It wouldn't help, because Tarani didn't cause this separation in the first place. Dharak did it, because he failed as a leader."

"He is a fine leader!" Shola cried.

"Then it is Thymas's fault, because he has been sneaking responsibility away from his father."

He has only tried to help!" Shola protested.

"Then it's your fault, Shola. If you had been more perceptive, more caring, quicker to act, you could have kept your family together."

It was very quiet in the room for about half a second, while Shola stared at me, caught up in horror and guilt. Then it erupted in noise. Dharak and Thymas were on their feet, shouting at me; Shola was screaming accusations at Tarani, who was still sitting, but visibly shaken by what had just transpired.

"Quiet!" I shouted. "I said QUIET!"

Voices trailed off into silence.

"Sit down," I said. I realized I spoke sharply, so I added, more gently: "Please, everyone, sit down."

When they were all settled again—I wouldn't describe any of them as relaxed—I said: "Have you noticed that you're all glaring at me now, instead of one another?"

Thymas, for whom glaring at me was far from a new experience, spoke up. "Make your point, Captain—if you have one.

I sighed and looked around the room. All four of them looked exceedingly uncomfortable, only Tarani retaining some composure because she hadn't verbalized her feelings.

"I had hoped you would see the point without explanations," I said, and waited.

It was Dharak who broke the silence this time. "I see that each of us accepted blame for ourselves, but defended the others. Are you trying to teach us that we care for one another?"

"That's part of what I'm trying to say," I agreed. "You all know that, of course—but how often have you and Thymas mentioned it to one another lately?"

Neither Dharak nor Thymas, who sat across the room from his father, would meet my eyes.

"I noticed," Shola said, "that the lady Tarani said nothing in anyone's defense."

"I have to admit to being a little unfair, Shola," I aid. "Tarani had some warning about all this. She didn't know what I would do, but she did promise to keep out of it. What do you suppose she was feeling, while you were accusing her of destroying your family?"

Shola started to say something, and then merely shook her head. "Tarani," I said. "How did you feel?"

"I was afraid," Tarani said, her voice pitched low but clearly audible. "I was desperately afraid that she was right. Certainly, your suggestion that Shola accept responsibility for Dharak's stubbornness and Thymas's self-doubt was preposterous. If their trouble began with Dharak's wound, then I am indeed at fault."

Shola was staring at Tarani, who was looking at her hands, lightly clasped in the lap of her golden gown.

"You won the match, Shola," I said, beginning to be very uncomfortable in my role as devil's advocate. "She admits it. Doesn't that make you happy?"

"Yes—no. Captain," she said, the tightness of the skin around her eyes speaking her distress, "I recall what you-, said this afternoon, that I might be blaming Tarani rather, than Dharak or Thymas. I feel your point is that I am the one who caused the break between father and son and, rather than face so bitter a truth, I have placed Tarani at fault. Am I—can I be such a coward?"

Dharak rose from his seat, starting to speak, but I put my hand on his shoulder and walked past him to kneel in front of Shola. The pain and fear in her face were terrible to see. I took her hand and pressed my cheek against it.

"Is it cowardly," I asked gently, "to love Dharak and Thymas so much that you want them to be happy?" She shook her head, her eyes on our joined hands. "Of course not. The question is can you make them happy? If they persist in being argumentative and misunderstanding each other, is that your fault?"

Shola's shoulders began to tremble. Gandalarans are physically unable to weep emotional tears—part of the water conservation system in their bodies—but they display sadness in a very human fashion. A choked, whimpering sound came from Shola's throat as she started to sob.

"Rikardon, in Zanek's name . . ."

Dharak pulled me away and put his arms around his wife. Shola leaned sideways in her chair to press her face against the Lieutenant's chest. Dharak stroked the light brown headfur and made comforting sounds.

Thymas grabbed my arm and turned me toward him. "The point, Captain," he demanded. "Now."

I felt a more gentle hand on my shoulder, and looked around to see Tarani standing beside me.

"I know I promised not to speak unless asked, Rikardon, but I believe you are making your point to me, as well?"

I put my hand over hers and smiled at her. Shola's burst of emotion had passed, and she and Dharak, still clinging lightly together, watched Tarani expectantly.

"I believe Rikardon has tried to show us that we cannot forgive ourselves for mistakes which are totally understandable in others, and that we attribute the failure or unhappiness of those we care about to our own mistakes."

"And that we are, each of us," I added, "always ready to believe we have failed." I faced Thymas directly. "You still think we would have caught Gharlas in Dyskornis if it hadn't been for you and Ronar, don't you?"

The boy nodded, the muscles along his jaw tensing and relaxing.

"So, in order to avoid telling your father about your imagined failure, you don't tell him anything at all—a silence which he interprets as deliberate and antagonistic. He trusts and admires you, so he assumes you have a good reason for not trusting him—therefore, he has failed in some way. Meanwhile, Shola watches her family falling apart and figures it's her fault." I paced across the room, my voice rising with real anger and impatience. "All you have to do, for pity's sake, is talk to each other."

I stopped in the corner of the room, picked up a ceramic figure of a sha'um and turned it in my hands, not even looking at it. "You may wonder how I know so much about this," I said. "I'm good at recognizing self-imposed guilt because I came face to face with my own in Eddarta." I put the figurine down and looked at the others. Dharak, Tarani and Thymas were standing, and Shola was still seated, leaning against Dharak. They all watched me expectantly. I walked toward them, extending my hand. Tarani met me and took my hand.

"I promised I would tell you what happened after Thymas. and I left Thagorn, looking for Tarani. I want you all to know—especially you, Shola—that some of that story is very personal for Tarani, and that she has given me her permission to share it."

Tarani came into my arms briefly, then turned aside and found a seat. Thymas and Dharak took the cue and sat down again.

"I learned all this in bits and pieces, but I wouldn't want to try to tell it the same way, even if I could reconstruct it for you. The story really starts more than a year before Tarani was born. . . .

"So that's how it stands now," I said. "After Yayshah has delivered her cubs, the next step is to find Kä and the other sword. Any ideas?"

It was nearly midnight. My voice had roughened after the hours of talking, and I felt totally wrung out. The others had listened more or less quietly. Thymas had said a word or two of sincere sympathy to Tarani when I had described Lonna's sudden death at the hands of Obilin. There had been tension in the room at the beginning of the story, but it was gone now. Everyone's physical attitude betrayed a relaxed fatigue. Dharak and Shola held hands in the space between their armchairs. Thymas sat cross-legged on the floor. Tarani was half-reclining on the stone ledge underneath the windows. I was sprawled in an armchair.

"Dharak," I said, when no one responded, "when you gave me the Captain's uniform, you said that the boot style and sash embroidery were traditional, copied faithfully since the time of the Kingdom. I had hoped the Sharith might have kept the knowledge of Kä's location—?"

Dharak shook his head. "You must remember, Captain, that the loyalty of the Sharith is to Serkajon, not to the kings. That is the only reason I can give you for our not knowing about the other sword of rakor, the Kings' sword—you are sure it exists?"

"I'm sure," I said. "It's not surprising that, with Rika physically close and totally unique today, the memory of the . other sword would fade. It was only in Eddarta, where the Lords have a rare talent for holding grudges, that the Kings' sword became a symbol of betrayal, important enough to be remembered through all these years.

"All these years—Kä," Dharak murmured. "Rikardon, you realize this may not be possible?"

"It's possible," I said, and stretched my arms wide to cover the shiver of doubt that followed that positive-sounding announcement. -If the Sharith have no further information about Kä, then there is only one other choice—I must consult a Recorder."

Dharak rubbed his eyes, another reminder of the late hour. Gandalaran lamps stood on shelves and small tables around the room—faceted glass chimneys that made the most of the light of the candles inside them. The candles were stubby; one flickered and went out while Dharak was speaking.

"There is a Recorder in Omergol," the Lieutenant said, talking through a half-suppressed yawn, "but I know nothing about his skills."

"His skills?" I echoed. "Forgive my ignorance, but I thought all Recorders do—what Recorders do."

"All those who have never had need of one think as you do, Captain," Dharak said. "There was an occasion in my youth in which my father sought out a Recorder, and I learned then that there are degrees of skill and special interests among them. You will require one of great skill who has some experience with the time of the Kingdom."

Maybe that's why Tarani refused to use her Recorder training to find out if the sword exists, I thought. She might have thought she just didn't have what it takes.

"Who is the Recorder in Omergol?" Tarani was asking Dharak.

"His name is Somil," the Lieutenant answered, and laughed.

"The caravan master who mentioned him—just a few days ago, in fact—does not prize him as a customer. It seems this Somil drives a hard bargain."

"I have heard of Somil," Tarani said, the awe in her voice causing us all to look at her. "At Recorder school, he was spoken of in whispers, as very old and highly skilled, but slightly scandalous. At that time, he lived— in Sulis, I be- live. I wonder what brought him to Omergol?"

'I'll ask him," I said, standing up and stretching. "Day after tomorrow, in fact."

"You cannot force Keeshah to leave Yayshah now!" Tarani protested.

"Do I look that insensitive?" I asked, smiling and winning a return smile. "It sounds as if Somil may be able to help us and, if he has been moving around, it makes sense to try to catch him while he is in Omergol. There is only one problem-I'm not sure Keeshah will consent to my riding second on Ronar."

Thymas sat up straighter. "You want me to go with you?" he asked.

"If Ronar and Keeshah don't object," I said.

Thymas smiled ruefully. "I see; it is a test," he said. "Ronar's reaction to the idea will tell you whether I truly think of you as Captain of the Sharith."

"That's true," I said, "but as long as you're looking for reasons, let me help. I might want to give Dharak the opportunity to re-establish the command lines that have been stopping with you. I might want to get some distance between you and Dharak, to give you both some time to think. I might have some reservations—foolish and insulting as they would be—about leaving you and Tarani together in Thagorn overnight. I might want the chance to get to know you better, without interference from the rivalry connected with Tarani or the memory of friction that Dharak and Thagorn keep fresh in our minds."

My voice had risen. I took a deep breath and made an effort to be calm, rather than angry and impatient.

"I might just need to go to Omergol, and want your company," I said.

Thymas stood up. "What time tomorrow?" he asked. "After lunch?" He nodded. "And no uniforms.:'

Chapter 8

Thymas was right about one thing: I was trying to read Thymas through the actions of his sha'um. When Ronar stopped before Dharak's house and crouched to let me mount, I was half surprised and more than pleased.

Ronar was slightly smaller than Keeshah, but broad and - sturdy. I eased my leg over the cat's hindquarters, tucked my knees into the angle formed by Thymas's, and used pressure against Ronar's flanks to ease the weight of my body on his pelvis.

Tarani and Dharak had walked out with me, but Shola had disappeared. She came out the front door of the house now, carrying leather pouches strapped together with rope. The Sharith called them travel packs; privately, I thought of them as saddlebags. She handed them to Thymas, who arranged the ropes across his thighs, laughing.

"This much food would see us all the way back to Eddarta," he said, then caught his mother in a warm hug. It took her a moment to react, and then she hugged him back. When she stepped away from him, her face was glowing, and she flashed me a look of thanks that transferred some of the glow.

Dharak stepped up to us and put one hand on Thymas's shoulder, one on mine. "The Sharith wish you a safe and profitable trip," he said. "You will both be sorely missed."

I squeezed Dharak's arm. "Five days—six at the most," I promised.

Thymas grabbed Dharak's shoulder and said: "Father, when I get back . . ."

"We will do as the Captain suggests, son," Dharak said softly. "You and I will talk to each other."

We let Dharak go, and Tarani stepped up to take his place. Tarani and I had spoken our farewells during the night. Now she put her hands on my shoulders and kissed my cheek lightly, then repeated the gesture with Thymas—who brought his hands up as if to hold her, then lowered them without touching her.

Tarani moved around Ronar, tracing ridges of skin and patchy fur. "He is well healed," she said, and stroked the cat's jaw. "Care for them well, Ronar," she said, and stepped back.

At Thymas's silent command, Ronar stood up. Thymas and I rocked with the surging motion, and then readjusted our positions for our own comfort and the cat's. I felt a little embarrassed that I had not even considered Ronar's recent injuries, especially since the earliest of them had been inflicted by Keeshah's claws and teeth. But the sha'um moved easily—if carefully—as he started for Thagorn's gate at a walk. Thymas and I waved at the group in front of the Lieutenant's house, - then turned our faces forward.

Thagorn was busy, as usual. Repair crews worked at the wall of one of the barracks buildings that lined one side of the main avenue. Guards walked the upper level of the wall. From behind us, across the river, we could hear the noise of children playing and the barked commands of the cubs drilling their sha'um and themselves. People moved around, going to and from lunch, to and from duty stations.

All that confrontation last night was good for me, too, I thought, as I watched the activity we passed. I feel more at ease, now that I don't have to worry about who knows what part of the story, and I guess it's true that "confession is good for the soul." When I finally admitted to Dharak and Thymas that it was my screw-up that lost us the Ra'ira, I stopped feeling so guilty about the past and started living frontwards again. I still haven't told anyone the truth about their "Visitor," but at least I'm down to only one lie—one that isn't hurting anybody, I hope.

As Thymas and I rode toward the gate, I recaptured some of the sense of belonging I had missed the day before. As I became more in tune with the day's activities, I became aware of something not quite right, and searched through the moving people for that source of oddness. I saw it not twenty feet from the edge of the avenue—a man sprawled face-up on the ground. People were walking around him without a second look.

"Thymas, stop!" I said.

The boy turned his head in that direction, then leaned forward. Ronar started moving faster.

"What are you doing?" I demanded, leaning forward to keep my balance, but keeping my eyes on the man.

I found it hard to believe that the Sharith, who showed only fierce loyalty and caring to their own, were walking around what might be a corpse without a second look. As we passed the spot, I was relieved to see the man move his head, turning a sallow, ravaged face toward me. A scar stood out on his right cheek. "Thymas,Thymas, it's Liden! He's sick. Stop!" I tugged at the boy's waist. Instead of calling Ronar to a stop, Thymas urged his sha'um to a faster pace, and freed one hand from Ronar's shoulders to grab tightly to my arms—effectively forestalling my half-formed plan to let go and just fall backwards.

Ronar's burst of speed took the gate guards by surprise. Though they put more muscle into swinging back the big double doors, the opening was barely big enough to let us pass when Ronar barrelled out of Thagorn.

I struggled against Thymas's hold, nearly upsetting us both. "Let it be, Captain!" he shouted over his shoulder. "Liden would not welcome your help."

"But he's ill!" I shouted back. "Why won't anyone help him?"

"His illness is too much barut," Thymas said. Ronar was slowing, and I had stopped struggling—but not arguing.

"That's impossible,' I snapped, remembering the times I had wanted to get drunk and couldn't.”His body wouldn't let him do that."

Thymas was silent for a moment while Ronar came to a complete stop. There was sadness in the boy's voice when he said: "Cheral left for the Valley during the night. Liden's mind is—you probably understand better than I what he is going through. He is suffering, potentially violent. No one will help him until he asks—in a day or so. The shock has overcome his instincts for the moment, but they will not let him totally destroy himself."

During my last visit to Thagorn, I had met one or two "absent" Riders—men whose sha'um had left for the Valley, and who had taken residence and duty among the work crews for that year. They had been sad and subdued, haunted by the fear their sha'um would not return. I thought of Liden - tough and scrappy, full of laughter and pride—caught up in that despair, and shuddered.

How odd that I didn't remember those men while I was in Eddarta and Lingis, struggling with the same feelings, I thought. I guess I expected more of myself—maybe I was lucky to have a real need for action to pull me out of that emotional morass.

As if he could follow my thoughts, Thymas touched my knee lightly and said: "You see now that no Rider would blame you for what happened in the Darshi desert."

"Yes, I do see," I said. "And I'm really ready to go now."

He only nodded. We leaned forward again, Thymas grasping Ronar s back with his entire body, me clinging to the cat with my knees and to Thymas with my hands. Ronar started forward, gathered speed, and soon was running along the caravan trail that led around the tip of the Morkadahl Mountains and then north to Omergol.

The trip took us a day and a half, with frequent stops for rest and position-switching, and one night of sleeping under Gandalara s cloud-covered night sky. While the moon was overhead, the richly colored countryside faded to gray and black and silver; the moonless part of the night was nearly pitch black. I reached for Keeshah now and then, just to confirm our contact, but I didn't ask him for conversation. Settled in Thagorn, the two sha'um experienced a version of what they had known in the Valley. Much of Keeshah's surface thought was taken up with mate and den and hunting. I had disrupted that for him in the Valley. I had interrupted this new, halfway version the morning I left Thagorn because I needed his fully aware consent to my riding Ronar, which he gave grudgingly. Now I tried to keep out of his life as much as possible.

Thymas and I talked a lot during our rest periods, mostly about the trip to Eddarta. He asked me for more detail about the Valley of the Sha'um; I told him what I could, considering how little we had seen of any sha'um besides Keeshah and Yayshah.

"Perhaps I was wrong about your helping Liden," Thymas said, as we made ourselves comfortable for our night in the open.

"What do you mean?"

"You called Keeshah out of the Valley," the boy said, shrugging. "Perhaps you could show Liden how to call Cheral."

"I don't think so," I said. "The circumstances were ... unique."

"And you are unique," Thymas said. "You and Tarani."

I looked at him in the quickly fading light, and felt vaguely disturbed that he wouldn't meet my eyes.

"I am no longer your rival, Rikardon," he said.

"And I was never yours," I answered. "Not for Dharak or Tarani. Not intentionally."

"I believe that," he said. 'Good night.”.

We reached the outskirts of Omergol just at dusk. Having sent Ronar off to hunt and keep mostly out of sight, Thymas and I walked through the open gateway of the hillside city like any other two dusty travelers. Thymas's shock of thick, pale headfur caught a lot of attention—especially from women—as we moved up the stair levels from the older, less reputable parts of the city toward the higher and newer areas.

Omergol was built of its major export—pale green marble quarried from pits north of the city. Its beauty was dimmed in the dusky light and would return as reflected lamplight bathed the streets in a pale green glow. A lamp was already burning at either side of the doorway of our destination, the Green Sha'um Inn. It was located about halfway up the hillside, on our left.

"You say you know this place?" Thymas asked as we passed the entrance to the noisy bar and restaurant and approached the table beside the stairway.

"I know the owner," I said. "And he's a good source of information."

I asked the man behind the table for a room; he named a price and I paid it. With no need for discussion, Thymas and I turned back toward the bar.

"This is where I first met Bareff and Liden," I said, "and they were being less than courteous. My friend doesn't like your friends much; it will be best if he doesn't find out you—we--are Sharith."

We went through the open doorway and found ourselves enveloped in noise. The place was packed with people, most of them doing more drinking than eating. "I don't understand this," I shouted into Thymas's ear. "It was never this crowded before."

"Was she here before?" Thymas shouted back, waving toward the far end of the room.

The chaotic noise faded to a murmur, then died altogether as a young woman appeared through a doorway at the end of the long, wall-hugging bar—a doorway that had not been there on my last visit. As the noise settled down, so did the people who had been milling around, and I suddenly had a clear view of a small table against the wall across from the bar. Thymas and I made our way to it while the woman arranged herself on a chair in the middle of a small stage, and brought a flute-like instrument to her lips.

We forgot our hunger and thirst while she played. Her music was heart-wrenching and uplifting, terrifying and exalting. Markasset had heard the instrument played throughout his lifetime, but never like this. Thymas and I sat there, captivated, until the last note drifted into silence and she stood up, signaling the end of her performance. Then we joined the noise of approval, yelling, banging dishes, stamping the floor. When she had left the stage, we looked at each other as though waking from a daze. The better part of an hour had passed.

"Saw you come in, but couldn't get through the crowd," said a gruff voice behind me as a hand fell on my shoulder. "Welcome back."

I stood up to greet Grallen, the big, tough-looking man who owned the Green Sha'um Inn, but was still wearing the apron of a bartender. I introduced him to Thymas, who could only say: "Who is that woman?"

Grallen grinned, showing the spaces where teeth were missing in his lower jaw. "Her name is Yali—my wife's cousin. She has turned this place from a paying enterprise to a greedy man s dream. She will play again, later—meanwhile, we'll have some peace and quiet." He waved at the column of people walking—some of them unsteadily—through the doorway. "What can I get for you and your friend, Rikardon?"

"Dinner and some information," I said. "Dinner first."

"On -its way," Grallen said, slapped me on the shoulder, and headed for the kitchen.

Grallen showed up again in a few minutes to deliver our glith steaks and two glasses of faen, which were refilled more than once through the meal. Thymas and I were leaning back from the marble-tiled table, feeling that contentment unique to having eaten a good meal, when two Sharith walked into the room.

When those uniforms appeared in the doorway, everyone still in the dining room stood up and away from their tables.

Everyone but Thymas and me.

"What—?" Thymas said, and stood up, too—a few seconds after everyone else, so that the sound of his chair scraping on the floor drew everyone's attention to him. The smug looks on the faces of the two Riders vanished when they saw Thymas. The boy moved his head slightly. The Sharith moved quietly to an unoccupied table and sat down, removing their hats. There was a common sigh of relief, and a few puzzled glances in our direction, as everyone sat down again.

Thymas's air of contentment was gone; he was furious. "Visiting any city in uniform is strictly forbidden," he whispered fiercely. "And from what just happened here, I can see that this has been going on for a while. Dharak will turn to stone when he hears about this."

For my part, I was worried that Grallen had witnessed the exchange, and was much relieved when he came out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel. I put my hand on Thymas's wrist, and the boy made an effort to compose himself.

Grallen picked up three glasses of faen at the bar and brought them over to our table, hooking a free chair with his foot. "Meal all right?" he asked as he sat down.

"Wonderful," I said.

"Good. Now—what is it you need to know?" He sipped his faen.

"I've heard there is a Recorder named Somil in Omergol," I said. "That is, he was here a few days ago. Is he still here, and do you know where I might find him?"

"I know him," Grallen said, gruffly. "I won't ask why you need to find the old lech." He gave us directions.

I gathered the old man lived in one of the better districts. Grallen drained his faen and stood up. "I need to get back to work—the second show crowd is starting to come in." He put his hand on my shoulder. "I have only one piece of advice for you about Somil; count your eyeballs carefully when you leave his place."

We stayed for Yali's second performance. If Thymas's pleasure was marred by his irritation with the Riders—who had left the place after only one glass of faen—it didn't show in the rapturous expression he wore while Yali played.

I had seen that look before—while Tarani danced.

We turned in and slept late the next morning. I took Thymas to Korredon's bathhouse, and he agreed the old man had magic in his fingers. After lunch, we wandered around Omergol until we found the house Grallen had described as belonging to Somil.

It was, as I had guessed, in the richest part of town, high on the hillside, with a small and fragrant garden lining a stone-paved walkway to the front of the house. The door was made of brass-fastened wood strips, decorative and heavy. It was opened, the second time I knocked, by a delicately beautiful girl whose head would not have reached my shoulder if she had stood on tiptoe.

She looked us over so carefully that I became worried she had figured out I had a fortune in gold coins in my belt. At last she spoke, clearly and softly. "Somil does not know you. What is it you wish?"

"I need the services of a Recorder," I said. "I am Rikardon; this is Thymas."

"Do you both wish to pay Somil for his services?"

The girl had large eyes and she tilted her face up to look directly at me.

"If he can do what I wish, I will pay him," I said.

"Then only you may enter," she said. She turned her dark gaze on Thymas. "You must go away."

I wouldn't want to be the one to say that to Thymas, I thought as I watched the boy's face darken.

"Thymas will stay with me," I said. "The information I seek is important to him, as well."

"But only one may seek," she said, as patient as a teacher with a child. "The one who pays."

The room behind the girl was the midhall which ran straight through to the back of the house, with rooms and stairways opening from it into the other parts of the house. A shadow moved on the part of the wood-panelled wall I could see.

"Then we will find another Recorder," I said, dragging Thymas away from the doorway, "to help us find Kä.-

Thymas nearly had apoplexy, but the ploy worked. A tall and thin old man, his head totally bald, snatched the front door away from the girl and stepped up to the sill.

He smiled ingratiatingly and said: "Kä will cost you."

I reached into my pouch and brought out two of the Eddartan gold pieces, which I had earlier removed from my belt. I held them up, spread so that he could see that there were two.

"This is the price I'll pay," I said. "No haggling."

I knew full well, from the flash of eagerness the old man had let me see when he came to the door, that he would have done it for nothing. Ricardo was familiar with the passion of the educated for more knowledge. He was also familiar with the need of a shrewd businessman to maintain that image.

"Agreed," Somil said, and held out his hand.

I took Thymas's hand and put the coins in it.

"He will pay you—after I get the information I came for."

Somil drew his hand back, his wide-set dark eyes flashing from under his supraorbital ridge. "Who has told you I am a thief?" he demanded. His indignation was so sincere that I was taken aback.

"No one," I said, wondering if Grallen hadn't meant just that. "But someone has told me that not all Recorders have equivalent skills. Would you commission a set of dishes from a potter whose work you've never seen—and pay in advance?"

He made a choking sound, repeated it, and then burst out laughing. He stepped aside. "Come into my home, gentlemen, please. It is rare that I face a challenge and have a good laugh on the same day. A potter," he said again, laughing as we stepped through the doorway. "Indeed, a potter."

He led us through the midhall to the last door on the right, leaving the tiny girl to close the door. The room we entered was small and bare of any furniture besides four armchairs surrounding a small, tile-inlaid table. A second doorway, hung with a heavy tapestry, opened in the wall nearer the front of the house.

The three of us sat down in the chairs, and another young woman, dressed as the first was in a plain dark gown of a clingy fabric, brought us a cool drink flavored with herbs. As she bent over the table to place the third glass in front of Somil, his hand stroked her side, hip and thigh. She suppressed a giggle, looked at him with adoration, and fled the room.

I stared after her. Neither she nor the other girl could have been over fifteen years old.

I looked back at Somil and found his gaze directly on me.

"Whatever you may think of my lifestyle," he said pointedly, "I am a Recorder and I take the actual work of my profession as seriously as any of those who make the pretentious claim that virtue and skill are equivalent. There are - operational rules which I will not violate. Only the Recorder and the seeker may be present," he said, a slight movement of his head indicating the tapestried doorway behind him. "Your friend may wait out here, if he likes, as long as he understands that to interrupt our session may be fatal to both of us."

"What do you mean, 'fatal?" Thymas demanded.

"I mean fatal, as in dead or dying," Somil answered. "A Recorder builds a bridge, makes a connection with the All- Mind, and leads the seeker across. Both of us will be gone for the duration of the session. An interruption destroys the bridge, and the All-Mind has grown by two, do you see?"

"I see that if there is such danger, I should be the seeker," Thymas said flatly.

"No, I must go," I said, astonished that I had come to think of this mental exercise as a physical journey.

"There is another condition," Somil said. "If you knew precisely what you seek, you would have no need to seek it. Therefore you cannot tell me, precisely," he emphasized, "what you want, and if I do not know it, I cannot guarantee it. I will do what you ask of me, and I will be paid, in good faith, for doing only what you ask of me. Any error in the request is your own responsibility."

"We agree to your terms," I said.

"Rikardon," Thymas protested. "I do not like this."

"Trusting, is he not?" Somil said. "Decide. Will you seek?"

His manner changed again in those last three words. When he had come to the door, he had been a showman. On entering this room, he had become a nuts-and-bolts professional. Now he was almost mystic, the holder of secrets, the guardian of truth.

The All-Mind may not be a god to the Gandalarans, I thought, but the Recorders hold a place equivalent to that of "high priest" in Ricardo's world.

I felt myself responding to the sense of ritual, and from Markasset's memory came the words which acknowledged Somil's transformation. "I will seek, Recorder," I said.

The old man rose silently and held back the tapestry for me to enter the inner room. Thymas grabbed at my arm, but I pressed his hand reassuringly, and then removed it. I went into the dim room, which fell into near blackness when the door curtain swept back into place. I stood still until my eyes adjusted. The room was fairly small, with dark-paned lattice windows along one wall—the sole source of light. Against the doorway and inner walls were wide ledges with thick pallets. Somil was seated on one; he motioned me to the other.

"What do you seek?" he asked.

I remembered what he had said about asking the right question, so I thought a moment before I said anything. "Show me where Kä was built," I said, "and where it is today."

"One may follow from the other," he said, "but be warned: the All-Mind knows only what men have known. Do you understand?"

"I understand, Recorder."

He waved slightly, and lay full-length on his pallet. I followed suit, fighting a wave of panic. I had come this far because some instinct had told me that Somil could do this, but suddenly I had second thoughts.

"What troubles you?" Somil asked, and I jumped. "How do you know I am troubled, Recorder?"

"You breathe shallowly; I see your hand clenching the edge of the pallet. You must be calm when we enter the All-Mind. Speak your fears, that I may put them to rest."

There was richness to his voice, a timbre that was familiar—I had heard it in Tarani's voice while she worked for healing. It was strongly hypnotic, and I felt myself becoming calmer as Somil spoke.

I could resist this, I thought, just as I can resist Tarani's skill. But if I let my non-Gandalaran mind resist this, I might make it impossible for Somil to make his link. I have chosen to use this Gandalaran power; I must let myself be Gandalaran.

I let the peace wash over me.

"What do you fear?" Somil asked again.

"I fear being in your power," I said.

"I use my power only in your service," he said, and I believed him. "What else do you fear?"

"That you will see secrets in my mind," I said. I was vaguely conscious that my voice was slurred with relaxation. Part of me was surprised that I was speaking so frankly, but the lethargy had settled in too far to allow me to be alarmed.

"I will share with you what I see in the All-Mind, but I will not share your thoughts. What I learn of the All-Mind in your seeking is mine to keep or to give. Whatever I may learn of you will remain yours. He paused for a moment. "You are still afraid. Tell me."

"I fear the All-Mind will not admit me," I said.

"That has never happened," he replied, "but there is no danger in it. We would merely stop the seeking. Are you feeling calmer now?"

"Yes, Recorder."

"Then make your mind one with mine, as I have made mine one with the All-Mind . . ."

I stared into the darkness behind my closed eyelids and waited. There was a sliding sensation, a wrenching tug, and then I seemed to be in the midst of a network of brilliance.

. . . We begin! said Somil's mindvoice.

I felt no sense of my own substance. I was merely a location from which I could observe, but not act. The physical equivalent of that sensation would have disturbed me deeply, but here it promoted a feeling of security and calm in the face of overwhelming strangeness.

I knew I was "seeing" not the All-Mind itself, but a visual representation of it. The place that was me, enclosed and protected by the place that was Somil, began to move along one spoke of what seemed to be a geometrist's fantasy. Shining and translucent, cylinders of light joined an unplanned pattern of points that threaded through a three-dimensional shape that was roughly spherical. Some of the cylinders were short, others long. The only perceptible logic of the pattern was that the ragged, interconnected spines of light moved outward from the center of the sphere. Somil and I seemed to be toward the outer edge of the sphere, which was marked by an amorphous radiance into which the outermost cylinders disappeared. We had begun to move inward, seeking the congested core of the All-Mind.

I wondered if the All-Mind "looked" like this to everyone, or if this were Somil's interpretation of it, or mine.

It is your vision, Somil's mindvoice said, and I thank you for it. I shall see it this way always.

The shining spokes were everywhere. They flashed by us, the only source of awareness that we were moving. The spoke we followed joined another, and another, until we were enclosed in a shining, three-dimensional maze.

How do you find your way? I asked Somil.

Hush, he warned, I must concentrate.

Even though all my own perceptions came through Somil, I realized that I was observing independently. In an effort to understand what he was seeing, I "watched" Somil more closely, focusing on his mindvoice and closing off my own awareness of the glowing cylinders. I had felt as if I were floating beside the cylinders without "touching" them. Somil did seem to touch them; it was as if they were tracks which he rode, and he was holding me away from direct contact with them.

I forced my consciousness into closer bond with Somil, trying to see what he was seeing. I caught the barest glimpse, and my mind jerked backward, reeling from the impressions I had shared with Somil.

As if we had physical presence, my reaction pulled at Somil, snapping him away from the cylinder he was following. Our linked minds went spinning through the emptiness that was not black, nor white, nor even space, merely a place between shining cylinders. Panic and guilt and vertigo swept through me, so that I was barely conscious of Somil's mindvoice, speaking to me with surprising calm—surprising because, when I did sense the sound and focused on it, I could also sense fear in the Recorder.

"Come closer, as you did then," he advised me. "Join with me, or we are both lost."

Somil's voice soothed my panic. I did the mental equivalent of closing my eyes and hanging on to him for dear life, and our dizzying whirl slowed. I sensed, but did not watch, Somil reaching out for a cylinder, establishing a tenuous contact, and gradually guiding us along that contact. I knew when we were close enough to touch the cylinder, and fear churned up in me again.

"It will not be the same," Somil assured me. "We will touch only a single moment. I will not move again until you have withdrawn."

He waited until he knew I had control and was ready, and then he "landed" on the cylinder.

I was standing at the edge of a harvested grain field, kicking at the dry dirt and worrying about next year's crop. The yield, and the income from it, had been the smallest ever. I hated the watermaster, but I knew he was right about the ground drying out. If I paid him for water, would next year's - crop be bigger enough to give me more profit? Or would I end up like all the rest, owing him so much that, piece by piece, he would begin to own this stretch of ground that had supported my ancestors? What else could I do? We could move—I, and my wife, and our two daughters—but we could not take the land with us, and any land that would still grow crops was sure to be occupied. And I had no other skills. Visions of my family in rags, my girls working as household help or toiling in someone else's fields tortured me.

Somil pushed me gently away from the cylinder, and I came free of the memory I had shared with the nameless farmer. I had a moment of disorientation, a flash of anger, a devastating sense of loss, and then I was whole again and I understood what had happened.

"How can you stand it?' I asked the Recorder, as we began to move along this cylinder, aiming as before toward the center of the spherical mass of tangled light.

"I am trained for it," Somil replied. And it does not affect me in the same way. What you have experienced, I have only viewed."

Professional detachment—it made sense. In the instant when I had recoiled, throwing us off-course, we had been traveling at what seemed to be tremendous speed, and Somil had been "dipping" into the cylinders, each one of which was the life memories of a single individual. By "looking" at those memories at intervals, Somil kept his bearings of "where" and "when" we were, and flashing instants of contact were all he needed to guide him. I had not been prepared for what I saw when I joined him, and those brief touches had been for me, as Somil said, a succession of different identities, men and women at all life stages, complete with problems and joy and grief and terror—some of the last my own, as I lost touch with myself and feared I could never regain my own identity.

"Will it be like that when we find Kä?" I asked. We were moving rapidly through the All-Mind now, but I noticed that we no longer swept toward the center, but were following spoke connections, roughly arcing around the densest part of the All-Mind.

"We have found it," he said, slowing. "This woman lived in Kä," he murmured, "born there to slave parents, lived all her life as a slave. She knows only that Kä is surrounded by desert." We moved past a joining, glided along more cylinders. I sensed that Somil was concentrating deeply, so I kept quiet. "More slaves," he said. "Ah, here is a merchant . . . he thinks of Raithskar and Omergol as an equal distance away from lat. Does that help?"

"A little," I said. "How much distance?"

"Eight caravan-days," he said.

"That will help me find the general area," I said, "but I was hoping for something more specific."

The Recorder hesitated.

"What is it?" I asked.

"The answer to your earlier question," Somil replied. "It is the common thing to allow you to share memory with someone who knew what you wish to know. Yet, in my experience, no one has been so profoundly affected by that sharing as you are. There could be danger for you in this."

"There could also be great learning?" I asked.

His mindvoice did not hesitate. "The most powerful kind of learning," he agreed. "Will you seek in this manner?"

I thought about it, and decided that, if I let myself in for this, I didn't want to do it twice, and I didn't want to waste the chance. "Only if I may share memory with Zanek, the First King," I told Somil.

Chapter 10

The Recorder's presence shivered with excitement. "I will search for him," he said, and we headed more toward the center again, moving dizzyingly fast.'

"Are you afraid I will change my mind?" I asked.

The Recorder responded to the words, but not to the intended humor. "I sense your commitment to learn of Zanek,"

He assured me, "and I know you sense my eagerness to share your learning. There is a time factor involved—we must leave the All-Mind soon."

"But we've been here only moments!" I protested.

"So it would seem," he said, still guiding us rapidly along a shining spoke. "But the mind and the body experience time differently, and our bodies suffer from our absence. When it is time, we shall go. I need no agreement from you in this; my judgment rules. Is that understood?"

I was beginning to get excited as well. I did not know whether Zanek's memories would give me any more information than I already had about where I could find Kä today, but the prospect of getting to know the First King as a person, rather than a legend, was an attractive one. Before going to Eddarta, all I had known of Zanek was that he had organized the far-scattered cities of Gandalara into a peaceful kingdom. In Eddarta, my respect for his wisdom had tripled, as I learned that he had possessed the Ra'ira and had used its telepathic power only in beneficial ways—a testament to his strength and incorruptibility.

Yes, I decided, even if I had time for only a taste of the man's true nature, it would be worth it.

"I understand," I assured Somil.

"Good," he said. I noticed we had slowed our progress in the few seconds my deliberation had taken. "Rikardon, meet Zanek."

Somil must have been exercising some undetectable control, because I didn't invest *self quite so completely in Zanek's memories as I had, for example, in those of the young and desperate farmer. Enough detachment remained for me to retain a sense of my own identity, so that what I saw through Zanek's eyes and in his self-knowledge had some of the quality of watching a live-action, all-surrounding movie. That detachment was amplified by the fact that I was not allowed to become Zanek, but was pulled along his life memory by Somil. I shared moments of his experience that were sequential but not contiguous—rather like reading an intimate, anecdotal biography of the man. The final cause of difference between this sharing and the others was that I had some preconceptions about Zanek, and I was constantly comparing fact against expectation—with some startling surprises.

Zanek came from Raithskar.

And he was a Rider.

And it was he who had discovered what the Ra'ira could do. . . .

I was shaking inside, staring at the woman whose hand I held, shivering with the joy and the strangeness. I had shared thought before—did I not share every moment of my existence, now, with Skerral, the sha'um whose friendship I had won in the Valley? But it had never been like this, to see the thoughts of another person, to feel Mira's love reaching out to me. I had hoped for her caring, of course—I had brought the strange blue stone, discovered by my father in the rakor mine, as a betrothal gift. I put my hand over the pouch in which I carried the stone, felt its shape pressing into my palm and thigh.

Mira moved closer to me. We were sitting on the edge of the low stone fence that surrounded the vegetable garden behind her father's farmhouse. "Is something wrong, Zanek?" she said.

I knew, then, that she could not see my thoughts as I saw hers, and my wonder was such that I could not even speak to her. I fumbled with the drawstring of the pouch, hoping the presentation of the gift would make words unnecessary.

My hand was stilled by an awareness that Mira's father was approaching us. There was no word, no sound—but I knew he was behind me, and I stood to face him. He was a burly man, a farmer, unschooled and rough. It had taken no special skill for him to see how I felt about his daughter, or for me to see how little he approved of my feelings.

Mira had stood up beside me, her hand tightening on mine. Philon's sharp eyes had not missed the action, and I was swept up in a storm of emotion—anger with me and fear of losing Mira, jealousy, an unexpected sense of his own inadequacy in the face of my education, suspicious awe of my bond with Skerral, and through it all, determination that I should not be the one to claim Mira as wife.

I thought, he is stubborn and afraid, but he cannot rule Mira's life. I know she loves me, but she will not come to me willingly without his consent. He will consent—for his good, and hers, and mine—he will consent.

I believed that fiercely, as if holding my conviction strongly - enough would convince Mira's father. Philon was moving toward us slowly and I saw the change expressed in his features even as I felt it in his emotions. The grim look faded from his face, to be replaced by one of resignation, mingled with confusion. His fear and jealousy was still reaching me, but faintly, as if they were being suppressed.

"I have it in mind, boy," the big man said, "that you want to marry my daughter."

Beside me, Mira caught her breath in surprise and fear.

"Yes, sir, and you have my promise to care for her well."

"Does she wish it?" he asked, then addressed the question directly to her. "Do you want to marry this landless wanderer, girl?"

-I want that very much, father," Mira said, strength and pride in her voice, her underlying puzzlement at the change in her father reaching me clearly.

"Then He stopped, frowned.

I concentrated harder, thinking "You will consent. You will consent."

"I will consent," he said, then turned and walked away.

I stared after him, silent and terrified, until Mira pulled at my hand. "You have not asked me, you know," she said shyly. I could feel her surprise at her father's sudden attitude reversal fading. In its place was growing a joy so sweet and piercing that I could not bear it—because it was denied to me.

I could still feel an oddness from Philon's retreating figure. He knew what he had done; he understood the consequences, but he was beginning to wonder why he had done it.

I was beginning to know why, and the knowledge frightened me.

I turned to Mira and mumbled some kind of apology, softened the shock with a quick embrace, and ran away.

It was nearly a year later. I had run, not only from Mira, but from Raithskar, confused by the awesome mindgift I had acquired so suddenly. I had ridden from one end of the world to the other, at first driven by fear of my own power and then by curiosity. For I had found a sameness in all parts of the world—a physical pattern of less water and drier earth, a social pattern of envy and conflict between men and cities. I had learned to appreciate Raithskar, secure from attack by wild vineh because of its high walls, secure from attack by its neighbors because of the presence of the Riders, men who had dared to face the Alkhum crossing and the uncertain fate of the Valley for the sake of that rare prize, a sha'um friendship .

I had learned, too, that the gift was not solely mine, but linked to the strange blue stone, which no one had seen besides my father. When I had it with me, I could read the thoughts of other people; when I was more than a certain distance away from it, the skill disappeared. I had performed tests, and discovered that I could control another's thoughts, much more subtly than I had done with Philon. The power horrified me, and I had spent much time in learning to control my own thoughts, to prevent inadvertent influence over others.

I had returned to Raithskar with a firm purpose, and I had just presented that purpose to a meeting of all the Riders in the city. The Ra'ira, as I had come to call the blue stone, was in my pouch, and I scanned the thoughts of the members of the group. I saw some who saw my proposal as a means to personal power, and these names I noted to myself. For the most part, however, I was gratified to see that I had impressed most of them with my own sense of destiny, my conviction that we held the future of the world in our hands— and I knew that my words, and not my thoughts, had convinced them.

From Raithskar, the Sharith had scattered to cities and villages and isolated farmhouses on both sides of the world, carrying the message—you are not alone in your suffering; sharing, not conflict, is the only solution. The fact that the message arrived on the back of a sha'um was a subtle statement of power that required that the message be taken seriously. Representatives from almost every city and village had come to Raithskar—some out of fear, some out of curiosity, a few out of desperation—to meet with me.

It was the third day of the meeting, and the stiff formality of the first day had vanished. The group sat at or milled around the tables which had been set up in the city's square for this purpose and laid with refreshments. These representatives had agreed, in principle, on the need to share resources; most of them were now haggling over trade rates. Objections were shouted, quarrels settled with fists. Riders, - stationed as guards around the square, looked at me for permission to interfere, but I withheld it. I moved around and through the crowd, my hand on the Ra'ira, and I searched for truth .

For the most part, the men who were speaking for their cities had honorable intentions. There were a few who were, in fact as well as in appearance, truly representing the ruling authority of their home cities. I felt a lot of outright greed and scheming in the crowd, but more frequently an undirected sense that the situation was a fair opportunity, if one could figure out how to use it.

At start, I called the group to order through the simple expedient of calling Skerral into the square and mounting him. All eyes turned to me.

"Go home," I said. "And take this message with you. A new age has arrived, one in which every Gandalaran will share, rather than take, cooperate rather than be conquered. I and the Sharith will be the body of law to enforce peace in the land—any man who takes arms against another endangers us all, and thus will take the risk of facing a sha'um.

"The city of Raithskar was gracious enough to host this meeting, at a tremendous cost in food and inconvenience. That will not be necessary again. My Riders and I will start a new settlement, at the edge of the Great Pleth. Tell your people that anyone who is willing to work at farming or building is welcome to join us there—especially those whose land has dried to worthlessness.

"Within the next three moons, my Riders will come again to your cities, bearing word whether each of you here today will be permitted to represent your cities at future meetings. Most of you will be invited to the next meeting in six moons, which will be held in the new city, to be called Kä. But those of you who harbor secret thoughts of personal gain will be dismissed from representation, as will any successor with the same motives, until every settlement in Gandalara is represented by honest and dedicated people."

I resolved, as I rode from the square, to conceal myself near Raithskar's gate and make written notes of what I learned from the representatives as they passed through on their way to their homes. It would take some time to assure the honest representation I wanted, but I was sure it would happen. For now, I let Skerral carry me out through the gate; I -lay forward against his furred back and let his joy in running lighten the weight of the responsibility I had undertaken.

Four years had passed, and everything had gone well. The Riders, whose loyalty to me and to my vision never ceased to touch me deeply, had barely begun to build the smallish settlement we planned when people started to arrive from the areas nearby. It had become quickly apparent that the city's growth would result in chaos if ungoverned, and I had suddenly become not only a builder, but an administrator, responsible for planning decisions and records maintenance— who had come, where they lived, what they promised  Kä The price of admission for everyone had been a portion of time or skill devoted to what was soon dubbed "government city," and Kä had been built with truly unbelievable swiftness. Water channeled from the Pleth turned the waste of white sand into a green and fertile oasis.

Three years after our arrival at Kä, Skerral had left me. Now it was more than a year since, and I was sitting in the sand block shelter in which the sha'um had slept, facing the terrifying thought that Skerral would not come back.

I reached into my pouch and drew out the Ra'ira. Not once, since the short-term experimentation in which I had indulged after the experience with Mira's father, had I attempted control through the Ra'ira, but I had used it often to see into the minds of others, with specific purpose: to find my enemies, and learn how to make friends of them; to detect problems before they festered beyond reasonable solution .

Now I contemplated using the power of the stone for my own gain. Perhaps, with its aid, I could reach through the blankness that blocked my contact with Skerral, and end this torturous uncertainty. It was my purpose, I told myself, merely to find out if he would return to me.

I lay down on the floor of the shelter, clutched the Ra'ira tightly in my hand, and projected my thoughts in search of Skerral. I found him in the Valley, with his mate and cubs. His mind was strangely different now, ruled by instinct and physical need, and I sensed an enviable contentment in him.

I also sensed that, while he did not think of me, he had not forgotten me. The mindlink we had shared was still there, suppressed though it was by the life needs which had drawn him back to the Valley. I realized then that I had deceived myself. It was long past the usual time when Skerral should have returned; I had already known, though could not admit that whatever factors caused a sha'um to abandon his Rider had occurred for Skerral.

*You are wrong,* Skerral said clearly.

It was as if the thinking creature had lifted itself from the animal and turned its face to look at me directly. I was shocked, and oddly shamed, as though I had been caught eavesdropping. My joy in renewing the mind bond swept away those feelings for a moment, and then was checked by my recognition of what the sha'um had said.

*How am I wrong?* I asked.

*I choose,* he said. *I will stay.*

*Why?* I asked, bewildered and not a little frightened. Had I found Skerral only to lose him again?

As was always the case, the sha'um was sensitive to my feelings as well as my thoughts, and sadness and resignation radiated from him as he answered me.

*People need you,* he said. *Not together.*

Understanding crushed down on me. Building and running a new city and a new government at the same time had been an all-consuming job, and my "runs" with Skerral had been infrequent these past few years. I had learned to accept a place in life which forbade intimate friendships—the Sharith thought of me as a part of them, but our tasks jay in different areas. Through all the increasing isolation, the sha'um's mind- presence had been comfort and support for me—the thought of living the remainder of my life without it was terrifying.

*Please come back,* I pleaded with the sha'um. *I need you.*

*Still here,* Skerral said. *In Valley.*

*You mean we can still talk to one another, even though you're in the Valley and I am in Kä?*

*yes,* the sha'um answered.

I tried to believe it was possible, but I could not. The Valley would stimulate the sha'um's life instincts, gradually weaken and destroy our bond. And I would be alone.

*Come back!* I said desperately. *Come back!*

Skerral's mind recoiled from mine, shocking me into awareness. Unconsciously, I had been using the influence power of the Ra'ira, sending a message, not of need, but of compulsion.

*Skerral, I am sorry!* I told the sha'um, deliberately eliminating any taste of compulsion fromthe communication. *I did not mean—please, I do need you. Come back to Kä.*

*No,* Skerral said, and there was still a sense of greater distance between us. *Link will fade,* he said, agreeing with my earlier thought. *Better end now. Sorry.*

And he was gone, closed to me, totally immersed in hunting food for his family. Frantic with guilt and loss, I clutched the Ra'ira with the impulse to force a reopening of the link. Two things stopped me.

First, a glimmer of rationality considered the fact that compulsion had not affected Skerral earlier, and probably would have no effect now.

Second, my regard for Skerral finally found its way through the maze of need that had gripped me. In the Valley, Skerral had the close companionship of his family. His return to Kä would deprive him of that, and no substitute could replace it.

In spite of this terrible cost, above all personal needs and private horrors, one truth had never wavered: I was the first King of Gandalara, not solely by contrivance or by destiny, but by choice and commitment. Even had he come back, I could have spared little time for physical companionship with Skerral.

I resolved, in that moment, that no one—no man, and no sha'um-would ever be forced to face these choices again. There would come a time when a means to determine my successor must be detailed. Among those criteria would be a restriction: future Kings of Gandalara could not be drawn from the Sharith.

Chapter 11

Somil pulled me away from Zanek, saying: "We must go now."

In spite of our earlier conversation, I protested.

"No! Did he ever marry, ever find any personal happiness? What did the Sharith say about the restriction he proposed? - Did he ever see Skerral again, or share a mindlink?"

Somil's mind carried me firmly and swiftly along the glowing spokes, outward from the center of the All-Mind. "We cannot stay," he said, with true regret. "But I sense that you already know the answers to your questions.”

I considered that. Yes, I did—they were implicit in what I had learned about Zanek and his life in those few contacts. He would remain isolated, bestowing all his love and energy on the newly founded Kingdom. I knew that Skerral's withdrawal had been final; it was only sympathy for the lonely and dedicated man that had let me hope for any change there. And as for the Sharith. .

Suddenly the Bronze and the other sword made sense. The Sharith had been, in Zanek's time as now, fiercely proud. Zanek would have known that, even with full explanation of the reasons for his action, the Sharith -might have seen his prohibition of future Sharith Kings as an ungrateful and disloyal act, and a waste of the best resources available.

He would have taken great care to reaffirm the importance of the Sharith to the Kingdom. Had I been Zanek. .

I could see the plan progressing secretly through the later years of Zanek's life. Using only people whose silence he could trust—as only Zanek could know such a thing—he would have ordered the forging of two swords made of rakor, and he would have commissioned the huge bronze plaque, possibly traveling to Eddarta personally to guide the imprinting of its special message.

Back in Kä, he would have begun his search for a successor, touching the minds of young people, seeking not only a basic mindgift but integrity and responsibility. Those he thought suitable, he would have brought before the Bronze. The person who read it most easily and was moved by its message to vow sincerely the commitment required to be King, would have been chosen by Zanek as his successor. -

He would have called a formal, festive meeting to announce who his successor would be. He would have carried the Ra'ira in plain sight, as he would have done for some time. It must have been seen in his possession frequently throughout the years, but Zanek's carefully limited use of its power would have allowed it to gain the reputation of only a symbol. The room would have been large, palatial. One wall would have needed full covering by movable drapes, and there must have been a platform or table, also draped. The civil leaders of the city, representatives of other cities, and several Sharith (including the Captain, of course) would have been present in the audience hall.

Zanek would have restated the purpose of the meeting—to inform the Kingdom of the identity of his successor. (It is not unlikely that the Captain would have moved slightly at that point, looking over the Sharith in the room, speculating on which man would be the next King.) The King would have given the criteria for his choice: a person young enough to receive extensive training before assuming responsibility; a person filled with commitment; a person who was not a Rider. (Shock would have run through the company, more than the Sharith having expected that the choice lay with them.)

Zanek would have recounted his personal tragedy, but only in passing. He would have stressed the point that the Kingdom needed both leadership and power, and that King and Sharith must be forever separate, but forever bound to one another. He would have called the Captain to his side, then, and undraped the wonderful, valuable, shining swords, displayed so that the entire company could see them. Perhaps Zanek would have offered the Captain his choice of swords, then gripped the hilt of the other for himself. Zanek would have given everyone time to see the significance of the symbolism— King and Captain with identical 'swords unique to the Kingdom—and then he would have asked the Captain to stand against the draped wall for a moment, with the rakor sword having replaced the bronze sword in his baldric.

The Captain would have stood there proudly while Zanek placed the Ra'ira on a small table toward the other end of the wall, leaving a large blank space in the center of the drape. Then Zanek would have faced the company again, and called the name of his chosen successor. The boy would have appeared from the far doors, and walked with quiet dignity among the staring eyes.

Zanek would have uncovered the Bronze then, and asked the boy to read aloud the first part of the message hidden in the mass markings:

I greet thee in the name of the new Kingdom.

From chaos have we created order. 

From strife have we enabled peace 

From greed have we encouraged sharing.

Not I alone, but the Sharith have done this. 

Not we done, but the Ra'ira has done this.

Zanek would have told the group that there was more of the message, that the reading of it would be part of the test for those who would follow himself and the boy, and that it clearly directed the respect of the King for the Sharith would have said that, on the day the boy took from Zanek's hand the blue stone and the gleaming sword—on that day, the boy would be King of Gandalara.

Thus Zanek would have vested such dignity and value in the Sharith that being prohibited from the Kingship would have seemed less insult than privilege.

"I require your attention," Somil's mindvoice said, sounding weary.

I withdrew from my speculation about Zanek, as sure of what I had guessed as if I had truly shared the memory. We were at the edge once more, the intensely bright core of the All-Mind far behind us; only the amorphous, concave, intangible inner surface of the glowing sphere looming close.

"Yes, Recorder," I said.

"Hold closely to me as we leave the All-Mind," Somil ordered, and I obeyed. "I shall withdraw our minds from the All-Mind," he said. Brilliance faded into absolute darkness. "And mine from yours," he added. I seemed to slide into something very cool, and emptiness appeared where Somil's mindvoice had been.

I opened my eyes. The dimness of the room seemed to have a different quality. I looked around and found that no daylight came through the narrow windows, but a shaded lamp stood on a ledge below them, casting only a little candle glow into the darkness. I was very cold; my arms responded sluggishly, the skin tingling, as I brought them over my chest to enfold some warmth.

"Do not rise," Somil said. His voice was weak, but still had that commanding quality. I saw his arm reach out to a table near him, and heard a soft, mellow tone—a chime of some sort.

The drape was moved aside immediately, and the two young girls hurried in, one carrying a tray of food, the other a fully bright lamp. They set down what they carried and came to kneel beside us. The girl who had opened the front door tended me, massaging my arms and legs briskly, helping me to sit, offering me a dish of steaming rafel. Hunger nearly doubled me over when I smelled the food, and I ate it greedily. Somil was attacking his dish with equal ardor.

"How long—" I began.

"It is nearly dawn," the girl beside me said. "It is the longest dear Somil has been away; we feared greatly for you both." The girl beside the Recorder did not touch him as he ate, but her eager expression made me think that a massage and a hot meal were not the only rituals of renewal Somil demanded after a trip to the All-Mind. The expression changed to surprise and hurt when Somil pushed her gently off his resting ledge and asked both girls to leave the room. They protested, but went.

Somil looked at me across the food tray.

"It is rare that I learn so much of the seeker," he said slowly, "or that what I do learn only leads to greater mysteries. It is fitting that you should seek out Zanek—for are you not, as he was, a man committed to his destiny?"

My hands tightened on the bowl I held.

"Do you know what my destiny is?" I whispered, but my hopes fell when he shook his head.

"The future is yet unformed," Somil said. "I cannot say why or how it is given to some men to guide its forming, but I have seen it, in Zanek. I have met it, in you."

There was a commotion at the doorway, the voices of the girls protesting and another voice speaking angrily—Thymas. "I hear their voices," Thymas said. "I have to talk to him. Stand away!"

"Can you rise?" Somil asked me urgently. I nodded. "Then go and calm him," he ordered. "He must not enter this room." I stood up, a little shakily, and stretched my arm to the wall for support as I moved toward the doorway. "I say again, Rikardon, that what I have learned of you remains yours."

I turned at the doorway and said: "Thank you, Recorder." Then I shoved aside the tapestry and stepped into the anteroom, colliding with one of the girls who blocked the doorway.

Thymas had drawn his sword, but the girls had called his bluff and held their ground. Relief flooded into his face when he saw me.

"Rikardon, we have to go back to Thagorn. Right away." He put away his sword, without apology, and drew a many- folded slip of paper from where it had been tucked into his belt. There was a solid deliberateness to his actions that was more alarming than his normal barely controlled wildness. "The messenger found me here just after nightfall," he said. "I did not dare disturb you, but when I heard voices . . ."

I took the paper from him—the pattern of its folds was typical of a message sent in the breast-packet of a maufa, the Gandalaran message bird—and opened it, stepping away from the door as Somil emerged from the inner room.

It was a hasty scrawl that said as much, and was as unsettling, in its disarray as in its words:

Thymus

You are Lieutenant.

Dharak

"Is this Dharak's writing?" I asked the boy. He nodded. "Then let's get going," I said.

"Not before I am paid," said Somil. He was leaning against the wall, one arm around a girl, the other extended toward us.

Thymas muttered something, drew out the two gold coins, and dropped them on Somil's open palm. "Thank you," Somil said, closing his hand around the coins. "Do come again, if I can be of service." His words and manner were cynical, but I heard sincerity in them, and touched his shoulder in farewell before I turned to follow Thymas out into the street.

We dashed into Grallen's hotel and stayed only long enough to retrieve our bags and pay the extra night's rent on the room. Then we ran down the stair-stepped entry avenue and out of Omergol. Ronar was waiting for us; we mounted and started for Thagorn.

*Keeshah,* I called. Is anything wrong? What's happening there?*

I had wakened him; his mindvoice was sleepy. *Nothing wrong,* he said. *Female always hungry.*

I let him drift away, back into his sleep.

"Keeshah can't tell me what's wrong," I said. "Yayshah's fine; that's all he cares about right now."

"Thank you for asking," Thymas shouted back.

I could feel the tension in the boy's body.

"Lighten up," I urged him. "You'll wear Ronar out before noon.

Only consideration for his sha'um could have penetrated his fear, but I felt him nod and make an effort to relax. I patted his leg in an effort to offer some comfort.

I knew what he was thinking, and it scared me, too. The only way I knew for Thymas to become Lieutenant was through Dharak's death.

Chapter 12

Ronar, of course, was sensitive to Thymas's distress and urgent need to reach Thagorn, and the sha'um pushed himself to his limits. Thymas had left Somil's house briefly, during the night, to gather supplies for the trip, and I could only admire the common sense of his planning. The bags we had retrieved from the Green Sha'um Inn contained a small portion of food for him and me—cooked meat, bread, small fruits—but by far their major load was in chunks of raw meat wrapped in oiled cloth. They were no more than mouthfuls to Ronar, but in combination with a recent full meal, they were adequate to sustain a minimum energy level in the sha'um.

We ran straight to Thagorn, taking frequent but very short rests. The shock of Thymas's news had driven out the fatigue I had felt on returning from the All-Mind, but it caught up with me quickly, so that I spent the greater part of the trip in an unsatisfying half-doze. At midmorning of the next day, a shout from Thymas opened Thagorn's gates for us, and Ronar delivered us to the door of Dharak's house.

We slid to the ground from the sha'um's back as Shola came running out the front door. As anxious as Thymas was - to get some answers, he took a moment to caress the panting cat in gratitude for his effort. Then he turned to meet his mother and hold her tenderly until the spasm of sobbing passed.

Tarani waited in the doorway, greeting me with a nod and a sad smile. Shola took Thymas's hand and led him into the house, Tarani moving ahead of them. I followed.

Dharak was in a corner of the room that served as a parlor. He was sitting very still and looking out the lattice-paned window at the river. What he was seeing was beyond our guessing. His face was smooth and blank. Only the slight, regular, usually unnoticed movements of breathing told us he was alive.

Thymas went slowly to kneel by his father. He touched the thick white hair, so like his own, smoothing it back from the pointed window's peak in the center of Dharak's forehead. He pressed the old man's hand and spoke his name. There was no response.

Without moving from his father's side, Thymas whispered: "What happened?"

Shola clasped her hands tightly. "He flew into a mad rage," she said. "He blundered about the house, striking walls and tables—not intending damage, I think, but simply not caring what was in his way. He went to his desk and wrote that note to you, then screamed for Bareff until he came. After he had given orders for the letter to be sent, he . . . faded to the way you see him now.

"He goes where he is led, eats and relieves himself when directed, sleeps—or, at least, lies quietly abed—when he is told." Her hands began to twist together, as if they were doing it without her knowledge. "I am so glad you have returned, Thymas. It has never been like this before—terrible, yes, but not like this."

"Before?" I echoed. "This has happened before?"

"Not this precisely," Shola answered. "But yes, of course— this is not the first time Doran has left for the Valley of the Sha'um."

Thymas jumped to his feet. "Doran gone? But it is too soon. I remember the last time—it was only five years ago, was it not, mother?"

She nodded, and burst into sobs again. Tarani moved to her and put an arm around her shoulders; the older woman leaned gratefully against her.

A gnawing feeling had attacked my stomach and was working its way toward my toes and fingers. I ignored it, in full confidence that it would have its say soon.

"You yourself told me," I said to Thymas, "that the sha'um don't make their visits to the Valley on an absolutely predictable schedule. There is no calling Doran back. Take this," I said, pulling the many folded letter from my belt and giving it to him, "and find Bareff. You'll need to make plans."

The boy took the paper, nodded grimly, and left the room.

"The letter," Shola said, "I could not see what was in it before Dharak gave it to Bareff. What was in it?"

"Dharak named Thymas Lieutenant," I said gently. She gasped with surprise, and I touched her hand. "He may have meant the appointment to be permanent," I said, "but I doubt it. It sounds to me as though he knew he was not going to be able to function, and he wanted to give Thymas a sign of his confidence in him. When Doran returns, so will Dharak."

She caught my hand and clung to it. Her face showed the strain of her grief and fear; her eyes seemed to have sunk even farther under her prominent supraorbital ridge, and there was a grayish cast to her skin. "I am grateful you are here, Captain," she said, and went across the room to sit quietly by her husband.

Thymas burst into the room, Bareff hard on his heels. "I met Bareff coming to report to me," Thymas explained. He looked into my face and narrowed his eyes. "I think you have guessed the news he brings."

I sighed. "A lot of sha'um have left for the Valley in the past few days, right? Some of them much earlier than expected? Most of them older, sha'um who have been to the Valley at least once before?"

It was Bareff who answered. "The men were in all divisions, so it took us some time to notice the coincidence." He shrugged. "Figuring out why was the easy part."

Tarani moved into the center of the group, her manner defiant. It was clear to me that she had figured out what was happening, and had been preparing for this moment. "Yayshah was promised shelter until her cubs are delivered," she said, facing Thymas. "He spoke for the Sharith; we expect you to honor his word."

Before Thymas could answer, I asked Tarani: "When will the cubs be born?"

She hesitated a moment, and did not turn around when she answered. "I cannot say for certain."

"Two days?" I pressed. "A seven-day? A moon?"

She whirled on me then. "As long as it must be," she snapped, "we shall stay in Thagorn."

"Bareff," I asked, "how many sha'um are gone?"

He spent a second or two in thought, and then answered. "Twenty-two."

"That's more than a fifth of all the sha'um in Thagorn, Tarani," I said. I gestured at Dharak. "More than a fifth of all Riders—disabled from their duty, disturbed and miserable. What's more," I added, unsure whether either Thymas or Bareff had considered this, but needing to make my point with Tarani, "the season is wrong for their going. The females are bearing now; they won't tolerate mating for several moons. That means the sha'um will be gone for a longer time than usual, and there is a greater chance they won't return."

"Is Yayshah to be blamed for that?"

"Not 'blamed,' " I said.”But I believe her presence here caused it, by stimulating the physical need of the sha'um to seek out mates. So far, only those who have felt it before have been susceptible. The first to go would have been those who were closest to their regular time but, as you heard, Doran might have waited two more years, but for Yayshah. The longer we stay, the more the normal pattern will be skewed."

Thymas spoke up. "My father understood, when he granted the shelter you requested, that the effect of a female sha'um in Thagorn could not be predicted." He reached out, touched Tarani's arm, and dropped his hand. "You and Yayshah are Sharith now, and must consider the good of all. I will support Dharak's word, if you require it, at whatever risk to the rest of us. But I ask you to release us from his promise, and take Yayshah away from here."

Tarani seemed to consider his request for a moment, and then she shook her head. "Nothing is worth the cost of Yayshah's cubs—to force her to travel now would be dangerous for all of them." There was an odd trembling in her voice.

"Then it is settled," Thymas said, his shoulders slumping. He looked at his father with pity and fear. "Yayshah shall stay."

"For one more day," I said. "We will depart Thagorn tomorrow morning."

I did not give Tarani a chance to voice the protest she obviously intended.

"You said that asking Yayshah to move 'might' be dangerous for her cubs, Tarani. That possibility must be weighed against the certainty of further disruption of Thagorn. The promise of shelter here was mine, as well, but I'm Captain and responsible to and for the Sharith. Tell Yayshah we have to go.

"She cannot move," Tarani said flatly, her anger barely controlled.

*Keeshah,* I called. *I need to see what you see.* *Yes,* he agreed.

I reached out to him and blended into the closeness that was so sweet and pure and stirring that we could share it only for brief moments. For a few seconds, I was part of him, receiving the same sensory input, feeling the complicated blend of pride and contentment and good-natured grumpiness the presence of his mate stirred in him.

I saw Yayshah. She had torn and smashed and otherwise cleared away the ground cover and low bushes in a small area, to hollow out a sleeping nest. It was an obvious—and obviously unsatisfactory—imitation of the den in the Valley, where the taller, denser growth had provided a cavelike shelter. Keeshah was in the den, looking up as Yayshah lumbered through the opening. She was huge now, and she walked with a rocking motion to compensate for the balance shift caused by her swaying belly.

She came into the den, crouched awkwardly to rub her cheek and ear along Keeshah's shoulder, and flopped down on her side with her head across his hind legs. Keeshah stretched and yawned, kneaded her back gently with his forepaws, and relaxed again.

I broke the contact, both saddened and encouraged by what I had seen and warmed, as always, by the moment of closeness with Keeshah.

"Yayshah can walk," I said. "We will move slowly, both of us riding Keeshah, and stop frequently to let Keeshah hunt. If Yayshah's time comes, you will stop wherever we are, and care for her. But we leave Thagorn as soon as possible."

"She will not go," Tarani said again, trembling.

"She will go if you are convinced it is necessary," I replied. "Tarani, consider how deeply her wishes are affecting you. Her instincts demand a den—but if her instincts were all- powerful, she would never have left the Valley. Look beyond what she wants and try to see what she needs. Moving will make her unhappy, but I think the three of us can keep her—and the cubs—safe."

I had taken Tarani's hands in mine, trying desperately to convince her. I felt a deep and very personal commitment to the Sharith. I had been through, too recently, the abandonment of sha'um to be the cause of it for even one more Rider. I had put off our departure until morning out of a simple need for rest and for giving the sha'um a chance to get used to the idea.

I waited for Tarani to decide. If she refused to lead Yayshah out of Thagorn, there was only one other recourse—ask Thymas and the other riders to drive her out. I was not sure I could ask them to do that. I was not sure they would do it. I was sure that, no matter how I felt about the matter, Keeshah would defend her.

Please, Tarani, I begged silently. Please understand.

Her answer surprised me. She straightened her shoulders, withdrew her hands from mine, and said: "As Thymas said, I am Sharith now; as Captain you have the right to command this, and I will do as you say. She turned and walked out of the room and the house.

That will get us moving, I thought, but this trip may be more uncomfortable for me than for Yayshah.

"On behalf of the Sharith, I thank you, Rikardon," Thymas said, with more feeling than might be expected from the formal words. "I hope you will have not cause to regret your choice. We will, of course, provide whatever you need for your journey. Where will you go?"

"Toward Raithskar," I answered. "It may be possible to get there before the cubs arrive." I glanced at Dharak, thinking of Thanasset and looking forward to seeing "my" father again. "Shola, Thymas—I am sorry."

Thymas smiled—a little shakily at first, but finally with a glimmer of true good humor. "You made a sincere and reasoned judgment that happened to be a mistake," Thymas said. "Learn the lesson you tried to teach us, and do not accept more blame than you deserve."

"And please," added Shola, "remember the good you have done, as well." She stroked her husband's arm. "Dharak will come back to us when Doran returns," she said, projecting—or pretending—absolute sureness. "Thymas will be a better leader in the meantime, because you showed him his father's confidence in him."

Thomas's mother stood up and held out her arms to me. I embraced her; she stretched upward to kiss my cheek.

"You and Thymas have had a hurried and tiring trip back from Omergol. Rest now," she said. "I will see that food is packed for your journey.

Chapter 13

I would not care to relive the hour, just after dawn of the following day, in which Tarani and I convinced Yayshah and Keeshah to leave their den. Keeshah came outside readily, but with questions and dread in his mind.

*Why go?* he complained. *Comfortable. Cubs? Female? Safe?*

*I think so, Keeshah,* I said. *We'll take every care we can.*

*Female unhappy * he predicted, with admirable under-statement, and added, with a sense of resignation and forbearance: *All unhappy.*

Yayshah had stayed inside, and Tarani and I stepped through the opening. The interior of the den was dim; but the outline of the female was clear and huge, her eyes shining with reflected light.

Yahshah backed away from Tarani, pressing against the deepest wall of the enclosure. Her teeth were bared and her ears flat against her head.

"You see her eagerness," Tarani said sarcastically, then focused her attention on the sha'um. She walked forward slowly, making a low and melodious sound. Yayshah growled. I checked my impulse to reach out and drag Tarani back.

I might have questioned the quality of the link between Tarani and Yayshah, and wondered whether the cat's protective maternal instinct might override that special bond, so new to both of them. But I recalled other situations in which I had asked Tarani to face danger—now, as then, I reminded myself that she had accepted the task, and I had no choice but to let her accomplish it in her own way.

All the reasoning in the world could not keep me from crossing my fingers as the woman approached the sha'um and extended her hand toward the cat's muzzle.

Tarani's voice grew louder, and I detected the vibrancy that was always present when she used hypnotic, soothing sounds to assist the effectiveness of her illusions. Tarani was trying to calm Yayshah and ease the trauma of leaving her carefully prepared den, but she wasn't trying to force her will on the sha'um.

Nobody forced a sha'um to do anything.

The female hissed and raised a paw. I tensed and grabbed the hilt of my sword, but the paw only touched Tarani's shoulder and rested there. The girl swayed from its weight, then steadied, and put both her hands underneath the sha'um's jaw, stroking backward. Her voice never ceased its humming as she moved closer, brought her other shoulder under the cat's chin, and lifted her arms to embrace the thick, furred neck. The glittering of Yayshah's eyes vanished, and I caught the movement as her ears pricked forward.

Cat and woman released one another, and Tarani backed toward the opening, still humming, inviting and drawing Yayshah with her outstretched hands. I retreated to make way for them. When Yayshah’s head appeared in the rounded, green-bordered entryway and her eyes caught the sun, she balked. She lifted her head and made a sound that lifted the fur on my arms and neck, a shrieking roar that was unmistakably mournful, and vanished from the doorway.

A growl sounded right behind me, and Keeshah shouldered me aside. He was more gentle with Tarani, nudging her with the flat of his forehead, but he pushed her out of the way, too, and went into the den.

*I will bring,* Keeshah said.

Tarani looked at me, her face grim and sad. "She is so afraid, Rikardon."

"It's all right," I said. "Keeshah will bring her out."

I reached for her hand, but it lay unresponsively in mine as we peeked into the den. It was crowded, with both sha'um standing, but Keeshah had moved around until he stood beside the female, pressing against her. He turned his body until she was between him and the door, and started edging toward us. The cub-laden female may have outweighed Keeshah, but she was confused and frightened; he was basically bigger than she, and he had a definite purpose. In a few seconds, she had no choice but to come out into the open.

We gave Yayshah time for her eyes to adjust to the light, and then Tarani and I walked to Thagorn's gate. Keeshah stayed near his mate, often with his side pressed tightly to hers for comfort, as we left the city.

The whole contingent of Sharith had massed in the barracks yards, and watched us come down the hillside. Thymas offered his hand. I gripped it and squeezed his shoulder, unable to spare much attention from the sha'um and knowing that he would understand. Tarani was totally preoccupied with Yayshah, whose irregular step and quick starts displayed her continued nervousness.

Shola and Thymas walked beside us the last few steps toward the gate. Tarani led the sha'um on through, but I paused.

Shola handed me the filled travel bags, which I slung over my shoulder. "Give Tarani my thanks and good wishes, Captain," she said, "and tell her my home and . . . and my heart are open to her."

I hugged her. "This comes from both of us," I said. "I know your message will please her."

"With all that has happened," Thymas said, "I have not heard what you found out about Kä'

"I know where to start looking," I said. "There was more—it will make a good story for the next time we meet."

"I hope it will be soon, Captain," the boy said.

"As soon as possible," I agreed. "Goodbye, Lieutenant."

I passed out through the gate, trotting to catch up with Tarani. We led the sha'um along the road, over the hill toward Omergol. After an hour or so, we stopped to rest. When Yayshah had flopped down and slipped into a light nap, Tarani sighed and sagged down to sit on the ground. Keeshah nosed around restlessly, and silence stretched over the roadside clearing.

"I had to make this choice," I said, at last.

"I see that," Tarani answered. "But you were correct about Yayshah's effect on me. I wanted that den as fiercely as she did. I will need some time, Rikardon, to reconcile the rightness and the pain of your choice."

"That's only fair," I said, and turned my attention to planning the trip.

Yayshah's ravenous appetite and unquenchable thirst required us to stay out of the desert, which left us with only one possible route. We followed the caravan road around the tip of the Morkadahls and stayed in the hillside country all the way north, past Alkhum to the low hills from which the Great Wall loomed upward. Our travel pattern was simple, too—we moved until Yayshah stopped, started again when she was refreshed.

At first, Tarani and Keeshah had to reconvince the female sha'um every time we moved from a camp. After a day or so, however, she relinquished her sullenness and seemed actually to enjoy the short spells of exercise.

Tarani and I rode Keeshah occasionally, but Yayshah moved slowly enough that we walked most of the time, sending Keeshah ahead to a likely stopping place, and letting him greet us with Yayshah's fresh-killed snack.

Tarani's mood lightened, but she remained thoughtful and a bit distant, and I was reluctant to push. I helplessly watched Yayshah as her belly grew until it nearly dragged the ground, and still detected no sign that the cubs were ready to meet the world. Paradoxically, as I became more anxious, Tarani became more confident. She said that Yayshah's concern had relaxed as she sensed her cubs were not suffering in the travel, and that she would know when the time was near. No matter where the cubs were born, Tarani said, the actual delivery would be guided by Yayshah's strongest instincts. Tarani never failed to add that, while Yayshah had adapted to the circumstances, she still longed for a dark and cozy den in which to greet the children.

I was so absorbed in the process of traveling, and with anxiety over Yayshah's condition and Tarani's distance, that I was surprised to waken one morning and recognize the familiar farmland that lay northeast of Raithskar. We had spent the moonless pre-dawn hours in a grove of fruit trees.

"We're nearly there," I told Tarani, "and game will be scarce from here on out. If you and Yayshah will wait here, Keeshah and I will ride ahead to the city, and bring food back."

"How long?" Tarani asked.

"Only a few hours," I said. "Will Yayshah be all right?"

The girl knelt beside the cat, laid her hands on the swollen belly. The skin jumped with inner movement, as it had done with increasing regularity during the past few days, and I thought: It can't be much longer.

As if she had read my mind, Tarani said: "It is nearly time. She cannot say how soon, but soon."

I looked around. The sheer cliff the Gandalarans call the Great Wall rose from its base only a few miles away to disappear in the cliffs above. I could hear the distant roar of the Skarkel Falls, might be able to see its source, but for the cloaking mist sprayed up by the crash of the water into the deep pool at the base of the Wall.

"Now that we have hit farmland, there will be no real shelter for her," I said. "Keeshah's house, in my father's yard, is the most suitable place I know. Can she make it that far?"

Tarani closed her eyes.

"Yayshah will try," she said, and turned a serious face toward me. "Please do not leave us."

"Won't she need food?" I asked.

"She wishes it, but does not require it," she said. "At least, not until after she delivers. It is more important that her mate be close by her now."

I set aside the homesickness that had nearly overwhelmed me, and we moved on together, causing no little stir among the people we passed along the way. For most of the morning, we moved cross-country, seeing only field workers and farmers. Toward noon, however, we struck the hard-packed caravan road that would take us directly into Raithskar. Had Keeshah and I been alone, we would have traveled parallel to the road, to ease the burden on the travelers who guided vlek-drawn carts or caravans of the pack animals. But Yayshah, moving ever more clumsily, was my chief concern, and the four of us took advantage of the smooth roadway, taking up nearly its full span.

Word of our approach might have reached Raithskar ahead of us, had anyone who saw us been able to break away. We were followed by a fascinated crowd of people who only served to make Yayshah more nervous. We moved through the open gateway into the marketplace, scattering surprised and terrified people. Yayshah had begun to make a moaning sound deep in her throat, and Tarani urged haste. Keeshah supported the female on one side; Tarani and I leaned against shoulder and hip on the other, less helpful than encouraging.

I breathed a sigh of relief when we turned into Thanasset's street, and I shouted to Tarani that it was only a little further. The door of the solid, two-story house opened and Milda, Markasset's aunt, came out, obviously in search of the source of the crowd noise. When she saw us staggering toward her, her mouth flew open momentarily, and then she snapped into action.

"Thanasset, come out here," she shouted, and ran to open the large gate into the garden.

Markasset's father appeared in the front doorway, his silhouette registering shock for only an instant. Then he was behind Tarani, helping to support Yayshah's shoulder. The crowd of us would not fit through the gateway, but Yayshah had seen the square building made of clay brick, and she staggered toward it under her own power. Either Tarani had told her what it was, or some lingering scent of Keeshah identified it for her.

She cut a straight and destructive line through Thanasset's garden, then whined and crashed to the ground just as she reached the doorway. Lying on her side, she caught the stone sill with her forepaws and dragged herself into the dimness.

Keeshah followed, but Tarani remained with us, standing in the ruins of a flowerbed. I looked at her questioningly.

"It is Keeshah she needs now," Tarani said. "She is very grateful to be here."

A noise drew .my attention to the street and the fence behind us, where three people—young boys—had expressed the crowd's curiosity by venturing in through the gate. Thanasset herded them out with dignity and good humor and spent a moment in the street, talking. When he came in and closed the gate, we could hear the sounds of people shuffling back down the street toward the business district of the city.

Thanasset walked back to us and said: "Welcome home, son."

I laughed and hugged him; he pounded me on the back. I kissed Milda, picked her up, and whirled her around. The sweet old lady hugged me back and scolded me, laughing all the while.

I put Milda down and took Tarani's hand, suddenly at a loss for words. I wanted to tell them who she was, what she meant to me, what we had been through together, what we faced. What I said was: "This is Tarani."

Thanasset stared into Tarani's face. Then he did the odd and tender thing of lifting her free hand in both of his own and kissing the palm. "Our home is honored by your presence, Tarani," he said. "I am Thanasset, and this is Milda, sister of Markasset's mother."

"Welcome, dear," Milda said. "Come inside, please. You'll want some hot food, and then a bath."

Tarani followed Milda toward the house. Thanasset and I stood in the garden quietly for a little while longer, listening to the sounds of effort and pain and comfort coming from the brick structure.

"There is a story in this that I look forward to hearing," he said, with a smile. "When you are comfortable and rested. But I can wait no longer to hear the good news that you have brought the Ra'ira back."

I shook my head, and the tall man's shoulders drooped. I looked at Thanasset more closely and found him to be thinner, older, sadder than I remembered him.

How long have I been gone? I wondered, and quickly ran up an estimate of the time. Four moons? Half a year? How could he have aged so quickly?

"It's all the same story," I said, "and it's a long one. But Tarani and I have both pledged to deliver the Ra'ira safely into the hands of the Council, where its power cannot be misused."

"When?" Thanasset demanded sharply.

"I can't say, exactly," I answered.

"It must be soon, Rikardon," Thanasset said. "There is something you do not know about the Ra'ira—"

"But I do know what it can do," I interrupted. "I tried to tell you so in the letter I sent from Dyskornis—did you get it?"

"Yes, I received your letter." He pressed my shoulder. "It was thoughtful of you to send it, and foolish for me to have kept the entire truth from you." He hesitated. "I know you are weary," he said, "but would you mind walking a bit with me?"

I agreed, and we left by the garden gate to walk down to the marketplace. Thanasset said nothing, merely guided me and let me be shocked by what I had been too preoccupied to see while guiding Yayshah through the city. At that, the main thoroughfares we had traveled would have seemed little different from the city I had left. I might have noticed the disrepair of the mud-sealed stone pavement, but I would have assumed it was on the list of some foreman of a vineh paving crew.

Thanasset led me down side streets which were heaped with litter: fruit rinds, seeds, meat scraps that smelled as if they would soon be crawling with insects.

We stopped to watch a vineh street-cleaning team at work. Two of the pale-furred, apelike creatures swept up trash along the side wall of a square. Another followed, pushing a wheelbarrow. All three wore the slightly ludicrous shorts which somehow eliminated the natural and vicious rivalry between vineh males, which composed all of the city's maintenance crews. These three worked peacefully together, but they were supervised by two Gandalarans, rather than only one.

We walked for half an hour or so, covering a large chunk of the city, then returned to Thanasset's garden shortly before dusk. I don't understand what you're trying to tell me," I said.

"You recall how the stone was guarded?" he asked, and-I nodded. "A virtual cell, with a Supervisor in charge of it every minute of the day and night. That guard system was created by Serkajon himself, to insure that the Ra'ira would never be used to deceive and manipulate people again."

Thanasset paced through the growing darkness, holding his elbows. Sounds came from the sha'um inside the shelter, but Thanasset and the puzzle he was unraveling held my attention.

"One day a Supervisor discovered that the power of the Ra'ira could reach out to vineh," he said. "It had long been recognized that they had the native intelligence and the physical capability to perform simple tasks, but every attempt to train the occasionally captured individual had failed. This Supervisor reeled back from his first contact with a vineh mind—it was unrelievedly vicious. But he learned from, that contact, and began to learn more. At a Council meeting while he was charged with care of the Ra'ira, he brought the stone and four male vineh into the chamber, explained to the startled and angry group that imposing docility on the creatures was a small-effort matter, and painted an eloquent picture of a city relieved of its menial chores."

Thanasset stopped and picked a leaf from a bush. "Since then, Rikardon, the Supervisors have not merely guarded the Ra'ira. They—we--have used it, watching the beastish thoughts of the vineh for signs of aggression and enforcing docility when necessary." He waved a hand in the direction of the street. "Some of the vineh are still tractable, as you saw just now. We think that must be the result of the long habit of obedience. But we have no faith that the habit will not wear off, in time, and even these few will join the wild ones that have spread across the hillsides west of the city, below the rakor mine."

He turned around and correctly read the expression I wore.

"I know it shocks you to learn that the Council is not as altruistic as you believed," Thanasset said. "Programs are under way to organize work crews made up of people; the problems of litter and sanitation in the city will be under control shortly. The real problem lies outside the walls. Our colony of 'tame' vineh was larger than any natural tribe could expect to get, and there are no wild tribes to compete with them for territory. The city will be surrounded shortly, and the outlying farmers will be at risk for their lives. We need the Ra'ira, Rikardon. Badly. And soon."

Chapter 14

Someone screamed from the back of the yard. At the same time, a whining howl of pain sounded from inside the brick outbuilding. Thanasset and I followed the human sound. I burst through the door of the bathhouse to find Tarani wild- eyed and thrashing in the tile-lined tub. I splashed down- beside her and wrapped my arms around her, her soapy skin getting grimy from my travel-worn clothes.

Milda’s voice sounded from the doorway. "What is it?" she whispered. "What's wrong?"

"It's the female sha'um," I gasped, and checked quickly with Keeshah. He was frantically busy, guiding and helping and licking. He was excited, but not alarmed. "The birth has started."

"The girl is bound to the female?" Thanasset asked in amazement. "There are women who ride?"

"Only this one," I snapped my hands busy trying to keep Tarani's elbows from cracking against the side of the tub. "Please, I'll explain it all later. We need some privacy right now."

"Of course, Milda said in her practical way. She shoved Thanasset out the door, and closed it quietly.

"Tarani," I said, "remember that you are not Yayshah. Come away from her, darling, your suffering can't help her." I sat up in the cool water and shook the girl's shoulders, was relieved to see her eyes waver and focus on me for a moment before she threw her head back and screamed again.

I pulled her torso out of the water and into my arms, pulled her head around, and kissed her lips. She moved randomly for a moment more, not struggling, merely reacting to Yayshah's pain. She responded tentatively at first, and then seemed to understand that I was offering her distraction.

By the time the sounds from the sha'um had quieted, Tarani and I had both bathed. Tarani wore the robe Milda had provided, and I wrapped myself strategically in the soggy towel. We left the bathhouse and walked up the path toward the back door of the main house, pausing to look toward the square building from which came only the sounds of suckling. Night had fallen, but the sky was moon gray and the yard filled with light and shadow from the house windows.

I put my arm around Tarani, and she leaned against me.

"Keeshah's as proud as if he'd given birth himself," I said. "And so am I—though I have far less reason."

"Yayshah is already asleep," Tarani said. "Do you think we might look in on them?"

I shook my head. "Keeshah's still fussing over the babies," I said. "We've waited this long—we can see them when we take breakfast to Keeshah and Yayshah."

"Thank you for being there when I needed you," she said quietly.

"My pleasure," I said, and won a true smile from her.

We went through the back door into the midhall of the largish house. The sound of the door closing brought Milda from the dining room on our right and Thanasset from the sitting room, close to the front door and on our left. Milda smothered a giggle and said: "I'll be serving a late supper—to I people who are dressed."

"The sha'um—" Thanasset inquired.

"Everyone is fine," I said. "There are three cubs: two male, one female."

Tarani and I went upstairs. I found clean clothes laid out in my bedroom. Milda had prepared a spare room for Tarani, complete with a few wardrobe items. Tarani did justice to a beautiful gown and, in spite of having eaten lightly before her bath, to Milda's wonderful supper. I stuffed myself until I could barely move, then waddled into the sitting room and accepted a glass of barut from Thanasset.

Milda had disappeared at the first hint of "business." Having gotten to know the competent old lady both as Markasset and as Ricardo, I was fairly sure that she knew everything Thanasset did, but Milda valued the form of Thanasset's position as a Supervisor, and showed a public respect for his privacy.

Tarani accepted a glass of barut and listened silently to my recounting of everything—nearly--that had happened since I had left Raithskar. Most of it she had shared; some of it she had heard; a bit of it—in particular, my experience with Somil and Zaddorn in the All-Mind—was entirely new to her. Even as I started the story, Thanasset did not question her right to be present. When I had finished, he turned to her and unhesitatingly shared the secret so long withheld from me—the situation involving the vineh, and the imminent danger to the city.

Tarani looked at him sadly. "It would seem that the Ra'ira is nowhere safe from the misuse of men," she said. "I begin to think it should be destroyed."

Thanasset nodded. "That has been discussed within the Council," he said. "Our plan is to use the gem to guide the colony further west, to an area where there are wild vineh to provide them natural competition for territory and food, and then to dispose of the Ra'ira." He shrugged. "That plan is not universally accepted," he said, "but Ferrathyn is strongly in favor of it. He and I, with the support already present in the Council, should be able to convince those who want to resubdue the vineh into a work force."

"Who is Ferrathyn?" Tarani asked.

"The Chief Supervisor," I answered. "Is he well, Thanasset? The last time I saw him, he seemed to show his age more clearly."

"The strain of guiding the Councils through this crisis has taken its toll on him, I am afraid," Thanasset said. "His body seems ever more weary, but his spirit is strong and vital. It is almost as though he gathers energy from adversity.

"I know he would have been delighted to hear this tale of a second sword and your search for Kä," Thanasset said, "and he would be moved, as I am, Tarani, to say that your effort in our behalf is deeply appreciated. Your commitment to leadership in Eddarta, and to the safe return of the Ra'ira, bode well for a return of good relations between our cities."

"Thank you, Thanasset." She put down her glass and stood up. The gown Milda had loaned her was inches too short, the sandals' soles far too wide for her delicate feet, yet she managed to look regal. Thanasset and I both stood up with her. "Rikardon has told me, in our few quiet moments together, of the beauty and comfort of Raithskar. I discounted some of his words as an expression of fondness for his birthplace, but I revise that opinion now. There is dignity and goodness here—errors, perhaps, as there must always be among men, but only sincere intentions."

"You speak of the city that produced Worth," Thanasset said with a grim smile.

"I refer to the city which looks to the welfare of its people, and not to the profit of its rulers," she replied. "In all of Eddarta, there is no one, Lord or landservant, who can achieve that viewpoint. There was one who would have understood and appreciated Raithskar, but he died in Dyskomis."

Thanasset took Tarani's hand in both of his own. "You have suffered much sadness and trial in your few years, Tarani," he said. "I hope you will regard this house as your home."

She smiled a little shakily, pressing his hands. "I believe I will say goodnight now," she said, and left the room.	-

"Tell me something," I asked Thanasset. "When you greeted Tarani in the garden—you didn't know she was bound to Yayshah as a Rider?"

“No."

"What you did—it was a very gracious, a very special greeting."

"Of course," Thanasset said. "How else should a father welcome the woman his son has chosen as a lifemate?"

"It's that obvious, is it?"

"It is that obvious," he agreed. He frowned. "It is also obvious that something is troubling you, Rikardon. May I help?"

"Only if you can help me find Kä," I said with a sigh. "The sword is important for what it can do toward getting the Ra'ira out of Eddarta," I explained. "But I believe it has another use. Do you remember the day you gave me Rika?"

Thanasset was quick to see what I meant. "Do you mean to say that Tarani is a Visitor, as well?" he demanded.

"I only think so," I admitted. "She doesn't even suspect it herself.'

"How can that be?"

I laughed and slapped him on the shoulder, aware that I was ducking the issue once again.

"You might as well ask why Rika helped me remember," I said. "I don't know the answer to that, either."

The next morning, I went down to the marketplace early and purchased a side of glith, brought it back, and stood in the garden, calling Keeshah. Out of the sha'um house came a parade— Keeshah, the cubs, and then Yayshah. I heard the back door of Thanasset's house open quietly, and I knew that Tarani, Thanasset and Milda were watching.

The cubs were well developed, with open eyes and good coordination. They were the size of full-grown leopards, but with thicker bodies, heavier legs, and a proportion problem that reminded me of the pups of large breed dogs—their legs and paws seemed awkwardly large compared to the rest of their bodies.

The three kittens were not sleek, like their parents, but fuzzy. Their fur was longish and fine, and very pale. The little female's carried strong hints of darker, regular marking that resembled Yayshah's brindling, and by that evidence, I assumed the cubs would lose this "baby" fur somewhere on the road to adulthood.

I laid the meat on the ground. Keeshah paused to let the cubs move ahead. They sniffed at it, nipped delicately—their teeth were numerous and looked sharp, but were not fully emerged from their gums—then lost interest. Keeshah kept an eye on them while Yayshah attacked the glith meat. I was surprised that the adults did not drag the meat inside their house, and then considered that it was probably cramped quarters in there for a family of five.

*May I touch the cubs?* I asked Keeshah.

*Slow,* the big sha'um cautioned me. *Have woman tell female.*

"Tarani," I called softly, turning back to the house. "Will you ask Yayshah if she will let me approach the cubs?"

The girl came down the pathway from the house, moving with a studied grace so as not to startle the sha'um. "I have asked her if we may greet the cubs," she answered. "She agrees—she is quite proud of them."

The cubs had wandered toward the garden. One of the males felt a branch of a bush touch his back, whirled to bat at it with a forepaw, and lost his balance: The flailing paws and tail attracted the other two, and in an instant there was a noisy melee of fur, rolling through Thanasset's garden. The cubs sounded surprisingly adult, and it didn't take long for the noise to disturb Keeshah.

He waded into the playful fight and started separating the combatants. The cubs had too much mass to allow for scruff-of-the-neck lifting, but the loose skin provided good purchase for dragging. Keeshah batted one of the males halfway to the bathhouse with one swipe of his paw, then grabbed the other male with his teeth and guided/forced it in our direction. The little female twisted to her feet and crouched with her ears and tail twitching, looking from one cub to the other. She barrelled after the unattached male and knocked him over. They rolled and squawled good-naturedly for a few seconds, then flopped down in a tangled ball of fur, panted heavily, and dropped off to sleep.

Tarani and I made friends with the cub Keeshah had brought us. The cub was unafraid and curious, sniffing at our hands and clothes, quickly acquiring Keeshah's fondness for being rubbed behind his ears.

Yayshah finished eating, and came over to us as Keeshah went to take his turn at the mass of raw meat and bone. The skin of Yayshah's belly sagged nearly to the ground, but it already showed signs of reshaping itself. The fur, which had looked patchy and thin across the distended skin, seemed darker and thicker now. Tarani went to Yayshah and stroked her; the female stretched out on the ground.

The cub I was playing with tired suddenly, and went to sleep with his head across my thigh. Just as suddenly, the other two cubs roused and, seeing their brother with a new toy, came to investigate. I had a moment's panic as I realized that I was momentarily pinned to the ground, and that most young predators "played" in ways that would train them to kill food—but the cubs had worn out their first burst of energy and were reasonably calm now. They nosed around me, accepting my touch and batting clawlessly at my arm when I offered it as a target, until they disturbed their brother. Then all three cubs seemed to notice Mama nearby and started nuzzling Yayshah's belly.

The female lumbered to her feet and led the kittens back into the dimness of the brick shelter. For the moment, playtime was over. So was breakfast. Keeshah jumped to the roof of the sha'um house and curled up to nap.

Tarani and I cleared away the glith carcass, then cleaned our hands and returned to the house. Milda had vanished into the kitchen, from which were coming the wonderful smells of a breakfast more appetizing than raw glith. Thanasset met us at the back door, put an arm around each of us, and hugged. His face sparkled with the same delight Ricardo might have expressed after watching a litter of domestic kittens at play. There is a special and tender charm about the young of any species.

"Sha'um cubs born outside the Valley," Thanasset said. "It is still hard to believe. Do you think Keeshah and Yayshah would allow me to get to know them?"

"I certainly hope so," I said. "I'll need to ask you and Milda to feed Yayshah and watch out for the cubs while we're out in the desert, looking for Kä."

"As to that," Thanasset said, drawing us across the midhall toward the door to the dining room, "you asked me for help in finding Kä, and I may have thought of something—"

"The desert?" interrupted Tarani. "Rikardon, the cubs have barely arrived."

"I mean to take only Keeshah, of course," I told her. "I- think he will be willing to leave Yayshah and the kids with Thanasset—after all, this is his home."

"But it is not yet Yayshah's," she countered.

"She seems quite comfortable," I said, somewhat testily. Thanasset, wisely, had stepped back from his position between us and watched us in silence. "Thanasset can provide her with food, and the cubs will continue to nurse for a while. She will be all right without us."

"Us?" Tarani echoed. "I shall not leave her."

"I wouldn't ask it, under any other circumstances," I said. "But you know what's at stake here. The situation with the vineh—"

"Demands a greater speed than we anticipated, I grant you," the girl said, with a wave of her hand. "If Keeshah will leave Yayshah, you are free to begin the search. But I," she emphasized, "shall not leave her."

"You have to come with us," I said.

"If you both will excuse me," Thanasset murmured, "I will assist Milda with her kitchen duties." He escaped through the dining-room door; we hardly noticed his going.

"Why?" she demanded. "You have the Recorder's guidance, and whatever advice it is that Thanasset can offer. Two sets of eyes seem to be inadequate advantage to justify the strain of Keeshah of carrying us both into the desert."

She's right, I thought. Logically, she's right. So now what do I say to convince her? I could tell her the truth—no, not now, I convinced myself—too easily.

"For some reason, I have absolutely no confidence in being able to find that sword alone," I said. "Going without you doesn't feel right, Tarani—maybe because I think of that sword as yours, instead of mine."

She put her hands on her hips, walked away, and looked back at me thoughtfully.

In Thagorn, you commanded my movement, and Yayshah's," she said, and I confess that, though I saw the worth in your judgment, I resented the tactic. But that pressure, at least, was clear and direct. I sense something else in your manner now, Rikardon; everything you say is true, but something remains hidden. You do not merely want me to go with you, you need my presence in some way—and I do not think it is associated with finding an ancient city."

She dropped her arms and came closer, searching my face. "If you will tell me why you desire it so strongly, she said, "I will go with you."

	I faltered, and for a moment fought desperately with the habit of concealment—but old habits are hard to break." "I will tell you—when we reach Kä" I hedged.

"That does not meet the terms," she snapped.

"It is all I can offer," I replied, and grabbed her arm as she turned away. "Please believe me, Tarani—you will understand when we find the sword. And it is very, very important."

She shrugged off my hand, took a step, turned back. "I will go," she said. Her voice made the words of consent sound threatening.

Chapter 15

It was early afternoon of that same day. I was alone in the sitting room, looking over some old maps Thanasset had brought me from his office that morning. He had returned after lunch to continue searching for information about the ceramic pipeline that had once carried fresh water from Raithskar to Kä. I had no idea where Tarani was; she had left the house after breakfast with the stated intent of exploring the city. Milda had taken one of the lightweight armchairs and her stitch work out into the garden, to watch the sha'um and discourage fence climbing by the local children, who were understandably fascinated by the presence of the cats.

Someone knocked at the door, and I set aside the map to go and open it. A smallish woman stood in the doorway, sunlight sparkling from drops of mist trapped in her golden headfur. She smiled at me uncertainly.

"Hello, Rikardon."

"Illia!" I said, truly pleased to see her. "Come in."

"I—no, thank you, Rikardon; I cannot stay. I heard that you had returned and that—uh—there was someone with you. I only wanted to stop by and thank you for your letter."

She was looking somewhere past my shoulder. I touched - her hand, and her gaze finally rested directly on my face. I smiled. "Please come inside for a moment, Illia," I asked. "I'll be leaving again, soon—probably tomorrow. This may be our only chance to visit."

I tried to express the sincere welcome I felt, and the attempt was successful to the point that she smiled more naturally and nodded. I held the door for her, then showed her into the sitting room, cleared the maps from the table, and offered to ask Milda for some herb tea. Illia declined, and awkwardness threatened to take over again.

The girl had been Markasset's friend, actually his fiancée. Their relationship had been composed of one part physical attraction, one part her ambition to be the wife of the Supervisor she expected Markasset to be, and one part Markasset's need to feel appreciated. Illia had been present at the ceremony in which Thanasset presented Rika to me, and had learned, then, that I was a "Visitor" and that the Markasset she had loved was dead. She and I had spent some time together and discovered that the physical attraction lingered. We had made an attempt to "start over," but I could not merely be a replacement for Markasset, and we had soon realized that building the new connection would not be simple.

In Dyskornis, faced with the frightening knowledge of the Ra'ira's power, I had seen the impossibility of a "normal" lifestyle, and had written to the golden-furred girl with good wishes but a clear rejection of any relationship closer than friendship.

"How have you been—" I began.

"I hear Keeshah has a friend—" she said, at precisely the same time.

We laughed, and I started over. "I thought the news would be all over town by now," I said. "Keeshah has a family—his mate gave birth to three cubs last night."

She clapped her hands together. "Baby' sha'um?" she said. "May I see them?"

"If they're outside, you can probably see them from the window," I said, and went to sit on the ledge that ran along the wall below the two tall, narrow windows. They were made of small, diamond-shaped pieces of glass fitted into a lattice-style frame made of small strips of wood. The frames were divided into two sections, and I opened the lower section of this window, motioning Illia to sit in front of me and look out.

One of the male cubs was just coming out of the sha'um house, using the instinctive stalking movement to sneak up on the female, who was propped unsteadily on her hind legs against the side of the brick building. She was absorbed in batting at Keeshah's twitching tail, which hung over the roof of the house, along with one hind foot. The tail was just within her reach—until her brother knocked her over.

The noise brought the other male on the run; and it was another three-way free-for-all. Keeshah stirred, lifted his head, growled, and relaxed again. Yayshah appeared from behind the building and tromped through the fight, dragging one of the males off and trapping him under a forepaw. She started licking him and he rolled over obligingly, nipping and licking at her jaw and neck as she cleaned him.

"She is beautiful," Illia breathed, touching my arm for emphasis. "And the cubs—Rikardon, this is a wondrous thing. How did it happen?"

The family scene seemed to have a special significance to me, with Illia sitting so close. Markasset's body had known hers very well, and continued to appreciate it. I stood up, trying not to be obvious about avoiding her touch.

"It has to do with—with the woman who came back with you," Illia said.

"Her name is Tarani," I said, "and yes, the female sha'um is hers. It's a long story that I've told too often lately. Besides, I want to hear about you. Are you still teaching? How is Zaddorn?"

"I am still teaching," she answered, then sighed. "As for Zaddorn, his duties keep him well occupied. I suppose you've heard about the sickness."

"Sickness?'

"The worker vineh—there has been an 'epidemic of some sort. It spread quickly through the entire colony. They say the pain of it enrages the beast who has it, and that it lasts a long time. Most of the vineh tore their way through the confinement walls at the colony, and are roaming about the countryside. Zaddom has nearly doubled his Peace and Security Force to provide guards along the roads and try to locate the vineh free of the disease, who simply wandered off because the way was open for them."

She paused, puzzled.

"Surely Thanasset mentioned this to you?"

"He did say something about trouble with the vineh," I hedged, "but to tell you the truth, we've been too preoccupied with the sha'um to think of much else."

So this is how the Council has explained the sudden hostility of the vineh, I thought. I wonder if Zaddorn knows the truth.

Illia stood up. "I really must go, Rikardon—I have tomorrow's lesson to plan."

I walked her to the door. "Give my best to Zaddorn when you see him," I said, "and take my greetings and good wishes to your parents."

She turned on the paving stone in front of Thanasset's doorway and smiled at me. "I am glad to have seen you again, Rikardon," she said. "And I do thank you for writing to me—it is only another sign of your thoughtfulness and honesty. If, as you say, you will be leaving Raithskar soon, I will say goodbye now."

She stretched up to kiss my cheek, and I reached down to hug her.

Tarani and Thanasset chose that moment to come walking up the street, arm in arm.

'Hello, Illia," Thanasset said, without embarrassment, but flashing me a quick wink to see he appreciated the situation. "May I present our guest, a traveler from Eddarta? Tarani, this is Illia, our good friend."

The two women presented startling contrasts—Illia short and golden, Tarani tall and dark-furred. Illia, in spite of a quick attempt to hide her reaction, looked at Tarani with the air of a competitor assessing an opponent. Tarani had natural poise and years of stage experience to help her maintain her composure, but her smile and verbal greeting to Illia were devoid of real warmth.

When Illia had hurried off down the street, I noticed that both Thanasset and Tarani .were carrying bundles. They came inside the house and opened them—Tarani had been to the market to buy extra water bags for our foray into the desert, and Thanasset had brought home some dry and faded charts which he hoped would give me an idea where to start looking for the Raithskar end of the pipeline, if any of it remained to be found.

"I have this for you, as well," Thanasset said, sorting a fresher-looking sheet from the mass of old paper and handing it to me. "Ferrathyn was in his offices for a short while this morning. I took the liberty of speaking for you, Rikardon. I invited him to stop by and learn the results of your trip firsthand. I fear I teased him unfairly," he said, smiling, "with a description of Keeshah's family. He seemed intrigued, but complained of pain in his joints—indeed; movement seemed to cost him much effort.

"I provided him with a condensed report on your adventures and your current plans. He was startled and most regretful that you are leaving tomorrow, and that he would not have the chance to see you before you go, or to greet Tarani. "

I opened the sheet—it was a letter from the Chief Supervisor, the cursive script precise and steady:

My friend—

Please allow me to speak for the entire Council in appreciation and in apology. It was our blind and foolish rules, born of the practice of deceit that caused Thanasset's hesitation in confiding in you. From his account, a few words from him, before you last left Raithskar, might have saved you much distress.

Be kind enough to present my greetings to the lady Tarani, and express my hope of meeting her in the very near future. The good wishes of the Council go with her to Eddarta.

Raithskar is fortunate to have your strength and commitment in our service, Rikardon. You have the gratitude of a besieged city, and of its Chief Supervisor, Ferrathyn

I handed it to Tarani, who read it and passed it on to Thanasset. When he had read it, Tarani said: "Please tell the Chief Supervisor that I also look forward to our meeting."

"Thank him for taking the time to write the note," I added, "and tell him I got the message.’Besieged city,' - I quoted, laughing.”Subtle. Tell him we'll hurry."

The charts had given us information, but little real help in locating Kä. They had verified that a pipeline had indeed been built of expertly fitted ceramic tiles, and that it had taken water from the pool below the Skarkel Falls out toward Kä. But after Thanasset had worked for hours to decipher the badly faded notes, he had announced that the pipeline had not led all the way to Kä on the surface, but that channels had been cut and ceramic-lined in some areas, and natural fissures used in others.

The ground-based portions of the pipeline would be impossible to detect, but Tarani and I started our search west of Raithskar, looking for traces of the surface construction as a starting place. Keeshah, confident of Thanasset's devotion to his family, was looking forward to the trip—it seemed a long time since we had shared the exhilaration of a long run. Tarani had parted from Yayshah less happily, but had reported, grudgingly, that the female had protested less than the girl had expected.

I thought, privately, that Yayshah and Keeshah were both a bit glad of the promised few days' separation.

I had studied Thanasset's collection of maps to determine if the locations of Raithskar and Omergol had shifted much through the years, and concluded that they had not. Somil had defined Kä as equidistant from those two cities, and eight caravan-days away from either one. That translated to about six man-days for mapping purposes—a man-day was the approximate distance a man could walk comfortably in one day, allowing for meals and rest, which I thought of as roughly thirty miles. I had done some triangulation on several of the maps, and had a fair idea of the terrain to look for. I had already decided to spend a maximum of two hours searching for signs of the pipeline construction. After that, with or without that confirmed starting point, we would start southwest into the Kapiral Desert.

Tarani rode behind me on Keeshah, and both of us carried cargo in the form of sewn-hide bags strung together with thick ropes that rested across our thighs. I had a set of bags filled with dried meat and fruit, and another set which contained water. Tarani carried water bags, and we each had two smaller pouches fastened to our belts. Keeshah could carry us to Kä s approximate area in two days, and bring us back in the same time period. I had allowed for two days of searching, and brought along a sparing supply of food for Tarani and me for the full six days. Keeshah had fed well this morning and could go the entire time without eating again. He would be hungry, but he could survive.

Tarani and I were dressed for the desert, wearing tunics which hung loosely from our bodies but fastened securely at neck and wrists, and pants which tucked into mid-calf boots made of soft leather. The triangular scarves which would wrap our faces and heads when we really faced desert travel were presently tucked into our belts, along with extras to use as wet-cloths for Keeshah, when needed.

We were as well prepared as we` could be—for the travel, at least. Tarani's deliberate silence nudged my guilt and prodded my anxiety. Whatever else happened on this trip, I knew I would be forced to share with Tarani the real truth— about me and about her. I looked forward to the relief of having it done with, but not to the uncertainty of its effect on our relationship.

Seeing Ma again had made me realize, yet again, how much challenge and complexity and grit there was to the woman who rode behind me—and how much I cared for her.

It was her sharp eyes which spotted the trace we were looking for, a ridge in a grain field that was too straight to be natural. We followed it southwest for a few minutes, and then turned around to look. It lay along a straight line between us and the now-distant spot of whitish-gray that stood out against the darker gray of the cloud-crowned escarpment—the foot of the Skarkel Falls.

That brief look back nearly cost us dearly. Keeshah recognized the danger and sprang forward, even as his mind gave the warning: *Vineh!*

Tarani and I kept our seats, through Keeshah's sudden lunge, but dropped to the ground by choice as the sha'um whirled to face the half-dozen apish creatures who had stalked us through the tall rows of grain. We threw aside our cargo, drew our swords and daggers, and moved well out to either side of Keeshah.

The vineh had spread out, as well, until there were two of them facing each one of us. Only with Keeshah were the odds sufficient to make the vineh hesitate. The others attacked.

The two I faced were full-grown vineh males, with hands as efficient .0 a man's and substantially better muscled. They were covered with pale, curly fur that cushioned blunt blows; unarmed, I would not have had a chance against them. The dual-edged weapons earned their respect quickly, however, and they backed away. The creatures were intelligent and fully capable of a high degree of teamwork—we had seen a sample of that with the wild group we had encountered near cubs. It amazed me that these creatures, so recently freed from the habit of docility and an artificial society, could have already achieved this level of group cooperation. It amazed me—but I had no time to dwell on it.

They came at me high and low, one tackling my legs and the other trying to grab and maim my sword arm—a fairly simple procedure, if it ever got its powerful, underslung jaw in range of any part of the arm. I twisted and brought the dagger across my body, into the side of the creature trying to get my arm. The wounded vineh gave a high-pitched, gurgling cry, and collapsed on the ground. I slammed down not far away, kicking at the vineh trying to bite a chunk from my leg. I stabbed with the sword; it connected, but not vitally. By rolling and kicking, I kept the vineh too off-balance to get purchase with its teeth, but it was slowly shifting its position to limit my movements, and the closest vulnerable area, its throat, was beyond my reach and shielded by its body.

I was starting to give way to panic when the vineh let go and shot upward, then bounced on the ground near its fallen companion. Keeshah was over him in an instant, his teeth fastened in the neck of the creature this time—and suddenly, it was over.

Tarani had come through the battle with a torn tunic and a few scratches; I had fared about the same. Keeshah's main loss was his composure; his mind seethed with battle fury and hatred for the vineh, and he spent a lot of energy in the next few minutes tossing the corpses around.

He did not, I noticed, eat the flesh of the vineh.

Tarani and I retrieved the bags, and discovered that one of the waterbags had been damaged.

"Do you want to go back for a replacement?" I asked. "Can we manage without the water?" she countered. "I think so."

"Then I say we drink what is left in this, and start our journey," she replied decisively. "We have seen evidence of the need for haste. And I am eager to have this task finished."

I agreed, and reached out for Keeshah mentally, trying to calm him. In a few minutes, we were on our way, running through the southwestern outskirts of Raithskar's farmland."

Chapter 16

Finding Kä turned out to be the easy part of the trip. We soon lost, as expected, the guidance of the raised ridge, but Markasset's Gandalaran inner awareness helped me keep a fairly precise sense of direction. Common sense and a knowledge of Gandalaran technology—i.e., the lack of high-pressure pumping devices—would have delivered the conclusion that Kä had to be located at a lower altitude than the Skarkel Falls. The maps I had looked at—one of which I had brought along for reference—had provided enough detail about land formations to confirm that conclusion, and the physical features of the land conformed to what I expected.

The Skarkel River flowed southeast of the city, to interface with the Kapiral in a treacherous, salty bog. To the southwest, the land was less watered, and therefore less fertile. We soon left behind any trace of farmland and traveled through the gray, scrubby brush that somehow survived in the salty sand of the Gandalaran deserts.

Over the hours of travel, we realized we were following shallow, wide stair steps—flat plateaus that led gradually downward. There was no wind, but our passing stirred up clouds of fine, stinging dust, and we wrapped our scarves tightly around our faces, leaving only our eyes exposed. It was not the first desert crossing the three of us had made- together, nor was it the most difficult—but it was uncomfortable. Gandalara is always hot, but the reflective quality of the sand in the desert made it seem suffocatingly, blisteringly hot.

We slipped, without discussion, into the efficient travel pattern of moving for three hours, resting for one, allowing extra rest time for Keeshah when he asked for it. That cut our travel time by nearly a quarter, so that we reached what I judged to be the vicinity of Kä in midafternoon of our second day.

The land formations we followed had become more clearly defined, and we found ourselves approaching a ridge that marked the end of one of the long flat areas. Keeshah carried us up to it—and we looked down on Kä.

Tarani gasped and expressed the same thing I was thinking. "Surely it cannot be this simple," she said.

I shook my head. "We've found the city," I said, "but not the sword. When I shared memory with Zanek, I saw a huge room where he displayed the Bronze. It would have taken a big building to house that room, in the 'official' part of the city. Any suggestions?"

Kä was enormous. We had stumbled on the one specific vantage point that gave us the best view of the city. We dismounted, allowed ourselves and Keeshah a ration of water, then spent some time looking down on the seat of the ancient Kingdom.

"I do not understand," Tarani said. "The city is not 'hidden' at all—it hardly seems damaged by the passing years. Why has it not been located, and plundered?"

"We don't know that it hasn't," I said, "but if that happened, I'll bet it occurred just after the breakup of the Kingdom, when people still remembered, specifically, the wealth of the city. As for why nobody knows where it is now," I said, shrugging, "Who cares? There's nothing but desert beyond it. Even those mountains," I added, waving to the craggy foothills not far to the west, "are desert-dry. There is nothing here to bring people past Kä, to keep its location fresh in the All-Mind. If it had a higher location, and were even faintly visible from the desert route between Raithskar and the Refreshment House at Yafnaar, it might still be popular with history students. But look at it—it's in a hole."

She did look. "Those buildings on the far side of the city— the regular grouping, do you see?"

I followed her pointing arm, and did see what she meant. There was a large center building and, radiating outward, a set of smaller ones. It was reminiscent of the arrangement of Lord City—further encouragement, since the Last King had been the one to lay out the construction of that settlement above Eddarta. The rest of Kä might have been transplanted from Raithskar. There was a large open area near the big building Tarani had noticed, and several smaller openings scattered around it. I presumed they served as Raithskar s did, as centers for specific business districts.

"I think you're right," I told Tarani. "Shall we go investigate?"

"We shall go into the city," she said, "and enter the first building which will provide shelter from the heat. You will tell me why it was so important that I come here with you. Then we shall seek out the sword."

I opened my mouth to argue, but simply closed it again.

"The time has come," ran the quote, remembered by Ricardo, through my mind, "to talk of many things." In other words, she's right; I've run out of procrastination room.

Keeshah took us down the slope below the ridge, which was less steep than it seemed, and through the streets of Kä. I had been correct in identifying the building material as stone, at least for the buildings we had seen from the ridge. Their walls were made of small sections of stone, not quarried smooth, but apparently selected and matched for size and color. Whatever had been used to cement the stones together had been designed for long wear—even after centuries, the rock showed more sand-scarring than the medium material.

There had been many more buildings in the city at one time, however. The land from the base of the ridge to the first stone building was heaped and pitted, and Keeshah found it difficult going until he located a smooth, straight stretch.

"We're on a street," I said, as the revelation struck me. "All those mounds are buildings that were made of salt blocks

"Like the Refreshment Houses?" Tarani asked. "But those seem as permanent as stone."

"They are maintained," I explained, excitedly. "Surface scars can be patched with saturated salt mud, but the crystal structure will break down completely, given time, as these have done. The Fa'aldu can replace blocks when necessary, adding strength and life to the rest of the structure. These had no one to tend them, and eventually they just fell back into sand heaps."

"You speak of this, as you did of language, as if you have studied the destruction of cities," she said.

"Uh—" I replied.

She pointed. "There, a stone house. The roof is gone, but it seems large enough that the wall will shade us. We will stop there.

Remarkably little sand had drifted into the building—thanks, no doubt, to the stifling stillness of the desert air. Keeshah left us at the doorway, preferring the shade of an outer wall to the squeeze represented by the people-sized entries. As he curled up to rest, Tarani and I cleared away a mass of petrified wood pieces that must have been a dining table at one time.

We sat down in the wall's shade and I offered Tarani some food. She shook her head. "I am hungrier for truth," she said.

"All right," I said, after considering and rejecting softer ways to start. "I have been lying to you. I am not a 'Visitor'— not the way you understand it, anyway."

"But you are not Markasset," she said.

"No. I had another name, another life, in another totally different world, much bigger. My world had a Pleth larger than all the land area, and rakor was so common that it was used to build cities larger than all the cities in Gandalara put together. The people of my world spoke many different languages."

She frowned, concentrating. "I find this—difficult to believe. There is no hint of such a time within the All-Mind."

"My world has no All-Mind," I said, and heard her catch her breath. "I learned about the past of my world through reading what other people wrote down, and by visiting cities like this, lost for centuries in the desert. My deserts were different, though, with constant winds that piled the sand so high that our ancient cities were buried under tons of soil."

She was silent for a long time, and then suddenly snapped at me: "Why did you not tell me this at the beginning?"

"I was afraid you would not be able to believe me."

"You have said that strangely," she commented. "Not that I would not believe, but that I would be incapable of belief. You thought the truth would frighten me?"

"Yes," I admitted. "Doesn't it?"

"The strangeness of it disturbs me," she said, "but it explains many other things which have disturbed me more. For example—your ability to resist mindpower, which thinkers guess has some connection to the All-Mind. It seemed strange to me; I felt that merely having the two identities did not account for your immunity. If you were never a part of the All-Mind, then it is logical that a power associated with-it would not affect you.

"I have always known that you think differently—with greater detachment, sometimes with greater logic," she said, her voice growing harsher. "I say sometimes' because I see no logic in your hiding this truth. Your deception has only created confusion and distrust. What did you gain by it?"

She saw me hesitate before I answered.

"There is more," she stated flatly. "Tell me."

"This part will be harder to believe," I warned her. She merely waited. "Just before I woke up in Markasset's body," I said, "I suffered a strange disaster in my own world. I can't begin to tell you what happened or why—but I have learned that the person who was with me also came to Gandalara. The person in whose body she appeared was still alive, and—"

"Enough!" Tarani ordered, and scrambled to her feet. I jumped up after her and grabbed her, shoulders. She struggled, her eyes not looking at me, her mouth pressed into a tight, defiant line. "Let me go," she demanded.

I shook her and yelled at her, driven by anger and fear and the need to get this out into the open. "You can't ask for the truth and then reject part of it;" I said. "There is a woman from my world in Gandalara; her mind and thoughts and personality are alive in you, Tarani. She had been influencing you in ways you can't really recognize. She might be helping you right now— she could be the reason that knowledge of my world doesn't frighten you."

"No!" Tarani screamed, and began to struggle furiously, but with no real intent to free herself—which surely saved me some bruises. I held on to her arms throughout the spell of activity, and she suddenly went quiet. She stood in front of me, panting, her fists tightly clenched above the wrists I held.

"How long has your friend been me?" she asked in a low, vicious voice.

"I think—since Recorder school," I said. "You told me about a period of confusion, when you left the school. I think she came then, and you knew she was here, and part of the reason you have refused to use your Recorder skills is that it would remind you of that time. I think you have been afraid of her, Tarani-but she doesn't deserve your fear or hate. She had no more choice about this than you did."

"You truly believe there is another person inside of me?" she asked in that same quiet voice.

"I do. I—have spoken to her."

"And that she has 'helped' me—to debase myself with Molik, to bond with Yayshah, to—" She faltered. "—to learn to love you? That there is nothing in my life, since school, for which I can take responsibility, whether it be credit or blame? Her voice had risen.

"Is it such a terrible thing to understand your past in this way, Tarani?" I asked. "She meant you no harm‑

"She—who?" the girl demanded. "Who is she? Who was she, to you, before you both came here?"

"Her name is Antonia," I said. "We had only just met when the disaster struck."

"Then how can you speak for her intent?" Tarani demanded.

I was losing patience. Resistance, I had expected—but jealousy? "I can't," I said. "Why don't you ask her what you want to know?"

Tarani became very still.

"Is that possible?" she asked.

"I think the sword can make it possible," I said, and released her arms. She lowered them and stepped back, seeming to cower against the wall. "Do you remember, in Dyskomis, that I asked you if my being a Visitor disturbed you? You asked if that wasn't the very reason why we were involved in this mess.

"Tarani, when I arrived in Gandalara, Markasset was dead. I didn't even have full control of his memories—until I touched Serkajon's sword. You have touched this sword with no effect. But there are two of us, and two of these swords."

"And you think the one left in Kä will release the one called Antonia?" she asked, the bitterness in her voice shocking me.

"I don't know what it will do," I admitted. "Your situation is very different. But I do know that the two of you can't go on existing entirely separate in the same body. It's impossible to expect that your judgment won't be affected by Antonia— and, now that you know about her, by your suspicion of her interference. The' sword may do nothing at all," I said. "But it seems to be the only possible key."

"This is the true reason you came in search of the second rakor sword," she said flatly. "Well, let us find the thing!"

She ran out of the building and down the roadway, heading straight for the large square in what we had guessed to be the government section of the city. I followed her with a goodly measure of panic troubling my breathing. We went into the biggest building and searched every room. Suggestion of the rich furnishings still remained in wall paintings, petrified wood carvings, and paper-dry bundles of tapestry, long since fallen from their hangers.

The sword was not there.

"Zefra said the sword was cast aside by the Last King in anger with the Sharith, as he was leaving Kä," Tarani reminded me. "If so, it would have remained in plain sight. It easily could have been stolen by profiteers."

"It was too valuable a thing in itself to be destroyed, and no one has heard of it since the last days of the Kingdom," I said. "It has to be here, still—somewhere."

Tarani leaned against a wall and crossed her arms. "Because your 'destiny demands you be united with your friend?" she asked.

I threw down the crumbling tapestry I had just tried to move and turned to face her. `I want you to listen to what you just said: 'your' destiny; 'your' friend. Since when is this only my business, my need? In Dyskornis, we accepted a joint destiny, Tarani—and everything that has happened since has only brought us closer together, made us a more effective team."

She rearranged her position, but did not interrupt me.

"Antonia has been a part of that team all along," I said. "You haven't known about her—I didn't know about her for a long time. But she is here and, hard as it is for you to accept or even tolerate, she did guide your life toward our meeting point, though I doubt she was doing that consciously. I have given up speculating why this is all happening, and why, in particular, to us." That wasn't quite true, but such speculation was definitely a side issue to the point I was trying to make. "I just don't think it would hurt anything to make Antonia an active and visible part of the team.

"And yes, I do believe we are meant to find that sword." She sighed. "How? It will take us days to search every building; we do not have that much time.

"You can find it," I said. "Or you can help me find it." She put her hands flat against the wall, as though she were preparing to launch herself from it. Her arms were trembling. "You mean to use me as a Recorder?" she asked.

"I think it is the only way to find the sword, Tarani. Don't you want to get this over with?"

"I do—more, perhaps, than you," she replied. "But you are correct about my reluctance to use the skills I was taught in Recorder School. The mere prospect of doing so frightens me terribly. It may be unreasonable, but the situation is unchangeable. I am sorry."

"What scares you about it, Tarani? The memories? It should be easier to face them now. Please, for your own sake, please try."

She stared at the floor, breathing hard, her entire body now trembling.

She's terrified, I thought, and began to have second thoughts about asking her to do this. It was too late; I had convinced her.

Her hands balled into fists and she moved determinedly into the clear center of the room—we had started and ended our search in the audience hall. "Come here," she ordered. "Quickly, before I change my mind!"

I ran to join her.

"I will have no success at all if I cannot become calm," she said. "I was taught a method it will take a few moments of quiet. Say nothing until I speak again."

I nodded, and accepted her hand as we lay down together on the dusty stone floor.

She's putting herself into a trance state, I guessed as I heard her breathing become more quiet and felt her hand relaxing its death grip. She is probably still terrified, though. This woman has been through enough, I thought fiercely. If she's got the courage to go through with this, it has to help her!

Her hand tensed, and she laughed.

She sat up.

Antonia sat up, leaned over, and kissed me.

	"This is what she feared," Antonia said, with her hand still on my chest. "To enter the All-Mind takes submission and self-release. She was doing this when I arrived, and that was the last time I had control."

The woman who was, and was not, Tarani stood up and I stretched, and then strolled across the room to touch a carved stone panel. I was too stunned to move, and I said the first thing that popped into my mind.

"You're speaking Gandaresh."

She laughed, Antonia's light rhythm sounding odd in Tarani's throaty voice.

"I see, Dottore Carillo, that you still practice your studies." I stood up, beginning to understand what was happening, beginning not to like it much.

"Antonia, you know everything that has happened, don't you?" I asked her.

"Yes, Ricardo, I know. I have heard your truths and your lies, your talk of destiny. I have loved you—with her body."

She came toward me, touched my cheek with her hand. I marveled that the same flesh could change so dramatically with the mannerisms of a different personality. Tarani's presence was solid and competent, regal and elegant. Antonia gave off an air of less substantial power—sophistication, learning, beauty for its own sake. Her face was somber.

"You must help me, Dottore," she said.

Whatever I can do," I said, puzzled. "As long as it won't hurt Tarani."

"Ah, there is the sadness," Antonia said, with a rueful smile. "I have indeed, as you suspect, influenced the life of this girl. But two things she has won on her own—the bond with Yayshah, and your devotion to her. I would share both, if I could," Antonia said. "But I know that, if you were forced to choose one of us, she would live and I would die a second time."

"Don't talk of dying," I said. "How can I help you?"

"You must help me accept the possibility of dying," she said, sadly. "For only then can I release this body to Tarani again, and let her find the sword. Ah, Ricardo, if you loved me, I would damn destiny and relegate the girl to the prison which has held me these long years. I cannot say it has not been interesting. I freely admit that existence in such circumstance was quite preferable to true death. But it is painful to have words that cannot be spoken, feelings that cannot be expressed. It is a trial to influence rather than control.

"This sword promises an end to it," she said. "But there is no telling what form that end will take. Serkajon's sword united you with Markasset's memories. Zanek's sword may purge Tarani of my presence."

"Surely—" I began. She put her fingers on my lips.

"Do not lie to me; the possibility exists," she said, and I nodded. "Then help me. Tarani is stronger than I; her courage astounds me. I believe she knew, when she began the trance, that I would emerge—and I know that she had no certainty that I would ever again relinquish control."

"Perhaps you don't have to," I said.

"Oh, but I must," she responded. "As Tarani pointed out, the All-Mind is Gandalaran—I could not act as a Recorder, even if the knowledge were my own and not second-hand. I did wish one more breath to be truly mine, and I felt a need to be close to you in my own body, even though it is a borrowed one."

I pulled her into an embrace and kissed her. Even that gesture was different under Antonia's direction—practiced and evocative, delicately sweet—but as sincere as Tarani's touch.

"Now," Antonia said, as she disentangled herself from my arms, "I will lie here again, and you will talk to me of the things which mean so much to Tarani. Speak of destiny or of Yayshah. Say anything about Gandalaran things, and I will let myself slip away."

"Antonia," I said, as she lay down precisely where she had been, and offered me her hand. I was too moved to say anything more; she seemed to understand, and squeezed my fingers.

"Talk to us, Ricardo. Hurry."

Gandalaran things, I thought frantically. Zanek! Tarani has never asked for detail about what I learned in the All-Mind—probably because of the emotional load associated with Recording.

I began to talk of the man I had met while I had been, physically, in Omergol with Somil. I talked of his ideals, the tragedy and loneliness of his life, of his commitment to a peaceful future. I described the years of daily decisions, their burden and satisfaction. And as I talked, a mood of kinship settled over me, as if I did not require the All-Mind as intermediary to visit Zanek. It was a feeling familiar to Ricardo in the ancient places of my other world-a connection made of time and curiosity, a sense of continuity and commonality.

Tarani's voice did not disturb the mood, but deepened it.

"Lie down," she said, and I obeyed. Our hands still touched.

"Will you seek?" she asked. The familiar timbre of power thrummed in her voice as, like Somil, she accepted the role of Recorder.

"I will seek, Recorder," I replied.

"Then make your mind one with mine, as I have made mine one with the All-Mind," she said, guiding our minds with the words.

"We begin."

I felt the same jarring wrench I had experienced with Somil, with the single difference that I had been expecting it, and we entered the brilliant vision of the All-Mind.

"I am inexperienced," Tarani's mindvoice said. It was clear and strong, but impersonal, reprising Somil's sudden shift into ritual formality. "Can you assist me in locating Kä?"

I would not have thought so before she asked, but I knew I could. "This way, I think, Recorder," I said, and we began to move along a shining cylinder—slowly, at first, then more quickly as Tarani became more confident.

After a moment, she spoke again. "Yes, we are proceeding correctly

I made no effort to verify that—both because I trusted her, and because my experience with Somil warned me away from it.

"I see in your mind," she said, "that you have some understanding of seeking. An object such as the sword cannot be our goal—rather; we must locate a life memory with knowledge of the sword. It is my intent to seek out those who lived at the end of the Kingdom, and to share memory only briefly with several, rather than deeply with only one individual. Do you consent?"

"Willingly," I said, remembering the pain of separation from Zanek. I did not care to suffer it again, and I did not want to put Tarani's Recorder skills to the test of dragging me out of the All-Mind against my will.

We sped ever faster along the glowing spokes. While the experience was similar to my search with Somil, there was a different quality to being with Tarani. I put it down to my already knowing Tarani, while Somil had been a stranger. I also wondered if Antonia's presence had anything to do with it—I could sense no trace of the human woman's thoughts in the mind which carried mine through the shining network.

"She is here," Tarani's mindvoice said, startling me. "Even as you carry Markasset's memories within you, your friend lies within me." She must have sensed my surprise, for she continued. "I do not know her," Tarani said, "but I acknowledge her. I am aware of the choice she has made, and she was correct-if she had failed to relinquish all control, I could not have accomplished entry into the All-Mind. I am also aware that her eagerness for resolution is as strong as my own, and her uncertainty as great. She has won my respect.

We moved along in silence toward the center of the All- Mind, then slowed down and, as had happened with Somil, be to move along an arc of the sphere as Tarani scanned individual life memories for knowledge of the other sword.

"I have located those who lived in Kä at the end of the Kingdom," she told me. "This is not an ordinary seeking, in that seeker and Recorder both have need. It would be well, also, to limit our physical time as much as possible. Therefore, I shall share memory, and you shall view .-

She did not ask or wait for my consent, but I would have given it gladly. Doing it this way gave me more detachment, so that the experience was even more like watching a film—a collage of well-directed character sketches.

We felt the fear of a court official, who was hastily packing up for the long march to Eddarta. He did not know about the Ra'ira; he merely knew that the slaves had stopped working, and that the Kingdom was finished. It was a credit to him that loyalty to Harthim was uppermost in his mind.

We labored with one of the workmen who removed the giant bronze sheet from its wall mounting and grunted under its weight, carrying it outside. We watched it being mounted on a special sled-like arrangement equipped with vlek harness. We, too, felt anxiety about the coining change, and speculated whether we should move our wife and children to Raithskar. Would there be work?

We were Harthim, and learned that Zefra's description of his handling of the sword had been correct. We lifted it from its place of honor in the audience hall, and then threw it from us in disgust. A slave crossed the room to retrieve it, and we ordered him to leave it where it had fallen. We felt a deep sense of betrayal, remembering that we had admired Serkajon and sought his admiration, remembering—but not admitting- that we had loved him. We knew it was not Serkajon's act alone that drove us from Kä, but the absence of the Ra'ira. We felt crippled without it, suspicious of everyone, vulnerable as we had never been to the hidden thoughts of our friends and enemies, incapable of trust. We looked once more at the sword, and then turned our backs on it.

We were the last person to leave the audience hall, on the day Harthim abandoned Kä. We were a slave, sent there to collect anything that might have been left, with the exception of the sword. We hesitated, calculating the value of the sword, but we recognized that discovery of such disobedience would mean death. We left it, in the corner against the wall.

Tarani paused, and skimmed along several cylinders. "There is no more here," her mindvoice said. "These people remember the sword, of course, but did not see it again. Harthim's leaving seemed to be a signal to which the entire city responded, and Kä was empty within a generation."

"Harthim left it on the floor of the audience hall," I said, "but it is one now. Someone had to have moved it."

"Agreed," Tarani said. "It could have been anyone, at any time. There was true sadness in her mindvoice. "If we could trace places, as well as people, we might merely 'watch' the audience hall. Without that capability, I believe that we cannot discover who removed the sword."

I kept silent and thought hard. I was aware that Tarani was growing concerned about the passing of time, but I was still certain that we would find that sword, still hopeful that it would help Tarani. If we are meant to find it, I thought, and then I must know something to help us find it....

"Serkajon!" I said. "How did he know about the Ra'ira's power?"

"I cannot say," Tarani replied. "And I see no connection between that mystery and the sword."

"There is no obvious connection," I admitted. "But except for Harthim, Serkajon was the individual most involved in the end of the Kingdom. The sword and the Ra'ira were both symbols of power, and both are connected to Serkajon—the Ra'ira, because Serkajon stole it; the sword, because it represented the loyalty of Sharith to King, which Serkajon violated."

Tarani hesitated.

"Serkajon," I pleaded. "It can't take much time. If we don't learn anything—then I'll give up."

She did not verbalize consent, but we moved along the arc once more. Without warning, we were Serkajon, skipping through his life memory.

We were collapsed in the high part of the Alkhum Pass, struggling ever more weakly to breathe. We were thinking of the Valley beyond, imagining the pleasure of riding a sha'um. Suddenly, we thought of our father, and of his memory of us as one who had failed. We rallied against the vision, conserved our breath, and began to crawl.

We led the Sharith cubs in a training exercise, and felt their unity and symmetry as an extension of ourselves. Everyone in the Sharith functioned as a part of the group, willingly shouldering part of the responsibility. We wondered why it could not be so in the Kingdom. We thought of the slaves who labored in the grain fields, tilling and carrying water to the dry earth that yielded less every year. We remembered the times we had walked with Harthim in his garden, and listened to him talk of government. He had made it seem reasonable and necessary, for the good of Gandalara, and we had been satisfied—until we rode through the fields again.

We began to move faster through the scenario that was Serkajon's life memory. . .

We became Captain. . .

We tried to explain Harthim's policies to the Sharith, but were hampered by our own lack of understanding. . . .

We watched the slaves, and wondered how they could bear such a life. We saw one man explode with anger, dropping and spilling the precious load of water he was bringing from their reservoir, which had been filled from the Skarkel River. We watched him attack his supervisor, who stepped back and readied his sword. We watched him stop, shake his head, mutter an apology, retrieve his water sack, and turn back toward the reservoir. We puzzled over it, thinking that the man had acted as if someone controlled his thoughts . . . .

We understood. . . .

We were Zanek.

Chapter 18

The shock of discovery jarred Tarani out of Serkajon's life memory. "Zanek returned as a Visitor to Serkajon's body?" she said, her Recorder composure momentarily shattered. "Surely if anyone had known that, it would be remembered in legend as well as the All-Mind."

"Obviously, it was kept secret. But it explains why Serkajon knew about the Ra'ira s power. And if such a thing is possible at all, there is a definite logic to Zanek using the and position of a man who was sympathetic to his own body

Tarani recovered, and plunged us back into the life memory that had been assumed by Zanek.

We were surprised to be once again in the world, but we quickly understood that we were needed. We kept ourselves hidden, and wore Serkajon as a mask against the Ra'ira's power. We were curious that Harthim saw the Captain's discontent, and addressed it with words, but that he made no effort to control it. Once, in the King's presence, we used the Refire to see Harthim's thoughts.

From that moment, we no longer hated the King, or despised him for the way in which he ruled the Kingdom we had created. Harthim was acting only according to his training. He had been raised amid dissatisfaction and distrust, for which we bore more charge than Harthim.

We had exercised our vision shortsightedly. Had we not placed Kä at the edge of the Great Pleth, even though we had been the one to perceive that the deserts were growing because the Pleths were shrinking? Those who followed us as Kings had been loyal to our vision, but blind to our failing. As the life-giving water of the Great Pleth had retreated through the years, sustaining Kä had become a heavier burden. Now it stood isolated in desert, its continued life bought at a terrible cost.

We saw that Harthim recognized in Serkajon and integrity and sense of purpose that was missing in his own friendless life and that, in a pure and true sense, the King loved his Captain. He wished to believe his love and loyalty were returned; Harthim never tested Serkajon with the Ra'ira.

We did not hate Harthim, and we wasted no guilt on ourselves, but resolved to act. The Kingdom was useless as it now existed; what we had created, we would destroy. We became a thief, and abused the Ra'ira ourselves in pressing sleep and forgetfulness upon Harthim when he discovered us.

We took the Ra'ira to Raithskar, and threw it into the forge fires of the rakor foundry. The treacherous jewel emerged unharmed. We realized that the power of the best leaders in Raithskar and tested them. To those men alone, we revealed the secret of the Kingdom's power, and we pledged them to keep it ever safe from such use.

We skipped through the period still remembered in Raithskarian and Sharith legend, when the Riders had abandoned Harthim. I was curious as to whether Zanek had used the Ra'ira's power to influence their decision, but I was willing to leave that curiosity unsatisfied.

We were back in Kä, some years later. We went to the audience hall, and viewed the wall where the Bronze had been mounted. The wall was broken in several places; removing the mountings had been no simple task, and had left sections of stone shattered. We remembered the Bronze and its message, and regretted that it had been so poorly heeded.

We wished a silent and personal farewell to the Kingdom, and turned away. Our food struck a fallen tapestry, and we stumbled. We lifted the weaving to study it—and rakor gleamed beneath it. Harthim's sword, discarded during the King's flight, had lain here all this time, providentially hidden beneath this torn and worthless wall hanging.

We lifted the sword and mourned, for ourself and for Serkajon, the shattering of our bond. We knew the value of the weapon, but we also knew its history. It had been the King's sword, as potent a symbol as the Ra’ira, and we thought it best that this symbol, too, should disappear from sight.

As we looked about the room, we noticed the broken areas of the wall, and went to investigate. The wall was thick, built three stones deep, so that the breakage had only affected the first layer, creating depressions no deeper than two hand-spans-far too shallow to admit the sword. There were two entire surface stones missing, separated by a section of rock still intact. The pattern of three would have been directly under the lower left corner of the Bronze.

We used a heavy piece of rock to break up the remaining stone, and cleared it out of the wall. We pressed the sword of rakor into the long vertical opening: it lodged securely. Then we began to repack the opening with chunks of rock, flatter stones held in place with sharper-edged pieces. We pounded the covering when it was finished, to even the surface slightly and to force the outermost edges of the mass into what mortar still clung to the boundary stones.

We stepped back to survey the work. The patching could not be mistaken for a part of the original wall, to be sure, but its placement made it less noticeable, and we felt the sword was well concealed from any but a knowing search.

We felt a rare and clean sense of satisfaction, and a dawning peace. We realized that the task for which we had returned was complete.

We were Serkajon once more. We remembered all that Zanek had done, and approved. We left Kä, and considered it truly abandoned.

Tarani pulled me away from the life memory of Serkajon/Zanek, and we sped dizzily through the tangle of glowing cylinders to the edge of the sphere. She had to pause there to soothe her excitement and eagerness into the measured calm of a Recorder. In a moment, she said: "I shall withdraw our minds from the All-Mind."

The brilliant glow faded into darkness, and I felt union with my body again; it felt stiff and awkward.

"And mine from yours," Tarani ended the ritual, and I was alone.

I sat up and started rubbing my arms and legs with hands that took their own sweet time in becoming responsive. My inner awareness and the dimmer light in the room told me it was late afternoon, and the relative speed with which feeling was coming back to my flesh confirmed it was the same afternoon in which we had entered the All-Mind. Tarani and I had been "gone" from our bodies only a few hours.

Tarani's eagerness—or determination—sent her crawling toward the back wall of the chamber as soon as she woke. Her movement was clumsy at first, but soon became more efficient. I stood and followed her.

The vertical patch of smaller stones was very close to the floor, and seemed to rise from the other rubble piled around its base. I had seen the place on my first look around the room, and had merely assumed that the top of the pile had fallen in a peculiarly vertical arrangement.

Tarani and I cleared the rock fragments from the base of the wall and began to pry and pull at the small rocks. A few came free in our hands; a few more could be worried out with our daggers. It seemed as if an eternity had passed while we knelt there, but it really took us only a few minutes to move the stones that would move.

We had opened small areas at the top and bottom of the patch, but the center of it was effectively blocked by a large flat stone wedged in between the original stones at either side. Its strong purchase served as an anchor for most of the smaller stones above and below it. Neither of the openings we had made were large enough to admit a hand, and it would clearly be impossible to maneuver the sword out of the opening with that center stone still in place.

Tarani glanced at the doorway of the room, which was the only source of light—the room beyond seemed to be a reception hallway, with many windows, but the audience hall would have needed constant lamplight. It was perceptibly dimmer in the room now, and my inner awareness told me we had very little time until dark. This room would be pitch black, and with all our other planning, we had brought nothing with which to make light—not a lamp, not a candle, not even a sparker (assuming we might be able to find something burnable in this ruined city). Fires were unnecessary as a source of warmth, and we had packed dried or long-lasting food for the journey. A sha'um could run even through the moonless darkness, guided as well by his sense of smell as by his eyesight.

Tarani turned back to me, her face tight and strained. "Rikardon, I do not wish to spend the night in speculation."

I nodded, and edged her out of the way. I put the blade of my bronze dagger into the upper opening, braced it and pulled, trying to break the tension of the covering rocks by forcing them outward.

The dagger snapped.

It was perceptibly darker in the room.

I drew Rika, and put its point into the opening. It was conceivable that the edge might be dulled against the rock, but the tempered steel promised the capability of applying more pressure. The opening was awkwardly shaped, and the lever advantage of the sword severely limited by the proportions of blade inside and outside the concealing hollow.

I braced the point of the sword and pulled. A few stones dislodged, skittering to the floor around my feet. Their leaving enlarged the opening slightly, and another effort cleared away most of the smaller rocks above the flat center stone. I could put my hand inside and touch the blade of the sword, but my fingers could not grip it. The opening was placed where blade met hilt on the concealed sword; the hilt itself was still blocked at the uppermost area of the patch.

I removed my hand, and slipped Rika's blade through the opening, forcing it as far down into the hiding space as it would go. I was satisfied that outward pressure, now, would apply directly to the retaining center stone.

Tarani, who had watched me work, now joined me at the wall, and our four hands found secure purchase on Rika's hilt or on one another.

We pulled together, grimacing against the 'strain. I was afraid that even the tempered steel would break, but it held, bending slightly.

Nothing moved.

We caught our breath and pulled again. This time, we were encouraged by a small grating sound.

We had light and energy left for one last try, and Tarani and I prepared for it carefully. I held Rika's hilt and helped support her weight as she swung her legs off the floor. She braced her feet against the wall on one side of the stubborn center stone. When she was in position, I placed my left foot against the wall on the other side of the patch, directly opposite her feet.

We pulled, expressing the cost of the effort in a grim, moaning sound.

The stone hitched, moved again, and then let go. I heard it crash and slide on the fragment-littered floor as I was doing the same thing, several feet away from the wall. Tarani had flown even farther across the room, but we both scrambled back to the patch and worked furiously to clear away what was left of the lower covering.

When it was done, I waited for Tarani to reach into the hiding place and retrieve the sword. She knelt beside me in the dust, her hands flat against her thighs. It was nearly dark, but I could follow her movement as her hands moved toward the opening and stopped.

"Not in the dark, she said suddenly.”Rikardon, bring it outside, into the clean air." Without waiting for my consent, she stood up and ran for the dim gray rectangle that was the door of the room.

I reached in at the freshly cleared base of the opening, which was at floor level, and worked my fingers carefully around the still-sharp edge of the sword. I pulled at the point until it scraped forward. Guided now by touch rather than sight, I jockeyed the steel blade until the point emerged from the wall, then rocked and turned and twisted and pulled until the hilt came free of its encasement.

I put Rika back through my baldric, and walked cautiously across the rock-strewn floor, carrying the Sword of Kings. My hands had tingled when my fingers first had touched it, but there was no special sensation now, and I attributed that earlier reaction to the memory of Rika's effect on me.

What will this do to—or for—Tarani and Antonia? I wondered.

Tarani was waiting for me in the huge square that fronted the audience hall. Diffused moonlight provided fair lighting, though shadows were deceptive and perspectives slightly altered by the silvery quality of the light. This place was very similar to Raithskar s main square, with stone pavement and an occasional bench. I laid the sword down on one of the benches.

"There it is," I said. "What we came for."

"For different reasons," Tarani amended. She stood on the other side of the bench, her hands pressed tightly together in front of her. "Did you ever believe in my reasons?" she demanded.

"Yes and no," I replied. "I believed what you told me, that the sword existed and that you needed it as a tangible symbol of your right to rule Eddarta."

"But you did not believe—" she prompted.

"You know what my reasons were," I said. "I was never sure that you weren't working, subconsciously, for my goal, and that the political value of the sword wasn't merely a rationalization."

"You mean you thought the other was moving me," Tarani exploded, "and I was searching for a logical reason for my actions."

'Yes, that's what I mean," I snapped, then drew several deep breaths. "Tarani, anger won't help either one of us," I said at last. "What bothers you more—knowing that someone else has lived inside you and guided you? Or not knowing her and how she can affect your actions?

"Both things trouble me," Tarani said, "but not so much as the knowledge that you knew her, that you know her now and that you did not warn me of her presence."

"I accept fault in that, Tarani. It was fear that kept me silent. To tell you about Antonia, I had to tell you the truth about myself and make you aware that I had lied to you. Your trust I and faith are precious to me, and I was afraid to risk them. I knew, too, that knowledge of Antonia would disturb you and make you distrust yourself. When I first learned about Antonia, I could not offer you even the hope of ending the duality."

"When you learned—" she echoed. "When did you learn?

"Rikardon? No more deception."

"I had no idea she was here, until we arrived in Eddarta. There was a moment when we were very close. . . ."

"And you turned away," she said, her voice suddenly gentle and sad. "It might have been best to tell me then—it could have caused no deeper pain."

"I was shocked, and confused," I apologized. "I was just beginning to see what Antonia's hidden presence must have meant to you."

"How did you recognize her?" she asked.

"She called me by the name I carried in that other world," I said, then shrugged. "Tarani, what is the point of all this discussion?"

"The point is," she began angrily, and then stopped. "Rikardon, I am frightened. I believe I can pinpoint the other times at which the one called Antonia has spoken to you. They were moments of passion, words of caring, were they not?"

I nodded. "Until she appeared just before we entered the All-Mind," I confirmed.

"Knowledge of her has given me more understanding," she said walking closer to the bench. "Outside of Thagorn, when I cried out with all my voice and mind against the frustration and loss and despair I have suffered, I know now that I was expressing her frustration, her loss, her despair, as well as mine."

She gestured toward the sword. "I, too, desire the oneness you say this sword may give me. I do, desperately, wish for an end to the uncertainty about what touching the sword will do. But before I commit myself to whatever change may occur, there is one more truth I must know."

"Ask it," I said.

"The caring we have shared, you and I. Is—is any part of it truly mine?"

"All of it," I said. "I admit to being unsure on that point, myself, for a while. But I am sure now." I went around the bench to be close to her. I touched her face, nearly at a level with my own. "If you and Antonia become blended to any degree, you will know that I love you, Tarani—because she knows it. I can only tell you so, and your believing it depends on whether I have totally destroyed your trust."

She came into my arms and held me tightly for a moment, pressing her face into my shoulder. Then she stepped away.

"I do believe you, Rikardon," she said. "And I think more gently, now, of your friend, for the person you care for would not exist, but for the changes she wrought in my life. Will you—"

Her voice failed, and she pointed a trembling hand toward the sword. I lifted it by the blade, and offered her the hilt. She took it in both her hands.

A shock ran through her body, stirring my memory of Thanasset handing me Rika, and the peculiar sensation of learning everything about Markasset in one crashing, overwhelming instant. She staggered back a few steps, her hands clenching the sword hilt. Then she fell to her knees, dropped the point and of the sword to the pavement, hunched over, to sob.

I knelt beside her and put my arm lightly around her shoulders. She seemed not to notice me, and I merely waited until her breathing slowed. Finally, she lifted her head and looked at me.

I searched her face for change, and could find none. She smiled, a tender and wavering curving of her lips, and moved her feet. I helped her stand; she sagged against me and my concern mounted.

"Sit here," I said, leading her to the bench. "I'll bring the (water sack, and some food.

Her hand on my arm held me beside her.

"That will be most welcome, in a moment," the girl said. "We have ignored the needs of our bodies, following our visit to the All-Mind. But do not look so stricken, Rikardon-it is only fatigue which weakens me."

I could not contain the question any longer.

"Who are you?"

"I am Tarani," she said. "Antonia has gone, but she has left behind her memory and understanding of your world—Ricardo Carillo."

I drew her hand down my arm until I could hold it. "That
person exists only in memory," I said. "I am Rikardon now." I

"Her memories are too many, and too strange, to bear close examination now," Tarani said.

I nodded. "It was that way for me, too. Markasset is still a stranger to me in many ways."

Tarani rested her head on my shoulder. "I met Antonia for a brief instant," she said. "I suspect it was her choice, because she wanted me to understand that she did not regret the need of her going. She truly loved you, Rikardon, wholly and separately from my feelings. Yet there was no bitterness in her for my winning your love—only the kindest wishes for our happiness."

I tightened my arm around her shoulders, moved by the wistfulness and wonder in her voice—moved, too, by the basic goodness I had seen in my brief association with Antonia, which was now lost to both of us.

"I would weep in sadness for her and gratitude, if it were possible," Tarani said. Then she lifted her head, smiling with more spirit, and a trace of mischief. "But in Raithskar there is a large 'cat' who wants me to play with her 'kittens.' "

We both laughed, and then she grew serious again and looked down at the sword in her hand.

"In Eddarta, there is a danger to be controlled."

The thoughtful mood passed from her quickly.

"It was whispered in Recorder School that the infamous Somil used a rather unorthodox method to restore his energy after a session. Tell me," she said lightly, "is that true?"

"I can't speak from personal observation," I said, "but it seemed likely. I think your real question," I added, taking the sword from her hands and replacing it on the bench, "is whether his method is effective.

"Shall we test it for ourselves?"

End Proceedings: Input Session Five

—I have withdrawn our minds from the All-Mind . . . and now I withdraw mine from yours . . . was the session as painful as you anticipated?

—Yes. But I believe, in making this portion of the Record, that I have finally freed myself from the guilt I felt over deceiving Tarani.

—Be consoled by her own statement, that she could not have been herself without the hidden presence of your friend.

—	It is true of us all, I believe, that we are shaped by our choices and circumstances.
—	
—You are sad. Why?

—Antonia.

—	Your grief honors her. But now, you must rest. You will be needed at the close of the festival. When time permits, we will continue the Record.
—	

Book 3 Return to Eddarta

Preliminary Proceedings:

Input Session Six

—Recorder?

—Yes, I am here. The Record has been too long neglected, I think.

—I agree, of course. Give me a few minutes to prepare for my absence, and I will join you presently.

—I am embarrassed, Recorder, that you were forced to seek me out to complete the Record.

—My action is a small matter. Of more consequence is the cause of it. You have been too deeply involved in the details of the task you have set yourself.

—I thought Recorders refrained from value judgments.

—Do not smile away the issue, I beg you. You know very well that the abstinence of judgment applies particularly to the content of the Record; I am but a channel for your thoughts and memories as they enter the All-Mind. Outside my role as Recorder, I am as likely to praise or criticize as anyone. And anyone can see that you have had too little rest in recent weeks.

—Surely you don't mean to say that continuing the Record will be restful for me?

—Hardly. The trance state in which your body exists while the Record is being made cannot be compared to natural sleep.

—Then you expect this next portion of the Record to soothe me?

—Again I ask you to take this matter less lightly. What I expect is that continuing the Record will turn your attention from detail to purpose, and encourage you to care for yourself. 

—Oh.

—Forgive me. I did not know that my concern would express itself as anger.

-The rebuke is well deserved, Recorder. As Ricardo might say, I've been fiddling with the trees and forgetting the forest. And you're absolutely right; the Record is a potent reminder of the forest. I'm ready when you are.

—My anger disturbed the serenity I require to Record. I will need a moment to compose myself.

—I need that moment as well. It has been so long since our last session that I'm not sure where to begin this one . . . . Yes, of course.

Tarani and I had ridden my sha'um, Keeshah, into the Kapiral desert. We had found Ka, the abandoned capital of the ancient kingdom, and the sword still hidden there. We were returning to Raithskar and Keeshah's family—Yayshah and the three newborn cubs.

—I am calm now. Are you ready to continue?

—I am ready, Recorder.

—Then make your mind one with mine, as I have made mine one with the All-Mind. . . .

—WE BEGIN!

Kä vanished back into the desert with a speed and completeness that amazed me. The ancient city stood in the open air, the stonework of the oldest part of the city little harmed by the passing centuries. Closer to the city's perimeter, the streets were still recognizable as level pathways threading through thousands of shapeless mounds. Each mound represented the remains of a building constructed of salt blocks, a sensible building material for the extensive desert areas in Gandalara.

Even the desert air had to have some tiny percentage of moisture, however indetectable by warm skin seeking relief from the heat. That moisture, combined with the weight of the upper portions of the buildings, had broken down the crystalline structure of the lower blocks; the inexorable process, and the hardly noticeable movement of air, had rounded and smoothed the top layers.

(*Stop for a second,* I thought to Keeshah.

*Just started,* his mindvoice grumbled, but he slowed down.

I had been stretched out, clinging to the big cat's back with elbow and knee pressure. Tarani was riding second, seated close to the cat's hips with her lithe body pressed over mine. We sat up as Keeshah slowed—the coolness that swept against my back when Tarani removed her warmth always filled me with a sense of loss—and turned to look back at the apparently empty desert,

"It still amazes me that Kä has never been rediscovered," Tarani said. "It is hidden only to those who do not try to find it."

"So it is safely hidden," I said, "for no one else has tried— probably, since Zanek shared Serkajon's body as a Visitor, and returned to Kä to hide the King's sword."

From the corner of my eye, I saw her hand move to the hilt of the steel sword, which had replaced its bronze cousin in her baldric. The bronze sword hung beside it, its hilt caught by the baldric and the flat of the blade braced against the thigh and calf of her bent leg.

"It remains a mystery to me," Tarani said, shaking her head. "So great a city—would no one have been curious about it?"

"That's the Recorder in you talking," I told her. "You've been trained to respect the value of the past, and to learn about it as fact, without emotional involvement. Ka was left behind a long time ago. The people on this side of the Morkadahls have an oral history strongly colored by Serkajon's heroic image and the presence of the Sharith. No one west of Relenor has wanted to find it."

"I see that," she admitted- thoughtfully. "Yet the Kingdom is well remembered and still respected—however mistakenly—) by the Lords of Eddarta. Why have they not begun a search?"

"We don't know that they haven't," I reminded her. "But again, I strongly doubt it. Think of the distance between here and Eddarta, and the difficulty of the two high crossings near Chinn. And remember that we have the advantage of a sha'um. They would be on foot, unfamiliar with the landmarks west of the Morkadahls, attempting a desert search after the long haul from Eddarta."

"It does seem unlikely that the Lords would willingly undergo so much privation for curiosity's sake," Tarani said. "So—those who could have found Ka have not cared to, and those who might have cared to, could not." She looked in the direction of Kä again. "I cannot wish it forgotten, Rikardon.

At its end, it was an evil place. Yet the spirit that founded it was noble, and its purpose well served for many generations."

*Go now?* Keeshah asked, shifting his weight restlessly.

"Keeshah is eager to move on," I said.

"I expect he is looking forward to being with his family again," Tarani said. "Yayshah awaits him eagerly. It is time for us to abandon Ka one final time."

We settled ourselves again into riding position. Tarani needed an extra moment to adjust the positions of the swords, and then Keeshah set off at a run northwesterly, toward Raithskar

Carrying both those swords must be awkward for Tarani, I thought. Yet I wouldn't think of leaving the bronze sword behind, or even offer to carry it for her. Both swords are hers—and her responsibility.

Pressing my face into Keeshah's fur, I slipped into the familiar state of reverie in which non-Gandalaran Ricardo, an objective (more or less) observer, analyzed native Markasset's actions and attitudes. A blending of human mind and Gandalaran memory was occasionally (not always) an advantage. I frequently had been confounded by the fact that Markasset didn't know everything I wanted to know about this world.

I realized that I had found the answer to more than one mystery in the All-Mind. When Somil had guided me to Zanek's life memory and allowed me to share it, for those few brief moments, I had been exposed to all of Zanek's knowledge, to his society, and to its immediate past history—all of which lay hundreds of generations in the past, from Markasset's perspective. And swords were very much a feature of Zanek's world.

During my first hour or so in this world, weak and disoriented, I had forced myself to take the sword of a dead man and drag it across the desert—until I no longer had the strength to move it. Later, the—call it a talisman—that had sparked the integration of Markasset's memories with Ricardo's personality had been a very special sword. With Markasset's training, the steel sword called Rika had saved my life with unsettling frequency. More than that, its presence had often provided me with an odd sense of comfort.

Surely, the feeling I had for Rika was partly a sense of security in having a superior weapon. The blade carried a memory of that moment of integration, and of the emotion- packed realization that Markasset's father thought me more worthy than his own son to carry the treasured sword. But there was another feeling, deeper than any of these. The closest thing to it in Ricardo's experience was the feeling he often had when watching a fire burn in a fireplace. Far away in time and culture and thought patterns from the crouching near-men who had first discovered the benefits of fire, he had been subject to an atavistic thrill of power—the power to survive.

Up until now, the Ricardo part of me had marked the significance of personal weapons as a remnant of barbaric tradition in the highly cultured Gandalaran society. The sword is designed for fighting, not hunting, and is more connected with aggression than survival. It cannot be thrown as easily as a spear, and it does not have the close-quarters maneuverability of a small, sharp knife. I had been assuming that the Gandalaran sword had developed out of the inter-city warfare that had so appalled Zanek.

Nope.

In Gandalara, the sword was developed as a survival weapon—for survival against vineh. The apelike beasts were a branch from the same family tree as Gandalaran people. They walked on two legs, lived in colony groups, and carried impressive natural weapons: huge grasping hands with nails tough as claws, mouths built to open wide and clamp hard, and a whole lot of muscle. Vineh were omnivores. They had many of the same environmental needs as Gandalarans, and were inclined to be ungenerous about sharing territory.

Both the vineh and the Gandalarans would have been nomadic hunter-gatherers in the beginning; territorial conflict might have been frequent. Adult male vineh were bigger and stronger than the men of Gandalara, but the men would have had the advantages of intelligence and greater group cooperation. That probably meant, at first, that the men knew when to run, and maintained an orderly retreat—preventing useless losses.

Once the Gandalarans had discovered cultivation, and the need to stay in one place for more than a season, whatever leisure their expanding and specializing culture could offer would have been directed toward more efficient defense: a sharpened stone; tied to the end of a stick to compensate for the vineh's longer reach; tied along the edge of a stick for close-quarters fighting; pieces of hammered metal in place of the stones to make the weapon a bit lighter; a strip of hammered metal; metal alloys that kept an edge longer; the idea to sharpen both edges and the search for an alloy that could be used without a center rod of breakable wood.

The people of Gandalara had one other major advantage over the vineh: the All-Mind. The shared memory would have made technological advances available to everyone, and would have allowed new generations to benefit from the learning of the past ones, without the need to rely on oral history or wait for writing to be developed. Settlements would have grown quickly, forcing the vineh to find other, perhaps less desirable territory that offered natural shelter.

By Zanek's time, all the vineh west of the Morkadahls had moved into the rocky, almost desert terrain in the hills just west of Raithskar, and continued to be a major nuisance. Some visionary before Zanek had designed Raithskar, with its center and radiant squares, and had guided the building of the impressive stone wall that had since been copied by other cities. In Zanek's time, the Sharith had been part of city government and patrolled the perimeter of cultivated land, to keep people in the fields safe from vineh. I found myself wishing Zanek had known the identity of the first man who had brought a sha'um across the Alkhum Pass to share his life in Raithskar; I wanted to thank him.

But even by Zanek's time, the All-Mind had become an accessible but indirect source of information, and the knowledge contained in it (Rikardon might speak of it analogously as a data base) had grown too large for comprehension by any single individual. I suspected it had been too large almost at once, but that the connection between individuals and All- Mind had been stronger when the survival of the race had depended on the ability of one to share the knowledge of the others.

The All-Mind still played a part in Gandalaran life. I felt sure that the "inner awareness' available to every person was an extension of the common experience in the All-Mind. But conscious contact with the phenomenon was limited to those with the proper training, called Recorders. I had worked with two very recently: Somil in Omergol, the capable, quite colorful, "rogue" Recorder who had introduced me to Zanek and found the general location of Kä for me; and the woman whose weight rested pleasantly against my back.

Almost as if she had felt me thinking about her, she stirred. Her hands tightened on my shoulders as she braced her legs higher on Keeshah's hips. Hands and legs remained tensed, holding on. Her mind went to sleep, a fact I could detect clearly by the softness of her body. I made the same kind of preparation, willed my muscles to hold on, and drifted off to sleep myself. We woke when Keeshah's movement altered; he was slowing down.

*Rest,* he told me.

He stopped, and we dismounted gingerly, stretching the muscles of our legs slowly, so that they would not cramp op on us.

"Water, Keeshah?" I said aloud, projecting with my mind, as well.

*Yes,* he said, and lapped up the water Tarani poured into my cupped hands. When the long, pinkish-gray tongue had rasped across my palms, taking the last drop of water, the big cat moved several feet away from us and relieved himself. The power of suggestion, added to natural pressures, was too much for us; Tarani and I separated, seeking the scant cover of the scrubby desert bushes.

The three of us met again where we had stopped—it was a piece of desert indistinguishable from any other. Keeshah

• came over to me and nuzzled my chest. I braced myself as he turned his head and rubbed his nose and forehead across my torso. He was panting lightly from the exertion of the run.

*Thank you for carrying both of us, Keeshah,* I told him. *Soon we will be home, and you can have a long rest.*

*Ask woman,* his mindvoice said. *Female, cubs-well?*

"He's asking about Yayshah and the cubs," I told Tarani, who was scuffing sand about with her booted foot, creating a hollow in which to rest. She smiled and joined us, stroking back the fur at Keeshah's neck.

"Keeshah's family is doing very well," she said, "though I cannot say the same for Thanasset's garden."

I laughed, then passed the information along to Keeshah.

*Thank woman,* he said, and poked his nose gently at I Tarani's midriff in his own gesture of gratitude. Then he left us and curled up in the sand, his back against two of the short, grayish bushes. I was sure that, if we had not been so close, the cat's tan-and-gray coloring would have made him very hard to spot.

"Keeshah says thank you," I told Tarani.

A strange look passed over her face.

"What is it?" I asked.

She put her hand on my arm as if to steady herself, though she showed no signs of dizziness. I covered her hand with my own.

"Is something wrong, Tarani?"

"Not wrong, she said uncertainly.”Only . . . different. I think—I believe—" She broke off with a small laugh. I was relieved to hear it sound normal and real, not bitter or strained. "I am getting to know Antonia," she said, in a firmer voice. "To be more precise, I am learning what she knew, and seeing things as she saw them."

We had both napped while Keeshah ran, and I wasn't feeling excessively tired. "Let's allow Keeshah his rest, shall we?" I asked, and took her hand. We walked away slowly, in the direction of the blue line against the horizon that marked the Great Wall. The movement was more pleasant than I had expected; I realized we must have had a long run this time, for me to be so stiff.

We were silent for the first few moments. Her dark furred head was facing the horizon, but her eyes were not seeing it. I couldn't tell if she were in rapport with Yayshah or merely looking into Antonia's world. I reached for words to help or comfort her.

"It must be startling," I said at last, "to begin to question what you have taken for granted all your life."

Her head turned toward me. "Surely you faced this, too?" she asked.

I shook my head. "It wasn't the same for me," I explained. "I am basically a man from a different world; I've always seen the differences first. It took conscious effort to use Markasset's memories for me to be comfortable here."

"And I am essentially Gandalaran, with the memory and viewpoint of an"—she had to search for a word-"a stranger to disrupt my acceptance of the world I have always known."

"Exactly," I agreed. "What was it that disturbed you a moment ago?"

She looked at the ground. The tan leather of our boots was even paler for the coating of sand garnered from three days in the Kapiral Desert.

"I was wondering what lay beyond the Great Wall," she said.

It was simple statement, a simple thought—to a human. A Gandalaran was never out of sight of the boundaries of the "world," and the night sky was almost continually hidden by the thick cloud cover. Gandalarans had never learned the concept of a planet.

She looked up at me. "Do you know?"

"I wish I did," I said, and felt the tremendous relief of being able to discuss the questions that had plagued me since I had arrived in Gandalara. Tarani listened intently while I talked, not even blinking when I couldn't find a Gandalaran word for the concepts and used the Italian. The language felt strange and very musical in the Gandalaran throat..

When I was talked out, Tarani walked away from me and stared at the Great Wall, her hands braced against her hips "Antonia remembers nothing like the Great Wall in her home world," Tarani said. "But the sight of the Wall from this distance—it stirs something, Rikardon." She stared for a moment, then shrugged and came back to me. "A memory—a thought—it will come in its own time."

"Are you sure it is Antonia who remembers?" I asked. "Your link to the All-Mind is so strong, Tarani—might you ' not be subconsciously sharing memory with your own ancestors, who might have stood here and wondered about the strip of blue on the horizon?"

She considered. "It may be that, yes," she said, and sighed heavily. "Mysteries within mysteries." She put her hand on my cheek and caressed it. "I see the burden this has been for you, Rikardon. I see, too, that you were right to keep silence about Antonia. Because of her, I know now, I can accept awareness of your strange world. Had you spoken earlier, while I lacked that understanding, my fear of the strangeness would have forced me to deny your truth—possibly even to deny you."

Her fingers glided down my cheek to my neck, played there with a light touch that sent my blood singing. But Tarani wasn't aware of the effect she was creating; she was turned inward, thinking.

"How?" she asked softly. "Why?"

I held her upper arms in my hands, drawing her attention back to my face. "We may never know how," I said. "But haven't we been working for why for a long time now?"

"You mean the Ra'ira?" she asked. "That might explain why we are here," she said, "but why is it we and not two other people with human minds that are not subject to the Ra'ira's power? That is—I mean to say, why were you brought here?"

I'm sure my mouth dropped open. "Do you mean to say that you know why you were brought here—Antonia, that is?"

"I—well, of course not. I only suggest there may have been certain logic to choosing Antonia. Her memories show it clearly: she was to die within a few moons of an incurable internal infection."

The wave of grief took me by surprise, so that I staggered back from Tarani. She followed me, concerned. "It's ridiculous," I said, "but I am stunned and sorry-she was so young, Tarani, not at all like me."

"Like you?" she said.

"I had heard my own death bell toll. But I was older, and my life had been full. It could not hurt me so much as it must have hurt her."

Tarani was silent for a moment, reaching into the well of strange memory. "More and more," she said, "I come to admire this woman. She was hurt, yes, but not beaten. She put the knowledge aside and resolved to live her life as normally as possible, asking for no pity, allowing no regrets. She had pride and strength, this one.

"As does this one," I said, taking her face in my hands and leaning forward to kiss it.

Chapter 2

Keeshah ran another long session, covering the miles with amazing speed. At other times, I had guided his run/rest cycle to coordinate with ours, or to conserve his strength. This time, however, I owed him a long rest when we got to Raithskar. I let him set his own pace, knowing he would not extend himself past his capabilities. Tarani and I clung to his back, allowing ourselves to be lulled by the flowing front-to-back rocking motion, at least as much as the need to hang on would allow.

When Keeshah stopped again, the grayish bushes had a touch of green in their scrawny leaves. He was panting heavily. *Need sleep, * he told me; apologizing.

The concept of "sleep," as opposed to "rest," and the tone of apology I sensed from him told me something I didn't want to know. I moved along his side, combing sand out of his fur with my hands.

*Keeshah, you've pushed yourself too hard. And there's only one reason why you'd do that—because you thought I wanted it.*

*You want home,* he said.

I felt a twisting jolt of guilt. It wasn't the first time Keeshah had read my feelings more accurately than I could. It was the first time it had resulted in possible harm to the big cat. Keeshah had not eaten in three days. That would hardly kill him; he had a capacity for storing food and water that matched the size of his body. But now was not the time to be pushing him hard, when his reserves were low.

I wrapped my arms around his neck.

*Thank you, Keeshah,* I said. *We'll take it easy from here on out, all right? Want some water?*

I gave him another double handful of water, which left Tarani and me with barely a day's ration. She didn't object.

She came up to us after Keeshah had lain down, while I finished combing, the exposed side.

"He is weary," she said. "Will he let me help?"

I asked Keeshah. *Will you let Tarani help you sleep deeply?*

*Yes,* he replied, lifting his head to look at Tarani. *Grateful.*

I nodded, and stepped away as Tarani took my place beside Keeshah. The sha'um pressed the side of his face against Tarani's hand, then laid his head on the ground and closed his eyes. Tarani settled herself in a kneeling position. Her hands stroked the big cat, and her voice rose and fell in a gentle, tuneless hum. I felt myself following the sound of it, letting it carry -my thoughts into a soothing pattern which slowed gradually . . . 

I had to move away from them before I also fell into the deep, healing sleep Tarani's hypnotic power could engender. When Keeshah was out, Tarani joined me and we stretched out among some bushes.

"It is not like Keeshah to overtire himself," Tarani said. "He must be very eager to reach Yayshah." She must .have felt me tense up, because she asked: "What is wrong?"

"I've been pushing him," I admitted. "Without meaning to—but pushing him, just the same."

I didn’t need to do any more explaining than that. Tarani had been the- one to point out to Thymas and me that she could read our true feelings through the actions of our sha'um. She was quiet for a long time.

"We have had a moment for ourselves," she said at last. "But I have felt it myself—the need to be active again, to continue with this task that has been so strangely set for us." She touched the hilt of the King's sword. "I must take this to Eddarta, as soon as Yayshah and the cubs can make the trip."

"Have you any idea when that will be?" I asked, perhaps a little too sharply.

"Has Yayshah not endured enough hardship for our sakes?" she said. "Displaced from the Valley, deprived of a den, and forced to travel throughout her pregnancy? I will not ask her - to move again until she assures me she is willing."

I bit back another sharp remark and tried to understand her feelings. "I don't mean to push you, love," I said. "It's only that I have been thinking of the vineh. Because the Council controlled them and bred them for city workers, there are many more of them close to Raithskar than a natural colony would have produced. Free of the Ra'ira's control, they're reverting to their wild state. You remember what they were like outside of Sulis."

She nodded and shuddered slightly. Two sha'um and three people against twenty disagreeable, adult male vineh. We had won—barely. Thymas and Ronar, his sha'um, already weakened, had taken the worst damage and had been quite some time recovering, even with the help of Tarani's healing sleep.

"These aren't quite that bad—they're out of the habit of being nasty. The ones we ran into on the way out of town were easier to deal with than the Sulis group. But it won't take much time before they're a real threat to the safety of the people in and around Raithskar."

"I understand that you feel a loyalty to your people," Tarani said.

Something in her tone made me say, "They are your people now, too."

"I have no people in that sense," she said. "Volitar trained me to a life view that allows me nothing in common with Zefra and Indomel, my true family—for which I can only be grateful. Knowledge of my heritage and this present task prevents me from accepting the comfort of Thanasset's home as my own. I have you, and Yayshah, and now this sword."

I held her close for a moment, distressed by what she had said, but unable to comfort her.

"It's not only that I'm afraid for them," I said. "I'm impatient because I feel responsible and committed, and because I can't do anything for them. The next step is yours, and your movement is restricted by consideration for Yayshah. I don't question the rightness of it, Tarani; it just makes me uncomfortable, caught between the need to go and the need to stay, with no real power to choose."

She spoke with her head against my chest. "As always, it is better when we speak truly and frankly," she said. "I know that Yayshah would be quite comfortable staying in Raithskar until the cubs are fully grown. I also know that her desire is born of the instincts and habits she has already abandoned, and she must adapt to the needs of her family—and I include us, as well as Keeshah, as her family. I promise I will judge the time to leave by when she and the cubs are fit to travel, and not by when Yayshah is ready to leave, which she may never be.

"That's fair," I said. "Meanwhile, I'll try to control this itchy feeling and be civil to you."

I felt her smile. "Will you sacrifice so much?" She didn't wait for an answer, but asked another question. "How much further to Raithskar?"

"Keeshah has covered a lot of ground," I replied. "I think Raithskar is no more than half a day away from here."

"Then let us also rest," she said, and started rocking her body to wear a form-fitting groove in the sand. I did the same, until we lay side by side, separated by a few inches of sand, our hands joined. "A long, true sleep will bring us more refreshment than the brief rests we take as Keeshah runs." She sighed. "I look forward to being with Yayshah when she is main sleek and able to run. Already, she has the same longing.

I squeezed her hand.

"The two of you are a pretty impressive pair," I said.

Night came and went while we slept. It was Keeshah who woke first. He roused us by belly-creeping until his head was on the ground, inches away from us, and letting go with his loud bass roar. Tarani and I shot straight up off the ground. Our waking minds rapidly processed the initial perception of danger into the anger-relief reaction of realizing it was a joke but not before we had nearly strained something trying to get our swords out in the split-second of time while we were reacting and not thinking.

*Keeshah, that wasn't funny!* I said—but I was laughing. I was also shaking.

*Home soon,* he said. *Glad. Hurry.*

He butted his head between us and swung it, knocking us apart. A paw swept out at me; even though I had a flash of warning and tried to dodge; the clawless swat caught the backs of my legs and knocked them out from under me. He tried the same trick on Tarani, but she was forewarned and jumped to avoid Keeshah's slash.

I could feel Keeshah's delight; he abandoned me and went after her. Tarani, her body trained for both dance and sword skipped and dodged his swings. The sha'um had such speed that he could have run right over her, but he accepted limits to the game and merely stayed within range to be able to knock her for a loop, if he could only connect. , Tarani was laughing with all the joy of a child playing with kitten. I felt warmed by Keeshah s good mood and the feeling of family watching them play together gave me.

Keeshah swung his right paw, and Tarani ran in on the sha'um's right side, sprang off on both feet, and vaulted over his back. The move surprised Keeshah, and in trying to keep her in sight, he twisted himself off balance, fell, and rolled over. He surged to his feet and they faced each other warily, catching their breath.

Suddenly, Tarani lay down on her side, grabbed her knees and tucked her head down against them. Keeshah crouched, all claws out and dug into the sand, ready to move in any direction. She lay motionless, and I thought: Tarani never played with a kitten and a ball; this idea came from Antonia's memories. It's about time Tarani got something she can really appreciate from her association with Antonia.

Keeshah crept up on the curled-up Tarani, his tail whipping back and forth, sweeping up an occasional puff of sand. He patted her tentatively with one paw, drawing back twice before he actually touched her; she rocked a little, but kept her pose. He swung with a little more strength, and she rolled over her arms to rest facing the other way, still curled. He tucked his nose under her head and sent her into a lopsided somersault.

I could sense Keeshah's appreciation of the toy Tarani presented him as he came forward more confidently, and I laughed at the shock he felt when she unfolded suddenly and grabbed his head. He retreated backward, dragging her twenty yards or so through the sand and scrub brush, then pinned her body with a paw and pried her off of his neck. He was still in that pose, one paw resting on Tarani's waist, when his head and neckfur lifted simultaneously and he called the warning: *Danger.*

Keeshah whirled to face north, his head high and questing for the source of what he had scented. Tarani hadn't heard Keeshah's mental warning, but she couldn't mistake his reaction. She was on her feet immediately, the steel sword in her hand. I saw her look down at it, momentarily surprised by its different weight and balance.

I had my sword ready, too, and was running to join Keeshah and Tarani when vineh seemed to boil up out of the sand.

The Gandalaran deserts looked flat, but weren't. The ground has a rolling quality, rising into low hills and falling into shallow depressions. Let a few bushes take root in a hill and, even though there is nothing taller than waist-high as far as you can see, there is a respectable amount of cover for someone—or something—wanting to hide. And the pale tan of a vineh's curly fur was further desert camouflage.

The vineh had stalked us with a cunning I had to respect. They had approached from downwind, creeping to within fifty yards of us without alerting Keeshah to their presence. I counted fifteen before I got too busy to worry about it.

Almost as many as we faced near Sufis, I thought. And we're one man and one sha'um short. But we also have more experience.

I slashed up at the face of the nearest vineh; he flinched back, and I carried the momentum of the swing around and down, slicing into a leg and bringing the huge apish thing down. As Rika's point slashed across his throat, I sensed another behind me and dropped into a crouch, avoiding the long, reaching arms. I pivoted in the crouch and drove my sword upward, gutting the second beast.

I had a moment to spare, and noticed that a vineh had one of his iron-strong hands clamped around Tarani's left arm. He couldn't take advantage of the hold because she was moving, tugging with her body to keep him off balance. She couldn't deal with him more thoroughly because she was keeping another vineh at bay with her sword, driving him ahead of her with quick, cutting touches.

I was behind Tarani; I brought my sword down on the forearm of the vineh who held her, drew his attention, and finished him. Tarani dispatched the other one, but three more came after us, reinforcements right behind them.

The action had taken us some distance from Keeshah, and the vineh were quick to come between us and the sha'um. *Watch your flanks, Keeshah,* I reminded him. There was no response, only the surge of battle rage that, even more than his formidable weaponry, made the sha'um so dangerous.

They're not harrying him from behind, the way the others did, I thought. And they're concentrating on us, rather than him. Maybe these "domestic" vineh have accepted Gandalarans as their most powerful enemy. They do seem less hostile generally-if you can call an ape that outweighs .you and is trying to kill you unhostile . I wasn't wrong about the ones we met on the way to Ka, either. These are a little awkward, as if their fighting instincts aren't totally reactivated yet.

Their strategy proved their undoing, because it placed the bulk of the group smack in the middle of a five-point attack machine: my sword, Tarani's sword, and Keeshah (two paws, one set of teeth). The battle was noisy, but the sound had an unreal quality. Keeshah's coughing roar mingled with the snarls and shrieks of the vineh as they fought and fell; I heard both Tarani's voice and my own crying out with the effort of a swing or calling a warning. Yet there seemed to be an unusual quietness, and I finally figured out what was missing: the sound of metal on metal. I was using the muscles and judgment and techniques Markasset developed for fighting armed men, but these were animals, and the only thing our swords struck was flesh.

I wouldn't say that we had never been in danger from this group; it took all our alertness and every bit of our energy to keep away from the strong, horny-nailed hands and the underslung jaws. I will say that, once we had the group in the pincer movement, our defense was well on its way to being a slaughter.

I was glad when one of the larger males, trapped in the center of the group and protected from attack by the bodies of the others, paused and rode out the jostling, looking around.

Apparently he saw what he should have seen, because his lips pulled back from the heavy tusks. He barked three short sounds and started battering his way out of the middle, heading for the northern edge of the group.

The others caught on, and all that lay between a potential slaughter and a total rout was opening the pincer.

*That's enough, Keeshah,* I ordered. *Pull back and let them go.* the sha'um fought on. *Keeshah!* I felt him rising back to rationality through his battle lust. He took one last swipe at a beast already bleeding in a couple of places, and stepped back. His roar of victory followed the vineh.

I looked around, a little stunned by the sudden end of the battle. Pale-furred bodies lay everywhere, leaking dark-red blood into the sand. I felt my stomach turn over, and remembered that Gandalarans seldom vomited; it wasted water, and their evolution had acquired that trait only for dealing with life-threatening situations, just as it had rejected the capability of shedding tears for purely emotional reasons.

Tarani looked grim, too. I took her elbow and called Keeshah to follow as we marched away from the carnage toward Raithskar.

We were within sight of the city walls when the vineh attacked again. This time they appeared from grain fields on either side of the main road, which we had been following for the past hour or so. Keeshah became aware of them a second or two before they would have liked, so that they had to leave their hiding places from fifty yards ahead and come after us.

Riding a sha'um during battle might be an advantage, if it could be done. It can't—and there's a much bigger advantage if the sha'um is free to use all its claws without worrying about dumping his riders.

Not that Keeshah was worried about it.

Tarani and I picked ourselves up of the packed dirt of the roadbed. Keeshah had met the group head-on; the fight was tumbling and snarling around him, doing absolutely no good to the edges of the grain fields.

Tarani and I were left to ourselves for a moment. "Why?" she gasped. "Why are they doing this?"

I just shook my head as we ran to help Keeshah. They learned from the last battle, I thought. They're concentrating on Keeshah this time.

They had learned more than I expected. Tarani and I were already on the run toward the melee when the edges of the attack group around Keeshah swept around the core of noise and cut us off. Had there been fewer vineh, this might have been a repeat of the pincer victory we had scored in the desert. But still bleeding survivors from the desert battle and fresh "troops" were mixed here, and the vineh had the initiative. A few had picked up farm tools, but the number of vineh was more effective than the occasional swing of a hoe. The beasts pressed Tarani and me back, separating us further from Keeshah.

One of the vineh got past my guard, grabbed for my throat. I flinched back and he caught a big pinchful of flesh and tunic on the left side of my chest. I had my dagger in my left hand; I brought it up under his arm and into his rib cage. Instead of releasing me and going off to sulk, he howled with the pain but held on and jerked me forward. I pulled the dagger out for another stab, feeling the warm blood soak out of his side. We were eye to eye, the vineh and I, at that moment. And I swear that in the bestial eyes, nearly hidden under the prominent supraorbital ridge of his skull, I saw a glimmer of intelligence and a conscious choice as he threw himself on the point of my dagger. I staggered back under the sudden weight, struggling desperately to keep my feet, but failing.

I heard Tarani cry out my name as I went down and the vineh piled on. There were so many of them trying to get a chunk of me that there was no way I could get out from under the dead one, and I used his body as a shield. I was getting bruised pretty badly, but no one vineh could get a solid hold on me. I was reasonably safe but I couldn't breathe. I rocked my lower boa), until I got my knees under the hips of the vineh, braced my elbows on the ground, and spent what seemed like three years of strain, lifting, the vineh's torso a half-inch up, to relieve the pressure on my chest, and gulped in air that reeked of blood.

In that literal breathing space, I felt chilled by what I had seen in the vineh's eyes. An animal throwing itself into danger because it is too enraged to care about its safety is a far different thing from a creature sacrificing itself for the sake of the group's objective. Assuming that I had not merely imagined that glimmer of intelligence, the character of this battle had changed.

The downward pressure lightened suddenly. Buried in vineh, I had been unable to hear anything but their snarling and the pounding of my own heart. The bodies around me were shifting; fresh air penetrated, and with it came sound: Tarani's voice screaming my name, and the coughing roar of the sha'um. Two sha'um.

I heaved upward, and the pile of vineh shifted and scattered. Bloody hands helped me shove the dead beast's body over, and then helped me to my feet. Distracted by the arrival of the female sha'um from Raithskar, the vineh had left us alone momentarily.

"Are you well?" Tarani asked anxiously.

"I'm fine. Most of this blood isn't mine. What about you?" "Whole, at least," she said, and her voice cracked. "Rikardon, I feared for you so."

I caught her in a quick, one-armed hug, and looked northward at the battle. The pincer movement was being worked again-this time with two sha'um.

"The cubs?" I asked.

"Well hidden," Tarani said.

Yayshah had circled around and come in from the south, driving the vineh toward Keeshah. Keeshah was holding his own, I was relieved to see. The apes had to climb over their own dead to get close to him. But the long journey, the lack of food, and the strain of this and the recent battle with vineh were telling on him. He was slowing, and the circle of dead vineh restrained him as well as protected him.

Yayshah was fresher and seemed to fight as fiercely as Keeshah, but she was a little slower to begin with because her strength had not fully returned since delivery of her cubs. She was already trampling the dead, pressing toward Keeshah.

One large male launched himself from the damn of bodies around the male sha'um and landed on Keeshah's back. Keeshah screamed as the vineh's teeth dug into the side of his neck; I saw the bloody scoring left by the ape's hands on the sha'um's throat. Keeshah twisted and tucked his head down in almost a bucking motion, but the vineh was fastened on for good. The cat knew better than to try to roll to dislodge the ape; once down, he could never recover the advantage.

*Help,* he said.

I had pushed Tarani aside and was already running. I circled to the right and climbed the slippery, unsteady pile of bodies and used myself as a battering ram to knock the vineh loose from Keeshah. We fell into the live vineh, but Keeshah turned our way and kept the others off me until I could finish the one I had grabbed. I scrambled up and joined battle beside him.

I Even the vineh are getting tired, I thought. What's keeping them going?

Over the noise of the fighting, I heard a sound that startled me—a high, wailing cry of pain and fear that ended too suddenly. I staggered from an onslaught of feeling from Keeshah, but I hadn't needed that to identify the sound.

One of the cubs had been hurt.

The fighting paused a moment in reaction to the sound, and I hauled myself up to Keeshah's back to see over the heads of the vineh. Tarani was beside Yayshah; both of them facing south. Along the way we had come, five or six vineh had surrounded two terrified and angry sha'um cubs, which had clearly just emerged from the edge of the grain field. The smaller cats were supple and strong. Their teeth weren't fully usable yet, but there was not a thing wrong with their claws, and the two kittens, hip-high to the vineh, were staying free and attacking their captors.

One white furred male lay, very still, on the packed dirt of the roadway.

Yayshah screamed, and Tarani jumped with the shock of what Yayshah must have been feeling. But before either of them could take a single step to help, three vineh attacked Yayshah's hindquarters.

Tarani slashed at one of them, but she was getting no help from Yayshah. Concerned more for her cubs than herself, she was dragging the group of them down the roadway, calling frantically to the kittens.

At the sound of their mother's voice, the cubs turned north and tried to run to her. The vineh jumped them, two to a kitten, and pinned them to the ground.

Some of the vineh between Keeshah and Yayshah free of the trap, streamed out and around the adult sha'um, facing Yayshah from the south and coming in for the attack from Keeshah's rear.

Keeshah's reaction to the danger facing the cubs was so intense that I couldn't think. I pushed at his mind, reached for his reason through the tide of rage and grief and protectiveness. It was made less easy by the fact that I felt much the same as he did; I was sickly afraid for the cubs. We had gone from a solid attack force to three isolated, surrounded, and vulnerable defense positions. We had to regroup; it was our only hope.

I was still on Keeshah's back, just hanging on while he did all the fighting. He was distracted, worried about the cubs but occupied, moment to moment, with whichever vineh was attacking. They always came in from the rear, of course, so that Keeshah was whirling and turning constantly, tiring even more quickly. He was less disabled by the cubs' danger than Yayshah, but his fighting was less efficient because he was trying to find a way out—to get to the cubs.

The cubs were continuing to take care of themselves pretty well. One—the female, I thought—had crawled forward until her shoulders were free. She twisted with the elasticity of only the very young, and dug her small but sharp teeth into the throat of the vineh. The ape flinched back, and before he could reclaim his grip or hurt the cub, she kicked back, claws out, and got her hind feet free. She backed off from them, her white-tipped kitten fur standing on end, snarling a challenge to the vineh. Her muzzle was bloodied from the vineh's throat.

The male fared less well, but was squirming to the point that the vineh couldn't spare a hand to hurt him and still hold on.

Their fighting instincts are taking over, I thought desperately. But all that's going to do is get them killed. We need to be together.

I caught a glimpse of Tarani, bracing herself on Yayshah's back and kicking the face of the vineh clinging to the other side of the sha'um. The scene whirled and danced as Keeshah turned under me, but I saw it when more vineh closed in.

Yayshah went down, and Tarani with her.

*We need to be together NOW!*

It was a cry of desperation, and the fear and need it carried broke through Keeshah's preoccupation. The sha'um's mind opened and blended with mine, and we, man and cat, became a single unit, reasoning with my mind, fighting with a sha'um's strength. Keeshah stopped his frantic whirling and aimed himself toward Yayshah. He kept three feet on the ground at all times, because I was crouched on his back, using the advantage of height to slash down at any vineh who came close enough to Keeshah's flanks.

Keeshah pushed the vineh back, closing the distance between Yayshah and us. I was relieved to see Tarani's head and shoulders, stable amid the roiling pile of vineh. She still held the steel sword; I watched her lift it high in both hands and bring it down hilt-first on the head of a vineh. Then she was up, slashing and stabbing, fighting to get Yayshah free.

The quality of the battle experience always changed when Keeshah was with me. Odors reached me with head-spinning intensity; sounds were distinct and easily identified as to nature and location; and I always felt imbued with a fierce physical power.

On the other side of the battleground, the cubs had been active. The male was free now, and both were challenging their captors. It was a separate, miniature battle the cubs were fighting, brave and daring, but dangerous to us all. The effectiveness of the adult sha'um depended on the safety of the kittens. Tarani and I would certainly not survive any fight that could beat the sha'um-but I wasn't thinking of that.

I was remembering a furry throat against my thigh, and the rapid, shallow breathing of a young sha'um sleeping.

I was remembering Keeshah lying on the roof of his stone house, his daughter leaning against the wall and batting at the dangling tail.

I was remembering how motionless the third cub seemed, lying white against the dun of the roadbed.

*Here!* I called, unconsciously projecting the thought as if I were talking to Keeshah.

To my amazement, the cubs paused and looked around, confused. They recovered in time to snarl caution into one of the vineh, who had advanced a bit.

I didn't have to speak to Keeshah; we were blended and he knew what I knew, and what I wanted.

*Come to your father, fight with us!* I shouted, with my mind and Keeshah's. *Come here!*

The cubs flattened their ears and fur, whirled and made a run for it.

It took the vineh totally by surprise, and they reacted too slowly; they didn't have a chance to catch the kittens. I jumped down from Keeshah's back and cleared out an arc of the circle of beasts around us. The cubs barreled through it the instant it was open.

There was no time for reunions.

*Help Keeshah.* I directed the cubs, and protected their backs while the three sha'um, buoyed by being together again, steamrollered their way through the vineh that separated them from Yayshah. I felt their surge of joy when the f' breakthrough came, and their relief that, as soon as the pressure of bodies was gone, Yayshah was able to stand and join them.

Tarani was beside me suddenly, and we turned to face the enemy at the rear together. . . .

The vineh were gone.

The vineh were scattering in all directions, half-visible above the waist-high grain in the damaged fields. Once they accepted defeat, they lost no time in abandoning the fight.

The sha'um knew the fight was over, too. As the close link between Keeshah and me faded, I felt both relief and a sense of loss—relief because the blending was an intense experience, and we had held it this time longer than ever before; and loss because I was again limited to my own body and less keen senses. When blended with Keeshah, I felt powerful, invulnerable. I was well aware that the effect was not physical but psychological. When the feeling left, there was nothing to hold off the weariness, and my tired muscles let my body collapse to the ground. I struggled back to a sitting position.

Tarani knelt beside me, her own movements showing the lack of control brought on by great fatigue. She stank with the blood and dust that covered her, and I knew I must look and smell as bad.

"I'm all right," I assured her, patting her hand as it rested on my shoulder. "Just terribly tired."

"Then I will see about the cub," she said, and used my shoulder as a brace to stand up again. I twisted my neck around to look; all the sha'um had moved down the road to gather around the third cub. Tarani walked unsteadily to the group, pushed a cub aside gently, and knelt. I couldn't see the grounded kitten because of all the furry bodies between, but I could see Tarani's face, and I knew the cub was dead.

Yayshah must have taken the message from Tarani's mind at that moment, for she lifted her head and shrieked. The sound began at a painfully high pitch and climbed from there. She held the tone, and Keeshah echoed it at a slightly lower pitch. The children joined in, their voices more raw, with a hissing undertone. The sha'um cried out their grief to the sky while Tarani stood among them, her head bowed.

I thought I would explode with sadness. The sound itself would have been enough. My own grief would have been enough. But I was assaulted and buffeted by the powerful feelings that produced part of that mournful, angry protest from the throats of the sha'um.

What hurt the most was that Keeshah's grief was so like a man's, fraught with guilt. He had lost a child of his body, a creature he was bound, as a father, to protect. He had failed. And there was honestly no blame in him for me. He had left his family to take us into the desert, at my request; had we not gone, he could still be playing contentedly with the children in Thanasset's back yard. With all the children.

Through his own grief, Keeshah felt mine, and spared a moment to comfort me. *I chose desert.* His mindvoice was faint and small, as if most of his energy was consumed in his cry, but it came clearly and with unquestionable sincerity. *You saved others,* he said. *Thank you.*

It was only then that I realized I was still in contact with the two living cubs. They had joined the cry in imitation of their parents, and did not understand what they were feeling.

Some of it was grief, though they had not truly accepted that their brother was gone. Some of it was fear, born of the intense reaction of their parents. Some excitement and pride over the battle just fought still lingered in the cry too.

They were curious about the voice in their minds.

The wailing reached an almost inaudible pitch, and ceased. A hand touched my shoulder; my mind jumped, but my body was too tired to cooperate.

It was Zaddorn, the Peace and Security Officer from Raithskar, Markasset's friend and rival. He extended his arm and helped me to my feet. Behind him were a troop of men-I would have guessed at least thirty-who were standing as if transfixed, staring at the group of sha'um.

"I am sorry we are too late to help," Zaddorn said, his face grim. "It took a few moments to gather a large enough force."

"You helped," I told him. "They must have seen or smelled you coming, because they gave up suddenly."

He turned to the group of men and gestured forward. "Get started cleaning up this mess," he said. The two columns split around us and went to work dragging the vineh carcasses into piles.

I grabbed one man's arm as he passed. "Don't touch the sha'um," I said. "We'll take care of him."

The man nodded, looking scared, and pried my hand from his arm. It left a bloody mark on the sleeve of his tunic.

"I have never seen so many of them attack at once," Zaddorn said. "And it has been very quiet lately. Rikardon, believe me, if I had even suspected this would happen . . ."

I realized Zaddorn was feeling his own kind of guilt, and I passed along Keeshah's generosity. "There's no way you could have known, Zaddorn. It's the sha'um-vineh hate them." Something about that statement sounded wrong, but I was too tired to figure it out. "Would you mind if we didn't talk just now?"

"Of course not," he said. His gaze shifted behind me.

Zaddorn wasn't wearing the gray hat that marked him in the city. Indeed, now that I looked closely, he was not as carefully groomed as usual. But his manners were intact, and he bowed slightly as Tarani approached us. He said nothing, but transferred my arm, which he had been supporting, into Tarani's grasp.

"We have lost him," she said, the words seemed to release her control. I held her and let my own grief flow out to mingle with hers. We didn't notice when Zaddorn stepped quietly away.

We walked back into Raithskar between two streams of vlek carts, which had begun hauling the vineh bodies out of the fields. Gandalara was a world that had learned to allow very little to go to waste; the steel forge was not particular about what it used for fuel.

Tarani and I had agreed on a different sort of conservation for the lost cub. We planned to bury him in the ground of Thanasset's garden, where his body would find another kind of life in the beautiful plants it nourished. Keeshah and Yayshah had o objection. Had the cub died in the wild, Yayshah would have buried him where he had fallen.

It had taken both Tarani and me to lift the cub and lay it across Keeshah's shoulders. Keeshah walked between us cure- fully, and Tarani and I each kept a hand on the cooling body to keep it in place.

Crowds parted silently before us as we entered the city, out of respect for our grief, awe of the sha'um, and fear. The people of Raithskar were not afraid of us, although we must have been a grim and bloody sight. They were afraid of creatures who could destroy a sha'um, the same creatures that had gathered their garbage and repaired their streets. They were afraid of the way things had changed.

Thanasset opened the gate into the yard for us. His sister, Milda, waiting behind him, gasped and turned pale when she saw us. Markasset's father was stunned. He reached out to me and pressed my shoulder. "I am glad to have you home again, son," he said.

It was almost more than I could take. Thanasset knew I was no longer Markasset, yet he cared for me as if I were. I put my hand on his shoulder and couldn't speak.

"We have heard, of course," he said. "There is a bath ready for you."

"Let Tarani use the bathhouse first," I said. "Milda, will you help her? She's exhausted."

"And you are not?" the girl demanded, coming around Keeshah.

I didn't bother to deny it. "Your skills will be needed later, after the sha'um have cleaned themselves up so we can see how badly they're hurt. Get what rest you can now."

She nodded, and we all moved through the gate so that Thanasset could close it against the silent crowd of onlookers. It was made like most things of wood in Gandalara, with layers and layers of small pieces of wood laminated together. When Thanasset closed the gate, I noticed that the inside was badly scarred, with two or three layers missing in spots.

Tarani helped me lift the dead cub from Keeshah's back and lower it to the ground, then she stood up, staggering. Milda—short, stocky, and balding—put her arm around Tarani’s waist, tense with concern. -

Tarani smiled wearily. "Thank you, Milda. I will appreciate your help."

They moved off toward the back of the yard, where a reservoir on the roof of the bath-house held sun-warmed water ready for bathing. I sat on the ground and stared at the dead kitten. Thanasset sat beside me quietly.

The adult sha'um had moved away, each pinning a cub to the ground and licking it clean. The cubs protested weakly, and then relaxed. They were asleep in minutes—two tiny warm presences in my mind. When the cubs were damp and shiny— and remarkably unhurt, I was glad to see—the adults began to groom one another.

"I would have kept the cubs," Thanasset said at last, "but she would not trust me with them. She was wild to go; she even tried to claw her way through the gate." I remembered the scarring. "When I realized she was determined, and might hurt herself trying to get out, I opened the gate for her. She herded the cubs with her. I knew, of course," he said, "that Tarani was in danger. But I never thought Yayshah would take the cubs into battle with her."

"She didn't," I said. "They were hidden in the fields, and I'm sure she ordered them to stay put. The vineh spotted them and attacked." I looked up into the old man's face, more lined than it had been a few days ago. "They dragged the cubs out into the road, where we could see them. And as I think of it now, they weren't trying very hard to hurt them."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that they dragged the cubs into it to divide us and demoralize us. It worked."

"That's not possible," the old man said, showing real fear for the first time since I (as Ricardo or Rikardon) had known him. "You forget—" he began, and then lowered his voice. "You forget that I have known their minds. They are beasts, I tell you; they are not capable of such reasoned planning."

"Wild vineh aren't, I grant you that," I said. "But these are the product of generations of inbreeding and behavior control that rewarded them for their successful imitation of men.  They learned to sweep streets because someone showed them how. Why should that be the only thing they learned?"

"They were not taught tactics," he said sharply.

"You said you've touched their minds; you know how they think," I said. "Couldn't that work both ways? Couldn't they have learned how you think?" He looked so horrified that I added: "In general terms, I mean. Couldn't they know, for instance, that although we live in large groups, we are more bound to family than to colony, and that we are each protective of our own young?"

He considered that for a few minutes, his hand stroking the-- soft fur that covered, the stiffening body in front of us.

"I suppose it could be true," he admitted. "But I have no wish to believe it. It paints the vineh in the role of a true enemy of Raithskar, rather than a nuisance to be controlled.

“If they can summon such numbers against a few, can we expect an all-out attack on the city?"

"I doubt it," I said. "Zaddorn said it's been fairly quiet, and I assume he meant that the 'escaped' vineh haven't been giving anybody much trouble."

"That's true," Thanasset said. "The Council agreed to leave the grain fields and a herd of glith west of the city unguarded, so the vineh would have no need to fight for food. It has kept confrontations to a minimum—until today."

"Today doesn't count," I said. "I think the sha'um triggered the attack." I felt the same nudge of oddness that I' felt talking with Zaddorn, but I was able to identify it now. "It's possible the vineh didn't even realize it. There were two battles, you know—"

"Two battles?" he asked.

I took a few minutes and described both battles we had fought that day against the vineh. I tried to keep my emotions out of the description, but Thanasset made up for it by putting in his own while he listened. He looked thoroughly shaken by the time I finished.

"I am afraid I still do not understand what you mean," he said.

"I think the sha'um and the vineh are natural enemies," I told him. He looked blank, and I tried to explain. "Sometime in the past—a long time in the past—the wild vineh and the wild sha'um may have been constantly fighting one another. It went on long enough that the young were born with an awareness of danger in the other species. That awareness never went away."

 But Keeshah was never bothered," Thanasset said. "My sha'um was never bothered."

"Because the vineh inside Raithskar were not in a natural state," I said "Your control blocked that instinct as effectively as it blocked their tendency toward violence. I think they attacked us in the desert because the sha'um triggered that instinct—but because the bulk of their conscious experience with enemies lay with men; they concentrated on Tarani and me. By the time they launched the second attack, they knew who they were really fighting."

"It makes a kind of sense," he said. "Does it not mean, however, that they will persist in trying to reach the sha'um and destroy them?"

"I'll grant them cunning," I said, "but not intelligence. They went after Keeshah because his scent stimulated their aggression. The scent of sha'um is lost in the center of Raithskar. And we won't leave the city again until we're ready to leave for good."

"Back to Eddarta," Thanasset said. "I saw the sword Tarani carried. Did it-have the effect you anticipated?"

I had confided in the old man that Tarani was a "visitor," which was exactly what he understood me to be—a personality returned from the All-Mind to inhabit a living body. It was a concept he could comprehend, and it was as close to the truth as I dared get. Tarani, even with Antonia's memories to help her, had a hard time accepting the real truth of the world from which we had come.

I nodded. "The union took a different form with Tarani," I said. "She is herself, with the memories of the visitor." I stood up a little awkwardly-my sore muscles had stiffened while I was sitting. I have a lot to tell you," I said, "but there is something I need to tend to first. We—" I choked up suddenly. "May we bury Yayshah's cub in your garden?"

"I will be honored," he said, and went to get his digging tools.

Chapter 5

My prediction of no further trouble proved, thankfully, to be true. Tarani and I and the sha'um went on vacation for a while, resting deeply. Milda fussed over us pleasantly and fed us constantly. Thanasset took charge of providing food for the sha'um; already Yayshah was chewing up bits of meat and

, leaving it for the cubs to work on, and their chewing action was stimulating the full emergence of their teeth.

Tarani's hypnotic skill hastened our physical healing to a degree that amazed Milda. Yayshah was the only one who had been immobilized long enough to suffer from the teeth, as well as the hands, of vineh. She had some painful gashes in her back and flanks, and some ugly scars in the paler fur of her still-tightening underbelly. Keeshah carried more wounds, but they were mostly surface scratches, quickly covered with new fur growth.

Tarani and I needed new skins. I had re-experienced the pain when Thanasset had helped me peel off my blood-soaked clothes and bathe open the myriad of scratches. Milda smeared us daily with a skin salve to keep the newly forming scabs soft. After a few days of looking like walking horror-film monsters, the ridges of skin softened and closed, and finally dropped off to leave behind little more than faint marks in our skin.

The wound left by the cub's loss didn't heal, but the pain faded as we took pleasure in the other two. They were, indeed, nearly unharmed, which seemed to confirm my feeling that the vineh who had, held them had not been trying to hurt them.

"Why did they kill the other one?" Tarani asked me one day, as we watched Yayshah rolling in the shade of the sha'um house, offering her paws as targets for the cubs' stalking practice. Keeshah was in his favorite spot, snoozing on the roof of his house.

The kittens were growing with a wild speed, leaving behind the pale-tipped fur of their babyhood. The male, whom we had named Koshah, looked like a smaller duplicate of Keeshah, right down to the nearly indistinguishable pattern of pale tan against pale gray in his fur. He was already bigger than his sister, with slightly awkward proportions that promised he would match Keeshah's size, which was unusually large among sha'um.

The female, Yoshah, moved with delicate grace, attacking any target with economy of movement and unerring accuracy. She was brindled like her mother, striped in varying shades of dark gray and brown. In the natural environment of the Valley, the markings would provide camouflage. Outside the cooler, highly overgrown Valley, however, the darker coats brought more discomfort from the heat to Yayshah and Yoshah than the males suffered.

"I don't know," I told Tarani. "I may be giving them more credit than they deserve. They might have intended to kill the others, too, until they saw the effect the live, crying kittens had on the big sha'um."

"There is another thing I do not understand," Tarani said. "I could spare little attention for anything but fighting, but I do remember a sudden change. One moment, Koshah and Yoshah were fighting their own battle with their captors; the next instant, they had joined Keeshah."

I don't know why I hadn't told anyone about the cubs and me. Perhaps it was only the human tendency to enjoy a secret delight more, on occasion, than a shared pleasure.

The link with the cubs was of a different quality than my link with Keeshah. His was a continuing, comfortable presence often overlooked, like two people who had lived together for so long that accommodation and compromise were accomplished almost automatically on a daily basis. The cubs were volatile, sometimes unaware of me, sometimes offering a mental nuzzling of curiosity, now and then exploding into a full blend—jointly or individually-that brought me the unrestrained joy of romping childhood again. Yet even then, it wasn't the full, binding, total experience that a blend with Keeshah produced.

I had been careful not to exercise the link with the cubs more than to make them aware that I was the body associated with the mind they knew. Sha'um didn't normally bond until they were at least a year old, and I was concerned that this early bonding, brought about by such a traumatic need, would affect their normal development.

I chose to exercise it now, however-by way of explanation to Tarani.

*Yoshah, come,* I said. *Koshah, come.*

On the roof of the house, Keeshah raised his head. *Me?* he asked sleepily.

*No, I call the cubs,* I answered him.

*Good,* he grunted, and went back to sleep.

The two young sha'um broke off the sneak-and-pounce game they were playing with their mother and ran over to the garden bench where Tarani and I were sitting. The male lumbered up, put his forepaws on the stone seat, and lifted his upper body until he was looking down at me. The female barreled straight at us and threw herself on her side at the last minute, arriving with four paws and a set of teeth in contact with my boots.

"Whoa," I said hastily, startled in spite of the fact that I could see from her mind she was only playing. I bent over and uncurled her, stroking her fur with my spread fingers, while Tarani reached over my back to attend to scratching Koshah's ear.

*Go on back to your mother now,* I told them. Yayshah was sitting up, watching us curiously—a little warily, I thought. *I love you. Have fun.*

They went, Koshah pausing to butt his forehead against my shoulder as he left.

Tarani said: "They are darling creatures, are they not? I find it hard to picture them fighting vineh, though I might draw the image from my own memory. . . ." She stopped, and I knew she had connected back to our interrupted conversation. "You called them," she said. "Just now, and during the fight."

"Keeshah was with me during the fight," I said. "I feel sure that's what made it possible—the cubs must have recognized his mind, on some level."

"And when Keeshah left you, when the danger was gone?" "The link remained."

"With both of them?"

"Yes."

"And what of Keeshah? Is he linked to them directly, as well?"

It was a possibility that had not occurred to me, and I felt myself getting as excited at the prospect as Tarani sounded.

"I honestly don't know," I said, and in my eagerness woke Keeshah up, then and there, to test it out.

*Say something to the cubs,* I asked him, when he had grumbled awake. There was an unflattering picture in his mind of a crazy two-legged creature, but he complied. He snarled. The cubs jumped, and looked up curiously. Yahshah snarled back.

*Not like that,* I said. *Say something to them the way you talk to me.*

Keeshah squirmed on the rooftop until his head lay across one paw. His silver-flecked eyes glowed as he blinked slowly at me.

*Silly,* he said, and closed his eyes.

I knew that mood; it was no use trying to rouse him now.

"He won't even try," I said to Tarani, exasperated.

"I am rather glad, she said, surprising me.”Look at it from Yayshah's point of view," she explained. "Would you care to try to teach a child who could learn any needed thing directly from the mind of his father?"

"It might be hard," I admitted.

"And it is hard enough to know that you can speak to them; I would feel even more deprived if Keeshah had acquired the ability, as well."

I took her hand, and we sat quietly for a while. I was feeling nearly fit, after all the rest and attention I'd been enjoying. I was feeling fit enough, in fact, to be a shade restless. Thanasset had forbidden us visitors until we were healthy again, and I knew nothing of what was happening in the city except what Thanasset brought home, and that was usually a relieved announcement that no vineh attacks had occurred that day.

"How's your leg doing?" I asked Tarani suddenly. Her most severe wound had been four lacerations dug from the outside of her right thigh by the nails of a vineh hand. She had limped a bit the first few days, but I hadn't noticed the limp lately.

"It is nearly healed," she said. "Why do you ask?"

"I think we deserve a little fun, as well as a lot of rest, don't you."

"Yes, but—" she began, bewildered.

"Come out with me tonight," I urged her. "Dinner first, and then dancing. We'll pretend we have nothing to do but have .a good time."

Her face lit up like a child's; she laughed out loud and threw her arms around my neck.

"It is exactly what I want to do," she said, and kissed my ear, sending a tingle down my chest. "I did not know I wanted it until you spoke. But yes, please, I want to dance again."

Tarani disappeared for the rest of the day. I played with the cubs, harassed Milda in the kitchen, napped, and finally bathed and dressed for the evening. Daytime dress in Gandalara was a haphazard sort of thing—usually long-sleeved or sleeveless tunics, with trousers added for adults if the tunic's hem hit midthigh or higher. The most common fabric was made of woven grain floss, the cost inversely proportional to the tightness of the weave. Raithskarians had a fondness for bright colors and were not particular about how they were combined. If you bothered to wear colors that matched or complemented each other, you were getting dressed up.

Markasset had enjoyed dressing well, so that I had a lot to choose from. I looked at, but rejected, the green outfit I had worn when I had taken Illia dancing back in my "innocent" days, when I had not known the truth about the Ra'ira. The outfit reminded me of my hope, long since abandoned, of being able to settle into a quiet and contented routine in which to live this strangely acquired second life.

I refolded the green outfit and put it on one of the higher shelves in Markasset's closet. Digging around the back of the lower shelves yielded an unusual garment: a sleeved shirt of pale yellow, hip length, styled like a vest but large enough to wrap. I tried it on, looked into the polished bronze of a mirror, and decided Markasset must have saved this for very special occasions. The color accentuated the dark gold of my headfur; the opening exposed a long "V" of curly-haired chest. I found some trousers of a warm brown color and a matching vest. The vest belted to form a second "V" over the pale yellow shirt. I was satisfied that I looked special enough for my first date with Tarani.

I went downstairs, and realized that I had begun to take my union with Markasset's memories for granted. Thanasset was just coming in, and it wasn't until his face registered shock that I identified the "special occasion" for which Markasset had saved the open-necked shirt. It was intended to be nightwear—wedding nightwear. Markasset had bought it while thinking about Illia.

But I chose it, thinking about Tarani, I told myself, pausing on the stairs. What the hell .. . I don't have a reputation for being normal in this world; why change now?

I stepped down to the wood parquet floor of the house's
center hallway and touched Thanasset's shoulder in greeting.

His face was a study in embarrassment: Does he know? Should I tell him? What can I say? Will it embarrass him?

Before I could say something to make him less uncomfortable, I heard a sound on the stair behind me. Thanasset's face took on a whole new expression, and I knew when I turned that I would see Tarani.

She was something to see.

And I thought I was going to some trouble to look nice tonight, I thought. No wonder I haven't seen her at all today. She must have spent the whole day shopping and sewing.

From the corner of my eye, I caught a movement in a doorway down the hall. Milda was hovering there, peeking around the corner.

Dear Aunt Milda, I thought. She must have had a lot of fun today, helping and keeping the secret.

From the multitude of fabric colors available in Raithskar, Tarani had chosen black. Her outfit was made up of a loose, bell-sleeved tunic and full-legged trousers. The high collar and hem of the tunic, as well as the edges of sleeves and trouser legs, were decorated with a pattern made up of hundreds of small, shiny black beads.

There's no way she could have sewn each of those beads in the time she had, I thought. Someone must specialize in making beaded trim.

Tarani smiled when she saw us, and did a small turn down the last three steps. Like the blue gown she had designed for her performances, her new outfit was designed to enhance the movements of dancing. The material draped in graceful folds as she walked, but swirled out at hips and ankles when she turned her body. The lightly weighted hems were responsive to her every movement.

Thanasset still had his mouth open. Milda couldn't stand it; she came from the dining room to join us in admiring Tarani.

The girl's looks came from her genetic link to the Lords of Eddarta, and were very rare on this side of the Morkadahls. She was tall, with very dark headfur that made the widow's peak above her supraorbital ridge much more noticeable. Her cheeks were high, with narrow planes joining them to a small chin. The dramatic outfit enhanced the contrast between her pale skin and silky headfur, and made her black eyes seem larger.

She had the kind of raw beauty that quickened the heart. She had enhanced it artfully, and her glow of pleasure at our obvious admiration added to it. The final touch was the spark of appreciation that lit her eyes when they rested on me.

I had taken Illia to the same places I took Tarani that night, but I felt no sense of nostalgia or déjà vu. The women were too different; I wasn't the same man; and the city had changed.

Illia's golden beauty had caught appreciative looks on that other night, but Tarani turned heads wherever we went. It was more than her striking looks and the stunning, dramatic outfit. It was the way she carried herself and kept her attention on me, as if she had no awareness of the sensation she was creating.

She was born to be a queen, I thought, as we entered the Moonrise Restaurant. The next logical thought jolted me so that I must have twitched physically. Tarani felt it through my hand on her elbow, and looked at me with concern. I smiled, shook my head, and we continued following the host to the table he had selected.

Queen of Eddarta, I repeated in my thoughts, as we sat. All our talk of destiny—we've been assuming that "destiny" brought us together for a permanent alliance. What if we're wrong?

"Rikardon?" Tarani asked, leaning over the comer of the tile-topped table. "Something disturbs you?"

I put my hand over hers. "Nothing we need to talk about tonight, love," I said.

She looked at the patterns in the tile. "Are you eager to be moving again?" I felt the tension in her fingers. "It should be possible soon.. . ."

I touched her chin with my hand, and she lifted her face to look at me. "I'm eager to do nothing but enjoy this evening, Tarani. I haven't told you tonight—perhaps I've never told you, now that I think of it—how beautiful you are, how proud I am you care for me, how just being with you gives me a sense of wholeness, but not of complacency. You excite my mind, feelings, and my body. I feel challenged and powerful when I'm with you, Tarani, and"—my voice faltered, as I realized what I was saying-"and I never want to not be with you again."

She looked stunned, as well she might. I dropped my hand from her chin before she could feel it tremble.

"Your outfit is magnificent," I said, surprised that my smile felt reasonably steady. "I'm sure everyone here appreciates all the work you must have done today."

She started to say something, changed her mind, and went along with changing the subject. She smiled hesitantly at A first, then let the smile light up her face.

"You have made it clear," she said, "that you appreciate it, which was my only goal. It is generous of you to assume that I am the one who attracts the eyes of the crowd. It takes no special skill to read the envy in the women who watch us."

A hostess appeared, carrying glasses of faen, the Gandalaran equivalent of beer. We placed our orders—I wanted a glith steak; Tarani opted for a vegetable stew dish—and the evening took on one more similarity to the time I had spent with Illia. Now, as then, we shared a willingness to ignore thoughts of past or future in favor of enjoying the moment.

It worked for a while. We ate dinner and walked to the dance hall, hand in hand. Tarani was absolutely delighted with the large, patterned floor, and the people moving rhythmically, in unison, each following the pattern of the specific dance. I was surprised to learn that this type of dancing was unknown outside of Raithskar. The dances themselves were based on dances Tarani knew, but they had been formalized movement was linked to the floor patterns, and interaction between the dancing couples had been added. Tempos varied from graceful swaying to an intricate and rapid foot placement that would have put calisthenics to shame.

Each of the tables was numbered and could seat four people. It was still early, so that we were alone at our table. Tarani could barely contain her eagerness until our number was called. We took our place on the multicolored tile, and the music started.

And I thought Tarani turned heads at the restaurant, I said to myself, amused at the sensation the girl in the black outfit was creating.

Tarani danced exactly the same way everyone else danced, incorporating variations with the skill of a trained dancer. Her movements were the same as the other dancers, but the grace of her body and the design of her clothes enhanced them, setting her apart from the ordinary. Knowing we were - in the spotlight, literally, I put forth some extra effort to be a better partner for her.

After the dance, some of the nearby couples took the trouble to speak to us, complementing our dancing. Tarani was positively glowing as we headed back to our table—which was no longer empty.

"Good evening," Zaddom said, as he stood up. "Illia assured me you would not object to our joining you."

Illia was looking at the table top. I didn't bother wondering why.

"You're welcome, of course," I said. "Tarani, I believe you met Illia outside the house just before we left."

"Yes, I recall it well," she said, nodding at the girl. Then she turned her attention to Zaddorn. "I am pleased to see you, Zaddorn. In the stress of the day we returned to Raithskar, you and I did not meet formally. But I was very much aware of your kindness and concern, and I am grateful for the opportunity to thank you now."

To his surprise and mine, Tarani put out her hand. Zaddorn bowed slightly as he took it. I couldn't miss the eyebrow he raised in my direction. I had been the only other person ever to offer him a handshake.

"I can assure you, you have the sympathy of everyone in the city," he said. "You"—he gestured to include me, as well as Tarani, in his statement—"and your family of sha’um is a center of interest, a spot of joy in an otherwise very frightened city."

I had been trying to ignore the signs-laughter just a bit too loud, faen flowing more freely than usual, and a frantic quality to the gaiety. I wanted to continue to ignore it, but Zaddorn's expression told me I wouldn't have the opportunity.

Tarani, sensitive as ever, said: "Will you excuse me for a moment? Illia, would you mind showing me where . . ."

Illia looked from Zaddorn's face to mine, and showed more perception than I would have given her credit for. "Of course not-it's this way," she said, as she stood and left the table.

Zaddorn and I sat down, and he wasted no time.

"Had you been accepting visitors," he said, "I would have talked with you long before now. This vineh business, rough as it has been, has not made me forget about the Ra'ira. I presume we would have it now, if you had returned with it. Where is it? What happened?"

I stared at him, surprised. "I told Thanasset everything, and I assumed he passed it all on to the Council."

Zaddom snorted. "I suspect that's true. What gives you the idea that the Council tells me anything?"

"What have they told you?" I asked.

He sighed. "They have told me to 'control the vineh.' The day after the attack on you, Ferrathyn came to my office and shouted until his Supervisor friends dragged him away."

"Ferrathyn?" I said. The image of the slight, friendly old man in an apoplectic rage was totally foreign to my memory of the Chief Supervisor. "Ferrathyn?"

"He has changed," Zaddorn said. "It would be a lie to say we have ever been friends, but I did think we respected one another. This situation has made him—the best word that occurs to me is intense. I fear the strain is making him feel his age, and I find it less and less palatable to concede to the whims of someone I suspect to be unbalanced." He shrugged and sipped his glass of faen. "But then, I suppose I have given him, little reason to respect me lately. I have been totally unable to control the spread of the vineh illness, and less than effective in protecting private property from the raids of the wild group."

Ferrathyn must have changed a lot, I thought. I'd have bet that the old man's sense of fairness would insist that Zaddorn be told the truth about the Ra'ira and the vineh, instead of that crock about an ape flu. I don't doubt that Ferrathyn has suffered from the strain—probably from a heavy load of guilt, as much as anything.

Zaddorn was staring into his faen, lost in his own sense of failure.

The Council didn't tell me about the Ra'ira, I remembered. I had to find out the hard way. But now that I know, do I have the same obligation they do—not to reveal the truth without the Council's consent?

Zaddorn glanced up, saw my face, and leaned across the table to touch my arm.

"Rikardon, I have seen that look on too many rogueworld; faces not to recognize it. If you know something that can help, please tell me."

Markasset had known Zaddorn throughout his youth. They had been rivals in sports and war games and romance. Through it all, Markasset had suffered from a sense of inadequacy, each victory only a reminder of his other losses. Markasset had resented and admired Zaddorn. I, as Ricardo and Rikardon, had shifted that balance toward admiration, even though I was not blind to Zaddorn's irritating qualities. High on that list was arrogance—a quality absent from the vocal tone he had just used to ask for help.

Council or no Council, I decided, Zaddorn deserves to know the truth. He is being asked to control a situation he's not even close to understanding.

"I don't know how it will help," I said quietly, "but I will tell you what I know. I ask only two things in return: that you accept what I say as the truth without question, and that you keep your temper under control. There are many reasons why you haven't been told this, none of them born of lack of confidence in you. Agreed?"

Zaddorn's face lit up with its normal expression-wry amusement, aloofness, cynicism. "With such an introduction, my curiosity is rampant. Of course, I promise what you ask."

"All right, here it is. The Ra'ira can be used to amplify mindpower. It is and always has been, potentially, a tool for mind control. The early Kings used it to learn and lead better; the later Kings used it to control slaves. Serkajon knew what it was, and brought it here for safekeeping. Generations later, someone hit on the idea of using it to control the minds of animals, rather than men. Of course, the animal had to have something of a mind to begin with, and the accomplishment had to be worth the effort."

"The vineh?" Zaddom gasped. "Not trained at all, but controlled?"

I shook my head. "No, they were controlled only when the training broke down," I said. "Since this stuff got started, a Supervisor has been on duty with the Ra'ira every hour of every day. I guess you could say they watched the vineh minds for signs of rebellion, and controlled it out of them when it was found."

"And when the Ra'ira was taken away . . ." Zaddorn's voice trailed off. His hand balled into a fist, and he raised it to hit the table. I caught his wrist just in time to save the faen glasses from a dangerous bouncing.

"You promised," I reminded him.

He tensed as if he might use his other fist on my face, then opened his hand. I let my hand ride his wrist to the table, and kept it there-I had detected no signs of relaxation or resignation. I felt him pressing on the table's surface.

"You do not know” he said, "the charade they have put me through. Moving half the colony to another location, to avoid spreading the 'disease.' My men hurt often at the beginning because they were expecting only as much violence from the beasts as they had seen before—which had never blossomed fully, as you now tell me. All the scorn and blame heaped on me, when I was not given the basic truth of the situation."

His hand was still tense; I could almost feel anger coursing in the pulse I felt at his wrist.

"You have it now," I said. "Does it help?"

His gaze snapped up from the table to meet mine. "To know that I have changed one situation out of my control for another? You tell me the Ra'ira is the cause—and, I assume, the cure—of the vineh situation. Its return to Raithskar seems to have been left up to you. Where is it?"

It took an effort of will to keep from flinching away from Zaddorn's accusing gaze. "The Ra'ira is in Eddarta," I said. "Tarani is the key to getting possession of it, and she is as committed as. I am to delivering it back to Raithskar."

He's planning defenses, I thought. I hope the Council is aware of this man's value.

Tarani and Illia came back to the table. Illia's hand on Radom’s shoulder startled him back to the present. She glanced at me, and then leaned down to whisper in Zaddorn's ear. He put his hand over hers and grinned wryly at me.

"Illia reminds me of the reason we joined you this evening, Rikardon," he said. "We want you to know that Illia and I shall marry soon. May I say that I hope you will not be able to attend the ceremony?"

"Zaddorn!" Illia gasped.

The golden-furred girl's face was a study in shock and embarrassment. "Rikardon, he does not mean that, he—" she stammered.

Behind Illia, Tarani was merely watching and listening. I stood up, touched one hand to the pair of hands on Zaddorn's shoulder, and kissed Illia's cheek—and reached around Illia to take and press Tarani's hand.

"Illia darling," I said, "Zaddorn knows I will probably be leaving Raithskar before your wedding. I trust you know that I wish you both all happiness."

"Leaving?" Illia said.

"Yes. Tarani and I must return to Eddarta."

Illia twisted a bit to look at Tarani, and her glance saw our hands, joined behind her back.

"Oh, she said, then, with a slightly confused sincerity, added, "I-I am happy for you, too, Rikardon."

Chapter 7

"It was a lovely evening," Tarani whispered, as we opened the gate into Thanasset's garden.

I closed the gate, staggering a little. My legs felt like thinly stretched rubber.

I wasn't this tired after my three-day run from the Lingis mine to Eddarta, I thought.

Tarani, too, seemed happily tired. We leaned on each other as we moved through the semi-darkness. In the desert, the moonless sky would have left us in blackness; in the city, the all-night glow of the entertainment district provided some illumination.

We made our way to the stone house at the back of the yard. The blackness inside the sha'um house was complete. We couldn't see or touch them, and we had only to "look" with our minds to know they slept, but Tarani seemed to share my impulse to be close to the sha'um for a moment. We leaned on the wall of the house.

Keeshah's presence came to me, large and warm and somnolent. The two cubs were there, too—each a lighter presence, as if weight in body and experience were reflected in a kind of mental mass. I was pervaded with a sense of family, and felt so full and rich that I couldn't catch my breath.

Tarani felt it, too, and came into my arms as I reached for her. "I see from Antonia's memory," Tarani whispered, "that dancing is different in your world. I wish to learn."

In spite of the fatigue in my legs, I drew her out into a clear area of the garden, caught her hand, pulled her close against me, and hummed. The tune had silly romantic lyrics that ran through my head as we swayed together. The tune and dancing together, bodies touching, had been unknown in Gandalara until that moment, yet sharing them with Tarani, combined with the comforting awareness of the sha'um made me feel, for the first time, totally and entirely a part of Gandalara. The feeling shimmered while we danced, then faded back from the force of its natural consequence: a renewed commitment to the task I had accepted.

In my mind, Keeshah's presence stirred, and then slipped back into sleep. Tarani stopped dancing; I pulled away to look into her face.

"I cannot read your thoughts," she explained, "but I am learning to know your moods. I am ready to leave Raithskar as early as tomorrow." I could barely see her face well enough to notice her smile. "I agreed to see Illia this evening, for a conference on dress design."

"The cubs are ready to travel?"

"Can you not tell that better than I?" she asked, a little sharply.

"The cubs are ready for anything," I said. "They have no way of knowing what they can do until they try."

"Of course, I should have realized that," she said. "I apologize, Rikardon. I have no right to envy your link with the children, when the forging of that link probably saved their lives."

"I guess the big question is, will Yayshah leave?"

Tarani nodded. "I think so. She is fretful. The house is the closest thing she has seen to a suitable den and she loves it, but the garden lacks room for them to run. I sense a need in her to train the cubs, yet awareness that it is unnecessary when food is provided without effort."

"Tomorrow, then," I said. "We'll go back the way we came, along the edge of the Morkadahls. Most of the time, the sha'um will be able to hunt their own food."

Tarani peered at me through the gloom. "I hear no eagerness in your voice, Rikardon. Yet you wish to go, I know that well. Please tell me what troubles you."

"I'm not sure," I said, and it was largely true.

"Is it leaving your home?" she asked gently.

"My home," I said, pulling her close again, "will be going with me."

After dinner that evening, Tarani left for Illia's house. Milda went with her, intending to visit a friend who lived in the same area. Thanasset and I were settled in the sitting room with tiny glasses of barut when someone knocked at the door.

"I'll get it," I said, setting my glass down on the table and trying to heave my dinner-sated body out of the armchair.

"Stay there," Thanasset said, laughing. "You ate as if you never expected another meal. I shall answer the door."

He left the room. I heard laughter out in the midhall and Thanasset returned with a small man who looked frail and old. I tried to stand up again, but the old man smiled, wreathing his face in wrinkles, and waved me back.

"Sit, Rikardon, sit," he said, and looked me up and down. "Thanasset said you have been doing Milda's cooking justice since you returned. As thin as you still are, I am just as glad I did not see you immediately. The smile faded. "I would have grieved heavily for your suffering on our behalf."

He lowered himself into a chair.

"I shall not try to be subtle, my friends," the old man said. "I have come to ask you bluntly, Rikardon, whether the Council should make preparations to fight Eddartans, as well as vineh."

Thanasset looked startled and confused. I understood how he felt.

"Surely, Chief Supervisor, you don't think-your letter- Tarani wishes only—

It was Ferrathyn's turn to look shocked, and then he laughed.

"Oh, no, my boy—as you trust the lady Tarani's motives, I can do no less. My concern is with the Ra'ira and its present danger to us. I have heard something of Eddarta and its rulers in my lifetime and nothing good of Pylomel or his son. Indomel has the Ra'ira, yes?"

"Yes," I said, "but there's no need to be concerned about danger from Eddarta, for two reasons: First, Indomel hadn't figured out how to use the Ra'ira by the time Tarani and I left Eddarta. Second, he's greedy, but fairly practical. Only a raving madman would consider trying to rebuild the Kingdom with the world as it is today."

Ferrathyn's head snapped up at that, and he seemed to start to say something, then think better of it.

"I know," I assured him, "Gharlas was that kind of a madman. If he had lived and kept the Ra'ira, Raithskar would have cause to worry about an attack from Eddarta."

"Then there is no danger from Indomel?"

I shook my head. "For one thing," .I said, "as far as I know he hasn't yet learned the trick of using the Ra'ira. For another, he has small ambitions. All he wants is more power over the other Lords."

Thanasset stepped in, sounding anxious. "There is no trick to using the Ra'ira, he said.”New Supervisors learn it quickly."

"New Supervisors," Ferrathyn reminded him, "have someone to teach them."

"Indomel wanted Tarani to help him learn," I said. "I think it was the main reason he let her stay alive."

"Then the lady Tarani can use the stone's power?" Ferrathyn asked quietly.

"We're not sure of that," I told him. "She was able to read the inscription on the Bronze while she was holding the Ra'ira, but she can't say whether it was her natural ability, the stone's power, or her-training as a Recorder that let her do it so easily."

Ferrathyn looked at Thanasset with mock seriousness. "This detail of her being a Recorder—you failed to tell me that, my friend."

Thanasset smiled. "I warned you the story would be clearer from Rikardon. Yet you chose to take my secondhand account—"

"Thanasset told me your joints were troubling you," I said to Ferrathyn, smiling at the interplay between the old friends. "I'm glad you felt well enough to come this evening. Should your trouble return on the next occasion, Tarani and I would be honored to come to you?"

"The honor would be mine," the old man said. "I regret that I have missed meeting the next High Lord of Eddarta, yet again. Do you see any difficulty in her enforcing her claim?"

I opened my mouth, closed it again, and then laughed.

"I see no difficulty," I said. "We have the King's sword, and her mother's support, and the weight of the other Lords' dislike for Indomel on our side. But if difficulties could be anticipated, they would cease to be difficulties, wouldn't they?"

Both men laughed with me, but I could see their hearts weren't in it. Ferrathyn, in fact, looked a little ill. A slight tremor stirred the long sleeves of his tunic, where his wrists lay along the arms of the chair.

"It will be several moons before we can bring the Ra'ira back," I said. "I think I ought to tell you that I took it on myself to tell Zaddom the truth about-

"You what?" Ferrathyn interrupted, snapping forward in his chair. The trembling in his arms was more noticeable as he clutched the arm of the chair, and his eyes were flashing. "Rikardon, you had no right—"

I felt myself growing angry. "I had as much right as anyone else who knows," I said, and far more reason. You forget I have faced the vineh; I know what Zaddorn is up against. And I don't mean to criticize, but I think keeping the truth from him this long was not only unfair, but dangerous to the citizens of Raithskar he is bound to protect."

Thanasset had stood up, and now he came between Ferrathyn and me, holding a raised hand toward each of us.

"There is no reason for anger in this," he said. "Each of you has done what he believed right, has he not?"

The tension lasted a moment longer, and then Ferrathyn took a deep breath and relaxed back into his chair. I realized I was leaning forward, too, and made myself sit back.

"You are right as always, my good friend," Ferrathyn said, reaching out to touch Thanasset's arm. "It seems you were right to begin with, when you urged taking Zaddom into the confidence of the Council. I would apologize for opposing you, but the issue seems inconsequential now."

"Everything is inconsequential," Thanasset said, "except getting back the Ra'ira." He looked at me. "I hesitate to ask, son—having you and Tarani and the sha'um here these few days has been a memorable joy—but . . ."

"You were gone when I woke," I said. "This is the first chance I've had to tell you—we have decided to start the journey back to Eddarta tomorrow."

Thanasset's expression flickered between relief and sadness.

"Milda will be upset," he said. "She spends hours with those cubs." He sat down. "You will all be missed."

"Are you taking the young sha'um with you?" Ferrathyn asked, surprised. "Will that not slow your journey?"

"Better a slow journey than none at all," I said. "Neither of the sha'um would go without the cubs." I leaned over and slapped Thanasset's knee lightly. "I know for a fact that Milda hasn't been out there playing with the cubs all alone," I said. "They love you both, you know. They will miss you."

"I expect you will want an early start," Ferrathyn said, and stood up. I felt glad to see that he did move easily now. Standing, he was barely taller than my head while I was sitting. "I shall not keep you longer."

Thanasset was up again, protesting. "But it is your first visit in so long," he said. "Stay a while, and talk."

"About what?" the old man asked, raising an eyebrow. "The vineh? The Ra'ira? They are the only things worth discussing these days, old friend, and I for one hear enough about them both during the Council meetings." He turned to me, and pressed my shoulder. "I suspect that telling Zaddorn the truth about the Ra'ira belongs on the long list of good things you have done for our city, Rikardon. I apologize for my outburst. I will inform the Council of his knowledge tomorrow and I—um—"

"I'm sure Zaddorn understands why he wasn't told at the beginning," I said.

The old man smiled. "Thank you for trying," he said, "but I see no way out of it. I shall have to apologize to Zaddom." His eyes twinkled. "I find it hard to predict whether I shall choke on the words, or Zaddorn will die of shock. If your mission were not so urgent, I would invite you to stay and watch."

After Ferrathyn left, Thanasset and I returned to the sitting room and our glasses of barut.

"Zaddorn told me that Ferrathyn had changed," I said. "I see it, too—he looks older, and that flash of anger was unlike him."

"The crisis has put him under great strain," Thanasset said. "And Zaddorn has not helped the situation. He knew the story about vineh illness was a lie the moment he heard it, and he has been pressing Council members at every opportunity for the truth.

"Challenging Ferrathyn's leadership," I said, "just when he felt it had to be strongest, and just when the theft of the Ra'ira had weakened it. Keeping Zaddorn ignorant probably has been a symbol to Ferrathyn, a confirmation of his position as Chief Supervisor. I pulled that symbol away from him by telling Zaddorn the truth." I shook my head. "No wonder he blew up at me. Apologize for me, the next time you see him, will you?"

"I will not," Thanasset said. "You were right. Even Ferrathyn saw that, as soon as he calmed down. Not only have you given Zaddom help in the defense of the city, but you have, I hope, put that symbol to rest, so that Zaddom and the Council can begin to work together again."

"What is the Council doing, now that the duty of watching the vineh with the Ra'ira is nonexistent?" I asked.

Thanasset laughed bitterly. "We are paying the price of luxury," he said. "Organizing work crews to do the cleaning and repairing the vineh used to do. Spending hours each day answering the complaints of people who are impatient with dirty streets, outraged by the idea of cleaning out their own bath filters, or afraid for their safety. Trying to teach people the value of their own labor." He sighed.

It would be a thousand times easier with the Ra'ira," he said. "I believe I understand how sorely the Kings were tempted."

The look of shock on my face brought a real laugh from him.

"I am joking," he assured me. "The Council has reached unanimous agreement: When the Ra'ira is returned the vineh will be guided westward, to an area where other vineh colonies are located. Then the Ra'ira will be destroyed."

"How?" I asked.

"How? Smashed, I suppose. Why do you ask?"

"Because Serkajon threw it into the rakor forge, and it wasn't harmed," I said.

Thanasset gaped at me. We had talked of the time I had spent in the All-Mind, and of what I had taught from the life memories of Zanek, the first King, and Serkajon, the Sharith Captain who had brought about the end of the Kingdom. Somehow, the detail of Serkajon, while Zanek was visiting in his body, trying and failing to destroy the blue gemstone, had been omitted.

After a moment, Thanasset threw off his surprise. "A way will be found," he assured me grimly. "The Council failed its charge by using the monstrous thing. The only way to make up for that is to destroy it. Just bring it here," he said. "We will find a way to insure it will never be used again."

In Ricardo's world, it would have been a tearful farewell. As it was, Milda shifted unpredictably from looking calm and brave to a tearless, desperate sobbing that was heartbreaking to hear. She smiled as she handed me the travel bags she had packed, and sobbed when she hugged me. Tarani hugged her, and they both broke down. Thanasset and I were quieter, but no less emotional than the women. He pounded my back and held me fiercely when I hugged him good-bye. The straight, firm line of his mouth softened and trembled when he bent to caress the cubs one more time.

Thanasset, Keeshah, and I waited beside the double gate for the women to finish their farewells.

"Your garden is ruined," I said, waving toward the small hill that had been green and flowery only a few days ago, but was trampled and scarred now.

"In the best possible cause," he said. "I shall take great pleasure in rebuilding it with a large, a very large, open space around the sha'um house."

I laughed and slapped his back.

"You're sure you have enough coin?" he asked.

"Plenty," I assured him.

For some time, I had been wearing a belt with commemorative gold coins sewn inside it. I had changed two of the coins for smaller denominations which were easier to spend, and had traded the rest for less distinctive gold coins of the same value—which were now resewn inside the same belt.

Tarani broke away from Milda, who knelt to embrace the cubs as they ran up to her. Tarani and Yayshah joined us beside the gate. The girl extended her hand toward Thanasset. "You and Milda have been most gracious," she said.

As he had done when he greeted her, Thanasset took her hand, lifted it, and kissed the palm. "You are a part of us now, Tarani," he said. "You leave behind an emptiness that we will mourn until you return."

"I—" she began, but words failed her. The brief awkwardness ended when he opened his arms and she flew into them to hug him.

There seemed to be no more reason to delay. Keeshah's mind was pushing at me to get going. Yayshah was nudging Tarani from behind, betraying her eagerness to get out of the city. The cubs were alert and curious, not really comprehending what was happening, but ready for the adventure it promised.

Beyond the gate, we could hear people moving about and talking quietly. "Word has spread of your leaving," Thanasset said. "The people do not know of your mission, but your very presence here has offered them a target for their restless interest, a distraction from the danger. Many will be waiting to watch you leave. Do you see? It is an event for them."

"Yes, I see," I said, then turned to Tarani. "Ask Yayshah if you may ride."

"She is willing, I know," the girl answered. "But did you not tell me that tradition demands walking within the city?" She paused, looking from me to Thanasset, and then she smiled her understanding. "I see too," she said. "The distraction of the 'event' outweighs tradition in this case."

*Keeshah, I will ride,* I told the big cat.

He registered surprise, but crouched down to let me straddle his back. For now, I left the travel packs slung by their joining rope over my shoulder, and sat up straight. As Keeshah stood up, I could see over the fence. A crowd had indeed gathered, and a murmur traveled quickly down the street as the nearest people saw my head and shoulders appear above the fence.

Yayshah crouched and Tarani mounted much more easily than had been possible when Yayshah had been hugely pregnant. Tarani adjusted her travel bag rope on her shoulder as Yayshah surged to her feet; she nodded. Thanasset opened the gate, and waved at me as Keeshah led the procession into and down the street, through a city packed with cheering people.

The cubs walked between their parents, their energy and curiosity making them zigzag back and forth in the clear lane between lines o£ people. When the kittens got near the edge of the crowd, a curious twitch occurred in the sea of heads, as some people lunged forward to touch the kittens and an equal number flinched back in fear of the consequences.

*Stay in line,* I told the cubs, with little hope of obedience. Koshah and Yayshah were frisky, getting more excited by the minute. But they made an effort to comply, and kept their zigzag pattern closer to the center of the lane. *Thanks,* I told them. *We'll have the chance to run soon, I promise.*

The crowd made me nervous, and that made Keeshah edgy, and his nervousness compounded mine. Yet we gave Thanasset the show he asked for, the sha'um walking with their stately grace up to and through the huge open gate marking the entrance to Raithskar.

Shouts of good will and joy followed us through the gate. Raithskarians knew very little about the present-day society that had grown from the Sharith, the cat-mounted army which had served the Kings. But every Gandalaran knew that only males left the Valley of the Sha'um, and only men could bond with and ride them.

I felt no compunction about accepting the attention of the crowds. Tarani and Yayshah and the cubs were exactly what Thanasset wanted. They were an historical event in themselves.

The crowd followed us for a way outside the city, but stopped when the man in the gray baldric waved them back. The color of his baldric marked him as part of the Peace and Security Force of Raithskar. He was one of several sentries who ringed the city. All of them were armed with swords, daggers, and hollow-bone whistles.

He waved us to a stop, and I slid of Keeshah's back to speak with him. He greeted me and nodded to Tarani, then spoke quietly. He looked young. I could tell he was nervous.

"The Chief told me you would be leaving this way," the man said. "He asked me to wish you a safe journey, and report what we know of vineh groups report he warn you the sha'um might stir up another vineh incident?"

The young officer swallowed and nodded.

"We'll try to keep that from happening," I told him, "by avoiding the known groups. Where are they?"

We were still on the road. The young man pulled out his dagger and used the point to draw a sketch of the city. A nearly straight line served as the Great Wall. He talked and pointed. Most of the vineh were on the western side of the city.

"We were returning from the west when they attacked before," I said, looking at the diagram. "We're headed east now; it looks as if we can get away without much trouble. Even if the vineh decide to come after us, the big groups couldn't reach u8 in time."

I stood up and thanked the officer.

*Yoshah,* I called the female cub to me. She trotted up, nipped insincerely at my boot, and looked at the young man curiously, drawing a smile from him. I led the cub over to Yayshah, and Tarani leaned forward to hear me.

"There are small groups scattered to the east of the city," I said. "The best thing seems to me to be an all-out run to get out of range as quickly as possible. The cubs can't keep up yet—do you think Yayshah will tolerate carrying Yoshah?"

"I shall ask," Tarani said, closed her eyes for a moment, and then nodded. "The question is, will Yoshah put up with it?"

"My turn," I said, and knelt beside the pale-furred kitten.

She stood just higher than knee level. She had looked stubby and awkward at birth, but she was already gaining length to her body so that the thick legs and paws looked more in proportion. As I stroked down the fluffy fur, the darker markings, resembling her mother's brindling, appeared more clearly.

*I have to ask you a favor, my girl,* I said. *I know you want to run on your own, but it isn't safe yet. Will you lie very still on Yayshah's back until it's safe to get down?*

She rubbed the side of her face against my arm, turning her ear back and twitching it right again.

Neither of the cubs had yet tried to talk to me in words. I could feel Yoshah struggling to say something, and I reached out to listen, trying to get the meaning without needing the words. When it hit me, I barely kept myself from laughing aloud.

*Koshah will ride Keeshah,* I assured the female cub. *If he refuses, then we will all walk. Okay?*

She agreed readily then, and let me gather her up with my arms around her chest and under her tail—which snapped back and forth. I stood up carefully, and tried to maneuver so the flipping tail wouldn't hit Yayshah in the face.

It's a good thing we're doing this today, I thought. The way they're growing, they might be too heavy to lift tomorrow. "She agreed?" Tarani asked doubtfully.

"The only problem was a touch of jealousy," I explained.	

Tarani reached down to help, and we draped Yoshah across her mother's shoulders. Her head was up and she peered around curiously, but for the moment the kitten was doing as she had promised—lying still. Tarani slid her hips toward the big cats, pulled the kitten toward her, and lay forward over the cub's body. She nodded to me.

"It will work if she stays still," she said.

*All right, Yoshah?*

She found some words. *Yes. Go?*

*In just a minute,* I promised.

Something hit my leg—once, twice—as another voice hit my mind.

*Memememememe,* it called.

I knelt beside the male cub and petted him while I explained what we had to do. He didn't care about the danger; he only wanted what his sister had been given, the privilege of riding a parent.

Sometimes, I thought, as I struggled to lift the slightly heavier male, jealousy is a useful thing.

I asked Keeshah to crouch, and I straddled him carefully. Koshah was still, but trembling with excitement. His raspy tongue lashed out and caught my ear, making me nearly drop him. I guided his movements through our link, and got him settled on Keeshah's back. The big sha'um twisted his head around to stare at me, and the mood in his mind was one of exaggerated patience.

*All right, Keeshah,* I told him. *We're nearly ready.*

Keeshah surged to his feet. I moved back and settled Koshah into position under my torso, and gripped Keeshah's shoulders. I checked Tarani again, where she lay across the hind legs and twitching tail of Yoshah, and she nodded.

*East,* I said. *Run.*

Tarani must have given the same message to Yayshah, for the two sha'um leaped forward at the same instant. I felt a double "whoop" of joy from the two kittens, and Koshah's body shifted a bit as he clenched himself around Keeshah.

*Tell cub no claws,* Keeshah complained.

I passed the word to both cubs, and then turned my attention to riding.

A rider doesn't ride on his sha'um; he rides with his sha'um, distributing his own weight as evenly as possible along the cat's spine. He has to cling tightly enough to keep from bouncing, but keep his body flexible enough to flow with the stretch-and-close movement of the leg action, and the up-and- down effect on the cats back.

The effort becomes automatic with practice. The rider learns the sha'um's rhythms, and his muscles accommodate the cat's patterns. The sha'um can alert the man to any discomfort through their mindlink, so they develop a riding style that is comfortable for both of them.

Adding a second rider—or a hundred pounds of sha'um cub—changes the combination and defeats that natural, automatic style. We ran for nearly an hour, carrying the cubs, and it was hard work. I judged we were twenty miles or more east of Raithskar when the cubs began to get restless. I called us to a halt. Keeshah and Yayshah crouched low, and Tarani and I let the cubs scramble off their parents. As soon as Tarani stepped away from Yayshah, she flopped over on her side and lay there, panting. Keeshah, accustomed for some time to carrying two people, was barely breathing hard. He kept his crouch and watched the cubs sniffing and prowling through the underbrush.

"I was about to ask to stop," Tarani said. "It was her first run in so long." Her face glowed as she looked at the darkly marked female. "It was hard for her, Rikardon, but she loved it. Not just the run. Running while I was with her. She loved it."

I heard the awe in Tarani's voice, and I sympathized. Apart from any emotional motives, there were sound, logical reasons why a person might want to bond to a sha'um: the defensive strength of the huge cat, faster travel time. There seemed to be no logical advantage to the sha'um in the deal. A sha'um left his home and put the quality of his life—if not his very existence—in the hands of a weak and confused creature and he seemed to do it solely for the sake of companionship with his bonded friend.

Yayshah was an exception. Before she had left the Valley, she had been promised that she would continue to have the protection of her lifemate, Keeshah, as well as our company. Yet she had made it clear that Tarani, not Keeshah, was the reason she made the choice to leave.

I had learned that the sha'um did get something from their association with people—they shared new sensory experience, and their own native intelligence was stimulated by the need to communicate through the mindlink. But that was a long-term effect, unknown to the sha'um (if they ever realized it) until long after they made their choice.

It's hard for a rational mind to accept an act of love with no gain motive at its base. Being on the receiving end of a sha'um bond is humbling and exalting, and a little frightening- for if you accept that a sha'um is with you by his own choice, you must also accept that he may choose to leave at any time. The end result is that you return his loyalty and love as truly and completely as you can-not because you fear he will leave, but because you admire his innate nobility and want to emulate it.

"I think we're well past the danger from the vineh," I said. "I saw only five groups. Did you spot any others?"

She shook her head. "They seemed to take little notice of us, other than to move away if they were close," she added. "We might have walked in safety—though I agree that the speed of our departure was a wise precaution.

"There were young animals in those groups, and the largest one I saw had only twelve individuals. They seemed to be just minding their own business, but it's hard to tell how they would have reacted if the sha'um had been around longer."

I stretched my arms above my head.

"In any case, I think we've left the vineh danger behind. From here on out, we'll match our pace to what the cubs can manage comfortably. There should be enough wild game in the Morkadahl foothills for Yayshah and Keeshah to have ample opportunity to take the cubs hunting along the way." I brought my arms down, and put one around her shoulders to hug her briefly. "I guess I was getting impatient, without realizing it," I admitted. "It feels really good to be moving again."

Chapter 9

The Morkadahls are a high range of mountains that slash southward from the Great Wall to subdivide the western half of Gandalara. Behind Raithskar, the Great Wall does, indeed, resemble a wall-a sheer escarpment vanishing into the cloud cover above. Gandalarans named- the entire northern border of their world the Great Wall, even though the escarpment quickly became gentler, but still impassable, slopes that seemed indistinguishable from the mountains in the Morkadahls or the Korchis.

It was difficult to believe that the Kapiral Desert and the slopes of the Morkadahls were part of the same environment. It was not difficult to understand the value of water in this world, or why Gandalarans had evolved as water savers who did not sweat at all or weep unnecessarily. The key to the tremendous landscape difference was the presence of water.

Rivers of fresh, cool water descended from the mountains in varied styles of waterfall, from the nearly vertical, thundering Sharkel Falls in Raithskar to the Tashal, whose many widespread branches cascaded and flowed down the River Wall around Eddarta. Where there was a visible and usable water source, there was also a city or a town.

There were some foothills in Gandalara that were as arid and scratchy as the deserts themselves. More often, however, the mountains seemed to soak moisture from the cloud cover. The Morkadahl foothills were fertile and busy with life. To the east, they sheltered a unique triangle of what I thought of as "true forest"—tall trees, rich undergrowth, a darkish and sheltered place that was the exclusive territory of the sha'um.

We followed the western slopes of the Morkadahls, angling northward and then traveling south. There were two major settlements along the way: Alkhum, which footed the painfully high Khumbar Pass across the Morkadahls into the Valley of the Sha'um; and Omergol, a city built almost exclusively of the beautiful green marble its people quarried for export.

We stopped at the cities, Tarani and I leaving the sha'um briefly to indulge in a bath and a hot meal, and to sleep on a fluffy pallet instead of the ground. We bought more "trail" food—dried meat and fresh fruits, and flattish, savory bread- and refilled the eight water pouches we carried between us.

In Omergol, we stayed at the Green Sha'um Inn, and I introduced Tarani to Grallen, the inn's owner and a man I considered my friend. He greeted Tarani with a quiet word and a smile broad enough to display the gap in his lower teeth-the earmark of a rough road to success—and winked at me as he left the table to order our meal. The girl who had drawn such a crowd when I had been here last—in the company of Thymas, the son of the leader of the Sharith performed that night, as well. Tarani was as fascinated as we had been by the music that issued from the flutelike instrument, guided by the skill of the player.

The following morning, someone knocked on the door of our room just as we were shouldering our "saddlebags" and getting ready to leave. I opened the door, and could not conceal my shock.

"Somil?" I gasped.

The tall, nearly bald, old man smiled, crossed his arms, and leaned on the doorsill.

"I heard you were here, and suspected you would not stay long," he said, nodding at the travel bag suspended from my shoulder. "I would have the answer to at least one of your mysteries, my friend: did you find Ka?"

Behind me, Tarani grabbed the laminated-wood door and pulled it open wider.

"It is the way of the Record to serve," she said, sounding as if she were quoting a maxim, "not to question." The words were severe, but her tone was curious.

Somil pulled himself upright and inclined his head toward the girl. His supraorbital ridge arched slightly, giving him a built-in arrogant look which he reinforced with arrogant behavior. His eyes twinkled as he looked at Tarani.

"Have you not heard, Tarani, that Somil is a renegade Recorder, who regularly betrays tradition?"

Tarani showed no surprise that Somil knew her name, but smiled with her own look of mischief. "I have heard much worse things of the notorious Somil," she said, then grew serious. "The only source I trust completely," she said, touching my shoulder lightly, "speaks highly of your skill and discretion." She stepped forward; I edged aside to give her room in the doorway. Tarani extended both of her hands and bowed. "I am honored to meet you, Recorder."

Somil grasped her hands and returned the bow. "And I you, Recorder," he echoed.

"The answer to your question," I said, "is yes. But—" He raised a hand and waved it.

"Say no more," he urged me. "I will not hold you from your journey to hear the tale, though I would listen eagerly. To know that you had some profit from our seeking is enough for now."

He stood away from the doorway and invited us through it with a gesture. Tarani picked up her travel bags, and the three of us walked downstairs. At the door of the inn, Somil spoke again.

"I trust you realize," he said to me, "that you have done something I thought impossible—you have made me more interested in the events of the present than in those of the past. It would be cruel to leave that interest, once stirred, unsatisfied."

"If you're asking us to come back and tell you the whole story someday, that's a promise," I said. "When it will be—"

Again, he waved his hand. "Before my death is all I ask," he said. He bowed to Tarani again, wished us a fair journey, and walked away without looking back.

Tarani and I turned to move down the broad, stepped avenue leading through the center of Omergol.

"He knew me through his contact with you while you were seeking," she said. "I would give a great deal to know what he saw of me in your mind."

I reached for her hand and twined my fingers between hers. "What he saw, you know. Haven't we agreed to be honest with one another from now on?"

Outside of Omergol, we rejoined the sha'um, who were snoozing in an "orchard"—a cultivated field of dakathrenil trees. On the wild hillsides, the trees curled and twisted close to the ground, each tree looking more like a waist-high bush. Where the trees crowded together, younger ones had to reach higher for the light. We had seen clumps of dakathrenil yards long and several tiers high, rising taller than a man's head. The trees had needle-shaped leaves, bore a nutlike fruit, and provided shelter and food to an astounding variety of small animals.

Gandalarans cultivated the dakathrenil to grow straighter and taller. The trees were short-lived, grew fast, and reproduced plentifully. Their fruit was a major crop, but the real profit to a farmer was in the wood of the dead trees. Converting the zigzag trunks into functional articles was a task that involved many skills and supported many trades: cutting and smoothing small pieces from the trunks, laminating the largest pieces to form tools or doors or furniture, using the smaller pieces in artful decoration.

Koshah, the male cub, was the first to wake as we approached. 

 He yawned, laying his ears back and stretching his front legs, one at a time, out in front of him. Then he dug his claws into the ground and dragged his body forward and up, stretching out his hind legs and arching the tail, half as long as his torso, which was never still while he was awake.

We had made it a leisurely trip, taking many breaks for naps and hunting lessons for the sha'um, and covering about the same distance each day that a man could walk. Still, barely two weeks had passed since we had left Raithskar, and the development of the cubs during that time had been phenomenal. Yayshah had begun the weaning process by pre-chewing meat from Keeshah's kills, and the cubs' teeth— including the two upper tusks characteristic of most Gandalaran mammals, but especially prominent in the sha'um—were fully visible and usable now. The cubs had begun to lose the long, fluffy, silver-tipped fur that had overlaid and masked their markings, and were emerging as miniatures of their parents.

I could see their development in less visible ways. Their mindvoices were changing, taking on weight and confidence, communicating more deliberately and clearly. I had made a real effort to stay out of the way, so to speak, while they were being taught to be sha'um—but they had not allowed it. Like children looking over their shoulders to assure themselves they had an audience, they had drawn my awareness with them into the process of watching, scenting, waiting, stalking.

I had learned something from those lessons. The first time the cubs had watched Yayshah bring down a wild glith, their minds had erupted and carried me, breathless, into a maelstrom of fierce, predatory excitement. Tarani and I had been strolling; I had wrenched myself away to awaken flat on the ground, with Tarani kneeling beside me, nearly panicked by my sudden collapse.

Raw power ran through the minds of the cubs, a product of the incautious enthusiasm of youth. While I treasured their desire to share their every experience with me, I had learned to be prepared to disengage from the more intense experiences.

The problem had changed as Koshah and Yoshah had become more verbal and less . . . primal. While they had been two distinct individuals from the start, I had thought of them together as "the cubs." They diverged rapidly into separate, equally demanding presences. Each cub was constantly discovering something new and trying to tell me about it I wanted to encourage their enthusiasm for talking, so I ruthlessly suppressed my occasional—and inevitable—"What is it now?" attitude and responded with interest and approval. The practice was teaching me to balance the three warm presences and fine-tune my end of the communication, so that I could speak to any one of the sha'um directly and privately.

Koshah trotted over to greet us, squeezing himself between Tarani and me so that he could rub against both of us. When he had passed through, Tarani knelt. The male cub went up to her, rubbed his cheek against hers, and let his chin rest on her shoulder while her hands stroked his head and the longer neckfur that could lift into a mane. Koshah closed his eyes and enjoyed it, as only a cat can enjoy being / petted. Tarani smiled softly and enjoyed it, too.

Soon all the sha'um were awake. Yoshah demanded the same kind of treatment from me, and I obliged until Keeshah said: *Go soon?*

Chapter 10

We traveled south from Omergol and around the tip of the range, marked by a mountain that shot up unexpected from the foothills: Mount Kadahl. As had been true throughout the trip, more time was spent in hunting than in moving. The adult sha'um could store food (and water, for that matter) for long periods. They hunted to teach and feed the cubs, who were never not hungry. What they ate seemed to turn directly into growth. They had added inches in length and height since Raithskar, and had begun to look so scrawny that Tarani and I discussed the possibility that the travel was harming them, and slowed the pace even further.

Our fears were unfounded. During the seven days between Omergol and Thagorn, the up-and-out growth process gave way to a thickening of muscle. By the time we sighted the

Sharith scout, each cub was about the size of a full-grown tiger, and their birthfur was almost entirely gone.	-

Yoshah, whose sense of smell seemed keener than the others', was the first to lift her head alertly. The announcement of the newcomer was a growly noise in her throat. To me she said: *Strange sha'um.* The ruff of gray fur around her neck fluffed out, and her tail stopped its miscellaneous movement, only the tip twitching from side to side.

*It is a friend,* I said to Yoshah, broadening the message to include Koshah, as well. The cubs heard me, but waited tensely for the newcomer to appear.

They were going to be disappointed.

"As we agreed?' I said to Tarani. She nodded.

*Stay here,* I told the cubs, and to Keeshah I said: *Let's go meet the Rider.*

Keeshah moved out, only to be halted by three impatient sha'um voices—two, as I could tell, wanting to go along, and one trying to stop them. Keeshah turned back and added his command to Yayshah's, and I reached with my mind to soothe the cubs' indignation at being left behind. Tarani rode Yayshah skillfully as the sha'um lunged forward and used her nose to try to force Koshah away from us. The male cub snarled and twisted quickly, and brought a paw up (claws sheathed) to knock his mother's head out of the way. For that, he got a swat against his side that sent him tumbling.

Keeshah jumped into the act. He brought his head down against his daughter's side and half-threw her back toward Yayshah. She got up and stalked forward, her ears flattened, and thought better of it when Keeshah bared his teeth and crouched.

*Want to go,* Koshah told me, still trying to edge around Yayshah to get to us.

*Stay here,* I repeated to both cubs. *We'll be back in a little while.*

*Other sha'um close,* Keeshah said, and the information was confirmed by the sounds of movement through the brush. I caught a glimpse of the crown of a hat, above a clump of wild dakathrenil.

"Hello the sentry," I called. "Please stay where you are; I will join you shortly."

The hat stopped and rose, revealing first the round, flat brim and then the eyes of the face underneath it.

"As you wish, Captain," the man answered. The voice was unfamiliar.

*You're going to stay put, right?* I asked the cubs, and received a grudging agreement. Keeshah whirled and launched himself in a long, loping stride around the tree tangle. In seconds we were face to face with the Sharith Rider.

"Welcome to Thagorn, Captain," the man said formally. "I am Innis, and this is Wortel." He drew his hand along the left jaw of the sha'um he was riding.

We had met before, of course. I had met each of the Riders on the occasion when Dharak had declared me Captain, the first in Gandalaran history since Serkajon had left Kingdom and Sharith in order to remove the power of the Ra'ira from the Kings. But there were nearly a hundred Riders. I appreciated the man's reintroducing himself and his sha'um, and repaid the gesture by performing the formal introduction for Keeshah.

The Rider was young, barely in his twenties. The roving patrol guarding Thagorn was usually the assignment of the older Riders. Seeing so young a man on this duty brought remembrance and concern sharply into focus.

"How many sha'um, Innis?" I asked urgently.

He hesitated, as if he would have suggested I wait and ask Thymas, but he must have read the need for answers in my face.

"Twelve more since you and the lady Tarani left, Captain," the man said. "All of them in the first seven-day; none since then."

I forced my shoulder to relax and sighed. Twelve more, I thought. That brings the total to thirty-four sha'um who returned to the Valley early, solely because Yayshah came along and reminded them they were males. And roughly a seventh of the sha'um were already in the Valley, responding to the natural mating cycle. I felt my chest tighten with grief and sympathy for the Riders whose sha'um had broken contact and reverted to their animal state. I had been through that myself, recently—it was no picnic. It felt as if a part of your brain had been surgically removed. You couldn't think or see or feel. You were not complete. You were alone.

"Uh, sir?" Innis prompted hesitantly.

"Yes, Innis," I said, coming back out of my reverie. "I was just thinking—nearly half of the Riders must be suffering."

"Sir, Lieutenant Thymas has made it clear that you are not to blame for the situation. His instructions to the sentries are always the same—to offer you welcome and the hospitality of Thagorn. And I"—he cleared his throat and sat up a little straighter, "I am proud to do so, sir."

"Thank you," I said, more unnerved than I let on. Even under the stress of the early departure of his sha'um for the Valley, Dharak had taken the trouble to write the appointment for his son. "Lieutenant Thymas," I thought.

"Tell me one more thing, Innis—how is Dharak?"

The man's face told me all I needed to know, and I did not wait for him to say it out loud.

"Please wait here for a moment," I said.

"My instructions, sir," Innis said, as Keeshah tumid back in the direction from which we had appeared, "are to offer welcome to the lady Tarani, as well."

"Tarani joins with me in wishing no further disruption to the Sharith, and has chosen not to enter Thagorn, I told him, looking back over my shoulder.”But I will convey your welcome; Innis It will please her greatly."

When we returned to the group of sha'um (the cubs were pacing about, pouting in mind and mannerism, but silent), I told Tarani what Innis had said. As I had expected, she was very moved. We had left Thagorn at my insistence while Yayshah had been largely and clumsily pregnant, and unpredictably near to delivering the cubs. Tarani, both because she rationally and wholly cared for the female, and because she was mind linked and a little too closely in touch with Yayshah's feelings, had resisted that decision.

After the cubs were born, and Tarani had learned more control of the recently established mindlink, she had been in a unique position to appreciate the magnitude of Yayshah's effect on the Sharith. She now shared the same kind of bond that had been suddenly and unexpectedly removed from the Riders of the missing sha'um. And she had witnessed and suffered from my breakdown when Keeshah had left me.

The respect of the Sharith was of immense importance to her, yet she would have accepted their hatred of Yayshah and herself—without apology. It was a bonus for her that they seemed to understand, as we did, that what had happened was unfortunate but not intentional.

I invited her to, ride with me into Thagorn, but she shook her head. "Let us do as we agreed, and one of us stays with the family at all times, to warn away the other sentries. I would not have another Rider suffer the loss of his sha'um."

So I rode alone beside Innis into Thagorn, through the gates of a wall stretching like a dam across a deep narrow opening, closing in a large and verdant valley. On our last visit to the city of the Sharith, Tarani and I had been greeted with a great deal of ceremony. This time, no one had warning of our arrival, so that Innis and I rode in like two ordinary Riders returning from patrol duty.

 That lasted as Long as it took for the guards on the wall to recognize me. Then my name was shouted and passed along the length of the valley, and people came running from all directions. At the midpoint of the valley, it was bisected by a strong river. Just this side of the river stood a large, white stone house—the home of the Lieutenant. I headed in that direction, slowing Keeshah to a walk, and pausing frequently to greet people I recognized.

This crowd was unlike the one in Raithskar. For one thing, they kept their distance, shouting and waving. For another, there was a subdued quality, even to the laughter, and I knew that the sight of me reminded them of the grounded Riders. Yet what Innis had implied was true: There was no accusation here, only great curiosity about the fate of the woman who had broken the ageless men-only tradition of the Riders and the female sha'um who had broken instinct to bear her cubs outside the Valley.

In the distance, near the white house, I saw a figure come out the front door, mount a crouching sha'um, and ride toward us. The crowd parted to let Thymas pass; he rode up beside me and laid his right hand on my right shoulder. I returned the salute and, mindful of the crowd, held back the questions that tumbled into my head.

Now tong have we been gone? I wondered. Two months? Three? Thymas has aged five years in that time.

I turned partly away from Thymas and spoke to the group of people, most of whom were non-Riders who had been at work at the many tasks necessary to support a settlement of the size of Thagorn.

"Your greeting honors me," I said. "Tarani and Yayshah are well, and two cubs have joined us." A clamor rose at that, the words obscured by the sheer noise of the outburst. The meaning was clear; these people whose lives were so thoroughly intertwined with sha'um, wanted desperately to see the cubs.

Thymas raised his hand, and quiet settled in quickly.

"Innis, you know the location of the Lady Tarani?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then kindly return to her. When Wortel scents the female, dismount and send him upwind, and approach Tarani on foot. Give her my greeting, and ask if she and the sha'um will consent to be settled in the clearing prepared for them."

The Rider turned his sha'um and rode back through the gates. Thymas addressed the crowd.

"The Captain and I will consider the possibility of allowing Sharith to visit Yayshah and her cubs in small groups, but if it can be permitted, such visits will not begin until tomorrow. We must give Rikardon and Tarani a night's rest, at least."

The crowd began to dissipate. Thymas tumid Ronar, his sha'um, and rode beside me toward the white house.

"What is this 'clearing?' " I asked him.

"Just that," he said, "a clearing . . . with a house. It is some distance from Thagorn, but sheltered in the hills, and—"

"And downwind," I interrupted, looking at him in surprise. "Thymas, you built a house for us?"

We stopped our sha'um and faced each other. There was more sincerity than I could bear in the boy's voice as he said, "Tarani has proven herself to be Sharith, and you are our Captain. You spared us the shame of asking you to leave us, and I swore that necessity would not arise again. That house may not be in Thagorn, but it is of the Sharith. It will serve as your—and Tarani's-home, or as a temporary shelter for your visits. That is your choice; the house is yours, whenever it is needed."

I was at a loss for words. I urged Keeshah on and we rode in silence, to dismount in front of the Lieutenant's house. Shola came out, wiping her hands on her apron. She hesitated for an awkward moment, and then impulsively hugged me. I returned the hug, and put an arm around Thymas as we went into the house.

Dharak was in the sitting room, arranged in an armchair, silent and motionless, staring out the window.

A shudder of tension ran through me and the two people I was touching. Shola said awkwardly, "It is the luncheon hour, Captain, and we were preparing to eat. You will join us, of course?" She was a chunky, hearty woman who could be beautiful when she wished. She was looking up at me with an air of not looking at her husband, and the rounded cheeks seemed hollow, the skin of her arms loose, the goldish headfur thinning noticeably.

"It has never lasted this long before, has it, Shola?" I asked her quietly.

She closed her eyes and took a breath. "It will be this way," she said shakily, "until Doran returns. I am sure of it."

I squeezed her shoulder. "Would I pass up one of your meals, Shola? Please go on ahead; Thymas and I will be there in just a moment."

She left us, the boy and I, looking at the pale furred man who had led the Sharith for most of a long and capable life. We had found him in nearly the identical position when we had returned from Omergol with the note that Dharak had scrawled and sent to us. It had named Thymas as Lieutenant.

"Captain," Thymas said suddenly, stepping away and half- turning his back on me. "Please stay in Thagorn."

It was difficult for him to say that, I thought.

"What's wrong, Lieutenant?" I asked.

The boy whirled. "That's wrong," he said. "I don't want to be the Lieutenant, not this way."

"You knew it would happen someday," I said. "You hoped for it, didn't you? How would it be different if Dharak were dead, instead of just . . . missing, as he is?"

The words shocked him, but I knew Thymas. It was like the old story with the jackass and the two-by-four; first you

I had to get his attention. Thymas was either learning discretion, or was, getting to know me, too. He started toward me with anger in his face, but stopped, took a deep breath, and smiled wryly.

"The difference is, I haven't had the training I expected," he said. "Oh, I can assign duty and plan sentry patterns and supervise a work crew. If people have to do things, I can see that they work at it. But I don't know a thing about how to control the way people feel. And—Rikardon, you don't know what it is like now. The Riders are all right on the surface, but there's not a one of them who goes to sleep with the assurance that his sha'um will be there in the morning. The others function, they do their work, but all they think about— they don't even talk about it, mind you, for fear it will make things worse—is how things have changed, and how they might change tomorrow."

Thymas lifted his arms and dropped them, in a gesture of futility.

"I can direct people," he told me. "I can't lead them. I never knew the difference until . . ." He waved a hand in the direction of his father.

"How can my staying be of help?" I asked. "And what did you mean by 'training'? What training have you missed?"

"I was a cub the last time Doral went to the Valley," Thymas said. "My father was shocked and upset for a few days, but he came back to himself. He had to step down from being Lieutenant, of course. Only a Rider can lead the Riders. So he appointed someone to take his place temporarily-it was Bareff, in fact."

Bareff had been one of the first two Sharith I had met, and had become and remained a friend. I felt a surge of pride for him.

"Bareff led the Sharith for that year—but not alone, Captain. He did the planning, assigning, and supervising-the same kind of things I can do. But the authority, the settling of arguments, the award of punishment, the ... the leader‑ship continued to be Dharak's in action and responsibility. Bareff worked with him, learned from him."

"Are you saying," I asked, "that if things had happened normally, Dharak would be doing that for you? That you and he would share the position of Lieutenant?"

"I am saying exactly that, Captain," he said, and seemed relieved that I understood.

"And you want me here to fill Dharak's place?" I demanded. "Thymas, you can do this alone."

To my surprise, he nodded. "I know that. I also know that I will do it better, with help. And there is something else I fear."

I waited.

"You were right about this being the wrong season for the sha'um to leave. They will be in the Valley for more than a year." He ran a hand through the thick, startling white headfur he had inherited from his father. "By the time Doral comes back, Rikardon, I might be . . . accustomed to being Lieutenant. It may be hard for me to release that authority—or, rather, to live here happily, once it has been released.

"If you are here during that time, the authority transfer will be from you to Dharak. I feel I could live with that much more easily. Will you stay?"

"I can't, Thymas," I said. "You know why."

The wry smile returned. "You would not begrudge me the power to wish, would you?"

"Absolutely not," I said. "Shall we go have lunch?"

As we walked through the doorway into the dining area, I looked back over my shoulder at the quiet, white-haired man sitting by the window, and felt a thrill of shock. -

Dharak was no longer staring out the window. His hands remained limp and unmoving on the arms of the chair, but his head had turned, and his eyes were focused on Thymas's back.

I said nothing to Shola or Thymas about the change I had seen in Dharak. No use getting their hopes up, I thought. But I'm sure the Lieutenant heard that plea for help, and is working as hard as he can to come back-for his son's sake.

I remembered watching Thymas's face in Eddarta, when he had attacked me under Gharlas's mind control, resisting that control and finally breaking it.

Thymas got his physical strength naturally, I thought, but he got his character strength from his father's example, not his genes. Dharak has made a start—he'll pull out of it in his own time.

Throughout lunch, I had the pleasant sensation of knowing someone else's happy secret and saving it as a surprise for my friends. After lunch, I called Keeshah and we followed Thymas's directions to the house he had built for us.

South of Thagorn's wall, a narrow trail broke away toward the northwest. It had the look of being well-traveled recently, and the ground bore the tracks of wheels and evil- tempered vleks. Obviously, the trail had been used to haul building materials from Thagorn to the site of the house.

It was a large stone house, set slightly off center in a nearly circular clearing some fifty yards in diameter and, incredibly, beside a small, chattering brook. The rivulet was a ground spring, obviously the surface extension of an underground branch of Thagorn's river, which seemed not to have a name.

Around the house was wild country—some of the wildest I had seen. Fed by the plentiful ground water, dakathrenil twisted everywhere, rising even taller than orchard height. I heard movement in the brush, and the touch of Yoshah's mind, stalking. The sha'um would break their own trails through that growth-choked wilderness, and love every minute of it.

Tarani came out of the house as I rode up and slid down from Keeshah's back. The male sha'um drank from the stream and pushed his way out into the brush, seeking his family.

Tarani lifted her arms. "This is wonderful, is it not? The Rider who directed me here—Innis, I believe his name was— spoke of it proudly. The Sharith seem sure that, enclosed as this place is by higher hills, Yayshah's scent will not reach Thagorn."

"Yes," I agreed, "it is well planned. And, as you might have guessed, it was Thymas's idea."

For a moment her eyes went out of focus, and I recognized the fond look on her face. She and Thymas had been more than friends at one time, and I had finally learned to accept that the closeness that continued between them was based on the fact that they had grown and changed away from a very special relationship, and was not a continuation of that relationship.

"Everyone wants to see the cubs, of course," I said. "Thymas has proposed that a few people at a time might visit here—on foot—to meet them. Will Yayshah allow that?"

Her eyes focused on me briefly, then looked over my shoulder as she spoke to the female sha'um.

"She agrees," Tarani said, sighing. "She loves it here, Rikardon. She is planning a den—has already started shaping it, in fact."

"Let her build it," I said, waving at the house behind Tarani. "After all, we have a home waiting for us now, whenever we need it."

Her smile was sad. "It seems we have many homes," she said, "and none that we can enjoy for very long."

"It won't always be this way, Tarani," I said. "Someday, we'll have time—" My voice trailed off as Tarani raised her hand and shook her head.

"It is this way, for the present," she said, "and we have both accepted it. To dream of a change is to focus beyond a task that has not yet been accomplished, and thus distract us from it."

Her voice was sharp, her manner tense.

"Afraid you'd like the quiet life?" I asked.

Her head snapped up, but she bit back what would have been an angry reply when she saw my face. She even smiled. "I could bear it as easily as you could," she said.

Touché, I thought, and had the odd, unsettling feeling of a man who has just examined his life goal and wondered whose it was. I could have had the "quiet life" with Illia Maybe when I turned my back on her; I rejected it for good and all?

I covered my sudden uncertainty by putting my arm around Tarani and moving toward the open doorway.

"I take it back," I said. "If you're there, life couldn't possibly be quiet."

We stayed for six days. In that time, nearly everyone in Thagorn came for a visit, and the cubs grew sleek from the plentiful game and spoiled by all the attention. Yoshah and Koshah were able to stalk and hunt small game themselves, and were eagerly curious about our visitors. Keeshah and Yayshah took advantage of their break from educating the cubs to sleep a lot.

Yayshah benefited greatly from the long rest. Her darkish fur began to look healthier than it had since she had left the Valley, and the skin of her belly, thinned and stretched by the weight of the cubs during her pregnancy, shrank up and flattened out. Tarani took her out for long runs-always away from Thagorn, and with plenty of warning to the Sharith. Woman and sha'um both came back glowing from the exercise and the closeness.

Thymas was at our house on the 'evening of the sixth day, sharing an after-dinner glass of barut with Tarani and me. We had brought armchairs out of the house, to sit and watch the sha'um while we talked.

Only there were no sha'um to watch; they were out of sight beyond the edge of the clearing. We had only a few minutes before the sun went down and the world went dark, and already knew—though I had not told Thymas as yet—that this would be our last night in Thagorn.

Thymas ought to have a chance to say goodbye to the cubs, I thought, then called: *Yoshah. Koshah. Come here for a second, please.*

We heard a slight rustling, and a dark-colored head popped out of the brush to our left. The cubs had created a warren of tunnels through the tangled brush, their openings cunningly hidden.

- Yoshah stepped out, jumped (I could feel her surprise and flash of anger), and whirled to clout the paw Koshah had used to swat her tail. Koshah lunged out of the brush and tried to tumble her with a rush into her side, but she kept her feet, sidestepping to absorb the shock of his head connecting with her flank. She twisted around and nipped at his shoulder (I felt the pinch and Koshah's anger).

*Here, that's enough of that,* I said sternly, a little afraid that the play would blossom into a full-blown fight. *Behave yourselves and come over here to say goodbye to Thymas. We'll be leaving tomorrow.*

That was good enough news to distract the cubs from their quarrel. They loped over to us and pressed their heads under my extended hands, their minds full of questions and excitement.

I turned to my left, to speak to Thymas, and realized belatedly that I had not mentioned the fact that I was mind linked to the cubs. That he understood it now was patently obvious.

"The female, too?" he asked, after a moment.

Tarani, who was seated to my right, leaned forward to look around me at the boy. "Only I am bonded to Yayshah," she said quietly.

Thymas was in shock, searching for words. "But-is it not too soon for them? Why—how—three?"

He did not have to say how unfair it seemed, that I should be mind linked to three sha'um while so many of his men were now deprived of that so-important connection.

Thymas and Tarani and I had talked frequently in those six days, but our conversation had often been public, and had not seriously included the Ra'ira-past, present, or future—as a topic. Thymas knew we had found the sword, and were on our way to Eddarta to reclaim the jewel. But he had not heard about Raithskar and the situation there.

He learned of it then, as I described the vineh attack and the formation of the link with the two cubs. As it happened, the discussion led right into the topic I had been avoiding all evening. "We have to move on, Thymas. We'll be leaving tomorrow."

The boy stood up, and set his empty glass on a table we had brought out of the house, along with the chairs. Night had come, diffused moonlight providing only a dim gray illumination. Beside the door of the house was an oil lamp; Tarani used a striker to light it, and Thymas's shadow leaped I' out into the clearing.

"I will tell the people in the morning," he said. "It would be best, I think, if you left quietly. You know that our good wishes go with you."

I stood up too. "If circumstances were different," I began.

"They are not different," he snapped, then softened. "I see you know me well, Captain. I would rather go with you than stay here. But I begin to believe as my father did—does. . . . The theft of the Ra'ira has signaled a time of change—perhaps the very change for which the Sharith have remained ready all these generations." He frowned. "Yet we are less ready than ever—our Riders at half-strength, our people demoralized and discouraged."

I pressed his arm. "Eddarta will fall to Tarani bloodlessly, we hope—but in any case through logic, and not by force. By the time the Sharith are needed as a weapon-which-I hope will never happen—Thagorn will have recovered fully."

He nodded—a little doubtfully it seemed. "What do you need for the journey?" he asked.

"Food and water," Tarani said, coming up behind me, "we can take from the generous stores you have already provided. What we need from you, Thymas, is a friend's farewell."

She moved around my chair to kiss and embrace the boy. I should be jealous, I thought. Instead, I was deeply moved; I stood up and put my arms around both of them, sharing their embrace.

Chapter 12

We left Thagorn at dawn the next morning. The cubs were cheerful and excited, looking forward to a trip I knew would be exhausting and uncomfortable, but happily ignoring my cynicism. Keeshah was glad to be moving, and Tarani said that Yayshah had shown less reluctance to leave her half-built den than she had expected.

We headed east, and quickly left the valley greenery behind us. In Keeshah's mind was an awareness that the Valley of the Sha'um lay north of us. In my mind was the terrifying memory of crawling along a gravelly slope through a blinding, poisonous smog.

The Well of Darkness, the volcanic depression that continually cloaked itself in its own sooty mantle, also lay north of us. Tarani and I had tried to use it to elude pursuit, and had failed. We had climbed out of the blackness to the rim of the Well to face Obilin's attack-and to be rescued by Keeshah, who had sensed my need and broken free of the layer of instinct entrapping him.

The country between Thagorn and Relenor, the Refreshment House resting at the foot of the Zantil Pass, was not quite desert, nor was it green. The land was rocky and dusty, but fairly rich with the gray-leaved bushes which had adapted to desert existence. The first day's traveling went smoothly. The second day, the ground shivered.

The cubs flattened themselves on the ground, and broadcasted fear so strongly and suddenly' that I was caught by surprise. I fastened myself more tightly to Keeshah's back, and screamed at him with my mind to run, and he was far away from the cubs by the time I found my senses again. There was fear in Keeshah's mind, but nothing like the absolute terror the cubs were suffering.

We turned back. Yayshah was half-crouching over the cubs, shielding and comforting them with her body. Tarani was standing beside them.

"Is the Well of Darkness causing this?" Tarani asked. "The . . . volcano?"

"I think so," I said, still trying to catch my breath after the rush of panic I had shared with the cubs.

"Does that mean—will it erupt?" Tarani asked worriedly, using the Italian term for a word the Gandalaran language had never needed to develop.

"I doubt it," I said, hoping I was right. "It must be mildly active all the time, to keep replenishing that drift of ashy smoke. It's just getting a little more active, that's all."

I had time to be grateful for Tarani's accessing Antonia's memories so that I could explain things clearly without much effort—because calming the cubs took all the patience and concentration I could muster. The tremor had lasted only for a few seconds, and I could detect no further movement, but the cubs took a lot of convincing. Finally, they loosened their death grips on the rocky ground and nervously followed their parents as we moved on.

*Have you felt that before?* I asked Keeshah.

*Yes,* he answered.

*While you were in the Valley?* I prompted him.

*Yes,* he said, and I began to breathe more easily. If the tremors had been going on since Keeshah's cub hood in the Valley, then this one was nothing special to worry about.

We reached Relenor toward evening of the second day, and were welcomed with the same friendliness we encountered at every Refreshment House. For reasons I never have I understood clearly, the Fa'aldu—desert dwellers who seemed to be able to draw water from out of nowhere, and guarded the secret carefully—had chosen to honor me as if I were a hero. Part of it lay with Balgokh, at the Refreshment House of Yafnaar, who had been the first person to see the revived Markasset. He had helped me, and had been aware of the difference in me. He was another, like Dharak, who seemed to sense imminent change, and he had alerted all the Fa'aldu to provide me (and Tarani) anything we needed.

Tarani and I had the privilege of dining with the Relenor family in the interior court of the Fa'aldu dwelling, rather than in the spartan guest quarters the Fa'aldu maintained for the use of travelers.

It-had become a minor tradition that I traded stories for the meals the Fa'aldu so generously shared with me. Hold Lussim, the Elder of this Refreshment House, about trying to shelter Yayshah in Thagorn, and the tragedy that resulted. I took the story to Raithskar, to the birth of the cubs, and out into the desert. The family was shaken and awed by the idea of walking through a city so ancient, and the secret of the sword's hiding place was a wonder to them. I had developed a real skill at the artful omission of fact, and managed to avoid any reference to Tarani's true state and the effect of the sword on her two personalities.

They grieved over the loss of the third cub as if one of their own had died, and expressed deep concern over the state of things in Raithskar. I edged around the truth again, and let them believe that taking the sha'um from the city had reduced the danger to the citizens of Raithskar, and that the vineh illness would wear away in time.

They had known Tarani before meeting me, though their friendship had not been extended so completely to her. The announcement that we were going to Eddarta to proclaim her real identity as the rightful High Lord was greeted with amazement and a mixture of dismay and delight—delight at the newest twist of what was taking on the proportions of a romantic saga, and dismay that she was to become a fixture in Eddarta.

The Fa'aldu maintained a neutral position in the affairs of men outside the walls of Refreshment Houses, but they knew a lot about them, and were too normal not to make judgments. On the other side of the world, the Fa'aldu had violated their own tradition to offer succor and help to the slaves who escaped from Eddarta's copper mines. They were unaware that the system they thought foolproof ended in Ghizan-in death or a different sort of slavery for the people they "helped."

The Fa'aldu in, the Refreshment Houses west of the high crossings that divided Gandalara did not know of their kindred's activity against Eddarta, but they shared the feeling of disapproval. Eddarta was a weighted society, top-heavy with the Lords' wealth at the expense of the effort of the "common man." And the Fa'aldu had an historical reason for disagreeing with the concepts governing Eddarta. The Refreshment Houses were the product of a generous King who had set up a fair system by which everyone could share the skill of the Fa'aldu, and they would be well compensated for their art. Eddarta was the product of the last King, a selfish King, who had fled from Kä and rebuilt his power in the form of an economic autocracy.

By Fa'aldu reasoning, there was nothing good about the Lords. To find out that Tarani, whom they respected and liked, was a Lord by birth was something of a shock.

"And when you rule Eddarta," Lussim asked quietly of Tarani, "what will you do?"

"The present High Lord, my natural brother Indomel," Tarani said, "has the Ra'ira." The group gasped. That the Ra'ira had been stolen from Raithskar was common knowledge; Lussim and his people knew that I had been pursuing the thief on the last occasion I had stopped here. Obviously, they were not blind to the history of the stone, or the possible significance of its being in the hands of a descendant of the Kings.

"I shall send the Ra'ira back to Raithskar, where it belongs," she said. "And I shall begin a change in Eddarta, away from the rule of whim and toward fair treatment. I am not so much a fool to think I shall change the attitude of the Lords completely and immediately, but I can make a beginning. That," she said, "is my only purpose in claiming my rightful place."

The Fa'aldu around the dinner table broke out into a bustling noise of approval, while I, seated directly across from Tarani, stared at her in open-mouthed shock. She stared at the empty plate in front of her and refused to meet my eyes, and I recovered my composure.

Later, in our room—a guest room in the Fa'aldu quarters, rather than in the transients' cubicles—I repeated her words that had alarmed me at the dinner table. 'Send the Ra'ira back to Raithskar?'

She sat down on the huge salt block that, covered with a pallet, served as a double bed. "Rikardon, please understand-I feel confused and uncertain. Until I was asked the question, until I spoke the words, I had not realized that I expect to—to stay in Eddarta for a time. Shall I win the acclaim of the Lords, deliver them and all of Eddarta from Indomel's crafty selfishness, only to seize the Ra'ira and abandon them again? Would not that be as selfish an act as anything Indomel might do?" She looked up at me, her eyes troubled. "When the Ra'ira is ours, and any possible danger from Indomel is prevented, will that not satisfy the task?"

"And what about the vineh, still terrorizing the people of Raithskar?" I demanded. My voice was shaking. I was very much afraid I would hear the very words she spoke next.

"You and Keeshah could return the stone to Raithskar," she said. "Without the cubs, you could make the trip quickly, deliver the Ra'ira to the Council, and—and return to Eddarta. Rikardon," she asked, pleading, "You would return to me in Eddarta?"

Tarani was as elegant and poised a woman as I had ever met, but she was young in biological age. All the anger I felt-which was, I was sure, an expression of fear of that proposed separation—faded before the protectiveness she inspired in those infrequent moments when she looked young and vulnerable, and let me see that she needed me.

She told the truth about not thinking this through before, I thought. She's just had a glimpse of what it may really be like to become High Lord, and the responsibility is scaring her out of her wits.

I sat beside her and put my arm around her shoulders. She turned her face against my chest and held me, trembling. We sat like that for a long time, and my thoughts rambled anxiously along lines toward the future.

Don't worry about it until it happens, I told myself.

As usual, I found it hard to listen to my own good advice.

We took leave of Lussim and his family early the next morning. Keeshah carried a freshly killed glith across his shoulders. Yayshah had a similar burden, and, as we climbed toward the Zantil Pass, my attention was thoroughly occupied with reminding the cubs that the food was for later.

Yoshah and Koshah were showing more endurance than I had hoped for. Apparently those first few weeks of growth had been a natural spurt, enough to get them large and coordinated enough to hunt for themselves. From here on out, it looked as if they would acquire their full size more gradually. We had allowed them to fast for the two days it had taken us to get from Thagorn to Relenor, and they seemed little harmed by it. They had eaten two heavy meals, and would have another before we tackled the Zantil Pass.

The Korchi mountain range separated the two large sections of Eddarta. They formed a rough triangle with its northernmost point merged into the Great Wall and its east-west base line formed by the Chizan crossing. There were two high passes, the Zantil on the west and the Zantro on the east, with an arid, hollow area nearly at the midpoint of the triangle's base. That hollow held Chizan, a city run exclusively by an element called the "rogueworld" in other cities. Travelers paid highly for anything they wanted, from water to gaming tokens, to hired assassination. A roguelord named Molik had controlled the city until Thymas killed him. The head man now was Worfit, a roguelord who had started out in Raithskar. Markasset had known him. I knew him. We were not friends. It had been Worfit and his men who had chased Tarani and me into the Well of Darkness, but Keeshah's appearance had daunted them.

After the sha'um had fed well, we started across the Zantil.

It was an up, down, and up again trip, all in air as thin as to make breathing difficult and through winds that scoured and blinded with dust. When we reached the first crest, Tarani paused and pressed her arm to her chest, and I knew she was thinking of Lonna. The big white bird had been with her for years, and had made this crossing frequently, tucked inside Tarani's shirt.

I said nothing; knowing that I could only make her feel worse, and we started into the narrow, high-altitude valley. Tarani and I walked, each between an adult and a young sha'um. I kept a close watch on the cubs and tried to stay alert for any sign of fatigue.

As it turned out—and as I might have predicted, had I thought about it-the cubs came through in better shape than any of us. They had the more efficient lungs of sha'um, without the tremendous mass of their parents. They were irritated by the sand and bored with the slow pace, but they stuck with us. The six of us stumbled down the far side of the second crest a day and a half after we had topped the first one. We had moved slowly and steadily all that time, and all Tarani or I wanted was to lie down and sleep for a week or two. Keeshah and Yayshah were weary, but the clear air revived them. The cubs revived even quicker, and were soon complaining of hunger.

Rather than collapsing as we wanted to do, Tarani and I mounted the sha'um and nodded off during the trip to the outskirts of Chizan. We kept off the main road as much as possible, in order to avoid anyone seeing the sha'um. Worfit connected sha'um to me, and Worfit, I was sure, still wanted me.

We camped in a rocky depression, and I assured the cubs that food would arrive soon. Then I wrapped my face in the desert fashion-it was common practice in Chizan, and no one would think it odd. The hardest part came when I removed my baldric and handed Rika to Tarani.

"Will you go unarmed?" she asked.

I took back my dagger, and stuck it through my tunic's belt. "Have you forgotten the reward Worfit's offering for the man who carried the sword of rakor?" I asked. "Believe me; I'll be safer without it. I should be back soon."

I had tied all the water pouches together by their lacings. I shouldered the string of pouches and went into Chizan. Deliberately, I chose unfancy places to buy the water we needed— and was mildly surprised that the price had come down somewhat. Then I visited a vlek yard and bought three of the largest animals from an unsavory character who probably did not own them.

The sha'um prefer glith, I thought. But they'll have to take what's available.

I made it out of Chizan safely, and felt a slight letdown as I led the vleks away from the city toward our camp. I felt angry too.

Worfit doesn't have to kill me, I thought. He has already won by intimidation. Fear of him made me sneak in and out of Chizan, didn't it? That puts him in control.

We were approaching the camp. The vleks caught the scent of the sha'um and went into their usual stamping, bawling frenzy. I couldn't hope to control them; I let them go, and called the sha'um to the hunt.

I watched Yoshah bring down one of the animals and thought, One day, Worfit, you and I will have to settle what's between us.

Chapter 13

The Refreshment House at Iribos was our final stop before Eddarta. It was a bittersweet stay, because some of the Iribos Fa'aldu had been intimately involved in the ill-fated slave escape route. We took aside Veron, the young man we knew to be one of the activists, and told him the truth about the "safe house" in Chizan—that it was one and the same end destination of the less altruistic escape route that recruited dying slaves for the Living Death, a specialized, untraceable corps of assassins. The people helped by the Fa'aldu were recruited into the less savory areas of Ghizan's rogueworld, or they were killed.

The Fa'aldu at Iribos already knew why we were there, of course. Not even sha'um could outrun the fast-flying maufa, dove-sized birds that carried messages in cleverly contrived breast pouches. The Fa'aldu were slightly amazed that we made no effort to conceal the sha'um from the travelers who came and went during the three days we stayed at Iribos, resting ourselves and the sha'um.

From the foot of the Zantro Pass (the second half of the Ghizan Crossing), we had traveled in the same kind of rocky desert that lay between Relenor and Thagorn. We followed the southern wall of Gandalara which, unlike the Great Wall, was named in sections. To the far west, back beyond the Korchis, lay a section I had never seen but which had been identified on maps as the Wall of Mist. In the eastern half of Gandalara, there were the Rising Wall, which was a stair step series of unattractive hills, climbing to impassable heights, the Desert Wall, which was more sheer and utterly dry, and the River Wall, which formed a miles-wide delta of fertile land and supported the largest, city in Gandalara: Eddarta.

We might have made an easier trip if we had turned northward and followed the fertile crescent hugging the Korchis and the Great Wall. For part of that trip, there would be plentiful game for all the sha'um. But that route would have taken much longer, and carried the danger of running into one of the wild vineh colonies that sheltered in that same crescent.

So we had pushed the sha'um into fast crossings and long rests, and thoroughly abused the hospitality of the Fa'aldu. From Inid to Haddat to Kanlyr and now to Iribos—we had depended on Fa'aldu for shelter and food, and they had given generously. We could not offer to pay, both because of the implied insult and because their tradition forbade the acceptance of coin. But Tarani and I were agreed that we would buy—not use her future position to acquire, but buy— something lovely and useful for each Refreshment House,- and send them as gifts.

Tarani walked with me in the outer courtyard of the compound surrounded by walls built of salt blocks. It was the night before we were to leave for Eddarta. Light flickered from the oil lamps lining the wall, and we walked in and out of shadow.

"Indomel knows that we traveled with a Rider," she said, "and by now he knows that two Riders are approaching Eddarta. Do you think he knows who we are, or suspects these Riders are connected to us?"

I considered the question seriously. We had done very little planning for tomorrow's event, other than to ride boldly into Lord City and let Tarani state her claim to status among the Lords.

"Only Zefra knows that I'm Sharith," I said, "and Indomel is slow to give anyone else credit for a cunning that equals his. He might suspect that the rumors he's hearing mark a vengeance mission from our friends, but I think the fact that there are only two adult sha'um will ease that anxiety."

I smiled into the darkness.

"As a matter of fact, I'd give a lot to know what Indomel is thinking about those rumors right now."

"Has it occurred to you," Tarani said, pausing by a salt- block ledge that, with the wall as backing, served as a bench, "that Indomel might know everything we are thinking?"

"It never crossed my mind, I said, truthfully.”Maybe that's only wishful thinking, but it seems to me that the kid had plenty of time to figure out how the Ra'ira works. If he couldn't use it when we left, he can't use it now."

She was quiet for a long time.

"Rikardon," she said at last, "I have thought about this a great deal. I feel sure that when I read the inscription on the Bronze, the Ra'ira had no part in it."

"What?" I said. "How can you be sure?"

She shrugged, obviously uncomfortable.

"It is difficult to explain—a feeling, an—an intuition, more than anything else. Mindpower is common in Gandalara in many forms, and some forms seem not far removed from the actual reading of thoughts. Why should it be possible, for instance, for me to control thought and cast illusion, but not to see the thoughts that are replaced by my projections? Does a maufel not guide his birds by imprinting a thought in their minds—the image of a place, or a person? The sha'um bond is thought projection primarily, but the bond is continuous and provides a constant exchange of feelings and attitudes.

"Yet the very specific skill of learning what another person thinks is not and never has been naturally present among us. Only the Ra'ira can activate that skill."

She lifted her hands, and clasped them together in front of her.

"I cannot believe that one could use the power of the Ra'ira unaware, without feeling close to it, bonded to it as you and Keeshah, Yayshah and I, are bonded. And I felt nothing of the sort when I read the Bronze. The stone in my hand felt inert and lifeless. If Indomel has not found the trigger for the stone's power, well, neither have I."

She sighed and dropped her arms.

"I believe the thought gladdens me."

We had left Raithskar surrounded by a crowd; we rode into Eddarta the same way.

We followed the main road, holding Yayshah and Keeshah to a walk and keeping the cubs between the adults. People stepped out of our way, stared at us curiously, swore at us as they fought to keep their vleks from going wild. Nobody asked us who we were. They knew, in an unreliable sort of way.

Some people in Eddarta had followed the raft that Thymas, Tarani, and I had "ridden" through the city, and had watched us meet two sha'um. Some other people had witnessed the procession of guards and dog-like dralda that had escorted Tarani and me back to Lord City. Some people were watching us arrive now, returning unescorted in the company of sha'um.

The odds were very good that some people had been in two or more of these groups, and were putting all the pieces together. I wasn't surprised to learn, from some strategic eavesdropping, that nobody knew exactly who we were, but folks were pretty sure we were the people who had killed the former High Lord.

Whether out of deference to the sha'um or out of agreement with that supposed action, no one tried to bar our entry into Eddarta. We followed the same route by which Obilin had brought us back in to Eddarta. A main city street ended' at the foot of the broad single avenue that sloped up to Lord City, a walled area that housed the seven families who comprised the Lords of Eddarta. By the time I asked Keeshah to start uphill, we had a sizable following of curious people.

They kept a fair distance behind us and maintained a steady hum of conversation until we stopped in front of the entry gate. The guards—normally only one was on duty, but someone, on seeing this procession, had called out a squad of eight-watched us nervously as the biggest one stepped forward.

Tarani did not give him a chance to speak.

"Inform Indomel and the Lords," she said, in her clear, throaty voice, "that his elder sister has returned to Eddarta. Tell him to convene the Council at once, so that Tarani may be tested and proclaimed High Lord of Eddarta."

In the meaningless vermicular of Ricardo's world—it knocked their socks off.

The crowd roared and went running to spread the news. The guards stood as if turned to stone. One of them, recovering more quickly than the others, actually had the nerve to draw his sword.

By the time he had it out, Koshah was in front of him, snarling. The cub was a little less effective than Keeshah would have been, but the man backed up until he hit the stone wall, and then he dropped his sword and flattened his empty hands against the wall. He looked familiar.

"You," I called to him. "What is your name?"

His mouth worked silently for a minute, and finally he croaked: "N-Nulan."

"Do you remember me, Nulan?" I asked, edging Keeshah closer and calling Koshah to step back a little. The other guards made room for us.

"Y-yes," the man said. "Sir."

"You knew me as Lakad," I reminded him. "And you kept me locked up, on Obilin's orders, for nearly a seven-day." "O-Obilin ain't here no more. Sir."

"I know."

I said it softly, but I was sure every guard in that squad heard not only the words, but the truth behind them—that I had good reason to know why Obilin was no longer there.

I whirled Keeshah to face the man who had stepped out front. He would be in charge of the squad.

"What are your orders concerning us?" I asked him.

He looked at me, at Tarani, and at each of the sha'um. He started to smile, and then his face went rigid, his sword came out, and he launched himself—not at me or Keeshah, but at Tarani, who was seated with Yayshah's flank facing the guard.

Yoshah intercepted him, her jaws closing around the extended sword arm. The man gave a yell and tumbled aside, rolling over and under the sha'um.

*Yoshah, that's enough!* I called, fighting for control of the young mind that had slipped into battle madness. *Come away, Yoshah, come back, girl!*

She backed away from the prostrate and now unconscious man, whose mangled arm still kept a mockery of a grip on his sword that had been aimed, unmistakably, for Tarani’s heart.

Tarani looked down at the body, and her anger flared.

"Look at him," she ordered the other guards, "and see your High Lord. For it was he who ordered the attack. It was Indomel who compelled this man to risk his life." She stared around at the guards, forcing each one to meet her gaze. "Indomel fears me," she said, "but not because he knows my claim is true. He fears me because I have my own strength, and have no need of the unwilling service of others.

"This man was compelled," she repeated. "Are there any among you who wish, of your own will, to destroy me?"

Surprisingly, Nulan stepped away from the wall and spoke. "Er, ma'am, I just thought you'd like to know—the High Lord told us to keep you out of Lord City. Just that, and nothin' more. We was offered a bonus if we did it, and—and death if we failed."

Tarani swung her left leg over Yayshah's back and slid to the ground, landing with lithe grace. She walked over to face the man. I—and the three sha'um who knew what I felt—got very tense.

“Nulan, is it?" Tarani asked him. Nulan swallowed and nodded. "I thank you for speaking honestly, Nulan. I know the law of the Lords. When the identity of the High Lord is in question, no one fills that position. That means that once I have entered Lord City, Indomel has no authority until he is re-acclaimed by the Council at the midday meeting—if that happens.

"He will not be re-acclaimed," she said. "Do you believe me?"

Nulan nodded again. Around him, I saw other guards nod their heads, and wondered briefly whether Tarani was using her own kind of compulsion. I rejected that idea; what I was seeing was an ordinary group of men totally fascinated by an extraordinary woman. She had a personal power that, at times, was even stronger than her mindpower.

"Even if Indomel tries to violate the law, I and my friends can protect you from him. Do you believe me?" she asked again.

More nods.

"Then I ask you, in the name of your own law, to admit Tarani, daughter of Zefra and Pylomel, to the city of her family."

Nulan started to speak, then his eyes went glassy and his hands leaped for her throat.

Damn! I thought.

Tarani's body blocked all the sha'um from her attacker, and she wasn't moving.

After a split second, neither was Nulan.

He stopped with his hands on her throat, but not closing. He looked like a man for whom time had suddenly stopped. His face was tormented, and his arms trembled, and suddenly I understood.

She's counteracting Indomel's compulsion! Telling Nulan, with equal force, not to do what Indomel is ordering.

Chapter 14

Even as I finally figured it out, Nulan's eyes cleared. He lowered his hands, and he stepped back from Tarani, looking embarrassed. Tarani, tension clear in every muscle of her body, turned toward the open gate.

"Indomel," she called. "You have failed. lf you have a shred of dignity left, then come to the gate, and relieve these men of their orders."

We all waited, holding our breath—me, Tarani, the seven remaining guards, four sha'um, and nearly two hundred awestruck Eddartans.

"If you make no claim on dignity, then I shall offer you none," Tarani said at last.

A whimpering sound came from the gateway. From behind the wall on the left, moving stiffly appeared a tall, slim young man who bore a noticeable resemblance to Tarani‑except for the look of fanatic hatred and dawning fear in his eyes.

Tarani's eyes were glowing.

One of the prerequisites for being High Lord was possession of a strong degree of mindpower, and it was clear to everyone there that Tarani had imposed her power on the present High Lord. She brought him into the center of the I gateway and asked again: "Do you believe I can protect you from Indomel's reprisals, if you admit me to Lord City?"

Lots of nods.

"But they hold no true right of admittance or restriction," came a voice from inside the walls.

The gateway opened onto a cobbled walkway that led to the building called Lord Hall, which rested at the center of eight radiant walkways. The other seven led to areas belonging to each of the seven Lord families. I had been so preoccupied with what was happening outside the walls that I had not noticed a crowd gathering on the inside as well. It was a much smaller crowd, true. But six men who looked very official stepped out to stand beside Indomel. Each wore a white tunic embroidered with an emblem at the left shoulder. The two on either side of Indomel quietly took hold of his arms.

The deep and cultured voice came again, from the man directly on Indomel's right. He was middle-aged, tall, with slightly rounded shoulders.

"Release Indomel," the man said, without letting it sound like a command.

The glow faded from Tarani's eyes, and Indomel sagged as if he had been hovering four inches off the ground. He sagged, recovered, snarled like an animal, and would have jumped at Tarani—and discovered he was being held. He looked around in surprise, and made a poor effort to cover what had just happened.

"Why, Hollin, he said to the man who had spoken, "I was just . . ." His voice broke off as he saw the two men beside Hollin, then whipped his head around to look at the other three. "But it was not necessary for all of you to come out here," he stammered in a trembling voice, and he uttered a chittering, obviously false, laugh. "You with your bad knee, Mosor, you walked so far?"

"Enough, Indomel," Hollin said. He seemed to be the senior member of the group. "It is clear enough what happened here. This lady claims kinship to you, and has demonstrated an impressive mindgift. She acted within the law in requesting the assembly of the Council, and a fair test. You—" The cultured voice broke, and resumed with its note of contempt not quite under control. "You have shown yourself to be a spiteful coward."

He turned Indomel's arm over to the next man, who gripped it with both hands. Hollin stepped forward, outside the gate, and extended his palm, turned up, toward Tarani.

"I, Hollin of Shegan, invite you to Lord Hall to present your claim before the Council. Your name, if you please."

"I am Tarani of Harthim," she said, and then surprised him by adding: "and of the Sharith. Will the Council admit my companion, the Captain of the Sharith, to the Council proceedings?"

I tried to keep my face expressionless.

After a long pause, Hollin spoke up.

"It is hardly usual, but the situation carries a substantial weight of oddness," he said. "If you both understand that he may observe only, I think his attendance can be permitted."

"Na!" Indomel shouted, and started jerking his body violently between the two men who held him, trying to free himself "Do not be deceived by that slut," he shouted, shocking everyone. "She is the daughter of a jeweler and not my true sister!"

He continued ranting for a few seconds, while the crowd behind him parted to let a woman, of medium height with a very pronounced widow's peak of dark fur, to come to the front of the group.

"Members of the Council, you know me. I am Zefra, mother to Indomel and widow to Pylomel. I tell you now that I am also mother to Tarani, and that she is the daughter of Pylomel." Indomel started to scream curses at her, but Zefra maintained her poise—though I noticed she blinked her eyes a little too rapidly, and the flesh of her neck quivered.

"I say again, Tarani is Indomel's true sister, and first-born of Pylomel. I ask only that the Council test her. The choice of High Lord is the Council's alone."

Hollin was still standing with his hand out to Tarani. She accepted it, and held her other hand out to me. I slid down from Keeshah's back, and greeted Hollin with a brief bow. We stepped through the gate, and Zefra greeted her daughter with a shining look and a kiss on the cheek.

Me, she nodded to.

Indomel, who had settled down to a morose sulk, was transferred to the care of Nulan and another guard, and everyone inside the city walls turned around and headed for Lord Hall.

I had the feeling that the crowd outside the walls was growing, rather than dispersing, and they would settle in and wait for the decision to be announced.

Keeshah and the two cubs, at my direction, headed for the wild country on the slopes above Lord City. Yayshah went along, either just to stay with the family or because Tarani had sent her.

Lord Hall was a vast, octagonal building, hollow except for the rectangular Council chamber that stood at its center. The outer shell had eight doors; the Council chamber had only one. Hollin guided the group of Lords and others (including me) through the milling crowd to the narrow corridor that led to the only visible entry to the Council chamber.

Hollin raised his hands, and the crowd fell silent. "Only the Lords, the candidates, and the witnesses may enter the Council Chamber," he announced. "Our decision will be imparted to you as soon as it is reached."

Hollin looked sternly at Indomel.

"Will you disgrace the Council by requiring the presence of guards, or will you give your oath to behave with the dignity of a Lord?"

Indomel glared at him. "You have my oath, Hollin."

Hollin nodded to the guards, who let go of Indomel's arms. Hollin led the way through the normal door that opened into one end of a rectangular room, turning to nod agreement to the guards entering with Indomel. A table and six high- backed chairs stood on the floor. At the near end of the table was a featureless stool. At the far end of the room was a raised platform, a seventh chair that stood higher by the height of the platform, and an enormous sheet of bronze that covered a six-foot span from ceiling to floor.

I wonder if the Lords know that the Bronze conceals the door to the treasure vault, which surrounds this room on three sides? I thought. Probably not. Probably that's a secret passed from one High Lord to another—unnecessary, in this case, since Tarani already knows about it.

Zefra and I stood in one rear comer of the room; Indomel in the other corner, with the distance of the entry door between us. Tarani stood at the foot of the table, very deliberately not sitting on the stool meant for the fifteen-year-olds who were possible candidates for High Lord.

The other Lords took their places along both sides of the table, with Hollin on the right, nearest to the Bronze. He stood up, held his hand out toward the Bronze, and said: "This is the test, Tarani. Please read what you can of the markings on the Bronze."

The huge sheet of bronze, mounted on part of the wall, was imprinted with rows and rows of an identical eight-part character, some combination of which made up the alphabet characters of the Gandalaran language. Zanek, the First King, had asked a craftsman to stamp a message on the bronze, and then go back and fill in the missing parts of each character, to make all the figures look exactly alike.

The theory seemed to be that, if you had a strong mindgift, you also had a strong subconscious link with the All-Mind, and could reach back to the moment of engraving to distinguish the first layer of lettering from the added marks. Zanek had made the reading of the Bronze—at least part of it-a portion of the ceremony by which he transferred the power of the Kingdom into the hands of a new King. That tradition, like many others: had been garbled in Eddarta into making the reading of the Bronze a test for mindpower.

In point of fact, the Bronze was so old by now that the ability to read more than three words was counted as evidence of a strong mindpower. Therefore, when Tarani read out loud in a clear, if slightly shaky, voice....

I greet thee in the name of the new Kingdom.

From chaos have we created order.

From strife have we enabled peace.

From greed have we encouraged sharing.

. . . well, it knocked their socks off.

She hesitated briefly, and I knew she was skipping the part about the Sharith and the Ra'ira. She covered it well, and resumed the reading:

THIS IS THE TASK I GIVE THEE

AS FIRST DUTY

As you read the scholar's meaning 

Within the craftsman's skill,

So read within yourself

Your commitment

To guide

To lead

To learn

To protect.

If you lack a high need

To improve life for all men, 

Then turn aside now,

For you would fail the Kingdom.

I greet thee in the name of the new Kingdom, 

And I charge thee care for it well.

I am Zanek,

King of Gandalara.

When she had finished reading, there was absolute silence in the room.

I glanced at Indomel, who was staring at his sister with something like awe. He really thought the Ra'ira helped her to read that inscription, I realized. I think it is finally dawning on him how powerful she really is.

But Indomel had not given up.

"The mindgift of this woman is conceded," he said. "And I give no opposition to accepting her as the daughter of Zefra. Yet you are all aware that Zefra's regard for me bears little resemblance to the caring of a mother. I believe that, in claiming Tarani to be the daughter of my father, she seeks only to see me removed from my position."

Zefra sputtered, and I put a hand on her arm. She jerked her arm away, but kept silent.

"We have heard Zefra's testimony," Hollin said, and looked around at the other Lords, "but Indomel's doubt is, I believe, fair." Indomel was nearly himself again, and he showed no reaction to that gesture of approval. "The candidate's parentage seems to be an unattainable truth, yet she is clearly qualified and continues to have the right of consideration through her connection to Zefra."

Hollin sat down, and another Lord stood up. This one was older than, not quite as tall as Hollin, and just a trifle paunchy. He, too, had a rich-sounding voice, but there was something less palatable about him.

Perhaps it was the way he glanced at Indomel an instant before he began speaking. I read it as an "Okay, here's the one I owe you" kind of a look.

"It appears to me that what we have here is an equal contest," he said. "The lady Tarani has demonstrated a superior mindpower, yet Indomel has the only uncontested claim to a legitimate heritage. With such a balance, it is our decision, my friends, and I say that we must keep the welfare of Eddarta clearly in view as we consider our choice.

"Indomel has lived among us all his life, and has proven to be a capable and effective administrator. Have not the profits from the copper mines increased greatly since his installation as High Lord? Do we not get quick and fair decisions on any matter we take to him?

"I will not say that Indomel has no weaknesses," the eloquent Lord went on, gesturing toward Indomel with an air of having touched him companionably on the shoulder. "Yet High Lords are first Lords, and Lords are first and only people. Who among us would not admit to weakness in some area?

"I say that Indomel is familiar, and experienced, and the one called Tarani," he said, bowing toward the girl, "is a stranger to us, with an imperfect claim. Are we willing to turn over our loyalty—and our resources—to a stranger who has great strength, but who is untrained in our ways and unfamiliar with our needs?"

It was an effective speech, calling up the fears of the greedy Lords. I knew of at least one case in which a candidate had been refused because he had too powerful a mindgift.

If I had been capable of it physically, I would have started sweating. Tarani, however, seemed totally in control.

"May I speak, Lords?" Tarani asked.

Indomel's friend had been in the act of sitting down. Hollin rose smoothly to field Tarani's question.

"The other candidate has spoken freely, Tarani. You may say whatever you wish.

"Sarel has offered sound advice," she said, startling everyone by using the man's name.

She must have learned a lot about Lords and Eddartan law from Zefra while I was "involved" at the Lingis mine, I thought.

"It is true," Tarani continued, "that my knowledge of present- day Eddarta is limited. Yet I know a great deal about the source from which it sprang." She drew her sword, causing a twitch or two around the table, and held it at arm's length, horizontally, so that there could be no doubt of the sword's material. It was made of rakor—the Gandalaran word for the iron and tin alloy Ricardo would have called steel—and it gleamed with a silver light that drew all eyes to it.

"This sword is the King's sword," she said, "lost since Harthim abandoned Ka and came here. I have walked in the streets of Ka, and shared the life memory of some who lived there. And I learned well the -lesson Sarel teaches." Her voice became softer, very gentle. "I believed Harthim to be evil, but I touched his memory and found that he was merely the creation of his time. I believed Zanek to be good, and strong, and found in him the weakness of a normal man. I knew that only two qualities are indispensable in a leader: willingness to work harder than everyone else; and the ability to learn from, correct, and then forget mistakes. And I began to think that I might have those qualities.

"I shall not lie before the Council of Lords," she said. "As a child, I was taught by a man who had bitter memories of Eddarta and a lingering hatred of the Lords. I believed as he did, because I-because I loved and trusted him, and I thought he was my father. When I learned that Pylomel had sired me I was first appalled, and then resolved to reach for the position of High Lord as a means to revenge."

Tarani put away the sword, and opened her empty hands toward the Lords.

"I have no such motive now, my Lords. I shall not say that I have lost the prejudices taught me by Volitar, or that I wholly approve of all I have seen in Eddarta. Yet I will say that I believe Eddarta, Lords and landservants both, will profit from your acceptance of me as High Lord.

"I have come here because I accept Eddarta as part of my heritage, and I want to free the city of the devious and selfish leadership of Indomel."

Indomel started, and his eyes narrowed. Hollin noticed, and flashed him a warning look. The boy's lips pressed into a thin line as Tarani continued.

"Sarel rightly cites my ignorance of Eddartan ways. Then who shall teach me? Who but the Council of Lords? Think what it will be like to have a High Lord who listens to each of you equally, and makes a judgment impartially, free of generations of favor trades and 'special arrangements.'

"Sarel cleverly implied that the Lords might do well to fear my mindgift. I tell you now that you need fear me much less than Indomel, for danger lies in use, I was taught, and I continue to believe, that using mindpower to lead another person into harm is a deed of incomparable evil that degrades both user and used. You witnessed the events of a few minutes ago. Who, in that exchange, used mindpower for aggression, and who only in defense? The Council has my word that I shall never imitate my brother. I shall not use my mindgift to humiliate or harm another person, or to gain agreement from an unwilling Lord."

The men around the table looked uneasily at one another. Indomel saw the exchange, and a muscle in his cheek started to twitch.

"I make one last point, my Lords. Sarel has said that the balance between my proven mindgift and Indomel's proven birthright is even, and he offers you the security of the known in Indomel's favor. I offer two things to be considered in the balance.

"First, I bring you the unknown, and with it the opportunity for change, with my promise I shall learn what is before I offer alternatives.

"Second, the sword of the Kings has returned to light in my hand. I believe that to be both confirmation of my right to lead and an omen of renewed prosperity for the descendants of the Kings.

"Indomel and Tarani bid to be High Lord," she finished. "The Lords must choose who they will follow."

Chapter 15

"Lies!" Indomel exploded. "She speaks only the vicious lies she heard from Zefra, that dralda who claims to be her mother and . . . my . . . mother. . . ."

Indomel's voice trailed off, as he realized what he was saying.

Beside me, Zefra smiled.

Hollin leaned over the table and looked down it toward Indomel and Tarani. "You are a stranger to me, Tarani," he said.

I thought back, and realized that while a large population in Lower Eddarta had seen us coming into the city, only Indomel's guards had seen us inside Lord City. If you don't count our breakneck escape from Eddarta the night Thymas killed Pylomel, that is, I thought. Everybody in Lord Hall that night was too busy panicking to get a good look at us.

Hollin's statement seemed to require some sort of answer. Tarani nodded.

"Where did you gain your knowledge of Eddartan law, and how did you learn of what you claim to be your true parentage?"

"I learned the identity of my mother," she said, "from a single letter sent to Volitar from Eddarta, hoarded as a man cherishes a great treasure. It is from Zefra that I have learned all else that pertains to Eddarta."

"Zefra," Hollin said. Tarani's mother stepped away from me to stand beside her daughter.

"Yes, Hollin."

"Am I mistaken in my belief that, until today, you have not left the home of the High Lord without escort since your return to Eddarta, twenty years ago?"

"You are not mistaken, Hollin," Zefra answered, tossing her head back. "I have been imprisoned, first by my husband, and then by my son. I thank you for your assistance in freeing me today."

Zefra said she had "contacts," I thought. Hollin must be one of them. But Zefra, obviously, has not told him about Tarani. Good move, I'd guess. Hollin seems a fair man. If he thought Zefra had tried to pre-influence him for this decision, he would have less respect for Tarani.

"Will you explain," Hollin said, "how you were able to share your knowledge with your daughter??'

"Tarani joined my imprisonment, Hollin. We were together for nearly a moon, and learned much of each other in that time."

"Who was High Lord during that period?" Hollin asked, with an increased tension in his voice.

"Indomel," Zefra said. "I dare to anticipate your next question, Hollin. Indomel had been told the same truth I spoke outside—that Tarani is Pylomel's firstborn child."

Hollin fairly roared at Indomel: "Confirm or deny!"

The boy jumped in fright, shrank back, then straightened his shoulders and regained a shred of composure.

"Confirmed," he said. "What my mother leaves out is that Tarani came to Lord City as a thief, intending to steal the—uh, and the High Lord's treasure. I apprehended her and, out of consideration of her possible family connection to me, chose to detain her in the comfort of Zefra's apartments, rather than assign her to one of the mines."

Indomel stepped toward the center of his end of the table, crowding Zefra.

"Be aware, fellow Lords that theft remains her goal even now, as she presses this preposterous claim."

A pair of hands slapped the tile-topped table, and we all jumped at the sound. The Lord seated nearest Tarani, an old man with only a wispy fringe remaining around a nearly bald pate, scraped back his chair and stood up.

"Forgive me, Lord Hollin," he said in a scratchy, no-
nonsense voice, "but I am too old to stand on ceremony when it is not necessary. What we have here is an insoluble matter of opinion, with no way to tell who is and who is not lying. The lady Zefra," he said, with a bobbing bow in her direction, "while she is loved by us all, is known to have been—ah-- erratic in the past and—ah—somewhat in conflict with the High Lord. I hasten to say that I personally believe Zefra, but I hesitate to base a Council decision solely on her statements."

He cleared his throat.

"Great Harthim," he muttered, as if to himself, "I am I getting to be as bad as everyone else."

He continued more loudly. "To—ah—get to the point quickly, only three things I have heard today were worth listening to. One was the reading of the Bronze." The old man bowed to Tarani. "For that I thank you, my dear. The second was Sarel's evaluation that, by ordinary means of judging, Indomel and Tarani are equally qualified to be High Lord. And the third, my friends, the third was Tarani's assessment of the qualities of leadership.

"The lady has been called a thief. Would anyone here deny that Indomel has been called worse things?"

A few snickers, quickly muffled, sounded around the table.

"Lord Hollin, you are the expert on the rules, but it seems to me that this situation calls for a vote. I shall claim the privilege of age and give you mine now, to spare these old bones the chore of standing up again.

"I recommend the Council choose Tarani.

The old man sat down.

One by one, the other Lords stood up and voted for Tarani. It was unanimous. Indomel watched each Lord with wild eyes, and when the sixth vote was cast, he started to shout.

"You fools!" he yelled. "She will dominate you all. She knows how to use the—the--the--

His eyes bulged and he stopped trying to talk. His hands flew to his throat and he made ineffectual gasping motions with his mouth.

Tarani scrambled around her mother to support the boy as he struggled for air, then looked sternly at Zefra and said, "Stop it."

Zefra's face shone with triumph and vindication, and in her eyes burned the glow of mindpower.

"Stop it, Mother!" Tarani ordered again.

She was taller and looked stronger than the sallow boy who had been High Lord of Eddarta—who was on the verge of passing out. The Lord beside them had stood up in alarm, and Tarani passed the ailing boy into his hands. Zefra's eyes followed Indomel's movement.

Tarani took one step toward her mother and delivered a perfect right cross. Zefra flew back into the old Lord's lap, and Indomel started breathing-noisily. Tarani glanced at me, and I remembered how to move. Together we pulled Zefra off the flustered old man, each of us draping one of her arms over our shoulders.

"As Zefra said, she and I had time to get to know one another during the period of my imprisonment," Tarani said, addressing the Lords. "Her life of solitude has left her unbalanced on the side of hatred and vengeance. I will not allow her to express those feelings through abuse of her power."

She glanced at Indomel, who had all he could do to stay on his feet.

"I accept the place you offer me with gratitude and great hope for the future, my Lords. Hollin, I will appreciate your seeing to whatever has to be done officially. I shall take Zefra to the Harthim residence and begin the process of making it my home. When Indomel is sufficiently recovered, please ask the guards to escort him there, as well.

"Rikardon," she said (and it was my ego, and not her voice, that made it seem an afterthought), "will reside with us. On the third day from now, let us meet here again, and begin my education. For now, gentlemen, good day."

Hollin came out of the Council chamber ahead of us and held back an intensely curious crowd while Tarani and I dragged her mother out of Lord Hall and down the walkway ' leading to the Harthim family area, and the huge and rambling structure in which the High Lord traditionally lived. Hollin must have given some kind of signal, because a squad of the High Guard—until recently at the command of Indomel—followed us at a respectful distance.

"Zefra is going to be furious when she wakes up," I whispered.

"And she will meet a greater fury," Tarani said grimly. "How bitter that the first act to take place under my leadership should be attempted murder, through compulsion, I dared not even speak to her, Rikardon," she said, "much less begin to counteract the compulsion, as I did at the city gates. My anger was too great."

"You handled it in the best way possible," I assured her. And then, because I did not like Zefra very much and felt a trifle guilty about that, I said: "I suspect her anger got away from her, too, and that all she started out to do was keep Indomel from mentioning—"

I prudently left the word unsaid, and Tarani looked at me over her mother's head and smiled, just a little. "Thank you for saying that, Rikardon. I will make an effort to see the incident as kindly as you do." Her gaze rested for a moment on her mother's head, which wobbled slightly with the concussion of our steps. "It would be ironic, would it not, if I felt forced to continue Zefra's imprisonment?"

We had reached the entry to the Harthim area, which was an opening between two barracks buildings. The two men on guard stepped toward the center of the path to block our way, then caught sight of the honor guard behind us and separated again. They offered to help with Zefra, but we declined. She was a small burden for the two of us, and I suspected that Tarani relished the contact with her mother.

The back entrance to the big house lay just beyond the barracks. We went inside and wound through the twisting, unpredictable corridors to Zefra's room. I left Tarani alone with Zefra, and wandered off on my own.

I was looking for, and wanted badly, a flask of barut.

That wasn't so bad, I thought. If you're fond of tension and you enjoy confrontation.

I snagged a servant who replied to my request for directions with a mumbled answer and a reluctance to look me in the face, then hurried off. Following his guidance, I found the sitting room close to the front of the house, in which Indomel had conducted a memorably uncomfortable interview, just before he sent me off to serve at the Lingis copper mine.

The refreshments I sought were there, and I helped myself.

There was also an ornamented wooden box—the same one in which I had seen Indomel place the Ra'ira on my last occasion in this room.

Nah, I thought. It can't be that easy.

I had my hand on the box when someone knocked at the door, scaring me into spilling barut on the woven carpet. "Yes?" I called.

The door opened and a guard stepped in, holding a droopy- looking Indomel by one elbow.

"As the High Lord commanded," the guard said stiffly, "Indomel has been brought to the house of Harthim. Are there further instructions?"

You're asking me? I thought:

Indomel looked like a man with a broken spirit, but I had good reason to respect the boy's capacity for deceit.

"Take him to one of the—uh—spare rooms, and set a guard on his door. The High Lord will provide further instructions later."

The guard nodded and started back out the door, pulling Indomel with him. I felt relieved that he had accepted my authority to give that kind of direction, and a little chagrined at having been put in the place of Assistant High Lord.

Indomel resisted the guard's movement, dragging himself backward and holding on to the door sill. He looked me full in the face, and I thought: He lost, and it hurts—but he's not down. I must remember to warn Tarani, if she doesn't already know not to trust the kid.

Indomel's gaze flickered from me to the box and back again.

"Enjoy it," he whispered, "for all the good it may do you. It is barren and useless."

The guard dragged him away.

I opened the box, and took out a palm-sized blue stone: the Ra'ira.

Chapter 16

It was dark by the time I saw Tarani again that day. I was still in the sitting room, and doing a good imitation of Dharak. Tarani opened the door and looked in, then came through the closed door. She touched me, leaned down to kiss me lightly, then settled onto a divan and sighed heavily. We were both still wearing the clothes in which we had arrived—desert tunic and trousers.

One lamp was burning in the room, the candle flame brightened by the facets in the glass chimney surrounding it. Tarani lay her head back and closed her eyes. After a moment or two, she roused again.

"Did you eat something?" she asked me.

"Yes, one of the—uh‑

"Servants," she said, emphasizing the word. "I have made it clear to the head of household maintenance that no slaves will be permitted in this house." She shrugged. "A small beginning which will not threaten the other Lords, but speaks for the changes I desire to make."

"One day as High Lord," I said, "and you are already thinking like a statesman. Yes, one of the servants found me in here, took pity, and brought me some dinner. What about you? Have you had time to eat?"

She looked at me sharply.

"This room is near the front entry, remember. I've heard the traffic; I know you've been busy. I kept expecting to be moved out of here, so you could use this room for meetings, or whatever."

"Things never quite reached that degree of formality," Tarani said, rubbing a hand across her eyes. "I stayed with Zefra- until she woke, and we had a moment of the fury you predicted. Then she became remorseful, and we were finally able merely to greet one another as mother and daughter.

"I saw Indomel briefly—thank you for the arrangements you made, by the way; they exactly matched my intent-and assured him he would remain here, in a degree of confinement that corresponds to his proven trustworthiness.

"Hollin called on me to discuss the public transfer of power—a Celebration Dance will be held in two days time.

"I have had a brief meeting with each of the other Lords. It is odd, Rikardon; I find them to be largely well-intentioned men who support the Eddartan system because it is what they know. They represent the interests of their families with care and honor. One or two—Sarel, in particular—seem to be more willing to be greedy for themselves than for their families. They are intelligent people, and open to new ideas. I see much that can be done here, Rikardon."

There was a fervor in her voice I had never heard before. I sipped my third small glass of barut, and let her talk until she wound down and noticed my silence.

She laughed self-consciously.

"Forgive me for prattling, my love. This has been an exciting day, a new beginning for me." She got up and went to pour her own glass of barut.

She saw the ornate box. She set down the flask and opened the box, and gasped a little as she took out the stone and held it toward the lamp. The candlelight shimmered along the stone's intricate structure lines, casting a refracted blue glow back over Tarani's face.

She closed her hand around the gem, and turned to me. "This is the reason you have stayed in here all day, is it not? You were guarding the stone."

I shook my head.

"I was thinking," I corrected her. "About many things, some of them very personal. But I was thinking a lot about that." I nodded toward the hand that held the Ra'ira.

I stood up, took her arm, and guided her to stand by the window and look out into the huge garden. By the light of an oil lamp, a gardener was pouring water from a ceramic jug into an irrigation channel.

"Try to tell me what that man is thinking," I said. She stared at me.

"Go on," I urged. "I'd offer myself as a test, but we've already seen that my mind is different, and less accessible." "I—all right. I will try."

She certainly seemed to try. Her body went tense, her eyes closed, and lines of effort appeared in her forehead. After a moment, she relaxed and inhaled deeply.

"I feel nothing," she said.

"I've been putting things together," I said. "Indomel has a lot of power, yet he was never able to use the stone." She looked at me in surprise and I explained: "He told me so himself, when he arrived this afternoon. He would have no reason to lie about it.

"You said, in Iribos, that you believed the Ra'ira would have some special feeling to it when it was used—and you've just, now proved that your greater power can't activate it."

Tarani pushed me away from the window and paced across the room. She opened her hand and stared at the blue jewel.

"It could be a trick of learning," she said. But her voice sounded doubtful, and I knew that her mind had admitted the same terrifying suspicion that had plagued me all afternoon.

"Tarani, I have used the Ra'ira," I said, startling her. "Not as myself, but while I shared the life memory of Zanek. I was there at the moment he discovered the power. There was no trick, no combination of factors to be perfectly arranged. He held the stone, and could hear the thoughts of the people around him as clearly as he could hear their voices.

"Think back to the life memory of Serkajon that you and I shared in Ka. When Zanek appeared in Serkajon's memory as a Visitor, he used the Ra’ira’s power to watch the movement of the guards while he stole the gem from Harthim's bedroom. Do you recall that? How little effort it took to make the thing work? As soon as he was near the stone, he could use it."

She was nodding. "Yes, I do remember," she said, frowning. "But Zanek's power was born of an earlier age," she protested. "Perhaps the modern mindgift is not strong enough	" She paused. She held up her hand to caution me against interrupting her thoughts. "Obviously, the Supervisors in Raithskar have been able to use the Ra'ira's power on the vineh. But I see a qualitative difference between seeing an animal's intent to violence and understanding the rational thought of a man. Perhaps the Kings had a different sort of power, and it has been lost in the years since the Kingdom fell."

"Here in Eddarta," I reminded her, "the Lords have been doing what amounts to keeping the breed lines pure, to encourage the presence of mind gifts among the Lord families. Logic would support the existence of a stronger, not a weaker, mindgift.

"Uh—and speaking of breed lines, isn't there a rule that says the High Lord has to marry a member of one of the Lord families?"

Tarani walked over to the refreshment area and poured the barut she had wanted earlier. "Is that the 'personal' thing you have been thinking about?" she asked.

"One of them," I hedged. "Is there a rule, or not?"

"You know very well that such a rule exists," she said. She turned around, leaned on the stone wall into which the refreshment shelf was cut, and sipped her drink. "It will be changed-if it becomes necessary."

"If?" I sputtered. "If it becomes necessary?"

"Rikardon, my love," she said, in a deadly calm voice. "Think carefully. Have you ever spoken to me of marriage?"

I gaped at her, my heart racing with confusion and apprehension.

"Have I ever led you to believe," I finally said, "that I wanted anything more than for us to continue to be together?"

"Once, and recently," she said. "At Relenor, we discussed the need for separation-you to take this"—she tossed the blue stone lightly—"back to Raithskar, Ito fill the role I have chosen here in Eddarta."

"We discussed the possibility!" I whirled away from her and paced around the room, trying to calm myself. When I felt more in control, I faced Tarani again. "The possibilities are vastly changed," I said, "if this stone is not the true Ra'ira."

An odd thing happens when you talk out loud about something you fear. It becomes more real, more frightening, and yet it seems easier to deal with it, once it has been expressed.

Tarani straightened up and -set her empty glass on the shelf. "If this is not the real stone, where is it?"

"Now that is mostly what I've been thinking about all day. I've gone over my memory of every second we were in contact with Gharlas, every time we have seen any version of the &Ira. Every way I look at it, I see the same thing: Gharlas believed he had the real thing. He would not have let it out of his sight. The jewel we took from his body was the same one he had brought all the way from Raithskar."

Can we be sure that this is that same stone?" she asked. "I'd bet on it," I said. "Gharlas said that Volitar made only two realistic copies of the Ra'ira."

"Are you saying," she demanded, "that this is the second copy? Gharlas also said that it was lost—"

Raithskar," I interrupted. "Where someone who had the real Ra'ira could easily send a vineh to pick it up and deliver it somewhere. He switched the duplicate for the real stone during his duty shift, and then held his own private duty shift to convince the next custodian that the jewel in the vault was the real thing."

Tarani took a couple of steps away from me, came back, paced away again. "If we suppose that the situation you described is true, then the real thief is a Supervisor who used Gharlas to draw attention away from himself." She threw up her hands. "For what possible reason? I have no doubt that Gharlas was cleverly guided, but he obviously believed in everything he said to us. He was entirely mad, of course, but he did seem to have a reason for wanting the Ra'ira. The thief you propose would have had the gem in his possession a good part of the time. Why steal it?"

I shrugged. "I haven't a clue," I said. "The way I've worked it out, it could have been any one of the Supervisors—though my preference is to rule out Thanasset as a possibility. One, I don t believe he would do such a thing. Two, the thing was stolen during, his duty shift, and he's certainly smarter than that. I've listed the Supervisors a dozen times in my head, trying to figure out why. I know that two of them are having financial problems right now. Another just lost his wife in childbirth, and seemed to go a little crazy for a while. But there's nothing certain, nothing I can pin down."

"Let us leave it, then," Tarani suggested, "and address a different question. If this is one of Volitar's duplicates, and not the true Ra'ira, what then? What are the possibilities which you see as vastly changed?"

"I--uh—well—ah—"

She crossed her arms and waited, not giving me any help I at all. I cleared my throat and started again. "Um—well, the way I see it, you'll need to come back to Raithskar with me."

"I see," she said.

"Do you?" I asked her. I moved closer, and took her upper I arms in my hands. The muscles were taut and strong. We made a commitment to make the Ra'ira safe from abuse again. How often have we talked about that being our `destiny'?"

I drew my hand along her arm to her hand, and took the blue gemstone to hold it up between us.

"If this is real, then—yes, sending me back to Raithskar alone would satisfy the commitment, and you could get on with your life as the High Lord." I was surprised by a surge of bitterness—jealousy that showed in my voice so clearly that Tarani flinched away and strode across the room.

"If this is not real, then—we're not finished yet, Tarani, not until the Ra'ira has been taken back to the Council of Supervisors, first to protect Raithskar from the vineh, and then to be destroyed, or isolated, or handled in whatever way is necessary to keep it from ever being used again."

When Tarani spoke, her words seemed unrelated to the topic. "You were not born among the Sharith," she said. "Not even Markasset was born in Thagorn. Yet you lead them. You have told me how you resisted becoming Captain. You have also told me that you have few regrets for it now, and you have come to believe that the event has some significance to our task."

She half-turned toward me. She was near the lamp, and shadows flickered across her face with the wavering, reflected candle glow. "Six months ago, the idea of serving as High Lord of Eddarta would have appalled me. Three moons ago, I had accepted the idea, but was very frightened. Today-" She turned to face me. Her hands were at her sides, balled into fists. "Today, Rikardon, I found a part of my destiny. I know it. I think if you will let yourself see, you know it too."

It was hard to watch the torment in her face, her eyes.

"You are asking me to abandon the responsibility I know is mine," she said.

"I'm not forcing you to choose between Eddarta and Raithskar, Tarani. All I want-what I believe is right—is for you to delay your work in Eddarta until the matter of the Ra'ira is settled for certain."

"I have begun here with a pledge to work for change and betterment, for both Lord and landservant," Tarani said. "To leave now would mean breaking that pledge anti destroying the faith and goodwill I can already feel building among the Lords."

I forced back the panic I was feeling, and kept my voice soft as I asked: "Are you saying that you won't go?"

"I am saying that I am not convinced of the need for me to go," she answered, "and I am unwilling to risk the damage to my cause in Eddarta on the chance that we do not have the true Ra'ira in our safekeeping.

"Rikardon, please try to understand. I am still committed to our original task, but we have no real and recent experience with the Ra'ira, and no reliable way to judge whether this"—she pointed—"is or is not the powerstone.

"Conjecture is not enough, my love."

"If it were real," I said, "it would be easy to prove it. You, Indomel—Zefra, probably—could use it. But proving a negative is nearly impossible, Tarani. You tell me—is there anything that would convince you that this is not the Ra'ira?"

She snatched it from my hand and threw it at the floor with a lot of strength.

It bounced.

She kicked it against the wall, knocking a puff of dust from her glith-hide boots..

It ricocheted toward the window and hit the stone narrowly missing a diamond-shaped pane of glass.

I picked it up from where it landed and examined it beside the lamp. It seemed to be undamaged. I handed it back to Tarani.

"Good try," I said. "The fact that it didn't shatter like the duplicate Indomel broke means that it's either the real Ra'ira or a better duplicate."

She tossed the stone lightly, thinking.

"I see your point about negative proof," she said. "Let us leave it at this: one more item of evidence that the stone is powerless will convince me." She tossed the blue gemstone to me. "Until then, I shall continue to work at being High Lord."

"I'm not sure that's fair," I said. I waited long enough for her to tense up, and then I smiled. "But I accept it.

I put the Ra'ira—or not—into the small, decorative box and tucked the box under my arm.

"I have only one more question," I said. "Where do I sleep?"

She laughed, and offered me her hand.

Chapter 17

We were up early the next morning. After we had bathed and dressed (the Ra'ira went with me to the bathhouse), Tarani asked that our breakfast be served in the High Lord's suite.

Indomel and his predecessors had lived very well, and their personal living quarters were roomy and luxurious. Delicate tapestries adorned the walls, and all the furniture was made with fine materials and studied craftsmanship.

"The family's doing fine," I reported, after the servers had left our food on the table in the small dining room. "Keeshah says there is plenty of game, and the cubs are pretty nearly pulling their own weight in the hunting department these days."

"Yayshah seems content, as well," Tarani said. She was slicing a piece of bread into little pieces. I grabbed her arms.

"Ricardo had a relative—his grandmother—who used to tell him: 'Suppose you talk about what's worrying you, boy, instead of taking it out on my good food.' "

Tarani smiled, and turned one hand upward to grab hold of mine and squeeze. She had long, tapered fingers that were, like the rest of her body, stronger than they looked.

"I was thinking that if we had no question as to the authenticity of this Ra'ira, you would be leaving soon. When you mentioned the sha'um, I wondered about the cubs. I have 'been assuming they would remain here, with Yayshah. But their mindlink with you creates as strong a bond as the parental bond to Yayshah."

If we have to separate," I said, "it will be because I need to take the stone back to Raithskar as quickly as possible. Keeshah can travel faster without the cubs." I squeezed her hand. "And I could be back sooner."

"There must be a decision point," she said. "Do you not feel the urgency?"

"I feel it very strongly. If we have the Ra'ira, it is needed in Raithskar. If we don't have it, then we are needed in Raithskar. I understand what you're trying to say, Tarani.

You've given me the opportunity to convince you, but the; time frame can't be open-ended. You said that a ceremony is planned to install you as High Lord?"

"Day after tomorrow," she said, nodding.

"I wouldn't ask you to leave before that. Shall we agree to start for Raithskar the morning after the Celebration Dance? Whoever is going back?"

She looked relieved.

"Agreed," she said.

"I don't think we'll have to wait all that time before the issue is settled, however," I said, taking a sip of water. "I remembered something while I was bathing this morning that may constitute the evidence we need, if we can find it. If you can spare me today to help me look for it, then not finding it will convince me that—that I'll need to ride out of Eddarta alone."

"Can you doubt I would help?" she asked. "What is this piece of evidence?"

"When Gharlas first told us about the Ra'ira's power—we were in Dyskornis—he mentioned finding a book, a diary written by one of the Kings. That's how he learned about the, stone's usefulness. I should think that diary would contain a description of the stone and, perhaps, a description of what it feels like to use it.

"If we can find it, and if it does describe a subjective experience of using the stone, and if that description says that it's one, easy, and two, imparts a kind of power feedback so that one would know the stone's power was active—will that convince you that what we have here is Volitar's second replica?"

"It would not speak to the possibility of the mindgift changing across the years," she said, "but yes, I would consider that enough evidence to make my returning to Raithskar to find the truth worth the risk of leaving Eddarta now." She frowned. "You told Indomel of the book, and he searched for it in vain, both in the vault and in Gharlas's home. How do you expect to find it?"

I finished eating, and cleaned my hands on the linen napkin. "That's where you come in," I said. "Gharlas used the old passage called Troman's Way to get into the vault unseen, right?''

She nodded.

"Troman built that passage so he could visit his paramours in secret. If he had that kind of a mind, why might he not build a secret hiding place inside the house, as well?"

"If he did," Tarani said, "would it not be hidden in the same way as the entrance to Troman's Way, and open only when weight was applied to the floor tiles in a specific pattern?"

"Very likely," I said. "If Gharlas knew one entry code— why would he not know the other?"

She dropped a piece of fruit on her plate and stared at me, growing pale. "You are not proposing that I—that we—enter the All-Mind and search Gharlas's memory?"

Her reaction made me hesitate. "Well, yes," I said, "that's what I was thinking."

She shook her head almost violently. "No. Even if I could bear the thought of touching that mad mind," she said, shuddering, "Recorder training forbids contact with the recently dead." She held up her hand. "I do not know why. I do know that such rules are not given without reason. I cannot do it."

"Troman, then," I pressed her. "Someone who knew whether the hiding place is there, and how to open it."

"Troman, she repeated, calming down. "Yes, that is possible." She dropped her napkin on the table. "The food we have eaten will keep our bodies strong while we seek," she said. "I will instruct the household staff that we are not to be disturbed."

A few minutes later, we were lying side by side on the double-thickness pallet that served as a bed. We held hands, and I stared at the ceiling while Tarani breathed deeply, preparing.

I had my own preparation to make, minimizing the Ricardo aspect of my mind to allow this purely Gandalaran force to take hold of me. It occurred to me to wonder if Antonia's memories might interfere with Tarani's action as a Recorder Tarani had been able to act as Recorder in Kä only because Antonia actively kept out of the way.

I was relieved when Tarani began the formal ritual. "Will you seek?"

"I will seek, Recorder," I said.

"What do you seek?"

I had to think about that a moment; Somil had taught me that the seeker's goal must be phrased very specifically.

"I want to know whether there is a second secret door in Gharlas's house, and how to open it."

"Then make your mind one with mine, as I have made mine one with the All-Mind. . . ."

The sensation of separateness from my body was familiar now, but still disquieting. And my vision of the All-Mind as a huge and roughly spherical, congested network of interconnected rods was no less beautiful than on the other two occasions. Each rod was a cylinder of light, shining and translucent.

. . . We begin, said Tarani's mindvoice.

I was only a place, a presence. Seeking with Tarani was a little different from seeking with Somil. I might have noticed the contrast in Ka, except that urgency had driven us to hurry.

Somil's presence had enclosed mine. Tarani's presence touched mine closely, but did not surround it. A physical analogy might be that Somil had carried me, but Tarani and.

Hand in hand. Still, there was no doubt that Tarani was controlling our movement.

Each of the shining bars represented the life memory of a person, birth to death—not their personalities, but only their memories. A study of Gandalaran history would begin at the center of the sphere and work toward the amorphous glow that marked its outermost edge. Tarani skimmed quickly along the network just inside the boundary of light.

I am searching for Gharlas, she said.

I thought you couldn't share memory with him.

No. But I will know him, and begin our search first with his family.

She pulled us along at a dizzying speed, hovering so that it was her presence, and not mine, that came into contact with the cylinders of light. The sideways rush stopped abruptly. We were "resting" on a cylinder that extended all the way to the edge of the sphere, its far end merging with the glow. Tarani pulled us in the direction of the distant center of the sphere, moving slowly.

She had not gone far when she stopped us and said: This man was uncle to Gharlas, and lived in the house before him.

I touched him only lightly, yet I know he had the secret to Troman's Way.

He's probably the one who gave it to Gharlas, I said.

Will you share memory with this one, or do you wish only Troman?'

Do we have time for both, if we don't find the answer here? I asked.

Yes.

Then I will try this man, I agreed.

I was a young boy, sitting on the patterned floor of the midhall and playing with a set of the dice-like mondeana. One piece skittered away, and I rose on one knee to reach for it.

The tile underneath my knee moved slightly, and I lost interest in the mondeana. I shifted my weight, feeling the tile move. I tested the tiles around that one triangular piece, and found them to be solidly mounted. I tried all the nearby tiles that were the same color of blue, and found three that moved.

I was alone in the house, sulking a little because my older ,brother was at the second testing, and my father had gone  down to the city, to commission a Celebration gift for the next High Lord. He didn't expect my brother, Usal, to be selected as the successor to the present High Lord. Everyone knew there were only two who had a real chance: Horinad, the son of the present High Lord; and Tinis, of the house of Rusal. Today they—and the other fifteen-year-old boys who had shown some outward sign of a mindgift-would know the answer for which they had waited for three years.

The tiles absorbed my attention, and I began a game with them. I jumped with both feet from one to another. They were just large enough for one whole foot and another toe to rest on them comfortably. I straddled the distance between two of the tiles, but they were a little too far apart to make staying like that comfortable.

The four tiles formed a rough square, and I began to imagine lines drawn between them, wondering how many .ways they could be connected. I acted out the drawing I imagined by jumping between the tiles. Starting with the tile furthest from the wall, I "connected" the square around the tiles, going first in one direction, then the other. I "drew" crossed lines, starting with the first line toward the wall, and then doing it again with the first line parallel to the wall. . . .

The wall moved.

The sound made me jump backward. I stepped on one of the mondeana and it slid out from under me. I landed with a painful jolt on my backside. I hardly noticed the pain, I was so excited. A strip of wall as wide as a man had pulled back and slid aside, revealing a narrow alcove with shelves carved into the back wall. I stared at the alcove, wondering who and how and why. And while I stared, I heard the same faint grating sound, and the wall closed up again.

"No!" I shouted, finally roused from my trance. I ran, to the wall, pushed at it, barely pulled my fingers out of the way as the wood-paneled section moved forward to blend in again with the rest of the long wall.

I was crushingly disappointed, until I made the connection: the tiles must be the key. I struggled to remember the patterns I had used, and I recreated them carefully.

The wall opened again, and I shrieked with delight. I grabbed a small table and dragged it to the opening and wedged it there. Once I had made sure that I wasn't going to, be trapped inside, I climbed over the table, so excited I could scarcely breathe.

There were only a few things on the shelves: a pretty necklace, a pouch of old coins (the pouch tore as I lifted it, and I raked the coins into a haphazard pile on the lowest shelf), and a small piece of glazed clay. There were markings on the clay, and I climbed back over the table to take the clay into the light.

It seemed to be part of a tile, the same color blue as the ones that moved. There were two separate markings—one a rectangle and the other a crisscrossed set of lines with numbers marked inside the open areas. The lines reminded me of something. . . .

The pattern of the tiles on the floor!

Chapter 18

I looked more closely at the rectangle. There was a mark, close to one end, beside an area of the outline marked with a double scoring. I had been excited since finding the secret door; I went positively wild with glee when I figured out the diagram. It was a line sketch of the midhall, only slightly narrower than it was long. The double scoring occurred on the diagram where there were doors in the room, and the mark inside the outline was beside the widest door—the front door of the house.

I oriented the diagram and ran to a spot to the right of the door. I tested one of the blue tiles. Sure enough, it moved- not enough to be really noticeable if you merely walked across it, but it did move.

Working with the crosshatched diagram, I located the exact tiles that matched the ones with numbers on them. There

A were twenty in all. I took a deep breath, stepped on the one marked "one" on the diagram, and followed the number sequence.

Another section of the wall slid in and to the side, with very little noise.

I yelled and jumped around the room. The door closed again while I was celebrating, but I was confident I could reopen it. I did, and my skin prickled when I looked inside. The second door opened, not on a closet, but on a stairway that led downward, to the right of the opening. The light from inside the room showed me only about ten steps; the rest was in darkness.

I pulled my head out of the opening when I heard the door start to close again. Exploring that stairway, I decided with a shiver, was a task for another time. The closet, now—ah, that was a real find.

I ran back over to it and climbed over the table to get inside. I examined the inside wall, and found two shallow, finger-width depressions, positioned vertically, one above the other. They -held strips of bronze, mounted with a single pinning so that the short end would rotate into the depression when the longer end was pulled out. They were very close to the opening in the wall; I had to push hard against the door to slide it back from the table a little way. I kept my shoulder pressed against: the door while I pulled out the bronze strips, then released the door slowly. Its edge pressed up against the bronze pieces and stopped. I picked up the table and moved it back where I had gotten it, feeling proud for having figured that out.

Now I could move freely in and out of the closet, and I implemented the plan that had occurred to me the moment after I had recovered from the shock of the door opening. I ran to m room and pulled my sketches out from under the stack of folded clothes in the closet.

I wanted to sit down and look through them, but my father was due back at any moment, so I just gathered them and raced back to the closet. I didn't even take time to display them the way I had wanted to, when I saw the shelves. I just set them, still stacked, on one of the higher shelves. I started to close the door, and then remembered the marked tile. After had retrieved it from the far side of the room and put it on a I, shelf, I pushed on the door, reset the bronze stays into their slots, and stepped out into the midhall. The door slid into position behind the opening, then moved forward until it was ' flush with the wall.

The moment that door was closed, relief and a feeling of security washed over me. I had lived in fear that my father would find the sketches. There were pitifully few of them now.

My hands tensed into fists as I remembered the day my father had found me beside the city gate, drawing a picture of the vleks pulling the rafts through the river gate. He had dragged me home and beaten me. "How dare you disgrace our family by doing artisan work in public?" he had raged.. I He had demanded all my drawings, and had forced me to tear them into shreds and burn them. He had become gentler then, but I still didn't understand what he had tried to tell me. You are of the Seven Families, son," he had said, kneeling beside me. Our family has enough artisans as landservants to produce any image you would like to have.

What you were doing is their work, and by doing it yourself, you deprive them of their trade."

He had ended by forbidding me ever to sketch again, and the incident frightened me enough that I had obeyed him, for a time. But there was a force inside me that I simply could not control. Something drove me to begin to sketch again, fearfully, and in secret. I tried to be ashamed, but the pleasure of releasing that force was too great. So I hid the paper and ink and brush, and I checked my closet every day to make sure the sketches had not been discovered.

Only now, I could stop worrying about that. I would continue to keep my supplies in my room. The risk of having them found was worth the convenience of having them available. And I would use the pile of folded trousers as a temporary hiding place. But the bulk of my work, my guilty treasure, was safely hidden.

My head jerked around at the sound of Usal's voice, shouting. The front door slammed open, and he ran in. I stared at him, open-mouthed. He was more dressed up than I had ever seen him. I was seeing him for the first time as a man, not a boy. And he was pale and shaky--more upset than I had ever seen him.

"Where is Father?" he asked me. When I didn't answer right away, he grabbed my shoulders and shook me.

"H-he's in the city," I stammered. "B-back soon." My brother pushed me away and began to pace up and down the room, nearly running. "Usal, what happened?"

"What happened?" he repeated. "Horinad was named High Lord successor."

That sparked my curiosity, in spite of Usal's agitation. "What about Tinis?" I asked. "Everyone said—you even said—that he would test higher than Horinad."

"He said he did," Usal told me, with a grim tone in his voice that frightened me. "He stood up and told the Lords so, just after they came back into the waiting room and announced Horinad was the one. He said they had changed the test scores, because they were afraid of him. He—he—"

Usal choked up and couldn't go on. I went over to him and touched his arm, alarmed for him, afraid of what he would say, unsure how to comfort him. His other hand whipped around and caught my wrist in a painful grip. I withstood the pain, because of the look in Usal's face. He wasn't seeing me, or the room. He was looking into the waiting room, remembering.

"Some of us . . . laughed at him, but I got scared right away." I nodded, believing and agreeing. Usal knew Tinis very well, and had good reason to respect his power.

"I saw their point," my brother continued. "I mean, Tinis has always been so arrogant, always trying to prove that he's better than anyone else. Some of us were glad to see him beaten. If it had been anyone besides Tinis, I might have laughed too. But I knew Tinis wouldn't leave it there.

"He—he had a sort off t. Started screaming—I've never seen him so angry. Then he got this peculiar look on his face and just stared at the six Lords, where they were standing in a clump.

"Merthyn was the first," Usal said. His hand still held me, and I could feel him trembling. "Merthyn's eyes went all strange, and he pulled out his dagger and—and—and c-cut his own throat."

Usal swallowed.

"Stop," I whimpered, not knowing whether I meant stop talking or stop hurting my wrist. He didn't hear me.

"Then Hissem," he said. "Then Linel. Three Lords dead in I / less time than it takes to walk across this room. Blood everywhere, running like rivers around our boots."

He closed his eyes for a moment, and seemed a little calmer when he spoke again.

"Horinad was the only one who understood what was happening. When another Lord drew out his dagger, he yelled 'Tiflis, stop it,' and we all jumped on Tinis and started hitting him. He didn't even try to defend himself; he just kept staring in that funny way. We finally knocked him out, but by that time Turenad was dead, too.'

"Four Lords? Dead?" I whispered. My brother nodded grimly. "What did they do to Tinis?"

"Somebody called in the High Guard, and they carried him off. I don't know what they will do, but I know what I hope they'll do." His eyes focused, and he finally looked at me again. It was creepy. "I hope they kill him," he said fiercely. "Because I know him. If they let him live . . ." He shuddered.

I was pulled away from the boy's memory. I resisted fiercely, struggling to get back to that youthful mind, with its pureness of fear and delight and creativity.

It is time to leave, Tarani's mindvoice told me.

But—yes, Recorder, I said.

We retraced our course, coming back, I somehow knew, to the exact same place where we had entered the All-Mind.

Calm yourself, Tarani urged me, and I tried. The boy's intense feelings had left me in turmoil. They faded gradually until Tarani said: We shall now return to ourselves.

The brightness faded.

And I shall withdraw my mind from yours. . . .

A sensation of landing, and sudden coolness.

"Rikardon?" said Tarani's 'physical voice, sounding weak. "Yes, I'm here. I'm back,' I assured her.

"Good. We should rest for a time."

After we startled the household staff by requesting a midmorning snack twice the size of our breakfast—and ate it all—Tarani and I set out for the house we thought had been Gharlas's. I was faintly surprised that no one wanted to tag along, and I realized that my reaction was colored by Ricardo's conditioning to expect heads of state to have a personal guard with them at all times.

Tarani had shared my experience with the boy's life-memory. She had been about to drag me away after the boy shut the closet door, but she had sensed my curiosity at the entry of the brother, and had allowed me some extra time. I was grateful. Zefra had mentioned that Pylomel had learned not to show his power through an example from his father's generation. Learning of Tinis from the boy had felt like finally scratching an itch I had never really noticed before.

We hurried along the cobbled walkway, which wound through garden areas to provide a link between the widely spaced homes. The house Gharlas had lived in was still unoccupied, and we had no trouble getting inside. The condition of the midhall-a tapestry torn, tables overturned—told us that no one had bothered to clean the place up after Charles died. The sight called up a chilling memory of the ' fight that had happened in this room. Tarani, Thymas, and I—we had come very dose to death that night.

Tarani shuddered. "I would judge the closet to be about … here," she said, and knelt to test the tiles. "Do you remember the sequence?"

"I might," I said, "but if a ten-year-old boy could strike the right combination by accident, we can certainly figure it out by trial and error. I expect this combination is pretty simple. After all, Troman kept the other key written down, so he wouldn't lose it. Would he lock the key away if there were a good chance he'd forget the combination?"

"No, I suppose not. Here," she said, standing up and pointing. "These four."

Those tiles might have been big enough for a boy's feet, but they barely accommodated my toes. After some experimentation, I discovered I could move the tiles by standing with the ball of my foot centered on them, leaning forward slightly.

"I'll try the boy's last pattern first," I said, stepping carefully and feeling a bit awkward.

Nothing happened.

I tried a combination of eight. Then, judging that eight was probably too many, I tried the boy's last five steps, then his last six—and the wall moved.

Tarani was inside the closet almost before the wall stopped moving. It went to the far wall, hesitated, and started sliding forward again. There was just enough time to fish out the bronze stays to keep the door open.

We turned to face the shelves; they looked hugely different from the boy's memory. Gharlas had removed most of the treasure from the High Lord's vault, replacing the items one by one with fakes. The real treasure was here; heaped and piled and stuffed into the shelves.

"If that book exists," I said, "it ought to be here."

Tarani took the bottom of the six shelves, and I took the top one. Most of the items were jewelry, gold or silver settings weighted down with huge gemstones. We couldn't exactly rummage through those stacks; we had to move each item from one pile into another.

The high shelf was less crowded than the others, and it didn't take me long to pile-shift my way from one end of it to the other. When I moved the last item—a filigree gold box—my hand hit something flat that didn't feel like stone.

"I've found something," I said, and Tarani stood up.

I groped, and gathered, and finally brought down a half-inch stack of flat paper in different sizes. I turned the top one I over.

It was a sketch of a vlek team, drawing a raft through the river gate. It was a good sketch. Tarani took it from my hand and held it to the light.

"How barbaric, that his father should try to stifle this gift," she said. "I shall add this to my list of changes."

She handed the drawing back to me and went back to digging through the bottom shelf. I noticed, on looking carefully, that each shelf had a little stack of paper at one end.

The boy had his own art gallery on display in here, I thought sadly. Until the "boy"—Gharlas's uncle-passed on, and left his treasure and his secret to his greedy nephew. Gharlas probably just shoved these aside, to start piling up his stolen treasure.

I couldn't resist looking at the sketches I held. These, from the top shelf, seemed to be the boy's early work and, except for the vlek drawing, they were portraits, some full-body, some faces only. They were remarkably good, never mind that the artist was only ten years old at the time.

The portraits had the subjects' names written on them. Considering the general attitude toward the arts in Lord City, they had to have been drawn from memory, or after long and clandestine study. The boy's father was there, showing a fond sternness that I was sure the boy had softened tome.

The last two portraits interested me most, considering the -last event I had shared with the artistic boy. Both were full-body studies, with a believable background of garden pathway. One was Horinad, who had the extreme height that lad marked his son, Pylomel, and was softened slightly in his granddaughter. The face showed a striking resemblance to 'Women, except that it were fuller, and there was a trace of humor around the mouth.

The boy must have done these before the fiasco at the testing, I thought. Horinad looks about fifteen here; that fits. I reset Horinad's portrait to the bottom of the stack I held. Now, let's have a look at the mysterious Tinis.

"I found it," Tarani said, and stood up. She held a thick sheaf of paper, held together with a strip of leather threaded la and out of small punctures. "Did you hear me, Rikardon? Shave the evidence we are seeking—or at least part of It." he touched an edge of the first sheet carefully. "It is fragile, ad much too long to read here," she said. 'Shall we close the door, and take the book back to our rooms?"

When I didn't reply, she transferred the book into one hand and tugged at my tunic sleeve with the other. "Rikardon? Were you not eager to find this book?"

"It doesn't matter now," I said. My voice sounded, distant to me.

"What? But you wanted evidence—" "I've found it," I said. "Enough to convince me." I handed her the final drawing.

She put the book down and accepted the paper, but she searched my face for a moment before she looked at it, puzzled. "It is Tinis." She shook her head. "Rikardon, I don't understand."

I rubbed my face with my hand, trying to clear my head of the shock I felt.

"Gharlas's uncle was a good artist," I explained. "See, this portrait of Horinad, how much he looks like Pylomel? That tells me that the boy had a gift for accuracy."

"So this portrait of Tinis probably looks like Tinis, is that what you are trying to say?"

She was still groping, and I was recovering, so I put it as I clearly as possible.

"Tinis is alive," I said. "He lives in Raithskar, under the name of Ferrathyn."

I tapped the sketch.

"I think we found a motive for a Supervisor to want the Ra'ira for himself, don't you?"

Chapter 19

Tarani -was furiously busy for the next two days. We’re turned from Gharlas's house barely before noon, and she rushed off to Lord Hall for the "educational" meeting the Lords. That lasted until nearly midnight, and the ne day was an endless round of conferences—with each of t Lords, with some of the Harthim landservants. Each family owned all their resources in common, and the distribution o wealth was handled by the Lord. Tarani took an intensive course in Lord City politics and economics on the second day.

The morning of the third day was spent in preparation for the ceremony that would install Tarani in her new position and give everybody an excuse for a roaring party. Tarani wished out loud that she had brought the black outfit from Raithskar, but then she found some out-of-style gowns in a closet somewhere. She called me into our suite to help select one for her, and while I was there, the seamstress arrived.

Tarani tried things on, and the seamstress and I offered opinions. Tarani more often sided with the seamstress, but I didn't mind. I was glad enough to be able to spend some time in Tarani's company, regardless of what I was doing. Finally the choice was made—a deep red gown with a full hem and openwork sleeves.

It needed alteration, of course. The seamstress was an older woman with a competent look about her. It was hard for me not to laugh at the look on her face when Tarani sat beside her, picked up a needle and thread, and started work on one side of the hem.

"I do not doubt your skill, Rena," Tarani said. "But I know how little time there is. I can do only simple things, but if my ands can free yours for the more delicate work, I am willing to use them."

"I—uh-thank you, my Lady—uh—Lord—uh—High ford—"

Tarani dropped her work and stared at the woman. "Rena, you remind me of a problem. Being addressed by my title— which I do not have officially yet, by the way-feels rather awkward to me, especially when two women are sewing on the same dress. It is a problem that may occur often. Would you be comfortable calling me by my given name?"

 You mean—uh—no, ma'am, it would not be proper."

"A title is necessary?" Tarani asked, musing, and only slightly poking fun at the competent old lady. "Then, will 'Lord Tarani' do?"

A smile lit the lined old face. "Yes, that sounds right, ma'am. Lord Tarani." She tried it out.

"You don't need me anymore, do you?" I asked.

Tarani looked up at me and smiled. "Always, my love, but not for this particular task."

I headed for the door, stopping to press my hand against the back of her neck. She arched her back, returning the pressure.

I spent the rest of the morning walking around the Harthim enclosure, becoming familiar with its layout. I wandered into the barracks area, where I was greeted with a mixture of surprise, welcome, and suspicion. One of the welcomes came '4 from a man I regarded as an old friend—Naddam, the man who had been in charge of the Lingis mine before I had been "impressed" as his replacement.

Naddam was drinking faen when I walked into the common room at one end of the barracks, and he choked and sputtered when he saw me. I clapped him on the back, laughing. I

"May the fleas bite Harthim where it hurts!" he swore. "You can't be the new High Lord's 'companion,' can you?" He did not wait for me to answer; he had already put two and two together. "Well," he said. "Well, that must be some kind of a record, friend—Lakad?"

"Rikardon," I said.

"Rikardon, then," he repeated laughing. From the copper, mines to Lord Hall in less than four moons. A record, I'd bet on it."

The other guards watched us warily, and I invited Naddam to walk with me a while. I told him what had happened after he left the Lingis mine. He was not happy to learn about the slave escape system that had been run from his mining camp, without his knowledge. He was glad to learn about Tarani s plans for reform in the mines, to reduce the work level to provide punishment, but not exhaustion.

He had heard about our arrival on sha'um, and who I really was, and he was curious why Keeshah had not been around at the mine. I told him about the sha'um and the Sharith, the mating cycle that had deprived me of Keeshah's company, and the special bonding that had brought his mate out of the Valley. He was intrigued, and touched, I thought, by the story.

"I have a favor to ask, Naddam," I said. "Ask it," he said.

"No one else in Eddarta knows this yet, but Tarani and are going to have to leave Eddarta again.

"Soon?"

"Tomorrow," I said. "Tarani is making her own preparations, leaving instructions, coordinating projects, that sort of thing. I expect she is setting up some kind of method of communication.

"But all those are her preparations. I have faith in her judgment; I would trust anyone she chooses to trust. But I'll feel better if there is one person I, personally, can rely on to keep us informed of what's going on here, while we're in Raithskar."

"So—what do you want me to do?"

"I want you to find a maufel who has been to Raithskar," I said. The bird-handlers could not guide or direct a message bird to a place they had never seen. "There has to be one, and I'll find one in Raithskar who knows Eddarta. All of this is 'just in case,' you understand. I'll be more comfortable knowing that if some emergency does occur, I'll have a fast, direct way to find out about it."

He squinted at me. "But you're not expecting an emergency?" I laughed. "No, not at all. Really," I added, fending off the skepticism that was so evident in his stance.

“Well, whether you are or you aren't," he said, "of course we’ll do it."

"Thanks," I said.

All the fuss over the gown had been in aid of finding nothing to wear to the party. For the ceremony, which the Lords called a "naming, Tarani was well prepared. The bite tunic with its embroidered emblem—a little more ore than the embroidery on the tunics of the other Lords—been fitted to her on our first day in Eddarta.

All the Lord families gathered on one side of the doughnut- Shaped hall, crowding together to get a clear view of the portable platform which had been set up across the entryway from the Council Chamber. All the Lords stood on the platform, with Tarani standing regally tall at the center of the row.

Hollin stepped foward and gave a speech about the duties of the High Lord, and each of the other Lords spoke a ritual testimony of respect and group spirit. Their litany did not, I noticed, include a promise of obedience. In theory at least, Lord City itself was an autocracy, run by a specific group of people.

Tarani had a set piece to say, and she delivered it with Oienin sincerity. She gave a short speech—mostly gratitude or acceptance of a stranger, and a wish for tolerance of her learning period. She did not mention our plans to leave the next day.

The ceremony was short and the Lords were replaced on the platform by the musicians. The party started.

The next morning—not too early—Tarani dressed in desert tunic and trousers, and it felt like I could release a breath I had been holding for three days. Our travel packs were in our suite, and Tarani packed some extra clothes into hers.

She picked up the drawing of Tinis and studied it for a moment.

"I know I have never seen this man," she said. "I mean, of course, .an adult version of this boy."

"You haven't," I said. "I saw him while you were in Raithskar, but always while you weren't available to meet him."

"Let us assume that Tinis—or Ferrathyn, I should say—has the true Ra'ira, and sole access to its power. Why would he terrorize Raithskar with uncontrolled vineh?"

"That may be just a side issue," I said. "After all, he is only one man, and has to rest sometimes. It's just not possible for one man to control. . . all. . . those . . ."

I had been reclining on the pallet. I propped myself on my elbow.

"What are you thinking?" Tarani asked me.

"I'm thinking about vineh," I said grimly. "About animals that suddenly acquired a talent for complex strategy." I slammed my open hand on the floor beside the pallet. "I saw it, but I didn't!" I growled. "Remember the vineh that went after the cubs, in the fight? They killed one cub, but they weren't hurting the other two—because Ferrathyn told them not to.

"That talk of vineh acquiring some Gandalaran characteristics through long contact with more intelligent minds works logically, up to a point. I can believe that vineh could plan an ambush, or that they could analyze an opponent and attack at the weakest point. But what they did with the cubs was not I possible for animals. They might have attacked and killed the _ cubs, because they were weak enemies—comparatively, that' is.

"The vineh used those cubs to destroy the effectiveness of the other enemies, and that requires an intuitive jump: care for my young, and if they are endangered, it is a distraction from everything else; therefore, threatening the young sha'um will disturb the adult sha'um.' That is not learned behavior, it is rational thought, and I cannot believe a vineh's mind could have come up with the idea—on its own.

"To answer your question, I believe Ferrathyn has simply let the vineh run free—except when he has a job for them.

 Even then, he may control only a select few, the natural leaders."

Tarani had listened in silence.

"Then it is Ferrathyn we owe for the death of the lost one," - she said quietly. She folded the portrait of Tinis and placed it in her travel bag.

A knock sounded at the door, and Tarani straightened up and crossed the bedroom. At the parlor door, she turned back to me.

"I sent for some people," she said. "This is how I choose to prepare Eddarta for my absence. Please do not interfere." She crossed the parlor to the hallway door, and I came out from the bedroom, closing the door behind me.

"We are here, as you requested, High Lord," said Hollin when Tarani had opened the door. She stepped back and Hollin, Zefra, and Indomel came into the room.

It's a good thing she warned me to stay out of this, I thought, settling into a chair in a corner. I wouldn't have Zefra and Indomel in the same room, ever again.

Each of the people registered surprise when they saw the Tarani was dressed. She had taken care to stand out of sight of anyone else in the hall, and now she closed the door.

Hollin I would describe as "solid." He had size, and weight, middle-aged good looks, and slow mannerisms that gave an air of steadiness. The few times I had been within earshot of him, he had been giving clear directions or well- considered opinions, and he impressed me as already being committed to support of Tarani.

He looked uncomfortable in the presence of Indomel.

"Thank you for coming," Tarani said. "You have guessed tot I depart today on a journey. You three are the only ones who are to know where I have gone, and why. Hollin, I know this will put you in a difficult position among the Lords, but I require your consent to secrecy."

"You have it, gladly," he said. "It must be a matter of extreme importance.

It's a damn good thing she warned me to stay out of it, I thought, as I watched Tarani open the small box and take out the Ra'ira.

She told them the whole story. The only thing she held back was the fact that she and I were both human-Gandalaran blends. She covered that in her description of our encounter with Gharlas, saying only that we had discovered that we had a kind of natural immunity to compulsion.

She told them about Tinis too—now known as Ferrathyn.

"I am convinced," she said, with the faintest possible smile flashed in my direction, "that Tinis has the real stone. He 4 also has command of hundreds of vineh, possibly with the capability to control an army of people. From what we learned of him in the All-Mind, he has a great capacity for anger. Would anyone doubt that his anger is aimed at Eddarta?

Three people shook their heads. Hollin was pale.

"Regaining control of the true Ra'ira has become more than merely a task to which Rikardon and I am committed, to which we feel destined. It has become an imperative defensive measure for Eddarta, to which I am newly committed, 'I and to which I feel destined.

"I must leave today for Raithskar, and I cannot say when I shall return."

Nobody had bothered to sit down. The three of them woke from the near-trance induced by Tarani's story. It was Indomel who broke the silence.

"High Lord," he said, with a tone of contempt carefully calculated to be tolerable, "I understand why you have chosen to tell Hollin all this. He is an able administrator, and would have been my choice for so sensitive a matter."

Well, live and learn, I thought. The kid does have some good sense.

"And Zefra," Indomel continued, "is your mother, and it fitting that you share confidences with her. But sister, I am your opponent and your enemy. Why am I here this morning?"

"You and Zefra," Tarani said coolly, "are here for identical reasons. Hollin will have all he can do to keep the Lords working toward the goals we have outlined, without having I be concerned about the two of you. You are ambitious, each of you – for different purposes, in different directions, yet you are alike in this."

Zefra sputtered with outrage; Indomel smiled.

"One, I wanted you both to know that this"—she tossed the stone—"is worthless, so you will not kill each other trying to get it, after I leave."

This time, Indomel laughed out loud. Zefra crossed her arms tightly against her chest and snapped her mouth shut. Tarani was not blind to her agitation.

"I would do this more gently, Mother, if I had the time; I have already explained that there is too little time as it is.

"You two," she said to them, "are the key to the Lords working well with Hollin. I know that you each have established contacts, owed favors, and the like, within the families.

If you wanted to undermine my position during my absence, it would be easy for you.

"I want you to confirm my position," she said. "Squelch rumors of abandonment, encourage belief that I will be back, that my commitment to Eddarta continues. If you work your contacts in my favor, Hollin's job will be much easier."

"Why would we do that?" Indomel asked. "Why, in particular, would I do that?"

"Because it is the price of your remaining in Eddarta," Tarani said. "You must agree to two conditions, or I will leave -Orders for your transport to the Lingis mine."

I think everybody except Tarani gasped.

"You will be given no duty," she said, "but you will be kept isolated, with a special guard of six men-more, I hope, than even both of you could control through compulsion at the same time." She smiled. "You will be in comfortable quarters, and I shall see to that. But you will be living in the same quarters."

After contemplating the Lingis vision for a few seconds, Indomel growled: "What are your terms?"

"First that you use whatever influence you have only to support me and the programs I have initiated."

Zefra spoke up first. "Agreed, daughter," she said sweetly, all trace of her agitation vanished. "I would have done so in any case."

"Indomel?"

"The boy walked away from the others, turned back, rugged. "Agreed," he said. "The second term?"

"You must each give me your promise that you will not use your mind gifts in any way during my absence."

Zefra flinched, and Indomel laughed.

"Ah, that hurts, does it not, Mother? A vow to support your daughter does not restrict you from trying to destroy your son—is that why the first condition pleased you so?"

"Indomel," Tarani snapped, "do you agree to the second term?"

The boy straightened his face. "Yes, I agree," he said. "And I am as little happy with it as Zefra."

"Mother?"

Zefra glared at her son for a moment, then sighed and relaxed. "Agreed."

"Hollin, I hold you witness to their acceptance of those terms, and appoint you as the sole judge of their compliance or violation. You are empowered to implement the Lingis arrangement at any time you deem it necessary."

Hollin only nodded, looking a little awed.

"Meanwhile, remove the guards from their rooms. They shall live in this house as part of my family, not as my prisoners, as long as they meet the stated terms."

"All understood, High Lord," Hollin said.

She sighed heavily.

"Then all is done, and I may go. Goodbye."

She hugged her mother, touched Hollin's shoulder, but offered Indomel no gesture. He looked surprised, and then he smiled. "I begin to believe, sister, that your tenure as High Lord will be an interesting time."

End Proceedings: Input Session Six

—I withdraw our minds from the All-Mind, and now mine from yours. . . .

—Your body is tense. What troubles you?

—Anger, Recorder. I had only begun to see the deceit and misdirection Ferrathyn had applied, with regard to the "miss‑

Ra'ira. And I had not yet accepted that the kindly old Man who had inspired my trust had ruthlessly manipulated and endangered an entire city.

—Be calm. Rest. Your anger will find expression during the next session.

—Recorder?

—Yes.

—Thank you, again, for reminding me of the importance of the Record.

—You are welcome. Now sleep.

End of the Gandalara Cycle Book II