SAVANT'S BLOOD BOOK 1: SHADOW OF THE AVATAR
Copyright 2007 Will Greenway
Writers Exchange E-Publishing
PO Box 372
ATHERTON QLD 4883
AUSTRALIA

Cover design by: Holly Eddy

Published Online by Writers Exchange E-Publishing
http://www.writers-exchange.com
http://www.readerseden.com

ISBN 1920972986

All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation to anyone bearing the same name or names. Any resemblance to individuals known or unknown to the author are purely coincidental.

Dedication
A Word (or two) About Mythology
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Chapter Sixty-Two
Chapter Sixty-Three
Chapter Sixty-Four
Chapter Sixty-Five
Chapter Sixty-Six
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Chapter Seventy
Chapter Seventy-One
Chapter Seventy-Two
Chapter Seventy-Three
Chapter Seventy-Four
Chapter Seventy-Five
Glossary
About The Author

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To the unsung heroes of the creative world: comic creators. My hat is off to the page and cover artists who sweat blood for their craft and work a magic all their own. Not to snub anyone, comics wouldn't exist without the writers who provide the narrative and dialogue. Word-smithing has its challenges, but it is a chimera of an all-too-different color from truly skilled and inspired hero art. So, a sweeping bow to those artists who inspired me in my childhood, and made me struggle to bring involving and engaging written life to the "super" heroes (and villains) of the Ring Realms. 'Nuff said?

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Welcome to the Ring Realms universe, a cosmology populated by magic, technology, gods, goddesses, and multi-verses. Comic fans will feel right at home, but fandom is not necessary to be drawn into the world's magic and heroism. Those learned in mythology may see a name (or a score of them) that they recognize. Intentional. In fact, I've taken heat for not creating my own gods and goddesses. Key to the point is they ARE my gods and goddesses, and you the reader's as well. I wanted something familiar to the readership rather than add EVEN MORE bizarre names to the milieu—something that is one of the all-too-common pitfalls of fantasy writing. If see a name you recognize, rejoice in that knowledge because where possible I have tried to keep to the spirit of those myths whilst incorporating them into a much larger cosmology. Notice, I say 'spirit of'—please don't flagellate me (however much I might enjoy it) for not adhering more closely to the source myths. Liberal dramatic license has been taken in order to heighten and enrich the story... Enjoy.

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Our children can make us mighty warriors or reduce us to bawling infants. They give us strength in times of trial, and leave us kittens in times of frustration. My babies are no different...
--Euriel Idundaughter-Kergatha

Atop the judgment dais, Euriel Idundaughter Kergatha struggled to break free before Hecate's priests dragged away her seven-summer old daughter. Little blonde Liandra kicked and screamed as the baldheaded men in red tunics towed the child across the audience chamber floor. Each shriek stabbed into Euriel's heart as they echoed off the vaulted marble ceilings and rattled the stained glass mosaics.

"Mother!" Liandra implored, hands thrust toward her, blue eyes wide with panic.

Euriel twisted her arms against the stone that had encased them. She wouldn't let them take her children. Cosmodarus was a city of peace, neutral and outside the boundaries tread by the avatars. They had no right to be here; no right to take anyone away.

Especially not her daughter.

The click of hard boots climbing the dais steps echoed through the chamber. Euriel felt a prickly-cold sensation hum through her body as someone stepped close. The air filled with a stifling musky-sweet odor; the smell of dying flowers.

Euriel tore her gaze away from daughter and glared at the avatar. Only a creature corrupted with the magic of a dark pantheon lord could make her flesh crawl like this. Recognizing the night hag Mishaka, she spat at the evil creature's feet.

Hecate's avatar was a pale knife of a woman dressed in spike heeled riding boots and layers of white silk. Her perfect face with its moon-gray eyes and broad blood-red mouth would have been attractive were not the rest of her so black and twisted.

Mishaka glanced at the spittle on the floor, brushed back her translucent hair and sneered. She clacked forward and gripped Euriel's face, long nails biting into her cheeks. She spoke in a breathy tenor that made the stones tremble. "Surrender Euriel, don't waste your time trying to break my bindings."

Growling, Euriel jerked her face back from the woman's loathsome touch. She focused all her attention on the two pillars of rock pinning her arms. Mishaka had taken her by surprise. If she'd sensed her coming, this situation would be different indeed.

Her heart pounded. She stole a glance toward Liandra. Her little girl was only visible as a darkened shape dwindling down the hall. She had to get to her.

Get free.

She concentrated all of her will on her right arm. She was Idun's daughter. The blood of the Aesir flowed through her veins. I must be free.

A red haze filled Euriel's vision and heat surged through her. My children. My husband. My kingdom. She increased the pressure on the material gripping her arm. Euriel focused until she saw each granule of the irregular surface trembling under the force of her love and determination.

Mishaka's icy voice threatened to break her concentration. "This display is foolish."

Like a prayer answered, she felt Odin's gift sing through her. "I-- think-- not!"

Her right arm came free in a rumble of shattering stone. Mishaka's eyes went wide and her mouth opened in a scream. She didn't get out a sound before Euriel's hand clamped around her throat.

Fury driving her, Euriel yanked the despicable woman forward and shoved her hard into the pillar still gripping her other arm. Mishaka's head impacted the surface with a thud.

She pulled back and slammed her again. "Feel--your--folly!" She punctuated each word with a hammer blow into the rock.

Euriel pulled the dazed and bloody avatar close. Sparks crackled and snapped around her fingers as she clamped down with all her will, forcing her nails deep into the avatar's resilient flesh. "Tell me again how you plan to succorund my children! How you will tear out their minds and make them hosts for Hecate." Blue fire sizzled around her hand as she brought all her magical birthright to bear, smashing the frameworks of demi-urge that linked this vile puppet to her mistress. Teeth gritted, hand shuddering with the strain, she pressed harder as Mishaka, still conscious, clawed at her wrist. Black blood welled around Euriel's burning fingers. "Speak, avatar bitch, I hear not your boasting!"

Mishaka only groaned and twitched. She would pay for the indignities and torture, for her gloating and overconfidence. The avatar's eyes rolled up, and blood bubbled from her lips.

Justice served. A few moments longer and this evil spawn would be back in the abyss where she belonged.

Pain exploded in the back of Euriel's skull. Lights spun in her vision. The shock broke her grip on Mishaka. The avatar toppled to the floor, flopping and jerking. Before Euriel could orient, another impact drove her to her knees. The world grew fuzzy.

"Dear Mishaka," a male voice said from behind. "You really must learn not to underestimate these people. After all, they are the children of gods. You have to expect more from the mother of two Savants; much much more."

Euriel tried to guard herself. She only caught a glimpse of black-black eyes and a broken yellow-toothed grimace before he brought the mace in his hand crashing down for the third time...

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In Wren's fifteen summers as a Guilder, she never once got set on fire. She found the experience one she hoped never to repeat. As she topped a stone wall in an alley behind the wizard Cinnabar's tower, the magic struck her in the back. The impact felt as if someone hit her ribs with an axe. The blast shredded the leather hauberk she wore, sending pieces of it shooting off in trails of smoke and sparks. She screamed and fell to the cobbles clutching her breasts and stomach.

"Wren!" she heard Grahm yell.

She focused through the pain to keep from falling unconscious. The effort made every sensory detail stand out in bold relief.

An icy sea breeze guttered down the night-darkened lane, blowing scraps of parchment through skeletons of broken crates and barrels. Wren clawed at the dirty stone, the slightest movement sending shrieks of pain through her body.

She had to quit the Guild. Nothing was worth hurting like this.

Wren, the Brethren Guild's premier two-story girl, had topped herself. Up a hundred paces of mirror-smooth tower wall, through a narrow window, and past all the wizard Cinnibar's magical wards and traps. From within a secured room, behind mithril-steel walls, past an array of tricks, runes, and locks she had come away with the fifty-thousand crown Malicent gem. In this heist, she and Grahm had succeeded in breaking the much vaunted sorcerer-ring defenses that had stymied thieves for more than two centuries. The feat established their team as was one of the best infiltrators ever.

How ironic to foil all that security only to get caught by the wizard himself. From a tower window, two hundred paces away, he managed to clip her with a fire spell.

She may have proved her skill, but the wizard had made her pay for the privilege. Wren the thief was now Wren the living blister.

Grahm shook her, wild blond hair wreathing his boyish face. His wide dark eyes and quivering lip might have looked comical some other time.

"Go away. I'm dying!"

"You're not dying! Come. I hear guard whistles."

Grahm dragged her up. Her skin burned as if she'd spent a day unprotected in the desert.

"Where's the gem?" he asked.

"In the pack. It must--"

His lithe body sheathed in green leather reminded her of a leaf-jumper as he went over the wall at a run.

"No!"

His voice echoed behind the wall. "Found it! Coming--" His words were interrupted by a brilliant white light and a crack of thunder. He cried out in pain.

"Grahm!"

The pack flew over the wall and landed near her. Grahm came after it. Another bolt of lightning smashed the top of the wall behind him. He flipped and landed by her.

"Let's go."

"You scared me!"

"I scared you?"

He snatched up the pack and yanked her toward the street. She staggered and he supported her. When she put an arm around his waist, she felt charred material and blood.

"You're hurt!" She experienced a pang as she caught a whiff of smoldering leather and flesh.

"Just keep going!" He tried to conceal the pain, but his voice cracked.

Guard whistles blew a few streets away. Turning east on Dragon Road they headed away from the waterfront into the warehouse district. A low mist writhed through the maze of alleys, lofts, and silos carrying the fetid odors of dead kelp, fish and excrement. Derelicts lurked in the sheltered spaces, shadowy silhouettes that leaned, crouched and sprawled.

Wren's energy ran out by the next intersection. She tripped and fell. A gust chilled her burns like the lash of a whip. She looked seaward. Half full, Pernithius, moon of the harvest, loomed behind towers of clouds advancing on the city like an army. Triatus, the russet moon, peered like a demon's eye between gaps in the gray masses.

"Get up. Those guards are close."

She struggled to her feet with his help. "Grahm, that magic did me. It's only a matter of time."

"Fish feathers, Cinnibar can't kill you with one spell. I have a stash of healing potion. That'll fix us both." He glanced back the way they'd come. Several figures moved toward them. "Go!"

He towed her stumbling down market aisle, weaving around broken carts and stalls, scattering spoiled vegetables and fruits left from the day's bartering. Their pursuers broke into a jog. In a shaft of moonlight, Wren saw they weren't city guards.

She clutched his shoulder. "Those are Dagger guildsmen!" The Cult of Dagger had been disbanded three years ago. She thought all their members had been run out of town or slain.

"I know," he replied, turning them at a corner and heading down a narrow lane between two old tenements. The guilders reached the alley in time to see them turn.

Grahm rushed south on Caravan Street where a dozen streets and alleys branched off into darkness. He pulled her behind the cover of some stairs and paused to let Wren catch her breath.

Her mind whirled both with the pain and revelation. The presence of the Dagger guild meant trouble. If they were back in the city it could mean only one thing. "Have they come to make war on the Brethren?" she asked.

"Maybe. I heard Vulcindra say they have a new leader--a priest of Set. Who knows what zealots like that will do?"

She shivered. The burns only gave the illusion of warmth. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "The Dagger guild was bad before. Now they're reinforced by Cult fanatics. You know whatever they do it won't be anything good. Why didn't Vulcindra tell me about them?"

He peeked up the street to see if their pursuers were near. "Vulcindra doesn't trust you. Sully speculates she's afraid you'll take her job. She said they wouldn't be in town in any strength for another ten-day. Guess she was wrong."

"Damned witch is wrong about far too many things." She gritted her teeth. "Grahm, we can't fight the Dagger guild without Desiray. No one has talked to her since the spring solstice." She glanced around the steps. The enemy guilders had paused up the street. "Vulcindra will be useless in a war. We'll get slaughtered!"

"You must be feeling better."

She grabbed his collar and pulled him to eye level. "The Cult of Set sacrifices their female captives to the jackal god. Being a handmaiden of Set is not how I want to spend my afterlife!"

"Your wind is back. Here." He removed his cloak and draped it around her shoulders. Even the light pressure of the cloth brought a flash of pain. "Third alley on the right. We lose them and get my stash."

Creeping along the wall they used the stairs to cover them. The Dagger guilders had spread out, making a sweep of possible escape routes. Grahm and she could slip them. They knew the city better than anyone in the Brethren guild. Tarmagal and Vulcindra, Desiray's seconds didn't even grow up in Corwin. Both knew little of real thieves' business save administration. At least Tarmagal could fight, put a sword in her hand and she fought like the devil. Even she would be better than Vulcindra and her lack of organization. She still didn't know why Desiray let that incompetent run things, she was little more than a pretty decoration.

She and Grahm stayed in the shadows, using hidden crevices between buildings and stalking through abandoned shops. The Dagger guilders lost all chance of pursuit after the third turn.

Grahm's stash was a hidden room in the wine cellar of the Savvy Centaur Inn. She walked through the smoky commons, the cloak hugging her nude body. The smells of kerf, tobacco, ale and mead made her dizzy. Three maids tended a ragtag host of Corwin's lower caste, most of whom were more intent on harassing the women than eating.

His face concealed by curly masses of hair and beard, the barkeep more resembled a bear than a man. Grahm gave him a few silver coins, and he opened a door behind the bar.

They descended wooden steps into the cramped cellar. It smelled of spoiled grain, cask oil, and old tallow. Several kegs of mead and ale stood in a corner near a chute entry into the back alley.

Grahm went behind the steps and pushed on a section of the wall. The stone grated inward. He vanished in the darkness. She heard him fumbling with something metal. The chamber became as bright as daylight. Grahm appeared in the doorway holding a hooded lantern. No flame flickered inside the glass, only a single luminous point.

"Priest light," she said. "Who do you know in the clergy?"

"Jharon. I told him I was looking after you."

She frowned. "You dog, playing on him like that." Jharon was a priest of Ishtar who courted her for a while, but circumstances never let it become as serious as both of them would have liked. She and Jharon remained good friends and he constantly urged Wren to break off her relationship with the Brethren.

Grahm shrugged. "Come in, milady."

She stepped into the small room. He'd furnished it with the basic amenities: a cot, table, closet and chamber pot alcove. Two of Grahm's paintings were the only decoration. One showed Mistress Desiray in her shining, white-haired majesty crouched near some orphaned children. The other depicted Ziedra, a dancer who used to room with Wren, whirling on a table top. Whenever Wren saw Grahm's beautiful portraitures, it made her wonder why he thieved for a living.

The orphans in the picture brought back remembrances of a crumbling temple and a battle. She was an orphan too, at least as far as she knew. The only parents she recalled were a couple of aged prostitutes who felt maternal toward a lost street waif. Someday, she'd find out what happened to her real mother and father. She'd learn why she had no memory of them or anything else that came before the day she escaped from Hecate's temple fifteen summers ago.

Grahm closed the door then went to the closet. In the lantern light, she noticed he looked pale. He worked at something in the wardrobe's bottom. A click and he opened a panel. He pulled out a sack and blew the dust off it.

"Salvation for the wounded," he said.

"Hail Ishtar," she groaned.

Grahm took out a vial of shining blue liquid and handed it to her. Removing another and uncorking it, he set the sack on the table.

"A toast to the feat not duplicated in two centuries!"

She pulled out the stopper and clinked her vial against his. "To the partner who dragged me out of there."

He nodded and they both drank the contents of their bottles.

The healing potion tasted like cider. She tingled all over and her flesh flickered and glowed as if her bones were giving off a bright light. She watched the skin of a reddened hand flake away to be replaced by the pale but healthy white she'd lived with for twenty-three summers. A gnawing itch replaced the burning pain and she rubbed at her arms and legs.

Grahm let out a sigh of relief, scratching at the wound in his side. "The itching is almost as bad as the pain."

"I'll take an itch over a stitch any time."

He smiled. "You know this is the first time I've seen you without clothes. You're quite well made even though you're not tall."

"We can't all be Myrmigynes."

Grahm took her face in his hands. "You could be my little Myrmigyne."

She backed up. "Don't be foolish."

His eyes flashed. "We've been partners for a while. Don't you trust me?"

She pulled his cloak close to her body. Grahm knew that she'd rebuked others in the guild who were simply after a quick poke. She'd yet to share with a man. She still didn't know what she saved herself for.

Grahm was lean and hard. She liked and trusted his face with its dark eyes and easy smile.

"We're working partners, not-- I don't know-- I never thought of you like that." She didn't want to tell him how much the idea scared her. The Brethren Guild had cared for her since childhood. Only quick feet and a quicker dagger had kept the men at bay. She spent her youth learning to pick locks, find traps, to hide, forage, and spy. The prostitutes who were Wren's surrogate parents never taught her about men aside from what to avoid. She'd dabbled in nothing more serious than kissing and fondling.

Grahm looked down at himself. "What's wrong with me?"

"Nothing--"

"Good."

He drew her in for a kiss before she could stop him. She tried to push him away. He stifled Wren's resistance with a warm embrace that made her tingle all over.

Grahm pulled away after a few quick pecks on her face. "You're trembling."

Swallowing a lump she said, "I never--"

He put a finger to Wren's lips. "Not now, I want you to be ready. Besides, we have to warn the guild and get them ready to fight the Dagger."

She shook her head. "We really have to get out of this business."

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I have always had money. I rarely keep even a copper of what I steal. It is the danger, the risk, and the challenge that I crave. I know some day it will be the end of me, but at least I will have lived.
--Grahm Tuffala

It took over a bell cycle to make their way back to the guild. Packs of Dagger thieves roamed the streets harassing anyone who looked like a Brethren member. She feared they might already be too late to help their comrades. As they moved furtively from alley to alley, Wren's mind flitted back to what Grahm had proposed. A romantic liaison--me? Even as she focused on the guild's upcoming battle, she began to see it as a way out. He and she had been with the guild entirely too long. They could cut their attachments to mistress Desiray and strike out on their own.

She'd always been proud to be a part of the Brethren. Mistress Desiray had aspired to make it different than other guilds, by design their prey were Corwin's predators. Cinnibar, the wizard whose jem she stole had a nasty reputation for kidnapping street people and doing magical experiments on them. He deserved to be stolen from.

Justification--it used to be so easy to explain away her stealing. She needed to eat. Then the guild adopted her. The mistress explained their thefts as balancing things out, making the wealthy less so and the poor more rich. That appealed to a homeless girl with a magical talent for climbing and a knack for foiling wards; especially the idea of being part of a family. She guessed the mistress was an orphan like herself because she had a soft spot for parentless children. She'd covertly channeled guild funds into at least three way-houses for street children that Wren knew of. On top of that, she adopted people into her fold.

Wren's mentor Sireth, Grahm and herself; they all lived in the streets at one time. Desiray gave them a home. That alone had kept her tied to the guild for many summers. Benefiting the poor made Wren's calling easier on her conscience.

By many standards, she was wealthy now and the guild had lost touch with many of its altruistic ideals. With Desiray gone all the time, things had deteriorated to the point the Brethren resembled any other guild in any of a dozen big cities. She once thought she might spearhead a movement to get back to benefiting the unfortunate. However, the death of her mentor, Sireth, who led the guild in Desiray's absences, killed any thoughts she might have had about improving things. Desiray destroyed any hopes of a benevolent resurgence when she hired out-of-towners to carry on in Sireth's stead.

It had been the Dagger guild who killed Sireth. Now, they were back to do what they failed to do the first time.

Crush the Brethren.

They stopped in an alley across from the Guild. Its pitted granite walls extended two stories above the surrounding buildings. They saw no one manning the crenellated roof or lookout platforms. The only guardians were the stone gargoyles mortared into the corners of the building.

As they climbed the steps, she noticed other empty sentry posts as well. They stopped. The chirping of bugs and barking dogs sounded loud in the ominous silence.

"Don't like this," Grahm whispered.

She nodded and pulled his loose breeches higher on her waist. The only clothing available to her had come from his wardrobe. A wharf sack would have fit as well. She pulled at the tunic to stop the itch. The fabric was nothing she wanted against her breasts, especially after the recent burns. At least his spare weapons were serviceable.

Dirk readied, he opened the door.

Together, they stepped into the dark lobby. The air smelled of cinnamon incense and tallow. The marble floors looked recently swept. No one occupied the greeter's alcove or tribute stalls. It didn't look to Wren as if anything were secured against attack.

Silence.

Grahm frowned and crept toward the corridor. Reaching the archway, he gestured for her to follow. The lanterns felt cold to the touch. Beyond the point where the passage turned, candles cast flickering shadows on the stonework.

Could they be leaving everything unguarded on purpose?

A glance up revealed bare ceilings. Why didn't they put up the nets? That served as the first line of defense against a raid. She saw no way for the guild to be overrun without a fight, and yet found no evidence of battle.

Grahm pointed to the ceiling and shook his head. Her partner was thinking the same thing. Though he and she were senior members of the Brethren, mistress Desiray's favorites ran things. Perhaps it was as Grahm said, Vulcindra was afraid that Wren might replace her. Vulcindra was only half the equation though, Desiray was not paying attention to her operation or she would know how inadequate her operative was. In the last few moons, the situation had been a growing irritation for Wren.

She gave fifteen summers of hard work to the Brethren. Even after completing the toughest jobs the guild had ever staged, she still didn't rate with Desiray's street-green toe-kissers.

Grahm turned a corner heading for the main meeting area. They still heard no sounds except the crackling of burning tallow. Testing revealed all the doors to be shut and bolted. In an attack, the minimal lighting would hurt more than it would help. The shadows gave Brethren defenders better hiding, but hampered recognition of friend and foe in a tight battle.

A chilling sense of doom crept into Wren's bones. Could Vulcindra be this strategically incompetent? Why no barricades? Shouldn't the heavy crossbows be put on their tripods and placed so they could shoot into the main passages?

A silhouette darted across the passage from the dry goods storeroom over to the armory.

Grahm froze.

Heart leaping, she drew her sword and slid close to Grahm. They still didn't know conclusively whether Vulcindra had allowed the guild to be taken without a struggle, or if this was some unorthodox defense tactic.

Grahm hand signaled her to cover on the right side of the hall. She nodded and faded to the side opposite him. Ahead, she heard someone try to mute their breathing. A support joist jutting down into the corridor provided a prime hiding spot for an ambush. Her blood pulsed in her temples as she strained to sense the enemies hidden in the shadows above.

One step forward; two, three. Grahm signaled for two enemies and indicated the top of the support.

She switched the sword to her left hand and pulled a dagger. Pointing, she indicated her intention to cover the other opponent.

Grahm took two steps, started the third but dove and rolled instead.

Two figures dropped. Both missed him. Grahm sprang to his feet and spun a kick into left one's stomach. Wren clubbed the right man across the shoulders with the hilt of her dirk.

Both men fell with groans.

The one on the left tried to rise and Grahm pushed him down with the point of his sword. The other tried to rise from a prone position to hands and knees. She booted him in the buttocks, knocking him into a sprawl.

"Roll over," she ordered.

The man turned. He looked at her squint-eyed and brushed strands of hair out of his eyes.

Recognizing one of their junior members, she shook her head and sighed. "Idiot. We're on your side!"

Grahm jerked the other to his feet. "We almost killed you two!"

"Vulcindra wants us to spread out and ambush the Dagger."

Wren's stomach knotted at the confirmation of her worst fears. "Of all the hollow headed--" she stopped, seeing the men pale at her tone. Few of the Brethren would even raise their voices when talking about mistress Desiray or her subordinates. The fear seemed almost magical in its potency. Desiray had never done anything to inspire it.

Even Grahm became tense when she complained about the mistress' biased favoritism. She knew her tone sounded icy. "Where is Vulcindra?"

"The mistress' office."

"You lead. We don't want to have to hurt somebody."

As the two men led them to the stairs, Wren's anger continued to simmer. When Desiray first formed the guild twenty summers ago, she started with ten members. One of them was Sireth, the woman who taught Wren and served as her surrogate sister when she joined the guild. She learned much about stealth and quick thinking from Sireth. A few summers later, Sireth taught Grahm as well. Sireth respected Desiray and would not tolerate any criticism of the mistress. Regardless, Sireth admitted that Desiray sometimes worried more about how they looked, than how well they did their jobs.

How did Desiray strike such fear into everyone? She possessed incredible charisma and inspired devotion. It made Wren wonder though that no-one could ever speak badly of her. She'd practiced with their white-haired leader and acknowledged her mastery. She clearly was one of the best thieves ever born. Still, she wasn't a god who could strike dead those who dared speak blasphemies against her. She put a roof over Wren's head, gold in her pocket, and provided the security of numbers. Wren expressed her gratitude in tithes willingly paid for membership in Desiray's organization. It went no further than that for her. Sometimes it seemed as though she was the only one who felt that way.

As Desiray spread her power, opening guilds in other cities, she spent less and less time in Corwin. Sireth, who apprenticed under Desiray, led the Brethren well in her common absences.

The Dagger guild attack that killed Sireth happened almost two summers ago. In retaliation, Desiray led a successful assault on the rogue guild. The few Dagger members who survived were banished from the city of Corwin. Rather than allowing Grahm or Wren to accede Sireth, Desiray brought Tarmagal and Vulcindra in from another city.

Sireth had been good to Wren. She felt that Desiray betrayed Sireth by not choosing one of her pupils to carry on.

Wren nodded at two old-timers who stood guard at the stairs to the upper story. One touched Wren's arm and she stopped. Smiling, he rubbed the patch over his eye and scratched at the stubble on his craggy face. He spoke with a rasp caused by drinking too much ale. "Hey, Wren, did you manage to grab the Malicent gem?"

The other, a stringy man bobbed his bald head, his swarthy features intent like curious rodent.

"What do you guys think? It was guarded by a sorcerer-ring. Nobody has busted that in two centuries."

One-eye rubbed at the back of his head. "Hey, we know it ain't been done before. I told Jace I seen ya get past some scary stuff almost as hard just last moon." He leaned forward. "They heard whistles a bell or so ago. Doesn't mean ya came away with it though."

She looked at Grahm and shook her head. "You should have set the odds on me as two-to-one for, not against."

One-eye's grin vanished. "You did it?"

"It's stashed at Grahm's hidey." She frowned. "Shouldn't you worry about the defense preparations rather than on the hit-or-miss heist pool?"

"Hey, Vulcindra has it in hand."

"Sure." Stomach churning, she pushed past and climbed the stairs.

One of their escorts glanced back. Her angry tone had been obvious. He didn't say anything.

Grahm put a hand on her shoulder. "All right, you've a good reason to be upset."

"Desiray is who will be upset when this guild gets gutted. Maybe then she'll put competent people in charge."

He kissed her on the ear. "You're beautiful, you know that?" He whispered.

She scowled at him. Right now, romantic thoughts were far from her mind. "You should probably bed me now. It might be the last chance you get."

That backed him off and made him sober. She regretted saying it, seeing the hurt look in his eyes. He wasn't taking this situation serious enough though. An inner sense screamed that people would be dying soon if she didn't do something.

Topping the steps, they went down the long corridor that ended in Desiray's office.

Sully stepped out of a side doorway, a towering scarecrow of a man who looked as if he had more bones than flesh. He knelt down to eye level, angular face set, blue eyes narrow. Taking Wren's hand he spoke in a low voice. "Wren, it's good you're back. Are you going to--"

"Yes. Abandon this stupid scheme. Get the other experienced men and start building some barricades and hanging the nets. Vulcindra will order it done right, or I'll kill her."

"Kali bless you, Wren. I'll get on it."

Sully stood and jogged off.

Grahm watched him go. "You're taking a big chance undercutting Vulcindra."

She snorted. "What's she going to do? Kick me out? You and I earn as much as the rest of the guild combined."

At the door to Desiray's office, she knocked and entered. Her guides turned away not even bothering to look inside.

The mistress' office was a small but opulent room lined with rose-wood paneling and decorated with exquisite tapestries, paintings, and statuary. A few of Grahm's pictures graced the walls, alongside some of Desiray's own paintings. The mistress' art was every bit the equal to Grahm's though many had stood unfinished on the easel until Grahm's greater discipline filled in the missing highlights.

Wren's gaze went to Desiray's painting of Sireth and a group of orphans gazing into a stormy sky. The mistress had captured every detail of the contemplative look on Sireth's angular face. It looked as if she were staring at something infinitely far away. Wren often wondered what her surrogate sister had been thinking about to get that distant expression on her face. Maybe she'd foreseen her own death.

A huge desk dominated the middle of the room. Willowy Vulcindra paced behind it, hands clasped behind her back, long gold hair forming a halo around her face.

She envied the woman's striking beauty. On her, even plain black leather looked like royal attire. She turned to look at them and her eyes widened as though she were startled. "Wren, Grahm," she paused, and her throat muscles worked. "You-- made it back. Apparently, the Dagger were ready to move sooner than we thought. I've started--"

Wren held up a hand to interrupt her. She didn't like the surprise in the woman's face. She acted as if she thought they wouldn't be coming back. She didn't like the implication. Vulcindra was the one who told them Cinnibar would be out tonight. Something else she just happened to be wrong about. "Vul, forget that mess you started. Have them barricade the corridors, make tight openings and guard them with the heavy crossbows. Get the nets from the basement and hang them. That's what they're for."

The blonde woman's eyes widened. "Have you told anyone else?"

"Of course, I want to live through this! There's three hundred Dagger out there, they'll overrun us. Where's Tarmagal?"

"I sent her to the temple of Isis for sovereign Dauntless."

"Good! How many guards did you send with her?"

"Three."

She slapped a hand to her forehead in frustration. "Ishtar! On the way in--" Grahm took hold of Wren's shoulder and squeezed. She lowered her voice. "We saw groups of Dagger men numbering a score or more."

The door slammed open interrupting Wren's words. Tarmagal staggered in followed by a host of concerned Brethren. The chunky red-haired woman let out a gasp. "Vul, they're coming. I couldn't get through."

Cuts striped Tarmagal's leather armor and blood covered her arms. She collapsed into a chair. It would have taken a fierce battle indeed to turn her back.

"We ran into more than fifty up on Beast Street. They're blocking all the main avenues into the temple district. My guards are all dead."

Vulcindra swallowed. The expression on her face was difficult to read. A mixture of fear and confusion. She looked to Wren. "Come on, show me what you want to do."

Wren worked fast, not knowing how much longer the Dagger would wait. She gave Vulcindra and Tarmagal tasks to oversee while she and Grahm tried to gather and organize stray members. People were scattered everywhere in confusion. Their defenses couldn't be any weaker if they had been intentionally scrambled. The air smelled of sweat, and she felt the hum of tension in the walls.

After a half bell, they stopped in the back hall to check on Vulcindra's progress. The tall woman looked nervous and agitated. Sully ran up to them. "The barricades and nets in the main hall are in place and manned. We have them working on the side passages now. They--"

Screams cut through the last of his words sounding far too close to have come from the main entrance. Vulcindra spun. The look on her face was pure terror. She bolted down the hall.

"Vulcindra!" Wren cried. "Worthless witch. Damn, they must have found another way in!"

The three of them drew their weapons and plunged into the chaos. In a space of heartbeats, the cultists were appearing everywhere.

They fought a retreating battle from the start, clashing and withdrawing simply to keep from being overwhelmed. Heart hammering and lungs burning, she launched herself into the focus of steel-on-steel and blade-into-flesh. Clash, kick, drive, duck, stab.

The battle became a confusion of arms, legs and faces. She and Grahm worked together against single opponents, picking off stragglers and using the cover of doorways to surprise the enemy.

The air reeked of sweat, urine and bile. The howling of the injured and dying stabbed into her as painfully as any steel. Her friends were dying and all she could hope to do was survive, perhaps help a few escape. She wanted to run, but where could she go? The guild was her home.

They punched through a skirmish line and ran straight into the teeth of the main Dagger assault. The main hall echoed with battle. Plate-armored men hacked away at a knot of Brethren thieves led by Tarmagal. Her swords licked out like adders, cutting anything that ventured near.

Wren pulled a dirk and threw it into the eye slot of the nearest warrior. He pitched over and vanished into the tangle of bodies. She put another knife to similar use.

A roar came from behind them. She dodged a huge sword that slammed into the floor. Grahm's sword and hers clanged and sparked against the heavy armor of their new opponent.

Somehow the Dagger forces had flanked them.

She stabbed one of the rogue guilders trying to get to her while the plate-armored mercenary closed in. She leaped over a low sword swipe and landed in a puddle of blood. Her foot shot out from under her and she felt a shock of pain as her shoulder cracked into the floor.

"Wren!"

She rolled. A sword clanged and struck sparks near her head. She shifted right. Another smash. The warrior's eyes glowed behind the slits in his demon mask. His laughter echoed in his helmet. He drew back and thrust.

Grahm slammed into him, knocking the sword wide. The two fell into a tangle. Wren scrambled to her knees.

"No!"

She leaped to interpose herself between the struggling pair and two cultists. She blocked one but the other landed knees first on Grahm's back. Slicing through the throat of the one she'd intercepted, she hit the other man in the back of the head and kicked him away. Grahm stiffened. The cultist had stabbed him between the shoulder blades. The armored warrior beneath Grahm shoved him off.

Everything in Wren's vision fogged over in a red haze. She struck the side of the mercenary's helm with all her strength, hammering at it until the man stopped moving.

The defensive line of Brethren disintegrated under a wave of cultist thieves.

"Grahm!" She turned him over. Her stomach tightened when she saw his glazed eyes. He blinked and grabbed Wren's arm. "Get out of here. Find Desiray."

"You're coming with me."

She dragged him up and they staggered down the hall. He clung to her and it took all of Wren's strength to stumble forward under his weight. A peal of thunder roared through the halls. More blasts that sounded like lightning strikes rumbled through the building.

No time to get out-- need to hole up-- escape during a lull.

She pulled Grahm into a storeroom and bolted the door. Propping him against the wall, she started to tend his wound.

"Won't do any good," he croaked. "It's not deep." She strained to hear him over the battle. "Bastard used--" He grimaced. "--poison." He convulsed and she gripped his arm.

An icy hand knotted in her chest. No. Not Grahm, he couldn't leave her like Sireth did. They were the best. A team.

Grahm's skin tinged yellow and his limbs shook.

"Oh Grahm," she felt the tears burning on her cheeks. "What can I do?"

"Kiss me." He forced a smile. "Last chance I'll get."

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Blood is never sweeter than when it is sucked from the gashed throat of a mewing victim...
--Hethanon

"Move!" Wren stumbled forward as one of the rakes of the Dagger guild shoved her.

The torch-lit corridor of Brethren Guild reeked of curdled blood, urine, and burned hair. Flaking lines of rusty-brown ran down the stone walls. So much blood spilled, she wondered how many Brethren had been allowed to live. Everywhere she saw signs of death. She'd lived here for more than a decade and now she barely recognized it. It no longer felt like the safe haven she'd come to know so well.

It had been defiled.

Her skin felt clammy from the oral caresses of the Dagger men, and her breasts felt raw from being fondled. Her scalp stung from constant pulling on her hair.

An icy hand clutched her mind and body. Grahm now dead, Vulcindra and Tarmagal gone, and she'd failed to escape. As the three thugs pushed her toward the Dagger cult's axe-faced priest, she could only think that she'd been cursed to perish in flames.

Axe-face grinned with broken yellow teeth as they brought her closer. His black eyes flashed. His presence made her skin prickle. His malignant aura was so strong it felt like standing face first against a wall of needles.

The man's smile faded as they pushed her close. His voice rasped like crunching glass. "Kergatha?" He grabbed her by the back of the neck and pulled. His breath smelled like spoiled milk and it sent a shudder through her. He relaxed. "Ah no, but you look much like her." He laughed. "I met a woman who looked like you. Had your spirit. Killed several of my men like you have." He bunched his hand in her hair and she gritted her teeth against the pain. "Thought she could kill an Avatar. I taught her different. For her trouble, she was made to live as a supplicant. We took her children." He paused. "Unfortunately, you have nothing like that to give us. So we'll have to take what you do have." He let go and stepped back to size her up.

"I heard that you put three or four knives through the eye slits of some of my mercenaries. Once is hard to believe, but three or four times?"

Wren shrugged. "Give me a knife. I'll be glad to give you a demonstration."

He snorted. "You're good at climbing too. Though it's hard to credit, my men said they found you crawling on a ceiling. I've never heard of anyone being able to do that without claws or ropes."

Her voice cracked. "Fear makes a lot of things possible."

"It's a shame to waste all that ability."

Her chest grew tight. Please, Ishtar, give me an opening-- anything. I know I've been bad, but not as bad as this. Each of the two rakes holding her shoulders and wrists was twice her weight. The third stood behind.

"All right, spider-girl, where is Desiray?"

"My name is Wren. If I knew where she was, it would be our rakes holding you."

The hawk-faced man on the right struck her across the face.

Wren felt the burn and struggled, but their grip stayed solid.

"Wren?" The priest nodded. "That explains it. My Brethren source warned me about you. You're skilled enough to have a master's warrant yourself. Surely, you don't have any loyalty to that bitch who's kept you submerged in the ranks. What does it matter now anyway? Tell us where she is. Save yourself some pain."

Save me pain. What a colossal lie. She knew better than that. "I wish I knew, so she'd rip your Ishtar-damned face off!"

The right man clubbed her in the side of the head again. The ringing in her ears continued as Axe-face frowned.

"Girl, you should learn some respect." He shrugged his dark cloak off. "I let my men play with you, but the best was saved for last. You're such a pretty little flower. I can't waste a perfect opportunity."

He moved closer.

Have to try.

The rakes held her solidly enough that she could kick the man behind. Both heels crashed low on his sternum. Wren kicked forward and caught the master underneath the chin. She lunged underneath the right man's swing and round-kicked him in back of the knee. Her right arm came loose as he fell.

She felt a flash of pain as a fist clipped her jaw. Wren ducked another punch and brought a ridge-hand to the left man's throat. He staggered back gasping. Wren leaped and came down with both knees on the belly of the right hand man. He groaned, arms groping without focus. Wren cracked him between the eyes with her elbow, then again.

Steel hissed through the air. She twisted. A slash of burning cut across her breast. Roll, sidestep, another hiss and a stripe of agony. The master stalked forward grinning, his yellow teeth bloody.

He growled like animal.

She feinted side-to-side as he slashed. A hand grabbed her ankle. Wren felt a flash of fear as the priest's dagger came in. Steel kissed bone and separated flesh. She cried out and slammed onto the floor, clutching her side.

She gasped, flopping like a fish on a deck. Her limbs refused to function through the torment.

"Does that hurt? Good." He turned the man who she'd kicked. "Are you all right?"

The man wheezed and nodded.

The master thrust his dagger into the rake's eye. The man shrieked and convulsed on the floor.

"Worthless trash," he stepped forward and knotted his hand in her hair. The touch of his fingers burned like fire. "We didn't finish our discussion."

Wren could only wail as he dragged her down the corridor. He stopped after ten paces and stood over her.

"You shall make a good handmaiden to Set." He leered and spat a wad of bloody phlegm on her chest. "I'm sure he will find your soul as tasty as I will your body."

Move, move! Her heart pounded.

He sheathed his dagger and unfastened his breeches.

No. Blood throbbed in her temples like the clap of a church bell.

Her legs refused to move. She tried to peel her arm away from the gash in her side. The blinded Cultist continued to scream.

I'm going to die. Explosions went off behind her eyes.

The master crouched to pin her legs.

A blast of energy surged through her. She yelled and kicked. Her toe smashed into his groin. The priest howled and dropped.

She scrambled away on hands and knees. The priest lunged. Pain shrieked down her back as his nails raked gouges down her spine. The master coughed as Wren staggered upright and stumbled away.

He screamed curses as she ran. She turned the corner as a roar of thunder blasted down the corridor. A bolt of lightning exploded into the wall behind.

She kept running and didn't look back...

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Though many may argue it, Ishtar is a goddess of virtue. We wage war to defend the innocent, and consummate our passions to celebrate life. It is our love that gives us the strength to fight, and our war on evil that keeps us free to spread our rapture...
--Jharon Ko

Wren looked up into the wind-torn sky letting the freezing downpour run across her face. The clouds writhed, intertwining masses of black and gray briefly illuminated by flashes of lightning that boomed through the night like evil laughter. The cold wind clawed at her wounds like icy talons. The dilapidated buildings and peasant shanties around her looked like rat chewed doll houses.

She clutched the gash in her side. The pressure of her arm opened the scabs on her lacerated breasts. Her hair streamed across her face as she staggered through the storm.

She tried to orient and find a purposeful direction to go. If she continued randomly through the city's alleys, it wouldn't be long before the street people attacked to take advantage of her weakened condition. Soon the priest's best thieves would be on her trail.

Grahm is gone.

The pain in her side was tiny compared to the agony in that thought. Get out of here. Find Desiray. Grahm's last request. She remembered touching his lips. Kiss me. Last chance I'll get.

Grahm, I could have loved you. I simply didn't know how. Now, I won't get a chance. Anger flashed through her like a thunderbolt. This is Desiray's fault. Putting those damn toe-kissers in charge. Grahm died for nothing.

Find Desiray. All right, Grahm, I'll find the manipulating witch. We'll make the bastards pay for what they've done.

She summoned Desiray's illusive image. Little about the mistress was ever the same. Even the lineaments of her face varied day to day and she never wore the same color, style, or cut. The only constant in Desiray's appearance was her hair. Long bone-white strands that shone like a star on a dark night.

How do I find her? She usually appeared after dawn and left about noon. She simply appeared from nowhere, and later vanished.

Wren strained to clear her mind and identify the surroundings and place herself within the chaotic jumble of the city's twists and turns. On a roof she could quickly sight landmarks and know her location. It would also keep all but the most determined Dagger thieves away. The torrential rain and wind made the rooftops dangerous though. Poor footing or an unexpected gust could send her plummeting off a narrow beam or cornice. She stumbled down the street knowing she couldn't pull herself up onto a roof now even if she wanted to.

Her only hope lay in finding refuge. If any Brethren were to survive, they needed Desiray's power. The mistress had been instrumental in defeating the Dagger before. She could do so again.

Wren stopped and leaned against a wall. She examined her bloody hand in a flash of lightning. Rain splattered in the thick coating of blood, washing away the clotted mess. Shaking, she tore part of her tunic and pressed it against the wound.

A gong rang in the distance. She oriented in the direction of the sound and took another bearing. She knew the sound, the call to the street people to gather in Podar's warehouse away from the fury of the storm. That meant that this must be the crafter's quarter, south of the temple district.

Wren cleared her mind and forced the pain down. Hobbled by the wound and deep in what was now the Cult's territory, she couldn't afford a mistake.

Footsteps.

The storm drowned out everything but the closest noises.

Too open, no place to hide. She ran. She hadn't seen the angular statuary of Mosque street meaning she'd probably gone east from the guild. This should be Trencher's alley near the ancient ruins of the collapsed citadel. Nothing there but burned out warehouses and peasant nests though.

The twisted remains of the ancient citadel hove into view. It gave her the last reference point she needed. This was Beast Street, a meandering concourse that wove its way around the mangled stone corpse of Corwin's first stronghold.

She strained to find sight of her pursuers.

The storm made it impossible to see beyond thirty paces.

Steel whistled. She ducked. Backpedaling, she shook the hair out of her eyes to see the attacker. The wind-whipped rain kept blinding her. For an instant, the outline of a figure appeared in a flash of lightning.

Hearing another swing, Wren sprang. She hit the street hard. The storm stirred muck splattered in her face. The harsh cobbles rasped across her side. She jerked in agony as wounds tore open.

She rolled to her feet, more from fear than force of will. Her body had gone numb. Dancing sideways, she kept distance between them. His sword flicked out like the strike of a snake. She vaulted out of range. Without weapons or a place to hide, she couldn't fight back. She saw only his silhouette in the lightning flashes.

It took all her concentration to stay upright. She reeled toward the standing stones nearby. The man kept after her. Wren's back nudged the crumbling stone. She hoped more enemies weren't concealed among the rocks. Wren dodged around the wall. A shower of sparks erupted over her head.

Using the uneven terrain to advantage, she put every available obstacle between them. A piece of loose stone broke off in her hand. She gripped it and waited for him to lunge. She let fly when he came close. The sharp-edged fragment cracked him in the skull. Cursing, he dropped his weapon and gripped his head.

Another flash illuminated the area. Around her, the citadel's monolithic remains jutted from the earth like misshapen teeth. Slogging through ankle deep mud, she fled into the maze of piled debris.

She heard no pursuit as she headed toward the temple district where she might find healing. A cleric's magic could cure her wounds, provided she didn't bleed to death first. She'd lost her improvised compress in the scuffle.

Tearing more of her tunic to make a new bandage, she pressed it to the wound and moaned. The drenching rain did little to help her condition.

Her friend Jharon, would help her. The same man Grahm had gotten favors from in return for watching over her. She'd often persuaded Jharon to use his curing magic on her. Most clerics disapproved of thieves, but she'd made herself more acceptable by helping the temple when they were short of gold or a 'lost' item needed finding.

She and Jharon were still close. They never became serious because of temple politics. She was one of the Brethren's 'Bad Girls' and he the patriarch of Corwin's temple to Ishtar. The temple prefects wouldn't allow one of their order to fraternize with a commoner such as herself.

Wren floundered through the mire. The fear energy ebbed, leaving her drained.

Pounding rain and clinging muck dragged at her like a leaden weight. She tried to focus on anything that would summon more strength; some anger, hate, even fear. Her mind had become as numb as her body. She felt nothing, least of all anger. The energy wasn't there.

She stumbled on the slippery cobbles. Each step made the fire in her side burn brighter. Agony gnawed at her mobility.

The temples hunched like sleeping behemoths beneath the angry sky. The ornate marble spires and golden domes looked dingy in the squall. She fell against a wall as a gust nearly blew her over. Leaning into the gale, slushy water stung her face and deadened her lips.

At a lessening in the fierce blast, she made a pitiful charge down the alley toward the street intersection ahead.

Skittering to a stop, she fell. The pyramid-like structure of the temple of Isis stretched before her. Mother Isis would not help her tonight, but if she survived the night, she might be of use in the morning. Ishtar's temple lay a block away. Clambering to her feet, Wren limped toward it. The journey seemed to take forever.

At the steps, Wren glanced back as voices briefly broke over the sound of the storm. She clawed up the jam until she could stand, and pounded on the huge wooden valves.

The pace of the people's approach increased.

The door opened swiftly. An acolyte stood in the doorway. Dressed in a crisp blue surplice, his myopic eyes peered out from under a silly looking conical headpiece.

"Master Jharon." Wren grasped his robes with bloody hands. "Quickly!" A glance showed the men closing in.

The boy stared at her with wide eyes. He gulped when he saw the blood on her hands. His gaze moved to the gang stalking down the street. He shoved her back and slammed the door.

"No!" She pounded on the door. Hysteria burned through her as she put her back to the wood. She tried to force the door open but he'd bolted it on the inside. She kept her eyes fixed on the approaching group. There were at least six.

The first thief reached the bottom of the stairs. He shot her a feral grin as he locked eyes with her. His matted dark hair hung in his face. He looked like a rain bedraggled wolf approaching its prey.

Scanning for any means of escape and seeing none, Wren hammered on the door again.

She gasped and fell backward as it swung inward. A strong arm dragged her back and put her in the grasp of an unseen accomplice.

"The rats will not feast tonight." She recognized Jharon's distinctive baritone. "Scurry back to your hole, craven."

"Give us the woman," the wolf growled. "The Dagger rule Guildhall now. Her life is ours."

"She is within the temple precincts, and under our protection."

"Then we shall take her." Wolf glanced back to his comrades who looked uneasily at one another.

Jharon advanced to the steps. His hand drifted to the haft of a flanged mace hanging from his side. "The goddess teaches us to love all her children," he boomed. "Still, you must never forget, Ishtar is also a goddess of war!" Jharon punctuated his statement by drawing his mace and clubbing the thief before he could dodge. Head split clean, the rogue lay still.

"Now! Shall Ishtar smite thee, or shall you move on?"

The thieves of the Cult took no time in debate, fleeing back into the night as fast as they had appeared.

Jharon returned and closed the door. "My poor little Wren." He shrugged off his soaked tunic. "Ishtar must be angry with you indeed." His hand caressed her cheek gently. "Quickly, clean and dress her wounds, and fetch me more robes. Ishtar shall not claim her just yet."

His words grew fuzzy. The light in the hall faded as she felt herself lifted. She recalled the first few jarring steps as they moved deeper into the bowels of Ishtar's domain, but from then sight and memory quickly dwindled.

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Try as we might, we can rarely escape our fate. Still, some judicious footwork can stave it off for a time...
--Jharon Ko

Wren opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling. The well-furnished bed chamber with its marble stonework, fluted ceilings, and flickering candelabras looked unfamiliar. Coverlets of satin and silk had been pulled up to cover her body. The agony of her wounds now felt like a dull ache on her breast and side.

It told Wren one thing and it made her shudder. The flight from Brethren hall had not been a nightmare. Her chest tightened. Grahm, Vulcindra, Tarmagal and Ishtar only knew how many others--

Dead.

She'd survived. At the moment, it seemed no blessing. Cultists now occupied the place she called home. The man she called friend and companion fallen to poison. She owned nothing now but the clothes on her back. Everything she owned of value still sat in a cubby at the Guild.

Wren felt tears trickle down her cheeks in streaks of burning that made her vision go blurry. What did she have left? Revenge? That seemed so petty now. Nothing meant anything anymore. Even if she found Desiray and saved a few lives, their existences would likely be as crushed as hers. The Brethren were shattered.

Wren sat up and pushed the covers back. The clerics had dressed her in a blue shift. The rod-and-hand sigil of Ishtar was prominent over the left breast, the garment probably belonged to one of the priestesses. Taking breaths, she tried to quell the tears. Jharon's magic could not alleviate the pain of the cruel blow dealt to her and the Brethren. She pulled up the hem of the nightgown and examined her side. Red discolorations marked where her wounds once were. She was well enough to travel with some rest. Well enough to try to do what Grahm asked of her. What then?

It didn't matter.

She looked around the room. The priestess to whom these chambers belonged obviously lived very well. The surroundings were anything but austere.

The candles didn't look burned much so she probably hadn't been unconscious for long. Had the Dagger given up or would they keep after her? Jharon turned away a few, but those would return and tell the others where she'd gone. She'd angered that priest of Set mightily, no telling what lengths he might go to.

She heard footsteps, and snatched up the only weapon in sight, a long hairpin that lay on the bed-table.

Jharon entered the room and stopped, obviously surprised to see her armed. "Still jittery I see." He shook his head, dusky features tight. Jharon stood well over eighteen hands tall, equal parts warrior, diplomat, and academic. He needed to be big to fill all those roles at the same time; to have a fighting man's strength, the soothing tones of a persuader, and the penetrating insightful eyes of a scholar. He possessed more than one facet, that's what attracted her to him when they first met. That and he didn't condemn her for associating with the guild.

He wore a black tunic and kilt rather than a temple surplice. His long hair lay in a braid over one shoulder. He'd come as a friend and not as a church official.

She put the pin down. It made an inordinately loud clatter on the wood. "I--" Her voice quavered. "I've been through a lot."

Jharon came and sat on the bed. He put his arm around her shoulders. "You've been crying."

Wren nodded. Could she tell him? She'd only begun to force the memories down, to try to insulate herself from them.

"Out on the steps, that rogue said something about the Dagger taking over Guildhall. Have the Brethren fallen?"

She swallowed. "Found a secret way in. Desiray was gone, Vulcindra didn't know what she was doing. Damn, I tried to get them organized to make an orderly defense. It was a rout--I got captured..." Her voice cracked. "I--" She couldn't force herself to continue.

"Wren, where's Grahm?"

It hit her like a stab in the chest. She only shook her head. The words wouldn't come; not out loud.

Jharon's face went stony. He hugged her tight. The gesture was like an affirmation of the truth. Grahm was gone. The pain and fear she'd been trying to hold back broke loose in a torrent of sobs. She'd lived a rogue's life, but she never stole from anyone who couldn't afford it, nor hurt anyone who wasn't set on killing her first. Was this retribution for her soiled existence?

Grahm gave his life trying to save her, trying to protect the only way of life they knew.

So unfair.

Jharon embraced her, running his fingers through her hair and talking in a soothing voice. She wasn't aware of the words, only that he was there and holding her.

Wren gazed up into a night-time panorama of swirling colors. She stood at the brink of a cliff overlooking a dark ocean. Breakers of liquid ebony crashed on a shore that sparkled like crushed gems. As the waves crested she saw stars shining through from their undersides. The smell of flowers and scentwood drifted on a breeze that eddied like the currents of a mountain stream.

I died, didn't I?

"No, Silly, I did."

She turned. As she did so, she felt the ripple of clinging fabric. She wore silken robes that winked and sparkled.

"Nice dress."

"Grahm?"

She looked up to see him standing on a rock above, dressed in his usual green leathers and black boots. The breeze blew the strands of blond hair out of his eyes. He smiled.

"Grahm?" Her heart fluttered and her chest grew tight.

"Just striking a pose for old time's sake," he said. "Memories being more pristine than reality and all that." He stepped onto the rock next to her.

Wren took the dress in her hand. It felt like woven butterfly wings. She put her arms around him. He felt warm and solid, his heart strong and steady in his chest.

"How?"

Grahm put his hands on her cheeks. "You're asking me? It's your dream." He glanced around. "Ever see any place like this outside of a dream?"

She looked around. "No--"

"I commend your imagination though."

"Grahm, what's going on?!"

He sighed. "Leave it to you to spoil a moment." Reaching out, he plucked a flower from the air. He smelled it for a moment before tossing it up. The bloom disintegrated into a sparkling dust that drifted away on the breeze. "We're in your head."

"What?"

Grahm frowned. "Give me a chance. I'm not used to being dead."

"But you're alive!"

He shook his head. "Figuratively." He paused. "Well, maybe more than that if I accomplish my mission."

"Mission?"

"My little Myrmigyne, a death in the family and she's reduced to babbling. Steady yourself. Take a breath."

She closed her eyes. Took a breath. Then opened them. Grahm remained there, hands on her shoulders, dark eyes glinting. He grinned.

"From the beginning. Some bastard cultist caught me in the back with some Karagal. I expired. You tried to escape. They caught and questioned you, then you escaped to Ishtar's precincts. Jharon beat the Hades out of the Dagger thief stupid enough to try him. He put your body back together, and here we are."

"And?"

Grahm shrugged. "Here I am."

"To put my mind back together I suppose?"

"You have to admit one doesn't work too well without the other." He took her hand and pulled her up the rocks. "Come on, I want to see what else you conjured up."

They floated along the granite face before drifting over the edge and onto the hem of meadow bordering a forest of whitebark and needleleaf. A rocky brook gurgled nearby where a couple of longhorn warily lapped at the water.

"I didn't know the inside of your head was so pastoral."

Wren stared around. "Neither did I."

"Look Wren, we have to do each other a favor."

She squeezed his hand. If this was a dream, she could live it for a while longer.

He put his other hand on hers. "I'm gone. Let me rest."

"I don't understand."

"It's difficult." His brow knit as he tried to focus. "You're different from other people. For someone else, I would only be a memory, a shadow, a spirit drifting up to Asgard. Your mind is stronger--" his voice trailed off. "You're still carrying me with you."

"Huh?"

He shook her. "Not literally. My essence, what made me Grahm and not some other street-green. That's why she made a deal with me."

"Who?"

"Do we need to take another breath?"

Wren felt a cold tingle. Why would he be so evasive?

"I know it sounds stupid, but get on with things. If you get back on track, I might be able to catch up with you later."

"I don't--"

"Wren, trust me," his hands squeezed until her arms hurt. "The best thing you can do for me is to focus ahead. Kill those bastard Dagger if it suits you. Don't look back. Look for me down the road."

"This is silly. I can't--"

He interrupted. "Wren," his eyes narrowed. "Yes, you can. I made a deal. Don't make me the fool. Give me a chance to live."

"You wouldn't make a deal with--" she wouldn't say the word.

"Hadespawn? I think not. Consider her a concerned citizen."

"Of where?"

"Must you know everything? Do you want me to live or not?"

"Yes." Wren let out a breath. "What should I do though?"

"Survive, be free--grow."

She scowled. "Grow?"

Grahm chuckled. "Figure of speech."

"That's it?"

"Nothing more." He looked up then back to her eyes. "Well, one other thing."

"What's that?"

"Kiss me. It'll have to last me a while."

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My whole life I've felt alone, isolated by my origins, my sex, and even my intellect. I fit in by forgetting where I came from, covering up my feminity, and playing dumb. Not the best solution, but it worked. I cherished the times I could be myself... whoever that is.
--Wren

The noontime bell was ringing. Wren roused with a start, throwing off the covers and snatching for the dagger that usually lay under her pillow. Something metallic banged between her breasts. The heat of it made her flinch. Her heart thudded as she searched for the intruder.

She focused on a priestess who'd frozen in the doorway in response to her sudden movement. Wren let out a breath, the tightness in her chest loosening as clarity came and she grew more awake.

"Sorry, I'm still tense from last night," she said rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Her free hand went the metallic object between her breasts. Blinking, she examined the small gold talisman. A symbol of a bird with its wings upraised.

A phoenix.

The image brought back the dream in a flash. At this moment, it felt more real than the massacre at the guild. Grahm, alive? The thought brought a smile to her face. Only, you'd be sneaky enough to sidestep death. She closed her eyes then opened them. 'Survive, be free, grow--'

A realization made her skin prickle. The visit with Grahm must have worked a magic on her mind. The horror of the massacre had faded. The blood, the screaming, it all seemed dream-like now. Even the grim memory of Grahm's trembling body as he shuddered and went still. It was as if something had reached into her mind and culled out the hurt.

Grahm had somehow survived. She could take solace in that. The best thing you can do for me is to focus ahead. Kill those bastard Dagger if it suits you. Don't look back. Look for me down the road.

She gripped the phoenix tighter and felt a tingle spread up her arm and into her chest. Kill those bastard Dagger if it suits you.

It suited her fine. They'd taken Grahm away. Destroyed her home. Killed her friends. The Dagger would be sorry they ever returned to Corwin or crossed the Brethren. She'd find Desiray and make her help, even if she needed to drag the mistress back to Corwin by the ear.

Wren looked up and saw that the priestess still stood in the doorway eying her as though she were a crazy person. Wren glanced down at the phoenix emblem again. For all she knew, a crazy person might be exactly what the priestess was looking at.

No point in trying to explain it. "Where's Jharon?" Wren asked.

The woman jerked at the sudden break in the silence. She put a hand to her chest as if to keep her heart from flying away. "Master Jharon is leading mass, he will meet you later. He instructed me to bring these to you." She cautiously approached the bedside and laid a black bundle down and unwrapped it. As she worked at the leathern knots Wren took closer note of her. The two of them were similar, from their modest statures to the blonde hair crowning their heads.

The priestess' eyes were a deep blue, and she frowned when she caught Wren staring. Unrolling the bundle revealed a pair of black doeskin breeches and tunic, a leather belt and climbing moccasins. A sheathed short-sword and a pair of daggers lay at the center.

"Perfect!" Wren said. They were from one of her clothes stashes. Jharon knew more about her than she'd thought.

The priestess gave her a disparaging look as she examined the clothing, and started to remove the gown.

She stopped. "Is there something wrong?"

"Of course. You're filthy. You should bathe first."

"Pardon me. I didn't know a bath was available."

"Look at what you've done to that gown."

Feeling guilty, she inspected herself. "These must be yours then."

The corner of the priestess' mouth twitched. "Yes."

Wren grinned. It felt wrong to be able to smile so soon after the tragedy. She didn't know whether she should be concerned or not. "Lead me to a bath. I'll gladly clean up and besmirch your attire no longer."

"Excuse," the woman replied, chagrined. "I did not mean to be so rude. Please, follow me."

Wren followed the woman out of the room and down the long corridors of Ishtar's precincts. Eddies of incense-laden smoke curled through the air. Weapons adorned the polished-stone walls, badges of honor captured in campaigns when the kingdoms were still young. Long tapestries of battle scenes were interspersed with romantic renderings of varying levels of intensity.

Wren stopped and stared at a particularly vivid scene involving several men and women sexually intertwined. When the priestess stopped and looked back, she felt the urge to chuckle.

"Perhaps I've been mistaken about you people." She glanced from the picture to the dame and smiled suggestively. "If this is what mass is like, it can't be all that bad. Ishtar certainly has an interesting way of bringing her congregations closer together."

The woman looked at the picture and flushed.

"Some people interpret Ishtar's word differently," she replied in a tight voice. She turned abruptly and continued down the hall.

"That's some interpretation," Wren murmured as she followed, her gaze lingering on the picture.

The temple bath area was surrounded by a colonnade and looked more like a pond than the tiny wooden basins she was accustomed to. Floral arrangements, statuary, and tile frescos surrounded a pool of clear water several paces across.

Wren simply stared. It looked more like a work of art than a place people bathed. She never realized how well the servants of Ishtar lived. The whole stigma of the clergy's implied poverty was an act. They acted poor outside, but here in the precincts they lived like kings and queens. It made her regret choosing not to accept the temple appeals. Instead, she spent her childhood scrabbling for coppers and eating what she could beg for.

"Well?" the priestess asked, hands on hips.

Wren met her gaze. "You expect me to wash--in there?"

The dame sighed. "Yes. Use those steps over by the two statues. I will have towels and oils sent."

She started forward. This would be the most extravagant bath she'd ever experienced. In the later stages of her career as an elder of the guild, she usually had enough gold to buy conveniences. Once she could afford it, she rarely went more than a few days without a trip to the bath house or to the perfumist. Even after the big heists, she never went in for the lavish expenses. She gave most of it away, saving enough to keep her in good clothes and food until the next mission. Now that the cult had gutted the guild, she was poor again. Best to take advantage of this opportunity. It would have to last her.

It took the better part of a bell to scrub the blood and dirt from her body. She stepped from the water to towel off, eager to be back in her leathers.

She fingered the phoenix symbol. Though Grahm had touched her mind to free her of the weight of Brethren's death, if she were to avenge them she would be facing it all again. What if the despair all came back?

Wren shuddered. Still, she had to try to help those who might still be alive. They didn't deserve to die, not the way the Dagger would kill them. She strapped on the sword and knives, the sensation of being armed made her feel whole again. The Dagger men had managed to strip away her dignity, make her helpless. This time they did not have the advantage of surprise. If she returned with the help needed, the Dagger guild would pay for every Brethren life they'd taken.

She made a promise to herself. If I get a chance, I'm going to kick that black-eyed bastard hard enough put his manhood in the next kingdom.

The priestess returned as Wren was finishing her hair and examining herself in a mirror built into one of the columns. She picked up the nightgown she'd left folded by the steps and gave it to the priestess.

The woman took it somewhat stiffly, body growing taut as she met Wren's gaze. The dame's features hardened, deep blue eyes sparking. Her lips drew back in a snarl.

"What's wrong?" Wren asked moving her hand to the hilt of a dagger.

The priestess' face contorted as though she were in pain. The woman shuddered and tossed the gown to the floor. She shook her head as if casting off the effects of a spell.

"Great evil," she looked at the garment lying on the floor as if it were a snake ready to bite. "It has tried to force itself on you. I feel its touch in this gown." Her scared eyes locked on Wren's and she put a shaking hand on her shoulder. "You will face this creature again." A whisper. "It is not a man, it is--" She cut herself off and fled down the corridor.

"Wait!" Wren called. She glanced down at the gown and then at the priestess' retreating back. She started to chase after her but stopped. She looked again at the gown. The cloth had turned black, tendrils of smoke drifted up from smoldering fabric. The phoenix around her neck grew cold.

Wren wandered through the precincts without purpose until she could get someone to stop long enough to give her directions. Eventually, an acolyte showed her to Jharon's study where she could wait until he finished mass.

Gold paneling and shelves of books lined the walls. Jharon had always been quite diversified in his interests. While many of the texts covered the precepts of war, she saw others on diplomacy, romance, map atlases, cooking primers, treatises on anatomy and other varied subjects.

She wandered around examining little statues, and paintings of various sea and forest scenes; letting her mind idle, trying not to contemplate the meaning of the priestess' outburst.

My friends are gone. What will I do after the Dagger are taken care of?

Wren heard the second afternoon bell before Jharon entered, dressed in his blue surplice. She gave him a hug.

"Thanks for staying with me last night."

His angular features were solemn. "That's what friends are for. You've had a remarkable recovery considering what those heathens put you through. I expected you to be down for weeks."

Wren decided not to tell him about Grahm. Her hand crept to the phoenix symbol. "Ishtar spoke to me in my dreams. She told me to let the dead rest, and that the living must go on."

He nodded. "Words more true could not be uttered."

She swallowed. "There was one problem though."

Jharon raised an eyebrow. "Explain."

Wren recounted the incident with the priestess.

He frowned. "I felt great evil in your wounds, I did not realize its magnitude. Dame Kirikos is very sensitive. You've been touched by potent evil and its aura still clings to you." He took a breath and ran a hand through her hair. His dark eyes appeared troubled. "This priest who tried to rape you could be an avatar."

"I don't care what he is. There are Brethren who will be sacrificed if I don't get Desiray to help."

"How will you find her? I hear she's been missing for a while now."

"I'll go to Ivaneth. I've heard her speak of the wizard there. He should be able to help me locate her."

"Ivaneth is a thousand leagues to the East."

"Sovereign Dauntless of Isis owes the guild favors. He can send me with magic."

"What if Desiray's dead, Wren? They might have killed her first. Did that ever occur to you?" His hand tightened on her shoulder.

She shook her head. "They were grilling me about her whereabouts. If they killed her first, they wouldn't be torturing me to find that out now would they?" Taking his hand off her shoulder, Wren patted it and smiled. "I can take care of myself. I have to try. They're my friends."

Jharon sighed and closed his eyes with a frown. "You will be the death of me."

"I'm fond of you too." She laughed. "We will speak again, I promise."

Jharon nodded, acquiescing hesitantly. "My prayers go with you little bird. I hope they are enough."

"They will be."

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When I was around nine, I climbed the Corwin perimeter wall. I don't remember why, probably just being a kid, and just the fact that I could. Standing on one of the merlons around thirty paces above the ocean I was leaning into the wind. I scared one of the guards so bad he almost wet himself...
--Wren

Wren closed the temple doors behind her with a click. She stood on the marble steps and looked up at the afternoon sun shining bright in a sky dappled with dark clouds. A swirling ocean breeze brought the odors of salt, dried kelp, and cook smoke. The smells coupled with Jharon's warning made her stomach churn. The clerics were usually right. What if the priest leading the Dagger guild was an avatar; a mortal hosting the energies of a god? The touch of the priest had burned like fire and being near him caused pain. Is that what a god's power felt like? The thought made her chest tighten. How did mortals fight an Avatar?

She turned her mind to the task at hand. Find Desiray. It was the mistress' guild and her responsibility to get rid of him, even if he was an avatar. Wren had accepted the lesser task of tracking her down and getting the white-haired lady back to Corwin city.

Sanctum Street was a hive of bustling people slogging through the mud created last night. Carts creaked by, splashing through ankle deep puddles. Street priests sermonized on corners to small gatherings of poor people who could not afford the donations required in the precincts.

Wren searched for Dagger thieves, knowing some would be waiting. With a moment's search, she found two. They stood behind a stationary cart peering across the street at her. One was tall, the other short.

She hopped off the steps and jogged along the statue-studded front of the temple to Ishtar. Columns carved into the aspects of the goddess of love and war thrust weapons and held out embracing arms overhead. The two men tripped over themselves in their haste to get after her.

A voice called to her from behind. "Wren! Wait!"

She glanced to the two thieves who were looking for an opening in the constant stream of carts and people moving down both sides of the busy lane. Jharon, stood on the temple steps in his city clothes, hair tied back and waving a walking staff.

"Come on!" Wren called to him. "Hurry!" She checked the thieves. They knew she'd seen them. One man was tall and reedy, his hooked features and knock-kneed gait made him look like scarecrow. The smaller man was paunchy, his flat head and massive shoulders all bunched together. His hairy arms and blocky hands looked like they belonged on a man two sizes larger.

He has no neck. He probably uproots trees for a living in the off season. Hurry, Jharon, get here.

She couldn't afford a fight during the day. No telling how many Dagger thieves might be within hearing. The best Dagger guilders were likely recuperating from a night spent in the storm. These were probably neophytes. Dark guild policy often ruled that greens were expendable. If she fought now, there'd be corpses everywhere. She bloodied her hands enough on the night of the raid. She took more lives in the first moments of that battle than she had in her entire life. The memory of it sickened her.

The taller of the two thieves darted between some carts causing the horses to rear and paw the air. Winnies, angry shouts, and curses shot down the lane.

"I'm coming with you," Jharon said sliding to a stop.

"We can't talk here," she told him pointing at the ruckus in the street. "This way. Run."

She grabbed Jharon's arm and plunged down the street. This district consisted mostly of the huge temple complexes with shops and homes jammed into the between places. Walls were stone and rarely less than two stories high. These were the best conditions for her, but not when she had a beefy tag-along like Jharon.

A glance back showed the chunky Dagger thief had forced his way through the tangle of bodies and was sprinting after them. The short-legged thug was made for power and not speed, and the gap between them widened as Jharon leaned into the run with her.

"Through here," she ordered, turning into an alley.

Jharon followed her into garbage-strewn space between two shops. The crumbling brick walls were bowed with age, and laundry hung from lines strung from second story windows across the gap overhead. Their footsteps echoed as they dodged around drunken derelicts and scavenging cats.

"Wren!" Jharon cried, catching her arm. "This is a dead end! There's no way--"

She skittered to a stop. Rotting crates and barrels were shattered at the base of a support wall blocking the end of the lane.

Did she have time or would they have to stand and fight?

"Get ready," she said.

"What--?"

Wren plunged for the wall. An upended barrel leaned against the brick on the right. She leaped, hit the top of the cracked wood and kicked off again, reaching for as much height as she could get. She slammed into the wall with a stinging thud. The force all but knocked the wind from her. The instant she hit she spread her fingers and dug in her toes. At first she fell, then a familiar buzz started in the back of her skull and shot through her limbs.

Her fingers and toes took hold. Heart thundering, she clawed her way up, hands and feet humming with each new purchase. A short breath later she reached the narrow top.

She heard running feet. "Quick! Toss up the staff."

Jharon looked like a black-horn caught in the glare of a hunter's lantern.

"Move!" she ordered.

He threw the pole. She caught it, took a grip on the wall and swung it down. Jharon snatched for the end and missed; a half pace short.

"Jump! I'll hold it."

He looked back and saw the two men. "I'm too heavy."

"Do it!"

A ripple went through Jharon's burly frame. Wren braced herself. All that beautiful muscle would be heavy indeed.

He struck the end of the staff like a galloping horse hitting the end of its tether. The force wrenched her down, smashing her against the brick in a rasp of pain. Jharon's weight dragged her over the edge. The staff started to slip as he began a fast hand-over-hand climb.

The tingle in the back her head became an angry buzz. The staff locked in her palm and her counterbalancing hand clamped into the far side of the wall. Her shoulder ached with each vibration of the pole on Jharon's upward ascent.

"Hurry!" she gritted out.

She let go of the pole as Jharon grabbed her forearm. The wood clattered at the feet of the two thieves who slammed to a stop at the alley end. Jharon grabbed the wall edge and swung up as the scarecrow drew his knife.

Wren broke loose a pea-sized piece of crumbling brick and let fly as the thief drew back to throw. The fragment scored in his right eye.

The man yelped, dropping the knife to clutch his face. Jharon dropped off the far side of the wall. She swung over, hung, then dropped.

They stood in the shadows on the far side breathing heavily and listening to the invectives growled by the injured man.

Jharon put his arm around her. "Are you all right?"

She rubbed her shoulder, feeling the burn of strained muscles. "Think so. Should have said you wanted to come when we were in your office."

"Didn't know it," he huffed. He glanced up at the wall. "That's six paces up. How did you--?"

She put a hand over his mouth. The thief had stopped cursing. "They're probably going around. They'll have help if they find us again."

Wren led him down a darkened lane that was a twin of the one they entered. This exited onto a lesser traveled street.

They were six blocks from the temple of Isis. If they took the direct route, the Dagger thieves would sight them. She wished she could use the rooftops. They'd never get close to her there.

"This way," she told him. "Hunch down, don't keep your back so straight. You walk like a bloody nobleman."

"I'm a priest of Ishtar!" he said with an indignant tone.

"If you want to walk with me; you're a peasant. Shuffle your feet. Act trod on."

Jharon growled, but complied. Keeping an eye out for Dagger spies she followed a circuitous route, keeping in the cover of crowds and trying not to appear too watchful.

When they had turned onto a little traveled back street Jharon took a breath and ran a hand through his dark hair. "You going to tell me how you climbed that wall?"

She shrugged. "Just did. That's all."

Jharon's brow furrowed and he narrowed his dark eyes. "Only a mage could have done that; straight up with no hand holds."

"Always been able to do it. I start up a wall, I feel this buzz in my head, and up I go." She frowned, not sure she was comfortable sharing this with him. "When I feel that tingle, I can hold onto something like it's a part of me. Weird talent, isn't it?"

"Quite useful in your line of work I imagine."

She nodded. "When I was little I used to climb up under gables to get out of the rain. I'd hang there in my sleep."

"Like a bat?" he asked, obviously incredulous.

"No!" Wren smacked his arm. "Hugging the wood. Never understood how, just sensed I could."

He stopped and studied her. A dog barked from a nearby alley. A gull cried. "You never mentioned it before."

She met his gaze. "It's not something that comes up in conversations, 'oh, by the way, I stick to walls.'"

Jharon smiled. "You have a point." He rubbed his chin and started down the street again. "I knew you were good at throwing. That pebble you planted in that thug's eye was like one of your trick dart shots. Nobody in town will run a gamble on darts with you anymore."

"Price of fame I guess." She sighed and felt a tremor go through her. Now that the excitement had died down, her mind had returned to the thoughts that troubled her on the temple steps. "Damn it, what if you're right and that bastard priest who raided the guild is an avatar?"

Jharon blinked, apparently surprised by the change in subject. "Then the problem is bigger than your guild. Other people will have to assist."

"Just like that?"

He put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. "The precincts of Ishtar could hardly ignore an avatar of Set being on their doorstep." He smiled. "We'd simply have to do something."

How she loved that smile, damn temple politics. She laced her fingers in his. "Thanks."

"It's the duty of a good friend."

They walked for a while in silence. She stayed wary for any Dagger members who might be hunting for them. This next loop around the block would bring them to the temple of Isis. The buildings grew steadily better built and kept, and the numbers of people more frequent. A street priest could be heard above the background hum, his voice rising sharply to extol dogmatic verse.

"Since the temple forced us apart we haven't talked much." She heard the way he kept his voice level. He had been extremely displeased with the decision of the temple elders. "Have you no other friends outside the guild that might help? Whatever became of that dancer friend who roomed with you? I heard she had royal connections. Maybe you could get the palace guard to oust the Dagger."

"Ziedra?" Wren sighed. "She let her favor in court go to her head. She fled town a few summers ago with the Princess' headsmen chasing her. Silly girl got involved with the Baron, and as I predicted, the moment there was any contention he forgot he even knew her."

"That's unfortunate."

"Very." Wren sighed. "She was one of the best friends I ever had." She looked at their clasped hands. "So are you actually. So, how is it that a temple patriarch can fly out the door on a whim?"

Jharon's features tightened. "He can't."

"What is this?" She squeezed his hand. "You stretching my arm for nothing?"

"Didn't plan it that way. Thought I'd help at the temple of Isis. I know some of the priests there."

Wren smiled. "All help is appreciated."

A tinker's wagon drawn by a pair of fat marsh-horns rattled by, pots and pans clanging. A half-dozen laughing children chased after it.

"I have a question for you now." He reached out and pulled the phoenix loose from its confines in the neck of her jerkin. His face had turned serious. "Where did that come from? You didn't have it when you came to the temple. It's not the Dame's."

She wrapped her hand around the emblem. The metal grew warm. "I told you Ishtar spoke to me. This is a sign."

"It's not one of her ward signs, Wren. It came to you in your sleep?"

Wren opened her hand and let the gold bird emblem glint in the light. Two tiny ruby eyes seemed to wink at her. "Yes."

"There was no vision accompanying it?" He took the metal and examined it close.

"Well, yes, but--" Her chest felt tight. "It's private."

"It was Grahm, wasn't it?"

His words made a chill race through her. "How--?"

Jharon drew a breath. "Spirits. It feels heavy with life. It only makes sense that your--friend--would linger near you." He turned the gold metal over in his hands. His brow furrowed. "There's other omens on this metal as well."

He let go of the necklace, turned and started walking.

Surprised by his abruptness, she let him get several steps away before running to catch up. "What's the matter? What omens?"

Jharon didn't look at her. "That you will be involved in the matters of gods."

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Temples always made me uneasy, even though a patriarch was my friend. In my everyday life, I rarely thought about gods. Imagine my surprise when I learned they were thinking about me. I sure wish they wouldn't...
--Wren

Wren walked down the cobbled street conscious of everything around her, but especially mindful of the silence that surrounded Jharon. He seemed in pain. The priest walked stiff-legged, his shoulders slumped and his gaze on the paves.

His last words echoed in her head. You will be involved in the matters of gods. Jharon said it as though he quoted dogma from Ishtar's scriptures. He acted as if he'd signed an edict for her execution. Gods. The word repeated in her mind like the tolling of a doom bell. Gods. It made her cold inside.

She clutched the gold emblem around her neck. What had Grahm and this phoenix gotten her into? She knew what Jharon must be thinking. 'The matters of gods'. To him, it probably meant an avatar waited back at the Brethren guild. It didn't matter. She had to get to Desiray and save as many of the guild members as she could. No-one deserved the fate they would receive at the hands of Set's followers. Sacrifice was the least of the torments they would face.

Wren stayed alert for Dagger thieves, but it appeared her choice of streets had been wise. She walked along acutely aware of the distance between her and Jharon. She sniffed the damp salty breeze. The clamor of pedestrians, merchants, and street priests was a buzz in the background.

The out-of-plumb back alley buildings appeared to lean over them. Poorly squared windows covered in black crepe looked like empty eye sockets. To the East, the spires, minarets, and towers of the greater temples glinted in the noon sun. Farther on, the land rose toward citadel hill, the streets, canals, and quarter walls forming concentric circles around the sprawling green structures of Corwin's seat of power.

It occurred to her how hostile and alien the city seemed to her now that the Dagger were in possession of her home. She stepped back and took Jharon's hand. "Ishtar will protect me, won't she? You'll see to it, right?"

He looked at her fingers around his. The frown on his face slowly turned to a smile. "Personally," he said, and kissed her on the forehead.

They arrived in front of Isis' temple, unmolested. She stared at the huge, pyramid-shaped structure. Constructed of gold stone, it glittered in the light. Pillars lined the periphery of the huge structure. The gilt-work gates stood open, and a handful of clerics on the steps preached to a gathering of seekers who shuffled uneasily in the mud.

Wren climbed the stairs and spoke to a raven-haired priestess dressed in Isis' flowing white. "Is Sovereign Dauntless in the temple today?" she asked.

The priestess looked to Jharon and nodded. "The greeter can take you to him." She indicated inside the temple doors.

The entry hall stood empty except for the many statues depicting the goddess in her roles as mother and maiden, mage and law giver.

A bald dusky-skinned man entered from a side chamber. There didn't seem to be half enough man to fill his voluminous robes. The man's aquiline features lit up in an insincere smile. "How may I help you seekers?"

"Sovereign Dauntless," Jharon said.

The greeter's eyes widened as if recognizing Jharon. "Does the Sovereign expect you?"

Jharon folded his arms. His voice took on a commanding tone. "Tell him Patriarch Jharon of Ishtar is here."

The man straightened. "I will inform him directly." He hurried from the hall. Apparently, Jharon had influence even here in a rival temple.

While they waited, she studied the lavish displays. Gold and silver sparkled everywhere. Rich tapestries, paintings, and other art decorated the walls. The resources of the temple amazed her. She'd never looked at the cults as targets because Desiray harshly punished any of the Brethren who dared to rob a temple. She rubbed Jharon's arm. He looked down at her a smiled. She suspected that Desiray's reasons for protecting the cults might be similar to her own.

The greeter returned. "The Sovereign will see you."

He led them into a sizable chamber lined with books. Behind a large desk, a hawk-faced man sat studying an ancient tome. He appeared to be in his late twenties, his skin dusky like the greeter's, his black hair down to his shoulders. A white tunic and kilt revealed muscled arms and shoulders likely developed from martial training. Deep gray eyes shone from an angular face. Wren felt transparent to that gaze as if he could see all her secrets.

His rich voice sent a shiver down her spine. "Greetings." The voice of a trained mage always mesmerized her. Wizards spent years learning to inflect and enunciate with exacting precision. "Master Jharon." He looked to her. "The lady, I do not believe I've met."

"We haven't." She flashed him a smile. "I'm Wren, from the Brethren guild, here on behalf of Mistress Desiray."

Jharon leaned on the desk. "Sovereign, I believe Set may have an avatar here in the city, a priest who is leading the Dagger guild. The elders of the Brethren may all be dead except for Wren here. Mistress Desiray is missing somewhere abroad. Wren would like your help."

"An avatar, Patriarch. Are you sure?"

Jharon glanced at the phoenix emblem hanging from Wren's neck. "Fairly certain, yes."

The Sovereign's face turned stormy. "This is grave news. How can I help Ishtar and the Brethren?"

"The Wizard of Ivaneth deals with Desiray," Wren said. "I would like you to magically transport me there to find out if he can locate her. With Desiray's help, we might be able to defeat the Dagger."

The Sovereign rubbed his chin. "You think you can get in to see the wizard?"

"I'll find a way."

The Sovereign stared at her, then looked at Jharon. The two men obviously respected each other. There was an uncomfortable pause.

"Done. I owe the Brethren as Wren knows. I shall change robes, prepare my materials and be ready forthwith." He looked to Jharon. "You are not going?"

"No, responsibilities to my flock," he said with a resigned tone. He looked at her with longing in his eyes. Not only to be with her, she realized, but for the adventure it represented.

"Ah." The Sovereign nodded, apparently understanding.

He stepped around the desk and took her by the elbow. "Have you teleported before?"

Wren shook her head, she'd only heard it described.

"Calm your mind and body. The experience while brief, is unsettling."

Feeling uneasy, Wren nodded. She and Jharon waited in the hall while the Sovereign changed. The man returned shortly. He'd fastened his hair with a silver circlet and pulled it into a long tail. He now wore velvety gray ones.

He guided them to another room, empty save for a large silver pentagram inlaid in the floor. Smaller versions of the big symbol marked the walls and ceiling.

"I will put you as close to the Wizard's tower as I can." He positioned her in the pentagram's center facing the cardinal point.

Wren looked at Jharon. "I hate good-byes."

"So do I."

Jharon gave her a firm hug. Face hot, she gripped him hard and stood on tiptoe to kiss him.

"You'll see me again."

"I know." Jharon stepped back and stood behind the Sovereign.

Elation ran through her like a summer wind; a rush of excitement and trepidation. She'd cross half a continent in the blink of an eye. Shivers went up her spine.

The Sovereign began the rhythmic cadence of his spell. The chant sounded like a song that gradually grew in power. Light surrounded his body, concentrating in his swaying hands that now shimmered like suns. The pentagram glowed and the room hummed.

She saw the light reflected in Jharon's intent gaze. She waved to him. He answered with a clenched fist; the warrior's victory sign.

With a flick of his wrist, the Sovereign loosed the energy. It exploded around the pentagram, driving inward toward her chest in a blaze of light. For an instant, a crushing pressure hit her, but the sensation abruptly became one of falling. The room, the Sovereign and Jharon toppled away as if disappearing down a tunnel.

She felt acceleration. A blackness yawned around her pierced through by a multitude of colored lights. Her stomach knotted as her destination rushed at her. The threat of impact tightened every tendon and muscle, and she tried to scream.

Wren stopped in mid-yell, realizing a host of people were staring at her. Chest aching, she looked around. She stood in what appeared to be a lightly populated section of a crafts district. She hoped it was Ivaneth. Neat wood and brick buildings lined the street around her. Flower boxes and decorated paper windows threw pastel colors into the otherwise brown and white background.

The remnants of the magic dissipated around her like mist. She staggered as the after-affects of the teleportation hit her. Fighting for balance, she stumbled to a wall for support. Her lungs refused to work. Shooting pain lanced through her brain. She slid down the wall with a groan. The torture faded after several long breaths.

Leave it to a mage to understate something--'unsettling' indeed.

When she could breathe again, Wren sniffed the fresh air, a salty tang that made her nostrils burn. She looked up and saw sea birds wheeling overhead.

Ivaneth is a port city too. I must have made it.

"You all right?" asked a deep voice.

Wren glanced up into what was now the radiance of late afternoon. The hulk who'd inquired looked big enough to blot out the sun. Corded muscle stood out on his battle-scarred bare torso. A pair of vacant blue eyes looked out of a round face with high cheekbones and a blocky jaw.

Wren squinted in the brilliant light. "I'm fine."

He smiled. "Hello, Fine. I'm Kalibosh--Kalibosh Pitchbender. You need help up?" He extended a thick hand. "Dori says I should always try to help people."

She accepted, scanning the street. "Who's Dori?"

"My wife. She's smart. Always knows what to do."

"I bet she does."

"Pardon?"

"Nothing." Wren frowned. "You know how to get to the wizard's tower from here?"

He grinned like a little boy. "Go down this street here." He pointed. "Until it crosses, uh--" He scratched his head. "Oh yes, Cathedral Street. Follow Cathedral to the tower gates." He looked down and toed the ground.

"Ummm, do you know what a paper of Tirith-expairsis is? Dori'll get mad if I tell her I forgot. No one here knows."

"Oh, that's a writ to get someone--put in--jail." Wren stopped. She'd responded without thinking. Being a guilder, she knew that set of papers all too well. "What does your wife do?"

His voice took on a note of pride. "She's the King's master litigator."

"Oh." Litigators made her nervous, even relations of ones. "Well, Kalibosh, good day and thanks for the directions."

She headed away.

"Thanks to you!" he called after.

A likable man, if a bit dense. That happened to fighters who'd been hit in the head too often.

Ivaneth was smaller than Corwin, and the streets better kept. She saw few street folk, and merchants were everywhere. Dozens of stalls across the street teemed with humanity. As she walked, Wren realized she'd been looking at the wizard's tower without recognizing it. The structure dominated the view to the South. An immense spire of stone well over a hundred paces high. The street paralleled the curtain wall that girded the manse at the tower's base.

On Cathedral, Wren headed south toward the gates. So far everything was going well.

Focused on the tower, Wren only peripherally noticed the shops and stalls along the street. She heard a yell. Then a tavern door on her right exploded. She dodged, averting her face to protect her eyes. It felt as though a log had hit her. She sprawled underneath the weight, side and back stinging. White dots spun before her eyes. Gasping, she pushed at the object covering her.

The thing moved. Wren realized that the projectile had been a person. Face contorted in pain and smeared with blood, the fellow rolled to his knees. He focused on her for an instant, dark eyes filled with fear. A sound in the doorway made him jerk. Three struggling bodies had neared the threshold.

Shaking himself, he tried to rise and run.

"Beia, no!" said a deep female voice. "You'll get us in trouble sure!"

"Sister, desist!" said another.

The exchange came from two huge women, one with white hair, the other red. They ducked to keep from hitting the top of the door frame. The orders appeared directed at the smaller blonde woman that they struggled to restrain.

The one named Beia glared at the man on the ground near Wren. A star-shaped scar on her left cheek and a black lightning bolt tattoo on the other stood out the woman's reddened face. "Let go!" She growled. Long hair cascaded across her features as she tossed her head.

The groggy man managed to rise. He swayed like a tree in the wind, fear apparently paralyzing him. Wren recognized the shadowbolt tattoo; a sign of the blade-masters who judged in the grand tournaments. If that woman broke loose, he'd die before taking a step. Thank Ishtar it was the man Beia was mad at. Not her city, definitely not her fight. She couldn't help the man if she wanted to.

Beia broke loose from the red-haired woman. Her freed fist snapped through a piece of the door as she shook it.

Wren backed up, insides icy. Beia was strong.

"Damrosil!" She kicked the wall. Wood and stone exploded.

Wren retreated farther, still unable to rise. She dared not turn and run. Something else might hit her.

"Calm!" Damrosil snarled at Beia.

The man fled, holding his face together with his hands.

"He's getting away!" Beia cried.

"You'll let him," Damrosil said.

The smaller woman jerked loose with a final heave and punched the wall, scattering bits of stone across the walkway. Wren's heart did a dance in her chest. Beia's hand should have been pulp.

"Damn! You saw what he did!"

"Grabbed a handful and put his lips on you. You're even."

For Myrmigynes, they spoke the common language well.

"Calm, my sister," the red-haired one soothed.

The white-haired woman turned to Wren. "All right?"

Wren shook her head, not having the breath for words.

"He probably hit her going through the door."

Beia walked toward her. Wren's stomach tightened and she looked for a means of escape. Her body wouldn't move.

Anger still reddened the blonde woman's face. Her voice sounded tight. "Sister?" She put a hand on Wren's shoulder.

Her touch made Wren's skin prickle. Beia pulled her up. Wren coughed when she tried to take deeper breaths.

A thought rang in her mind.

Could this woman be another avatar?

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Myrmigynes--I never saw one until I met Beia. Trained to fight, trained to survive... the junglelands sisterhoods are home to some formidable women. Their manners could use some work though...
--Wren

Wren stared up at blonde Beia who stood flanked by her two huge 'sisters'. The door of the tavern lay in splinters behind them. Kicks and punches had turned chunks of the brick jam to gravel. A cold wind blew against Wren's neck. Her skin prickled and her heart sped. The sun felt pale and weak. She saw that blood now covered her tunic; splatter from the man Beia knocked through the door.

A whispering audience gathered at a discrete distance. Curious faces with eyes that never seemed to blink.

Wren's chest ached. Breaths came hard. She swallowed. Her gaze climbed Beia's muscled physique and locked with intense jade-colored eyes. A thought repeated in her head.

Could this be an avatar?

The woman's aura pressed against her like a warm blanket. A tangible presence like that of the black-eyed priest, only this didn't hurt. If Beia was an avatar, what of these other two? Her red-haired sister was a hand taller, and white-haired Damrosil yet bigger.

Remember the mission. Get to the wizard. Find Desiray. Get help to defeat the cult. The words pounded in her head. She felt so weak. Beia had grabbed her before she could react. What did she want? Wren's hand went to the phoenix symbol beneath her tunic.

Beia's stormy face broke into a smile, making her go from ferocious to friendly. "Sorry for that. Drink for your trouble?"

Offending this woman would be stupid. She needed to rest now anyway. Wren nodded, letting Beia pull her into the tavern.

The onlookers in the doorway parted. Wren almost choked on the smoke- filled air. Battered, soot-darkened lanterns dangled from a network of ship's nets spiked to the ceiling. Farm implements, wagon wheels, and other oddments hung on the walls and wooden supports. A banner strung between two columns proclaimed the place 'The Green Dragon'.

A few dozen men and women reseated themselves, buzzing about the fight. Gazes in the room stayed on the jungle-women.

A rotund red-faced barkeep came around the counter ringing his hands. "My doorway, look what you've done." His eyes met Beia's and he cringed. "Milady," he added.

Beia reached into a pouch, pulled out a half dozen platinum Degars, and put them in his hand. "Shut up."

Eyes bulging, he stared at the coins. Bowing to Beia, he retreated into the smoke. Damrosil grinned and clapped Beia on the shoulder. They went to an unoccupied table.

Using a rag from her pouch, Wren made a clean spot for her elbows on the greasy, knife-scarred table top. The myrmigynes followed suit.

Three men who were playing darts, stopped and stared.

The red-haired woman glared at them. "Play!" she growled. "You observed what befell the last lout."

They hastily returned to their game.

Her speech puzzled Wren. The language sounded affected and over-formal with a northlands accent. She must have learned the common language in a Malanian academy where they taught sages, bards, and scholars.

Once seated, Beia eyed Wren. "Bet you're one who likes sweet mead."

She nodded. She'd agree to whatever this woman said.

"Keep!" Beia yelled. "Mug of Blackstar for this one."

The barman acknowledged her. The noise level in the room grew as the excitement died. The cloying smell of kerf and lowlands pipe-weed made Wren dizzy.

She studied the women. Beia and Damrosil looked her age, though they showed signs of long healed battle scars. Ess looked older, but not over thirty. She saw two campaign tattoos on Damrosil's neck; one a crown over three crossed swords, and a shield and pike. Ess had them too, a talon-bird and a griffin. Beia wore only the shadowbolt, but that surpassed campaign marks. Except for Ess, they didn't look old enough to wear such marks of prestige.

Their sleeveless tunics looked enough alike to be uniforms, velvety material that reached a little below the midpoint of the thigh. The finest stitched boots Wren had seen, hugged their long legs. They carried weapons enough for a small army. That man had been insane. Nobody tangled with warriors armed like that, even without the tattoos.

Damrosil held two fingers toward Wren. "I'm Damrosil," she gestured. "These are Beia and her sister Ess."

Wren nodded, not knowing what to do with the fingers. She hooked them with her own and felt a tingle on her skin. That seemed to satisfy the giantess.

"I'm Wren, recently from Corwin."

Beia raised an eyebrow. "By ship?"

"By magic. A Sovereign of Isis teleported me here."

Damrosil leaned back, tottering on the two back legs of her chair. "What's so important in Ivaneth?"

"The wizard."

They laughed. Damrosil almost fell from her chair. Ess shook her head. Beia pinched the bridge of her nose. A cold chill went through Wren. What was wrong?

Beia waved. "Excuse. Others have said the same."

"Lots, I take it."

"The wizard is oft inquired of," Ess said. "Seekers of magic, lore, and advice keep him well occupied."

"I see." It sounded like a situation that required a bribe. Hades. She had only a few silvers in her pocket. If only she'd been able to go back to Grahm's cubby and get the gem.

A dart thunking into naked wood rather than a target made her look over. The men were still playing, and not well. Not enough money there. Her gaze settled on the women's fine boots and weapons. Perhaps she could gamble some of their wealth out of them.

Wren pointed at the board. "Any of you play darts?"

"Dah," said Damrosil. "We prefer knives though."

Knives? Better yet. She'd never lost with knives. "Ten paces, best of nine throws?"

Damrosil settled her chair and leaned forward. "Your wager?" Her breath smelled of spice herbs.

Damn, what to wager for? On impulse, her hand went to the phoenix. Drawing a breath, she pulled it from around her neck. "This against 100 gold crowns."

Beia hooked the chain with a finger and pulled it close. She examined the emblem. "It's worth more."

Red-haired Ess traded looks with Beia. "Agreed, it appears to be an heirloom."

She couldn't back down. "I have to put up something."

A graying ruddy-faced tavern maid, set a mug down in front of Wren. She sipped it; a stout dwarven mead that bit so hard her eyes watered. Beia watched her, studying her reaction. Wren kept her face smooth, forcing herself to swallow the bittersweet brew. It burned all the way down. She grinned at Beia.

The woman lost interest.

"Bets on," Damrosil boomed. "Hundred gold crowns." She stood. "Clear the board, boys." She pulled a dirk from her boot and threw. It parted one man's hair and nicked another's ear before sticking in the center of the board.

The men made angry noises until they saw the accuracy of her shot. The three of them slunk away.

Wren stared at the still vibrating weapon and choked down a gulp of mead. Maybe she'd spoken too soon. She thought Beia was the master.

Her gaze went to the phoenix. Should she risk it? She wanted to impress these women, they might be valuable allies in the future. She swallowed some more mead. It had grown easier to handle. Her chest no longer ached. Now, her head hurt. She rose. "You first."

Damrosil smiled and shook out her white hair. She slipped a dagger from the other boot and one from her belt. The metal winked mirror bright and lethal sharp. Yanking her first knife from the board, she paced off ten strides from the target and put a chair on the spot. She turned and threw in rapid succession. "Twenty spot, nineteen, eighteen." The weapons thunked center of each number.

A room went quiet as Wren stepped over to the chair. She held a breath, fingering the hilts of her own worn daggers. Old and rusted, not ones she would choose to compete with. She flipped the blade, feeling a tingle that ran from her neck down her arm as she focused on the target. "Top of the one, bottom, middle." She loosed in a steady rhythm, planting the points in the chalked on symbol.

Hoots and cheers burst around the room. Damrosil raised an eyebrow. She grinned fiercely, dark eyes gleaming. "You're good." She went to the target and removed the daggers. She frowned at Wren's knives. She returned and handed them over with a nod.

"Fifty crowns says Wren wins," Beia said.

Damrosil scowled. "You clean my weapons if she loses!"

"Done!"

"On the twenty vein," Damrosil said, thunking the knives in a perfect line down the chalk.

Even mistress Desiray couldn't throw like that. "Same shot," Wren said. Her voice shook. The phoenix represented all that remained of Grahm. She hurled the blades, lodging them equidistant on the white line. Each one hit.

She sighed. Six trues a piece.

The room rumbled as people started wagering. Ess fetched their knives. She appeared fascinated by Wren's black iron stilettos. What did she find so interesting? The lady kept weapons fifty times as good in her belt.

Beia rose with Wren's drink in her hand and handed it to her. "Long time since Damrosil worked for a win."

Wren took a long swig. Her hand shook. "Been a while since I worried about losing." She glanced at the phoenix on the table. "It's important to me."

Ess handed them their weapons. "Impressive technique," she said to Wren.

"Thanks." She nudged Damrosil. "Three paces back?" The giantess narrowed her eyes. Wren peered up at her. One big woman, almost half again her height.

"You're on."

They moved the chair and threw another set. Both hit their marks. Nine to nine. The whole room had focused on the competition.

They backed to the full length of the bar; sixteen paces. From here, Wren needed to muscle the dagger to target instead of using finesse. The betting turned furious, men slapping down coins.

Damrosil called numbers. Six more trues. Wren did the same. It looked as if it would be a tie.

She needed that bet. Wren squinted at the target. The line that outlined the red center dot looked like a blur. Could she hit a line narrower than her finger at this range?

"Center circle," she said. "On the line."

Damrosil ran a tongue over her full lips. She folded her arms. "This, I must see."

Wren braced. She inhaled and focused on the target. The tingle in her arm and head became a throbbing.

The dagger thumped home.

"Near miss!" Beia reported from by the target.

A cold hand clenched in her guts.

Damrosil smiled. "Two more chances."

Wren rolled the weapon in her fingers. She felt the moisture on her fingertips. She wiped it on her sleeve. She focused and threw, letting the tingle guide her arm.

The blade whizzed. The audience drew a breath.

"Hit!" Beia reported.

Wren felt a surge of confidence. "Double my money if I get two?" she asked.

The white-haired woman eyed the target. "What if you don't?"

"Me." She swallowed, knowing she could be getting into trouble. "You get me. One service. I can do other things besides throw."

Damrosil sized her up. "I bet you can. Go."

What a chance she was taking. Her competitive urge was out of control. None of her previous opponents even approached Damrosil's skill. She kissed the pommel of her last dagger. "Be true." She flipped the blade.

The flutter of the weapon cut the noise in the room. People halted in mid whisper. Not a mug or utensil clinked. It hit with a hollow thonk. The blade sagged.

"Hit!" Beia exclaimed. The room let out a roar of surprise. The vibration proved too much for the shallowly planted dagger. It clattered to the floor.

"No, miss!" Beia called. "Miss. Miss!"

Wren's brief elation soured in her stomach. Gamblers saw the knife had fallen and gave out disappointed yells.

The corner of Damrosil's mouth quirked. "Good try." She pointed at Beia. "Pull them out." She weighed her own knife. "What do you say? Three trues, same shot?"

Wren's throat constricted. She shook her head.

Damrosil prepared and let go.

"Hit!"

She glanced over. "Still not?"

Wren clenched her hands. If Damrosil missed the next two she'd still get the original bet and owe Damrosil a service. She wished the woman's hands would shake. That she'd stop looking so confident. Of course, if she was as tall as mountain, she'd be confident too.

"Not!" Wren declared.

Damrosil chuckled. She took her next throw.

"Miss!"

"Oh well." She tossed the dagger into the air and caught it. "The deciding throw."

Wren tightened her fists until they hurt. "Do it already."

"In time." Damrosil stared at the target. "For the money and the young lady's service." She threw.

Heart in her throat, Wren watched the spinning piece of steel, willing the weapon to miss. It seemed to flick through the air as though traveling in molasses. Each revolution took bells.

The dagger slammed into the target to the hilt.

Beia leaned over to check. The whole room appeared to lean with her.

Please, no.

"Hit!"

A rock dropped in the pit of Wren's stomach.

"Fine sport!" Grinning, Damrosil punched her in the shoulder. Wren nearly lost her feet.

She felt empty. Giving away the phoenix was like losing a part of herself. So foolish. She'd never lost. She trudged to the table and took the phoenix and held it out to Damrosil. "You won."

The woman made a dismissing gesture. "Rest it. You did. I finished one throw ahead using balanced knives. You hitting at all with those iron chunks is a miracle."

Beia nodded. "The best throwing I've seen by a mortal." She put a hand on Wren's shoulder. "Not a bit of magic in it at all."

Mortal? What did Beia mean by that? "Thanks." Clutching the phoenix, she looked at Damrosil. "You sure?"

"I don't need your trinket." She pulled at Wren's sleeve. "I can tell you can use the money. That show was worth it." Damrosil handed a pouch to Wren then poked her in the stomach with a long finger. "I'm holding you to that service though. You didn't get the second shot."

Wren bowed. "I'll honor it. It will have to be after my mission here in Ivaneth. How can I contact you?"

"Don't worry girl," Damrosil said. "We'll find you." She glanced at Beia. "Thinking of that, we've got a mission of our own. Be well, Wren. We will meet again."

The three nodded to her and disappeared out the tavern door before she could say a word of parting.

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My competitiveness has always been something of a handicap. It's a trait that I've noticed that separates me from many women. I suppose it's related to the same flaw in me that likes to take risks and rise to challenges. I must have gotten that from my father... or did I...?
--Wren

Wren stood in the tavern doorway looking for the junglelands myrmigynes. Nothing. It was as if they stepped out the door and vanished. Breaths still came a little hard, and the smoke from the bar had left an itchy feeling in her chest. Her stomach burned from the strong ale.

Clutching the phoenix emblem, she stepped out avoiding bits of rubble caused by Beia's frustrated attacks on the bricks. The air smelled of dust, lye, and wood cleaner. All down the street shop keepers swept, lowered awnings, and rolled away carts in preparation for closing. Customers hurried about to get deals on the day's leftovers.

Wren focused past the bustle on the busy lane toward the forbidding blue-gray spire that belonged to the wizard of Ivaneth. Cinnibar's tower had been a third smaller and had nothing like the extensive grounds surrounding this one.

Studying her goal, she rubbed the talisman, clicking her thumbnail in the indentations on the back. How thoughtless she'd been to risk this last remnant of Grahm. She felt the impressions again. Strange, she never remembered feeling those before.

She pulled her gaze away from the tower and examined the phoenix. Her grip tightened. The indentations were letters inscribed in the metal. Liandra. Who or what was that? A suspicion dug at the back of her mind. Did the Damrosil or Beia put it there?

More questions. No time for them now. Brethren members suffered at the hands of the Dagger right now. A cold rush of guilt went through her. She played games while they languished. She must get to the wizard. Her friends needed help.

A voice from close behind startled her. "Hey, lady."

Heart thudding, she spun and pulled her sword. She yanked back on her stroke when she saw it was a young boy.

A lanky youngster wearing a tattered wool jacket and canvas breaches covered his head with his arms. "Don't hit! Wanted to talk is all!"

She let out a breath. "Fool." She slammed the sword back in the sheath. "Get killed that way."

Bronze-colored eyes glassy, the boy stared at her from between stick-like arms. After a few moments, he straightened and grinned at her. Red-haired and freckle infested, he looked gawky with big ears, a pug nose, and a smile that appeared to be more gaps than teeth.

Wren put fists on hips. She let this kid sneak up on her. "Well?" she growled.

He flinched. "Uhhh, you're new around here, right?"

Wren sighed. "Not to be unkind, but you have anything beyond the obvious to say? I'm in a hurry."

"I--" He swallowed. "I saw you play daggers. Bet you're the best dagger player in the world!"

This must lead someplace. "Thanks. So, if I am?"

He tentatively met her eyes. "That is a guild tattoo right?" He pointed at her neck.

Wren frowned and rubbed under her left ear. It'd been summers since she received her membership mark and she rarely thought about it. How did he know it was a guild sign? She sized him up, noting the wrapped on foot bindings and worn patched fabric.

"You don't want a sponsor do you, Kid? You're too young."

His face reddened. "Am not!"

Hit that one. No time to argue. Besides, she'd been a part of the Brethren for a year by the time she was his age. "Don't make the mistake I did. A guild is a waste. You--" She stopped herself. "Find someone else."

She turned and headed for the tower. She had no desire to relive her blunders; to remember what she no longer had. Regardless of how many Brethren she saved, the guild she knew as her family died with Grahm.

"Wait!"

She ignored him. Getting to the wizard would be tough enough without some half-grown guilder wanna-be tag-along. She weighed the pouch of coins Damrosil gave her. Far more than a hundred if her practiced hand were any judge. More than enough for a good bribe. Even from this distance, she saw that the guards at the tower gates looked well dressed.

"Come on, at least tell me what it's like!" the boy whined behind her.

Wren rounded on him. "It's chains, Kid. It's flirting with the law to survive, and making enemies. Most of all, it's living a lie. Convincing yourself there's no better way to live. You're wrong, but you don't see it. Can't--damn--see anything at all."

He stared at her with wide bronze eyes, tousled red hair hanging in his face. "Oh," he said.

Her words were lost on him. He didn't understand--couldn't. She hadn't understood when the lifer tried to discourage her from joining. Only now, it made sense.

"Look, Kid, just stay out of my way, okay?" He nodded vigorously. "What's your name."

"Garr."

Wren looked at him one-eyed. "Sounds made up to me."

Garr gave her an indignant look. "Better than some weak name like Alphonse."

She shrugged. "Well, Garr, I'm off to see the wizard."

His eyes grew round. "Really? Nobody sees him."

"Watch me. But," she pointed across the street. "Do it from there."

His shoulders slumped. Garr mumbled something and kicked a pebble as he trudged to the designated spot.

Shaking her head, she went toward the entrance of the wizard's estate. Two brawny sentries kept a wary eye on her. Both wore Ivaneth livery; a gray tabard with a symbol of a yellow sea horse and trident emblazoned over the left breast. Beneath the supple leather she saw chain-mail armor. These weren't common foot soldiers, but hired mercenaries.

One guard was a hirsute northlandsman with red hair and a thick beard, the other a dusky-skinned easterner with jet hair and slanted eyes. She looked at the bigger man.

"Your business?" he asked.

She smiled. "I'd like to see the wizard."

He smiled back. "You have an appointment?"

The Myrmigynes warned her of this. "No," she admitted.

"Then you don't get in." His smirk told her he liked denying people entrance.

"How do I get an appointment?"

"Through the King's minister of affairs."

"Takes weeks I bet."

"If ever," the other guard put in. "Few get in."

Wren sized the two men up. "Is there a chance you two might be persuaded to say... be distracted for a moment or two." She jingled the coin pouch.

The bearded man leaned forward as if to whisper. Next to her ear in a quiet voice he said, "not a hope in Hades."

She scowled. "I'll keep my money then, nest face."

The men laughed. She ignored them and stalked off down the wall. From the corner of her eye, she saw Garr shadowing her. This boy would be persistent.

The wall looked about eight paces high and possessed no visible joints, seams or rough spots of any kind. Someone made it with thieves in mind.

She walked until the wall's curve hid her from the sentries. No barrier made, ever kept her out.

Wren opened and closed her hands limbering her fingers up. She jumped, hit and clung. The tingle in the back of her skull became a fierce snarl. Pain shot through her fingers and toes. She slid back to the ground.

She stared at the smooth stone. That never happened. She touched the surface, it didn't feel that slick.

Wren took a running start and leaped. Again the snarl in her mind, the tenacious cling, but she couldn't get traction. She slid down to the ground. Her fingers came away from the wall with an audible snap. The skin looked red and chaffed. An ache throbbed in the back of her head.

One more try. She hit and stuck. Focusing her will on holding, she took a higher grip and pulled. She rose a handwidth. Pain shot through her skull. Sparks flickered around her hands. Her fingers burned. She pushed off with a foot and rose a bit more. The agony grew. With a gasp, she surrendered and let herself slide down.

She flailed her hands and danced around in a circle to shake off the pain.

Amazed, she stared at the barrier. Magic must be preventing her climbing ability. Interesting--that implied that someone understood that special talent.

Sucking on fingers alternately, Wren looked to the huge tower. The Sovereign said that Ivaneth's wizard was among the most imminent mages on Titaan. For a mage, power meant knowledge. Understanding things that she couldn't even imagine. This wall must be product of one of those things.

"Wow, can you teach me that?"

She jumped, staggered back a step, then glared at Garr. "Don't do that!"

He looked hurt. "What?"

Wren growled. "Nevermind." Arms folded, she glowered at the wall. "Ever hear of anyone getting over this thing?"

Garr frowned. "No. Everybody's afraid of getting turned into a toad."

Wren snorted. "Faery story. Wizards can't do that." I hope, she added to herself.

What about a ladder or pole? The voice of experience told her that if she thought of it, that someone had tried it. What could stop it? Of course, what prevented her from climbing? The answer to both--magic.

"What do we do now?" Garr asked.

"We?" Wren pointed a finger. "No 'we' here. I'm going up on that roof up there." She pointed to the top of three story hostel. "You stay."

He scowled, but didn't try to follow as she crossed the street and clambered onto the roof. From her vantage, she saw all the tower grounds.

A cobbled path led from the gate through lavish gardens filled with flowers, little streams and lakes with floating islands and stylized bridges. Topiary figures carved into the shapes of dragons, griffins, and sphinxes lay throughout the extensive estate. Jeweled gold, silver, and platinum statues of unfamiliar heroes set in strategic spots.

It was a thief's dream. Even from here, she saw that the gems from one statue alone more than equaled the value of the jewel she'd risked her life to steal from Cinnibar.

This vantage let her see that the wall possessed no projections or anything to hook a grapple on, the buttress and walkway were rounded to prevent hook purchase.

The treasure might be the stuff of dreams, but that wall was a nightmare. Nowhere along its length did a building lay closer than ten or fifteen paces. Unless they could fly, no-one would jump from a rooftop.

With all that thought put into it, she simply had to accept a ladder wouldn't work. What other way was there?

She sat on the roof and thought. A look south across the maze of buildings to Ivaneth bay gave a view of a moving forest of sails and pennons flaring on the water's sparkling surface. West over the city walls, waves curled into the purple rocks of a rugged coast. The sun's edge tickled the water, casting orange glimmers on the breakers.

About to give up, her gaze fell on salvation. To the East, several men were carting a long ridge pole toward a building under construction. The pole looked too heavy for a vault, but situated right it could get her over that wall.

Climbing down, she followed the carpenters. Garr fell in step behind her. How could she shake this kid? Be mean to him? She didn't have the heart for it. Not that many summers ago she was in the same situation.

Use him? She needed to keep the carpenters from hoisting it on the roof.

The carpenters were working on a large manse with a steep arched roof. Including the four workers carting the beam, twelve broad shouldered men worked steadily, planing rough planks, pinning, nailing and gluing wood into place

They set the ridge pole down. Wren measured it as she walked by. She counted twenty-six steps. The distance to the wall looked to be twenty paces.

If she planted one end of the pole a few paces from the manse, the high end could swing close enough to the top of the wall for her jump to the buttress. With the timber nearly perpendicular it should only take a good kick to get her going. Falling force would do the rest.

She turned to Garr. "You want to help?"

He nodded, his face very solemn.

"Your first test, Kid. Pass it, we'll see about the rest, okay? Here's some silver, see if you can get some friends together. See that big beam? Moment those carpenters get one end of it up against the building I want to make sure not a wit more work gets done. Understand?"

"Uh huh."

"Go. You get to keep what's left over."

Garr sprinted off.

From the moment the carpenters lifted one end of the beam to the support joists, their task became one calamity after the next. Wren stole tools when the men weren't looking. Garr and his friends rampaged through the site, grabbing materials and implements, scattering things as they ran. A bell later, the men gave up in defeat.

By the time the men cleaned up and left, the shadows had grown long. No sign of Garr. He'd probably gone off to enjoy the leftovers from his first guild job.

Wren used a stud to lever the beam into position. It took some work, being mindful of the precarious positioning of it leaning against the roof. She took a mallet and spikes she'd borrowed from the carpenters earlier, and hammered them to keep the beam from sliding.

A few times she ducked out of sight to avoid being seen by sentries patrolling the wall buttress. An extra length of rope lashed around the wood made sure it wouldn't slip.

She scaled the structure to the ceiling joists as the last light vanished in the West. She took a breath, nerving herself and waiting for the guards to be the farthest away. People would hear that plank hit the street for blocks. Wren hoped the guards would think it a coincidence; simply a badly moored piece of building material.

She climbed the rafters. The wood wobbled. Wren gripped the tip of the beam. With her legs wrapped around a rafter she prepared to commit herself to the air.

She looked down. Sixteen paces up, her target lay twenty away at an angle, part of that distance a leap toward a narrow walkway eight up the side of a wall. One mistake and this would be very messy.

"Details, details," she mumbled.

Committing herself, Wren pushed off sharply. It felt like flying as she hurtled out over the street. She shifted her balance as the beam reached the top of the arc. The plank groaned, seeming to hesitate at the top of its swing. Visions of getting flung back into the construction flashed through her mind. Taking a deep breath, Wren leaned toward the wall. The rafter creaked. Wind whistled through her hair as she timed her leap.

She sprang clear, somersaulting to land upright. The walkway rushed up with stinging force. Wren rolled to save her legs, hoping for enough space. Flailing, she tumbled over the edge. A painful twist. She grabbed the edge and hung there panting, a long drop below. The echo of the board's fall died out.

Pulling herself up, she dashed to a nearby ladder and slid to the ground. She raced into the garden where the hedges and statuary provided cover. Men ran on the wall. No one appeared to have seen her.

She took a moment to sit on a bench, catch her breath, and slow her hammering heart. A sumptuous mansion huddled at the foot of the tower. All its windows and doors barred in iron. If she had her lock picking tools she could have undone a lock. One open window far up the tower appeared to be the only means of entry.

Energy coming back, she walked through the beautiful garden to the base of the tower. There appeared to be plenty of projections and rough spots to make the climb. The poor light of the moon made it doubtful that the guards would see her camouflaged in black leather.

Gingerly, she put hand and foot against the cold stone. It felt slick and she prayed to Ishtar that it hadn't been protected like the outer wall. She rubbed her hands together, ready for the burning if the warding were present.

She flashed on two nights ago. She'd been scaling another wizard's tower. That had ended up with her getting burns all over her body.

She leaped and clung. The buzz in the back of her head was strong but not as bad as the curtain wall. It took the span of several long breaths to reach the windowsill. She pulled herself up to look in and found that a dim light pervaded the area.

Damn, the room was occupied.

She started to slip away, when something grabbed her. Wren's heart jolted as an invisible force tore her loose from the sill and spun her around so she hung inverted looking down the tower wall. Icy fear clutched her stomach. The phoenix necklace slipped from under her tunic and hung across her face.

"Are you aware," said a feminine voice. "Of the damage inflicted on a body that drops 77 paces onto cobblestones?"

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I've always been leary of magic. My ability to see ward spells and bend them only increases my caution. Honestly, I don't think mages really understand what they're doing. Trial and error doesn't seem the right method to explore the powers of creation and destruction...
--Wren

Hanging inverted, her leg gripped by an invisible hand, Wren stared down the side of the wizard's tower fighting a panic. The phoenix necklace burned against her skin, the chain slapped against her face as she dangled in the cold night breeze. A wrong word or motion and she'd plunge to the stone courtyard below. From up here, the ring of pace-wide tower anchor stones looked the size of toy blocks. Heart racing, her stomach tried to crawl up her throat. What did the woman on the couch say? Something about damage.

"Milady," Wren's voice shook so hard the word came out garbled. She swallowed and tried again. "Milady, I meant no harm or theft. My oath to Ishtar, I swear it!"

"You swear do you? What good is a thief's oath?" The woman spoke with a mage's rolling clarity. The tonal quality often indicated the wizard's skill. Wren found this voice mesmerizing; commanding.

She located the source of the sound in the center of the room that appeared to be a library. A woman reclined on a couch facing away from her. Wren saw the corners of a book laying in her lap. The mage held one gold-skinned hand up as if dangling a mouse by its tail. Icy fear went through Wren. When the woman's fingers flexed, Wren felt the pressure on her leg tense and loosen. One gesture and she would fall.

Wren fought for calm. Her head pounded. Hanging upside down alone made it hard to think. Summed with being precariously suspended high above the ground, it took every iota of control to stay coherent. "Milady, the guards wouldn't let me in. I have urgent news for Mistress Desiray. The Corwin Guild is being destroyed. People are dying."

"How did you get up here?"

"Milady, I climbed!"

"Climbed?" She sounded as if she'd never heard of someone climbing. "You presume the wizard knows Desiray's whereabouts?"

"I don't know," Wren cried. "I only know I have to find her!" Despair welled up in her. A sense of how utterly alone she was. She lived to do Grahm's last request, find Desiray and make the Dagger pay for what they did. If she couldn't save what remained of the guild, what was left? Nothing. Everyone dead, Grahm, Vulcindra, Tarmagal, how many others? "We need her, the avatar will sacrifice them all. She has to help. If she doesn't I--I--" she couldn't finish. She didn't know what she'd do. Her vision went blurry.

"An avatar?" The woman beckoned with the upraised hand. The invisible force around Wren's legs tightened to the point of pain as she floated across the small chamber and hovered inverted in front of the mage.

Beautiful in an alien way, plush body draped in orange robes, the mage appeared like no person Wren had ever seen. A wave of silky brown hair tumbled into her lap, contrasting ochre-gold skin. The moment Wren's eyes met hers, she felt paralyzed. Like gems cut from obsidian, the entirety of the mage's eyes were space black. In their depths, Wren saw what looked like stars. Unlike the black-eyed man, the woman's expression looked stern, but not cruel.

The stars in the mage's dark eyes grew brighter and her brow furrowed. Wren felt a queasy sensation, as if ghostly fingers probed her insides. "Interesting," the woman lifted the phoenix symbol in her palm. "This is composed of Shael Dal. It is not what assisted your climb. Where did you acquire this?"

Wren choked. "Would you believe a dream? Mistress, it's not important now. We must find Desiray, the Brethren are dying!"

The sorceress twisted a strand of hair around her finger. "Desiray's ability to enthrall is amazing. Instants from perishing and you keep chattering about her and that horde of ruffians. Incredible."

Wren's head felt ready to explode from blood rush. "Mistress, I promise not to do anything if you'll put me right side up."

The mage stared at her a moment, starry eyes intent. She gestured and Wren rotated to a standing position then dropped to the ground. The woman continued her study. "How did you get so close without my sensing you? Yes, interesting indeed."

With her feet on the ground, some of Wren's confidence returned. If the sorceress wanted her dead, she would have killed her by now. "Please, will I get to see the wizard?"

"Hmmm?" The woman frowned. Something about her fascinated this woman. She couldn't guess what because the woman's black eyes had no pupil for Wren to judge what she focused on. "What's your name?"

"Wren."

"I am Cassandra. The King's high wizard."

"But--" she started.

"I am aware of my gender. The previous wizard retired. The King decided it best kept secret. Actually, two of us do the job. We assume the original wizard's shape at times to placate the locals."

Cassandra leaned back and folded her arms. "Scaled my tower without using magic. How?" She pursed her lips. "Only that is magic." She flicked a finger at the phoenix. "In a dream you said?"

She nodded. Cassandra kept coming back to Grahm's gift. The woman called it what--Shael Dal? Perhaps different words for the same thing? She knew that anything that came from the dream-world must be special. Was it more than even Jharon thought?

If Cassandra knew, she didn't elaborate. "Did you climb the outer wall too?"

"Tried. Hurt my hands too much." Cassandra raised an eyebrow. "Had to vault over."

The gold woman's space black eyes narrowed. "That should not have worked." Her tone made it a condemnation.

Wren swallowed. "I don't know one way or the other."

"No, I suppose not," she grumbled. Wren couldn't tell for sure, but guessed Cassandra went back to focusing on the phoenix. The woman straightened suddenly and leaned forward.

Wren kept herself still. She didn't want to alarm or anger this woman. Cassandra reached out slowly and turned the amulet over. "Liandra." She read the inscription. She settled back on the couch nibbling on a long lacquered nail. "Hmmm. I've heard of a--" She stopped. "You're positive? A dream?"

There it was again. What had she been about to say? "I am certain, mistress. Do you know what it is? What it means?"

Cassandra made no indication she even heard the question. "You just climbed my tower?"

No sense getting angry with her, obviously the woman's mind was lost in a void somewhere. She simply nodded 'yes'.

"I will contact Desiray." Cassandra wrinkled her nose. "Best to have you explain the situation."

"Me?" Wren felt a chill. "How?"

"Desiray is on another plane, but using telepathy I can link you. Do you know what a rapport is?"

"No."

"A rapport lets two minds to intermesh and share resources."

"What--? You mean read each other's thoughts?!"

"Essentially, yes." Cassandra raised an eyebrow. "Do you wish to speak with Desiray or not?"

"Yes, of course." The idea made her insides churn.

"Sit." She pointed and a chair drifted over behind Wren.

When she sat, Cassandra crooked the pointing finger. The seat slid Wren within the mage's reach. She trembled. Magic was a toy to this woman.

She fixed Wren with a level gaze. "It is silly to ask for your trust. However, there is no alternative. I will not injure you."

Silent, she nodded. For some reason she did trust her.

"I will touch you. Relax."

Her fingers caressed Wren's temples. The world brightened in vivid color. She saw herself and the whole room. It appeared as if she looked in all directions at once. Every nuance of each object in the chamber lay open to this sight. She realized with a shock that this was how Cassandra saw the world. She felt naked. Nothing could hide from the mage, not a weapon, not a thought.

She felt prodded. The surroundings vanished to be replaced by a void where Wren's thoughts echoed like voices in a huge cavern. Each word became a splash of color that rippled through the blackness like a stone dropped in water.

"Beautiful," she murmured aloud.

<Think it,> Cassandra's voice reverberated right next to her.

She focused on projecting the words in her mind. <Like this?>

<Perfect.>

Wren sensed a surge of astonishment that was quickly masked. Her reply had startled the mage. Why? The response had felt natural. Perhaps she should have experienced more trouble.

<You demand studying.> A pause, then a surge of power, as if a line were flung deep into vastness. <Dorian?>

A moment passed. <What do you need Cassandra?>

<You.> She felt the sensation of two bodies pressing together, as if two people hugged one another. <I have a rider with important news for Desiray. Think you can link us up?>

<For you lover, anything. Hold a moment.> Wren actually felt Dorian move and take a seat. Far away, she sensed energies being composed. She felt another telepathic line being flung out with tremendous force. <--Desiray?>

From a colossal distance, she heard a tiny response. Wren marveled. What these mages could do!

<Desiray.> Dorian laughed. <I have an overseas call from Cassandra Kel'Ishtauri, will you accept the charges?>

This made no sense to Wren, but Cassandra seemed amused.

<Funny.> The response sounded faint.

<More power. Help maintain the contact. Pull in the slack.>

A pause. She assumed Desiray marshaled her own energies. <Better?> Much louder now.

<Fine.>

<Problems Cassandra?>

<Someone from Corwin is here to see you.>

<Really?> Wren sensed Desiray frown. <Who is it, Tarmagal?>

<No.>

<Vulcindra?>

She grew irritated as Desiray rattled off the names of three more Guilders with less than half her experience.

<All right, who is it then?>

<She calls herself Wren.>

<Who?>

Heat surged in Wren's cheeks. The bitch didn't even remember her! She made more money than half her toe-kissers combined.

<Fifteen hands tall, blonde hair, blue eyes. Not a wit of magic on her.> She felt a picture of her projected toward Desiray. <Sharp girl, penetrated the outer perimeter and snuck into my library.>

<Really?> Desiray sounded amazed. She appeared to study the picture. <Ah, Sireth's second. She gets the climbing assignments.>

At least she had remembered her.

<Good thinking,> Cassandra responded in a dry tone. <I caught her a hundred paces up the side of my tower.>

<She's very good.>

Cassandra let out a breath. <Desiray, she is phenomenal. It is impossible to climb this tower. The stone is made to resist traction.>

<Then how?>

<She is your guilder, Desiray. You mean you never noticed anything unusual about her?>

Desiray's tone turned prickly. <No, why?>

<Desiray,> Dorian's shocked thought this time. <I'm in Elysium and I can feel her mage potential.>

This stunned Wren. Cassandra smiled. It incensed Desiray.

<Don't you dare! She's mine.>

Her stomach twisted. She was not some possession, especially after the way the guild was left to rot. She forgot her irritation when Desiray focused on her. <Wren, tell me what's happened.>

She took a moment to compose herself, then launched into her summary. <The Dagger attacked Guildhall with some new priest leader. I think I'm the only one who escaped. We tried to get through to you before the attack, but you never responded.>

<No one came to help?>

<No one I saw, Tarmagal and Vulcindra are dead. Gr--> She forced the thought out. <Grahm too. This new priest may be an Avatar.> Unbidden, the image of the black-eyed man came to mind, his crushing presence as he straddled her to do his evil.

The image shook all three of them, especially Cassandra who snarled the thought so loudly that she winced.

<Hethanon!> She seemed to scrutinize the picture. <That is one of Set's avatars.>

<Set's Avatar?> Desiray groaned. <In my guild? I'll be there as soon as I can.> She hesitated, no doubt deciding what to do. <Very good, Wren, I'll see that you're rewarded.> Her thoughts became acerbic, directed more toward Dorian than Wren. <Don't let either of these brown haired witches spirit you off. I will be there directly.> Her presence winked out.

<Need me for anything else Cassandra?> Dorian asked.

Wren sensed Dorian smiling. She obviously liked teasing Desiray. If that was what actually upset Desiray. They seemed to choose their words carefully. She guessed they often hosted 'riders'. Wren felt certain there was communication going on that she couldn't hear. As if they could carry on more than one conversation at a time.

<Nothing for the moment,> Cassandra answered. This exchange must be for Wren's benefit only. She couldn't comprehend them, but listening intently she detected a hum that must be the concealed communication flashing between Cassandra and Dorian.

<I will return to my lab-work then, good evening.>

<Good night.>

Wren felt the connection break. She swayed back from Cassandra's fingers and blinked. Cassandra opened her eyes. She appeared satisfied with something.

"I trust that will suffice?" the mage asked archly.

Wren felt uneasy, knowing she was mentally naked. Cassandra could read her thoughts, and probably did.

"More than enough, thank you." She took a breath. "If you'll pardon me, I won't intrude any longer. When Desiray arrives, please tell her that I will be at the inn up the street."

Cassandra narrowed her eyes. "I would prefer you remain here, Wren." She looked ready to insist. Visions of hanging upside down quenched any thoughts of resisting.

"If you wish." She tried not to sound nervous.

Cassandra stood slowly and stretched. A big woman and surprisingly muscular for a mage. The drape of her clinging orange robes suggested a firm body used to physical activity. She looked down at her and it increased Wren's trepidation.

Cassandra gestured to a jeweled staff that drifted across the room into her grasp. She glanced to the book she'd been reading. A velvet mark placed itself between the pages before it shut and sailed across to an empty spot on the shelf.

Wren followed her into a corridor cast in darkness. Cassandra paraded into the absolute blackness as if it were daylight. Wren had good eyes, but not good enough for in here. Blinded, she stopped.

"Well?" It came from some distance away.

"Mistress, I see well, but I am not shriek-wing."

A short silence, then a word uttered in some unknown tongue. A sphere of light erupted from her staff, lighting the corridor. Wren moved cautiously, fearing she would put the light out.

"Sometimes I forget my guests cannot see as I do." As she moved on down the stairs Cassandra spoke over her shoulder. "I warn you, I will not allow Desiray to challenge Hethanon."

She hated the sound of that name when Cassandra first mentioned it. It grew no better with repetition. "She has to, milady. No one is left. If I could, I would have killed that bastard myself."

Cassandra raised an eyebrow and stared at Wren. "Precisely."

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Lore is the door that opens into new vistas for the mind. Knowledge and ingenuity are the context and the keys that turn abstract theories into brilliant innovation.
--Cassandra

Wren froze on the tower steps. Past Cassandra and the light coming from her staff the stairs curved down into darkness. The air here in the stairwell suddenly seemed cold. The gold-skinned mage had said only one word. No inflection, a simple flat statement. Even her face gave nothing away. Precisely? Precisely what?

The ominous connotations made Wren shiver. "Wait. I came here to find Desiray. It's her job to free the guild."

"Oh hush." Cassandra shooed away Wren's protest like she might an irritating bug. "Follow."

Wren felt the pull of the same force that had grabbed her at the window. "I can't fight the entire Dagger guild!"

"That will be Desiray's job. Yours is Hethanon."

The sense of dread at Guildhall came back to Wren in a rush; the screams of people dying, the blood, the priest leering at her. She had hoped to keep her promise to Grahm, somehow do as he asked, be free, grow--look for him down the path. Cassandra seemed to have other ideas.

Many circuits later they reached the bottom of the tower. Another portal sighed open at Cassandra's whim. Beyond lay the interior of the manse Wren saw from the outside. Torches lit the interior, making the polished marble floors gleam with a flickering orange glow. Looking like waterfalls in reverse, intricately carved arches flowed out of the floors and mingled with the arched ceilings. Paintings of unfamiliar landscapes, romantic and heroic statuary, and tapestries from the first and second empires decorated every open space and corner. One common theme ran through everything visible; mirrors. Everywhere--mirrors. Could anyone be that vain? The reflective surfaces were disguised but nowhere Wren looked did more than ten paces of wall pass without a mirror being made into a column, frame, or arch. Conceit seemed far too demeaning for a woman like Cassandra. That and she never once even glanced at one of the shiny reflections. Wren wanted to ask about it but other concerns were more pressing.

Cassandra went on. "I will make you a deal; one you should seriously consider."

"No deals," Wren said. "I got enough of Hethanon on the first encounter. You do it. Make sure it's done right."

Cassandra chuckled. Her laugh sounded musical, but Wren could tell the harp was strung with steel. "I plan to. That is why you will be my agent."

"No," Wren insisted. "Why can't you do it--personally?"

"Simple. I won't let Desiray do it. Dorian won't let me do it. That leaves you."

Wren swallowed. "Convenient I might be, but hardly your best choice."

Another door that looked like the opening of a vault opened and closed behind them with a boom. Shafts of steel as big around as Wren's leg drove home with a rasp. Where was Cassandra taking her?

Cassandra flicked a strand of hair away from her forehead. "I have my reasons. Listen to my deal."

Wren sighed and resigned herself.

"Do you know who your parents are, Wren?"

The question took her off guard. What did that have to do with anything? The question brought a tightness to her chest. "No, I don't remember before I escaped the temple of Hecate. Why?"

The mention of the name of Hecate made Cassandra stiffen. The edges of her black expressionless eyes softened. Her hand went to the phoenix hanging around Wren's neck. "Something I feel from you suggests your parents were quite special. If I am correct, what is impressed on this can help me learn more."

"My parents--special?" Grahm, what did you give me? Her mind had been so focused on the guild that it came as a shock. It seemed summers since she spent any time pondering her origins. She'd always resigned herself that they were dead. Did she even want to know?

"Should I care about the mother and father who left me to die?"

Cassandra shook her head. "I do not think it is a matter of abandoning--but abduction. I need to do some research."

Abduction? Her mind whirled. "Even if I did want to learn what you can find out. I still can't kill Hethanon. I'm a mouse with a few tricks. He's powerful, he killed Tarmagal like she was nothing. I can't beat him."

"You survived." Cassandra's tone sounded implacable.

"I ran!" Wren balled her hands into fists. "He thought I was too weak to fight back. I surprised him and ran. I couldn't get that lucky twice."

"You will do it again. This time he will die."

"That's crazy! I can't--I--"

"You scaled that wall and climbed the tower. You did not worry about dying then. Why are you blubbering now?"

"I don't know!" Confusion washed over her as she realized the truth of Cassandra's words. Did she really know anything anymore? Abduction? Why would anyone steal a child freak who stuck to walls? "I had to do something, for my own sanity. My best friend is dead. I want to make those bastards pay, but..." She wouldn't admit to Cassandra the terror thoughts of Hethanon made her feel. "I can't."

"Are you saying then that you are coward?"

Wren froze and glared at the gold skinned woman. "You don't know what that bastard almost did to me. I'll face any man, but he's not--he's an animal--a thing."

"I have a cure for things." This time the mage's restraint slipped. She heard the hate in Cassandra's voice; a rancor both powerful and bitter.

The woman turned and continued. Wren followed, pulled by the mage's intensity.

They passed through two more vault-like openings. Whatever Cassandra kept inside must be priceless that it ranked above the fortunes that lay open to the hand in the halls above.

"The layers of steel, mithril and adamantine around this vault are five paces thick."

A tingle spread through Wren and she stopped on the threshold staring at their destination. They stood on a stone catwalk that overlooked a pit thirty paces deep and a hundred on a side. Bookcases carved from the granite stretched from the floor to the ceiling eight paces above Wren's head. All around, books, scrolls, and tablets overflowed the thousands of shelves. More cases formed a series of concentric circles. An area lay at the center, where she could make out a few tables and chairs.

"Knowledge is power, Wren." Cassandra gestured as she led her across the periphery of this vast storehouse of information. "I have spent my whole life collecting and storing it. This library is one of several like it."

"Then you must be very powerful," she couldn't keep the awe out of her voice. She didn't know this many books existed on all of Titaan.

"I get my way," Cassandra's tone sounded offhand. She heard an irony in the mage's voice. Something that implied that the knowledge came at a price. "With this lore you can solve any problem. You simply have to find the book with the answer." She glanced at Wren. "Say we pose a question."

"All right." Wren knew where this was leading, and it was as unstoppable as a rhinotaur.

"We want a mouse to gird the griffon."

"You want a mouse to gird the griffon," Wren corrected.

Cassandra smiled. "I want a mouse to gird the griffon. Problem--griffons eat mice, especially tasty female ones."

She shuddered. "Don't remind me."

"We need an equalizer. The mouse needs fangs to fight the griffon." Another door swung open to allow them entrance. Beyond lay a large room stuffed with alchemical apparatus and yet more books, many of these stained odd colors or blackened by smoke and chemical detritus. Several tables strewn with glassware sat around the room. Iambics, beakers, and tubes formed a bewildering array, the purpose of which Wren could only guess.

"With fangs like that, don't you think the mouse would be a bit top heavy?"

Cassandra eyed her warily as they crossed the room to another door. "You and Dorian have the same irritating knack for ruining perfectly good analogies."

They entered an adjoining chamber that looked like an armory. It contained not only weapons, but items of all kinds: ropes, shields, armor, swords, staves, cloaks, various kinds of apparel and jewelry, many of which glowed.

Cassandra passed all of these sparkling items as if they were common articles and went to a bright metal cabinet that looked sturdy enough to hold up a mountain. Working with her hands for the first time, she manipulated some slides on the door's surface.

As Cassandra worked, Wren gazed at the resplendent swords. She caressed the smooth surface of a marvelous set of polished black leather armor. The material was as tough as dragon hide yet supple as silk. She'd set her gaze on a beautiful silver talisman when she heard Cassandra sigh. She looked up. The doors to the cabinet were open and the mage peered at something inside.

If all this splendor did not impress Cassandra, she wondered what magnificence lay within. Wren moved to observe this closely guarded treasure, this fang that could set her against an avatar.

The mage brought it out so she could see it; a simple looking dirk made of milk white metal that glowed with a faint light. A single ruby-colored gem decorated the center of the cross-piece. It looked terribly utilitarian, hardly as flamboyant as most of the other weapons which adorned the walls in multitudes.

Cassandra frowned when she saw Wren wasn't impressed. "Don't let appearances deceive you. Corona is a Starwand. I designed it to be sheathed in Set's black heart."

"I can throw a knife with the best. No matter how sharp it is though, I don't have the strength to handle a warrior in close quarters."

"Concern yourself with Hethanon." She took a sheath from the cabinet and slid the dagger home. She held it out to Wren.

She didn't take it. "If I survive, you'll tell me about my parents?"

"Yes. Don't you want to get back at Hethanon at all?"

"Of course, but not bad enough to die trying!"

"You won't die. Hold it and see if you don't agree." She forced the weapon into Wren's hand.

Corona felt twice the weight of her shortsword. As she held it, the weight decreased until it felt like a feather in her grip. The metal grew hot, and her hands glowed. The heat increased to the point she expected it to hurt. A throbbing surged in her bones; the pulse of a giant heart.

As if she were recalling a forgotten memory, she knew Corona. This was the progeny of the sun, a piece of Titaan's daystar made with an edge that could slice a hole in the sky. Its energy welled up in her like a tidal wave, a primal sense of being.

Her breath locked in her chest. Finally, she let it out. "It's alive."

Cassandra nodded and smiled.

Wren doubted no longer. Corona could kill the avatar. Her fear of facing a superior opponent was replaced by the dread of this weapon's awesome strength. It would dominate her.

"I can't." She shook her head, not wanting to let go. Seeing the frown on Cassandra's face, she plunged on. "I could win. This is the fangs of a dragon. I'd be crushed by it." She swallowed. "Simply touching it--" She forced herself to release the weapon. It dropped with a thud that shook the ground.

"This is too much. I owe enough people as it is."

Cassandra's eyes were wide. Corona drifted off the floor into her hand. She kept glancing from the weapon toward Wren.

"Amazing." For an instant, Wren saw respect in the mage's eyes. "You threw off Corona's influence." She held out the weapon. "That you can drop it, shows that it cannot control you. Take it, think about what I'm offering. Revenge, a chance to know your past, other things too."

"I'm afraid of it."

"You should be." A tiny smile. "He's dangerous."

"It wants to own me!"

"That's only fair." Again the half smile. "You're going to own it. You're strong enough to resist his--" Cassandra stressed 'his'. "Impetuous urges."

She looked at Corona again, her hands itched to touch it. "What kind of contract goes with this? I kill Hethanon. You'll tell me about the amulet. What are these other things?"

"The life of a thief is short, but a mage... Gifted with the right knowledge you could live forever." She raised an eyebrow.

Wren glanced over her shoulder in the direction of that titanic storehouse of secrets. Just the information about her past was valuable. Cassandra hinted at a priceless bonus. She wondered how working for Cassandra would differ from the Guild. Desiray had taken advantage, ignored her, put toe-kissers in charge that had gotten the guild captured in the first place. She was done with that yoke. Desiray turned her back on Grahm and her when Sireth died. Could she take up another taskmistress so quickly?

"I can see you considering." She sighed, black eyes sparkling. "How am I different from Desiray?" She gripped the dagger. "I won't turn my back on you. I will help you learn your full potential--mastering your powers as a Savant. You could make your own Corona someday." She opened her hand and offered it to her.

A Savant? That was the first time she had mentioned that. What did it mean?

"Right now, all I want is to get through this alive. I want to know about my parents." She drew a breath. "This mage stuff--if I live we'll talk about it more."

"Done."

She'd agreed too quickly, it made her nervous. Wren took Corona, feeling its weight, feeling the thrill of his power rush through her body.

"Is it an illusion or am I stronger when I hold this?"

"Look at the floor."

Wren looked down and sucked a breath, the marble was cracked and dented by the weapon's impact. She looked at the dagger in wonder. It didn't feel that heavy.

"When in its sheath and or held by its owner, it is only a tenth of its actual mass. When thrown or swung, its full weight and inertia are active. To anyone besides its owner, it weighs no less than twenty stone."

"That would mean thrown it would--"

"Go right through a rock wall four inches thick."

"I don't have to swing this thing to kill someone." She looked at it in amazement. "Simply drop it on them."

Cassandra chuckled. "If that's what it takes." She gestured at the cabinet, which closed and locked. "You may have a few things from this room, in addition to that, to help keep you alive."

Wren's gaze went immediately to the beautiful leather armor. Her first choice was obvious. "That." she pointed. "I want that."

Cassandra nodded. "It's yours."

Wren picked out a hooded cloak that shimmered in different tones of shadow, and a pouch of fine thieving tools. She wondered where Casandra had come upon that. It didn't matter. The last were a pair boots that matched the armor, space black and silk smooth. She held them in her hands, caressing the delicate weave that was also iron tough. She was eager to try them on.

"Excellent choices," Cassandra remarked. "I will tell you more about the dagger as we go." She paused, and stared toward the ceiling as if she could see something beyond the walls. "Time to go. Desiray has arrived."

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Legends speak of great artifacts of power that have in them the spirits of once living things. There are even stories of weapons that can communicate with their owners. My question is... why? Who wants backtalk from their sword?
--Wren

The armory suddenly felt tiny to Wren. Corona, the dagger, hummed in her fist and a surge of warmth ran up her arm. The smells of oiled leather and steel, jeweling powder, and paraffin grew strong in her nostrils. Cassandra froze as though confronted by something that stood right in front of her. She stared straight ahead. Wren looked where Cassandra did. She saw nothing but a wall of adventuring paraphernalia; shields, swords, and other fine tools of war and exploration.

Somehow the mage knew Desiray had arrived, sensed her as if she were present in this chamber. Here already? A queasy feeling squirmed through Wren's insides. This whole tower and its labyrinths acted like an extension of Cassandra. Doors opened and closed with a look. She knew the instant Wren peered in the window of her tower. Wren had heard of the walls of wizard's tower having eyes and ears, but never really believed the stories.

Magic. Powerful magic, like what Cassandra used to make Corona. Wren glanced at the sheathed starwand she held. The weapon hummed, like the purring of a kitten.

"Desiray seems agitated. Not surprising I suppose." Cassandra turned away from the wall. She glanced at Corona. "He likes you."

Wren swallowed and stared at the dagger. What could she say? She found the idea of a weapon with feelings tough to accept. She'd heard stories of the warwands, kamajaer, and the kingstaves, but they were legends. She could accept magic like the blistering explosion the wizard Cinnibar hit her with, or Sovereign Dauntless' teleportation spell. Now, Cassandra introduced her to Corona. A living weapon designed to kill a god. Kill, it sounded impossible. A weapon able to scratch a deity would be impressive enough. That brought her back to why Cassandra gave her the dagger; Hethanon. Her stomach knotted. Desiray was already here. She hadn't even gotten used to the idea of facing the avatar.

"If Desiray is upset, we shouldn't keep her waiting," Wren said.

Cassandra nodded and turned to leave. Wren followed her out of the armory through the alchemy lab and its myriad odd smells back to the walkway that overlooked the titanic library.

As she followed, Wren realized she probably shouldn't see Desiray. During the journey to Ivaneth, her resentment of the Guildmistress had grown. Corona's hum turned to a growl in her hand. She didn't care what the other guilders thought. To her, Desiray was nothing but egotistical bitch who'd let her talent, beauty and good fortune turn her head. Desiray's neglect had killed Grahm as certainly as that Cultist's knife. She was responsible; she and those know-nothing toe-kissers. The thoughts made Wren's footsteps heavier. Loud enough to make Cassandra give her a sidelong glance.

Wren slowed as she looked out over the giant library. She smelled ancient leather, glue, and parchment. The place resonated with Cassandra's personality. The chamber gave a sense of cool austerity and aloofness.

She gazed at the millions of books and scrolls. It boggled her mind. How much of that knowledge had Cassandra learned? Was all this for show or as Cassandra suggested, each book like an arrow in the quiver of a huge arsenal? The more telling question had to be--why? Why stockpile such power? She made Corona with it. What else did she have planned? For what ultimate purpose? The thoughts gave Wren an uncomfortable itchy feeling.

The mage leaned against the rail next to her. "Nice isn't it?"

Wren nodded. She wanted to ask the whys of the library, but sensed the mage would take it wrong. She placed the bundle of boots, cloak, and armor on the rail and leaned to look down to library floor some thirty yards down. The hall of archives in Corwin might hold a tenth of what this place did.

Cassandra tapped the armor under Wren's arm. "So it isn't a surprise; Desiray will recognize that armor."

Wren stiffened. "Why?"

"She wore it on many of our adventures."

The idea of wearing something of Desiray's hit Wren as both appealing and repugnant. Appealing, because the disrespect might make the woman mad. She might die if they fought, but at least she'd get some hits in for Grahm.

Paybacks would have to wait. Brethren lives depended on her. She promised herself that there'd be a reckoning. "Perhaps I shouldn't--"

"No." Cassandra laughed. "I hoped you would pick it."

"Why? You want us to fight?"

The mage snorted. "Fight? No. Mind an old sorceress' levity. My digs at Desiray are few. This is fitting. It goes back a long way and would take hours to explain. She won't be angry at you."

A subordinate wearing the Mistress' armor unbidden? Wren doubted that. Castoffs or not, Desiray would be hacked for certain. Part of Wren pleasured in the thought. She stroked Corona's hilt with her thumb. His purring began to rise and fall. A tune she didn't recognize. She gripped the weapon, trying not to let his antics make her nervous. It's for Grahm and the others, she reminded herself. That and to learn about the parents you never had.

Cassandra started out again and Wren followed. They walked in silence. The vault doors opened and closed behind them as they retraced their path. Once back in the mirrored corridors Cassandra took her to a bedroom.

"They should fit well. Desiray was near your size when she wore them." Wren saw a gleam in the mage's coal dark eyes that made her shiver.

She didn't ask Cassandra what she meant. With all the magic she'd seen here, the idea of someone altering their shape wasn't surprising.

Wren stepped into the lavish guest quarters. A huge four-poster bed dominated the room, flanked by two exquisitely carved vanities and a dressing table. A vivid tapestry of a herd of unicorn coming to drink at a moonlit pond took up one entire wall. The scene looked so real that Wren thought the mystic creatures might leap out onto the floor at any moment.

She walked around the room caressing the polished wood and satiny fabrics, smelling the flowery scented coverlets and curtains. She sat on the bed and bounced; a real mattress. Let Cassandra and Desiray wait, this might be her last chance to experience how nobles lived. Staring at the marvelous tapestry, she tried to soak up the room's luxurious decadence. Before this, her only contact with such trappings was in passing--usually while running through some rich fop's bedroom. What a life. No noble who lived like this could relate to living in the street.

After a while, she let go of the illusion. No sense dwelling on what would never be. She stripped to her short clothes and pulled on the armor. The superbly made cuirass hugged her body like water clinging to the sides of a glass. The boots did the same. With the cloak pulled around her shoulders she felt transformed.

She strapped Corona's sheath around her waist and pulled it. He peeled like a chime as the blade cleared the scabbard. His humming became a tingle in her arm. She licked her lips thinking of the risk he represented; challenging an avatar. Holding Corona, she realized the thought didn't scare her. Instead, the thought of battle filled her with a thrill of anticipation.

Wren experienced a stab of unease. Already Corona was getting into her head. The idea of facing Hethanon should have scared her senseless. She hated being frightened, but she disliked being foolhardy even more.

She adjusted the cloak on her shoulders, relishing the feel of a fine garment. Even without padding or powder the armor felt silky smooth on her skin; likely designed by a woman for a woman. Being in these clothes and having Corona in her hand gave her a freed feeling. She felt as if returning to something she'd always been entitled to, but always denied.

It felt good. She took pleasure in little in the last few days.

She returned Corona to his sheath, her thumb rubbing over the pommel. A tingle traveled up her arm; familiar like a lover's caress. She shuddered as a tantilizing warmth spread through her. Fingers seemed to play across her breasts and stomach, flickering downward...

"Stop that!" Wren snapped, whacking the dagger with her palm. She felt stupid talking to a piece of metal. The sensations stopped. In her mind came the impression of a boy caught peeking in a harem window.

Mages and their understatements--twice in one day. First the Sovereign with his blasted 'unsettling' now Cassandra and this dagger. You're strong enough to resist his impetuous urges. The woman really meant his. Corona was not only alive--but male. Touching her, doing--what? Ishtar, did she really want to know?

Damn Cassandra. She shoved open the door and stalked out. "Cassandra," she growled. Nobody there.

Wren found the mage down the hall. The woman stood like a statue in the middle of passage.

She stormed up to her. "Cassandra!"

The woman didn't react. Body relaxed, face composed, she stared into infinity. The only sign of life came from her hands. Staff in the crook of her folded arms, the mage's fingers drummed.

"Cassandra?" Wren asked more loudly.

No response. She toyed with the idea of prodding the mage with Corona's ultra sharp tip. That might rouse her.

The woman snapped out of it. "Wren?"

"Yes, remember me? The dragon mouse?"

Cassandra gave her a stern look.

She frowned back. "You didn't tell me Corona was..." She stopped, feeling heat in her cheeks. "That it... It's--He's doing things he shouldn't do!" She didn't add how it felt. That made it worse.

Cassandra didn't turn a hair. "If he's naughty, make him behave."

"How? He's a bloody dagger!"

"Be firm." Her level tone was infuriating, as if humming alive very male daggers were common. "He simply wants attention is all."

"He's getting it," Wren snapped. "How can it--? I mean does it really--? What's he trying to do!?" She finally got out a question that she wanted answered. She couldn't recall ever being this flustered. Without warning he'd touched her--touched her--intimately.

"Corona is being mischievous is all. It is boring being locked up in a safe. You're young, new--easily shocked."

"Mischievous!" Her jaw tightened. The dagger on her hip made a crying sound. She gritted her teeth. "This is ridiculous!" The noise changed, sounding like the plaintive whine of whipped puppy. "It's a chunk of metal!" At this, the mewling grew louder.

"Now, you've hurt his feelings."

Wren wondered if the world had suddenly gone insane. The dagger continued to wail.

"Stop it," she ordered. "Stop!"

The noise continued, it raked her nerves like fingernails on a slate board. "All right," she hollered. "Damn! I'm sorry! Please!"

The sound stopped. Corona went back to a contented humming. No, the world hadn't gone insane. She had.

Cassandra gave her a mincing smile. "See, not difficult at all."

Wren glared at her.

The mage looked Wren up and down as if she'd already forgotten the conversation. "You look quite nice. If anything, it fits you better than it did Desiray. You are a bit larger up top." She walked around her the way a buyer might a prize horse. "Perfect." She ran her fingers through Wren's hair.

Wren didn't like being touched by this strange woman unbidden. She flinched, but did nothing else. Apparently, her objections and warnings meant nothing to Cassandra.

"Come."

Wren followed, not thinking anything of the touch until she caught sight of herself in one of the many mirrors throughout the hall. She froze and gripped her hair, pulling the strands in front of her face to confirm the reality.

This levity went too far. "My hair! Put my hair back. I don't want it black!"

Cassandra never stopped walking. "It is only temporary. Be calm. I will return it to normal." She chuckled. "This will be marvelous."

"To Hades with you. I've taken enough of this!"

That stopped Cassandra. She whirled, those black eyes drilling into her. "Have you, little girl?" Her voice dropped to an icy whisper. Golden light flickered around her staff. "Remember who you are talking to and mind your tongue. Or do you intend to try to attack me with my own dagger?" The woman narrowed her eyes. "Try it."

Anger melted the frozen ball in Wren's stomach. She closed with Cassandra until their noses nearly touched. The woman's breath felt hot on her face. Dealing with a mage's condescending attitude she'd do; merely a part of their better-than-thou make-up. But Cassandra or Ishtar herself--she played the fool for nobody.

Her anger at Desiray, at Hethanon, at her own impotence spread into every limb, making them burn as if on fire. Wren gritted the words out slow, one by one. "I don't care who you are." Her voice cracked, but she forced it to a flat growl again. "I am nobody's toy. You can insult me, think me ignorant but never--never think you can treat me like some pet." She felt blood starting beneath her nails. Corona whimpered on her hip. "I'll die before I let myself be demeaned for someone's pleasure. Understand?"

The mage snorted. "Are you done?"

Fueled by an iota less anger, the contempt in Cassandra's voice would have stopped Wren. Instead, the woman's biting tone increased the fury. She pulled the strap on the scabbard belt and snatched Corona off her hip. She brandished the bundle in the mage's face. Wren felt tears on her cheeks. She didn't know why she cried, but it only made the passion hotter, more out of control.

"I'll have a please from you, milady. Please dance for me. I came to save lives. My friends are dead and dying because of that arrogant witch you call friend. She wanted to play goddamned games. A very dear friend was murdered. I've been abused, attacked, and nearly raped. My home, my life are destroyed." Her body shook so hard she thought she might fall apart. Every breath hurt. She tossed the scabbard and dagger at the mage's feet. "You want me to play your games? Goddamn ask nice. Otherwise, eat Corona for all I care. Try and make me dance, mage. Try!"

She shook her fists in Cassandra's face. Daring. The red haze of anger seemed to make her hands glow.

Cassandra stepped back. The radiance around her staff grew bright. The stars in the mage's dark eyes appeared to flash and explode. Wren glared at her through a blur of tears and fury. She could feel Cassandra's magic building to be released; enough to turn her to a cinder.

So alone. She had nothing left but her dignity. She would die with it. Probably better off that way.

"Go ahead," Wren challenged. Ishtar, how she hurt inside. She felt like she'd eaten broken glass. "Kill me because I wouldn't simply roll over for you! Do it!"

A gold hand clamped around her throat. "Be silent!"

"Make me."

The fingers tightened. Wren didn't try to stop her. She'd passed caring. She welcomed release. So tired. Corona cried like a frightened child. The noose of the mage's hand closed. Wren kept her gaze fixed on Cassandra.

As the pressure increased, dots danced in her vision and she felt dizzy. She no longer felt the anger. She didn't even seem to be in her body anymore. It was as if someone had wrapped her in warm cotton. She could hear her heart far off, the beats growing slower. Her vision blurred.

"I'm coming, Grahm."

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Since I was a teen my mouth has been getting me in trouble. It's a trait that hasn't improved with age...
--Wren

Wren opened her eyes. She lay on her side on a marble floor. Her neck ached and everything looked fuzzy. She felt cold, as if her bones had turned to ice. The giant corridor filled with artwork and mirrors was quiet except for a plaintive piping sound. The dagger, Corona, cried on the floor by her. The glow from it flickered.

A banging sound drew Wren's attention away from the dagger. Forehead resting on fist, Cassandra leaned against the wall staring into one of the mirrors. It didn't appear that she liked what she saw.

Wren felt so serene, as if all the hurts of the last week were burned out of her by the tirade she directed at Cassandra. Apparently, the dream she shared with Grahm hadn't dispelled her pain over his death and those of the Brethren. The agony of seeing her family destroyed had been bottled up and walled off so she could function. Cassandra had tested that barrier and the dam had broken, letting out a flood of frustration and fury. A fine chimera the mage had broken loose.

She couldn't believe she'd challenged Cassandra, daring the mage to do her worst. Had she gone crazy? Wren shook her head, trying to shake off the grogginess. She picked up Corona. "Hush," she said. "Shhh."

With a tinny sounding sniff, the weapon stopped its noises. She belted him back on. What had the mage been thinking when she made this thing? A dagger that cried? Wren struggled to her feet.

She held out a hand; not the slightest tremble. She'd almost died, where was the pounding heart, the shakes? It made no sense.

Cassandra turned. The mage's gold skin looked pale. The staff lay at her feet. She focused on Wren. "I nearly killed you."

The calm in Wren's mind felt as icy cool as the rage had been hot. She felt the phoenix throbbing like a second heart between her breasts. "You'll have to finish the job if we don't agree. I am a person, not a toy. All I ask is a little courtesy."

Cassandra narrowed her black eyes. Wren felt a tingle shoot through her again. The mage's body went from stiff to bowed, as if a great weight settled on her shoulders. "I had no idea you suffered such..." Her voice caught. "I did not sense it." She laced her fingers, knuckles whitening. "I--" the words seemed to stick in her throat. "You were right," she bowed her head. Her tone became formal, enunciated in a mage's ultra-precise diction. "I took liberties with my station. I hope you will accept my--apology." She said the word so faintly, Wren barely caught it. This woman probably never apologized. "Your mission is humanitarian, and my pretenses petty. I hope you will forebear."

What made such a dramatic change in Cassandra? Wren guessed it was because the mage could read her mind. She'd thrown her emotions in Cassandra's face, blasted her with every bit of the anger, pain and fear in her body. She'd made the woman feel as she felt. That would have been as startling and as hurtful as any blow.

"I'm sorry too. I overreacted. I apologize."

Cassandra swallowed. "You're strong. You've been through so much. Please." She held out a hand.

The woman's fingers trembled. Her face, could Wren be reading it right? The mage looked scared. Wren approached and gripped the offered hand.

Cassandra surprised her again by giving her a hug. "Lords, I cannot believe my own coldness. I have two daughters your age." She held onto Wren rocking her. The mage trembled.

At first, Wren couldn't forget she'd only moments ago tried to strangle her. Her tone sounded near despair. Apparently, Cassandra had seen something frightening in herself. For a few moments, she wasn't a deadly sorceress but a person in need of consoling.

Wren hugged her back.

After a few moments, Cassandra seemed to remember herself. She gently pushed her back. Wren sensed all emotional walls the woman erected around herself, going back up. The mage picked up her staff and daubed her eyes. Cassandra let out a breath. "Enough silliness." She fixed Wren with a look. "Shall I put your hair back?"

Wren held up her hands. "No, it's fine for now."

The mage nodded. "Let us go. Desiray will wonder what happened to us." Cassandra walked beside her now. She touched Wren's sleeve and she met her eyes. "We had trouble in the lab is all. An accident that needed mending."

The mage sounded very cool and matter-of-fact. Wren nodded. "An accident."

They continued through the halls. No other sounds save their footsteps echoed in the giant place. An odd fruity smell grew stronger as they went.

As they walked, Wren tried to comprehend what had happened. In the heat of the argument, she'd felt like another person. She'd felt no fear. Nothing mattered save retaliating against Cassandra. She couldn't recall ever having such giant changes in mood, going in an instant from white hot fury to frigid composure. The anger had exploded out of her. The stifling calm came as quick.

Was Corona somehow manipulating her emotions? Anger over his touching her started the incident. It escalated beyond control instants afterward. The idea that Cassandra's weapon might be controlling her made a shiver go through her.

They climbed a short flight of stairs and another door whispered open when Cassandra looked at it.

A lavish study awaited inside. Bookshelves covered three of the four walls. After seeing libraries in nearly every room, Wren concluded that books must be Cassandra's favorite decoration. A thick blue rug covered the entire floor and paintings of five figures dominated the unshelved wall.

Central was a portrait of stern-visaged graying man wearing the braids and lace of a warmaster. Particular attention had been paid to his intense eyes, making them look alive. A striking picture of Desiray in a red gown hung on the man's left. A painting of a voluptuous copper-haired woman dressed in furs and silks completed the top row. Renderings of two gold-skinned young women dressed in glossy silver, probably Cassandra's daughters, hung centered below the three.

Dressed in polished blue leather, Desiray sat on the edge of a huge desk stacked with books and scrolls. Wren felt her stomach tighten as she stared at the mistress. The woman who'd caused an entire guild to die. She didn't look like a monster. Instead, she looked like a paragon. What beautiful women aspired to become.

Glaring at a book, Desiray flipped pages with angry slaps, mouthing silent oaths. Wren recognized the words 'cursed' and 'avatar'. If body language had measurable volume, Desiray would have been screaming.

She wore swords strapped to her back and at her hip. Dagger hilts protruded from several parts of her garments. Wren didn't doubt that the dark cloak draped about Desiray's head and shoulders obscured other weapons.

Cassandra stood in the doorway with Wren, watching the mistress slap pages. Each whap of a sheet being turned made the gold woman wince. Apparently, Desiray was so intent that she hadn't noticed them.

Whap--shrrip!

"Desiray!" The volume of Cassandra's voice made Wren jump.

The white-haired guild woman tried to go three directions at once, legs, torso and book. She tottered off the table, but caught herself. She snatched the book out of the air before it hit the floor.

"What? What? What?" The woman's face looked as pale as her hair. She scowled at Cassandra. "Don't do that!"

"I heard you rip that page," Cassandra growled. "Never mistreat books, especially in my study." A muscle in her cheek twitched. "I expect you to repair that."

Desiray glanced at the book. Her jaw tightened. She smoothed the page with a finger, placed a gold embossed mark between the pages and snapped it closed. "Yes--dear."

"Sorry to be so surly, but you know better."

"Greetings to you too." Desiray put the book down. "Damned avatar, my informants confirmed Wren's story. Makes me--" She stopped. She rubbed between her breasts at something hidden beneath her blue armor. "Where is Wren anyway? Who's that?"

Cassandra smiled. "Someone we both know."

Wren froze. There'd be a fight soon. She braced for it. The longer she looked at Desiray the more angry she felt. The woman possessed everything. The painting on the wall showed it. This family and its wealth were hers. Wren owned nothing but dust now. Only the thought of saving people in the guild kept her from pulling Corona and planting it between the woman's sparkling green eyes. No one deserved to be that exquisite.

Desiray cocked her head. "She does look familiar. That armor--" She stepped forward to inspect Wren. "That's my armor! She looks, I can't--place--it." Desiray's eyes widened. "She looks like--me. Well, like I used to anyway."

Is that what Cassandra was after? That they looked alike? It seemed a small payoff after their fight. Corona hummed on her hip. She caressed his pommel, enjoying the tingle that spread up her arm.

The gold woman beamed. "Quite a likeness is she not?"

Hands on hips, Desiray studied her. Uneasy, Wren shifted from foot to foot. She resisted the urge to grab Corona's hilt.

"Too good. I'm amazed I never noticed."

"I am amazed you notice anything."

Desiray folded her arms. "Did you give her that equipment, Cassandra? Or is it a loan. Those things--" she stopped, her gaze fastened on Corona. "That's new." A tingle went through Wren as Desiray scrutinized her.

"Let me see."

She approached and Wren backed away. Thoughts of stabbing Desiray flickered. The idea of letting Desiray touch Corona, the order itself, made her grow angrier.

"No."

Desiray's tone hardened. "Don't be silly. Let me see it." Wren felt the words try to grip her--force her to comply. Those green eyes compelled; demanded obedience.

"No." She kept her voice level. It hurt to say the word. Now, she knew why the other guilders feared Desiray.

"Wren." Desiray growled and glanced at Cassandra.

"Mistress, it is not yours," she whispered. "It's mine."

"You do not deny me," Desiray said in an icy tone. "What is yours, is the guild's. Let me see it--now."

A compulsion grabbed at her mind. Steely fingers tried to trap her will. Obey. Her mind seemed coated with oil that kept Desiray from getting a firm purchase.

Wren grabbed Corona's hilt, ready to use it. "That guild is gone, damn you! The elders are dead except for me. You stopped caring when we needed you. They're dead and I don't follow you anymore. Corona is not for anyone to see!"

Even though Desiray's mind grip was ineffective, resisting felt like being stuck with hot pins. She never realized the extent of the mistress' control. She flashed on how the other Brethren had never been able to even think a bad thought about Desiray. She and Grahm had been the only ones who could even contemplate questioning her orders. When she'd openly criticized Desiray, even he'd turned pale.

Anger made the mistress' comely face seem to glow. Her hand drifted to the hilt of the sword on her hip. Wren felt that green-eyed stare trying to drill holes in her. "Nobody talks to me like that, youngling, in my guild or not."

"Grahm is dead because of you!" Wren yelled. Cassandra gripped her shoulder and she shook it off. "That damn Vulcindra of yours sent us to hit the Malicent gem instead of organizing a defense. She knew the Dagger's plans a tenday in advance--a tenday, and made no preparations!" Wren clenched her fists wishing she had Vulcindra's neck there to strangle.

"Wren--" Cassandra tried to break in.

She raised her voice to drown out Cassandra. Wishing the words could flay pieces of hide off Desiray. "After we hit Cinnibar, we found the guild so confused they couldn't stop a bunch of schoolyard bullies much less twenty knights and a hundred trained thugs. The Brethren are so enthralled by this power of yours that they couldn't tell Vulcindra what a fool she was."

Desiray's face turned stony. Her jaw muscles went taut. "Be silent!" The vehemence of the mistress' command burst over Wren.

Teeth gritted, heart pounding and fists clenched Wren stopped. She'd been full of speeches today. It'd kill her yet.

Desiray's voice sounded as cold as an Arctic wind. "You say Vulcindra sent you for the Malicent gem? She said she and Tarmagal would attend to that personally."

Wren snorted. "Hah! That woman hasn't attended anything personally since you installed her. She administrates and negotiates. That's it." Wren pounded a fist into her palm. "The only sweat that bitch works up, is breaking bed slats in the back room with Modren. I got your hit lists from her and carried them out."

"Milafar's jewelry?"

"Me."

"Tengal's vase?"

"Me."

"Harlom's knife collection?"

"Me."

Desiray stared at her. "No."

"The chits Vulcindra signed for them are still in my cubby if you want to see. You mean that witch took credit for my hits?" Wren laughed. It made her stomach ache. "I trusted her! Maybe she deserved to die." Wren stared at the mistress. "Didn't you ever ask her for details? Tops, there are three thieves who could break into Milafar's--" Wren stopped herself. "Hades. What did you care? Broke my back while she got strokes; traitorous, conniving bitch."

"Watch your tongue or I'm going to break your head," Desiray growled.

Wren stopped. Stewing in silence. It all made sense. Why didn't she see it before? Too caught up with Grahm, and blinded by Desiray's thrall. Summers of work laid at the feet of a worthless, do-nothing, administrator.

Cassandra used the pause to get a word in. "We are all a bit tense. Wren's gone through a traumatic experience and is understandably--touchy."

"Touchy?" Desiray looked down her nose at Wren. "This girl's ready to gnaw a rhinotaur's leg off. What'd you do to her?"

She looked surprised. "Me? What makes you think--"

Desiray continued. "It's that dagger of yours. She's probably so stoked with battle magic she's ready to chew rocks."

Desiray was right. The surges of emotion came after she'd strapped on Corona. Everything came to the surface then; the sense of power, the lack of inhibition, that incredible freed feeling. Corona. Since she put it on, she wasn't afraid of dying. She wasn't afraid of anything.

"Let's go further, Cassandra. This making Wren up to look like me and giving her my equipment. You want her to take my place, right?" The woman's voice rose until it sounded like sails snapping in a gale. "You want to keep me out of it. That's it, isn't it. Isn't it!"

The golden mage raised an eyebrow. "Yes. That's it exactly."

"No, Cassandra, it won't happen that way. I tell you--no."

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Glancing around the book lined study, Wren took a step away from Desiray and Cassandra. Corona the dagger, made a gulping sound. For the moment, the mistress had taken her focus off Wren and turned it to Cassandra. The woman's emerald eyes flashed. Nobody told the guildmistress of Corwin what to do.

"No," Desiray growled. "You won't make this decision for me; no, no, and--no." The first mention of 'no' had made the room drop in temperature. The extra negatives only worsened the situation. Neither woman appeared to like the word. Obviously, both were used to getting their way, except of course when it came to each other.

Desiray's lean body vibrated like a plucked bowstring, hands clenched at her sides, teeth gritted and eyes narrow. The pale complexion of her face turned scarlet.

Cassandra stood with arms folded, and face stiff, the stars in her space black eyes flashing like tiny explosions. The gold of her face had lightened until it looked a pale yellow.

The two women stood like statues, gazes locked and bodies tight. How different these two were than the smiling, satisfied images depicted in the portraits on the wall behind them. Wren still didn't understand. How was it that Cassandra could dictate to Desiray? What was their relationship?

Whatever the case, she wasn't going to get involved. Maybe she'd slip away when one of them threw the first punch, or spell, or whatever it was they would do. Both looked angry enough to strangle the other. Oddly, neither woman said another word.

The room had gone silent as a tomb. She couldn't even hear them breathing. After a moment, she felt a tingling then heard muffled voices, not audibly but silently; mindspeak like she experienced with Cassandra. They were sending thoughts at one another with such force that she could pick it up. Corona vibrated in his sheath, making little squeaks as if the volume of their telepathic yells hurt his hearing.

Wren retreated and leaned against a bookshelf, standing near the door should either of them decide to explode. She petted Corona, keeping the weapon calm. Still, it made little bleating sounds whenever Cassandra's face grew particularly stormy.

She was a little disappointed that Cassandra didn't choke Desiray. Seeing that, by itself, would have been worth all the trouble she'd been through. The argument went on for a while, the only movement being to change stance or to emphasize with a hand. She could tell the particularly forceful points when Desiray made little jabbing motions with her finger. Cassandra responded with accusatory points.

"Seems everyone gets mad around you," she murmured to Corona. "You can't keep making me angry like that. It'll get me killed."

A tingle went through her palm. Like a dog lapping its master's hand as an apology for something done wrong. The noises became little whines. Obvious requests for forgiveness.

"All right, just don't do it anymore. Okay?"

The weapon hummed cheerfully and a warmth suffused her body, making her feel strong. At the edges, she felt a tantalizing pulse; unseen fingers trying to touch intimate places.

"Corrr-ona," she whispered. "Stop it, or I'll have Cassandra put you back in that cabinet."

She sensed an embarrassed flush as those invisible fingers were withdrawn. Ishtar, how easy it would be to just let Corona have its way. It felt marvelous. All part of the lure, the way this weapon manipulated its host. If there was pleasure, how far behind might there be pain?

It appeared that Cassandra calmed Desiray down because the guildmistress slowly unwound, the steel in her features softened. She cast a fractious glance at Wren. Obviously, she felt Wren did something to cause this.

To Hades with what she thought. She would help the guild and be gone. Damn Desiray anyway. She didn't know where she would go, but at the very least it would be away.

Jharon. It wouldn't last. The temple came first or he'd be with her now. Train here with Cassandra? It was uncomfortably close to Desiray. In a way, that appealed in as much as she could thumb her nose daily at the white-haired woman.

Wren gritted her teeth. She really needed to quell such thoughts.

Cassandra spoke up as if her words had never been interrupted by the silent argument. "As I said, we are all a little on edge. Perhaps a drink to soothe raw nerves."

Wren licked her lips. "There isn't much time to waste. No doubt the Dagger will begin sacrifices soon. That priest seemed eager for blood."

Desiray stiffened.

Cassandra impaled Wren on a frosty stare. Her body language said that she'd just gotten Desiray calm.

Wren could only answer with a shrug. They were talking about lives. Each hour could mean another Brethren laid on the altar beneath that black-eyed scum's sacrificial knife. "I don't think we should waste any time."

Wren listened to her own words. Had that come from her mouth? She almost sounded--eager to go. Wren touched Corona on her hip. No matter what she did, he seemed to be burrowing deeper into her head.

Conflict. Battle. Excitement. Of course, it was a weapon. No wonder she wanted to pick a fight every time she turned around. She needed to do this job and be rid of him. Cassandra had lied. She couldn't control Corona any more than she might the path of the daystar through the sky. She could only cling to her sense of self, and respond to its urgings like a stubborn horse. The crying, the pleasurable sensations and humming; all little jabs with the spurs.

I won't let you control me. The dagger hummed louder.

"At least a drink," Cassandra said going to one of the cabinets. "I was recently given some Malanian fire wine."

"Something strong would do me now," Desiray said.

She had to resist these combative urges. Wren nodded and walked over to join them. She tried to be calm and convince herself a few fractions of a bell wouldn't make a difference.

Cassandra pulled out some breathtaking crystal goblets from the cabinet. The silvery glass glinted with a rainbow of colors. The raised impressions of swooping talon hunters, rearing broadpaws, and loping moon-howlers were magnificent in their detail.

It seemed almost a crime to pour liquid into such artistry.

The gold-skinned woman filled the glasses, handed one to Desiray and then another to Wren. She poured the last for herself and sniffed over the glass appreciatively. "Marvelous vintage."

Wren wouldn't know one wine from another but it certainly smelled enticing; sharp as well as sweet, with a hint of a bite. The flavor of this was as delicate as the dwarven mead had been powerful. It made an intoxicating warmth spread through her stomach that was indeed soothing.

"Like the wine?" Cassandra asked. Wren nodded. "Tell me, how long have you been with Desiray's guild."

She took another sip. Catching her breath, she reminded herself to go slow. Delicate the taste might be, but she didn't doubt a few glasses of the concoction could lay an ogre low. "Fifteen summers, milady."

"So that makes you, what do you call it? A 'lifer'?"

Wren nodded.

Desiray humphed in mid sip. Those blazing green eyes said she didn't like Cassandra's line of questioning.

"If I understand correctly, you have done a great deal for the guild. Do you know how much gold that amounts to?"

Cassandra ignored Desiray's glare.

Wren shrugged. "About three quarters of a million."

The glass froze half way to Cassandra's mouth. "Truly?" She turned to Desiray. "That is a surprising amount. Tell me, how much of that have you gotten to keep?"

If it irritated Desiray, she'd tell Cassandra all she liked to hear. Damn this was good wine. "Oh, about ten thousand I'd guess."

"That much? All of one percent?"

The mage's tone made Desiray sputter into her glass. "Shreds, Cassandra, will you mind your own business?"

"Just curious darling. Seems an awfully slim cut to me. One would think a girl of Wren's experience and talents could have started a guild of her own by now. Seeing as how you keep them so poor though, guess the only way they could afford it would be to run off with one of their hits."

"Could you keep your thoughts to yourself," Desiray muttered. She looked at Wren. "You sure of that amount?"

"Absolutely. Eight hundred thousand, if the Malicent gem fences out." She tipped her glass back, savoring the burn all the way down.

"Malicent?" Cassandra tapped her chin with a lacquered fingernail. "Is that Cinnibar's prized dream jewel?"

"Tough get too, Grahm and I--"

Desiray clamped a hand over Wren's mouth. "Why do you care, Cassandra?"

"Dear," Cassandra said in a mild voice. "Must you be suspicious of everything? I find her fascinating. Her accomplishments are extraordinary for a girl her age." She turned to Wren and pulled Desiray's hand away. Her starry black eyes twinkled. "I hear Cinnibar weaves almost impenetrable magical wards."

"Oh, they weren't that tough," Wren said. She felt so light. Like she might float away. "They're weak at the corners (he uses square ones). After getting burned a few times, I learned you can see a ward if you look at it sideways. You have to relax and feel around in your head until there's this kind of tingle. Know what I mean?"

Cassandra leaned forward, all intensity and eagerness. "Yes, Wren, yes I do." The smile on her face looked hungry.

Wren found it a bit unsettling, but not daunting. She liked it when the mage smiled. It made her look like a different person. She took another sip of fire wine. "Can I have another glass?"

"Of course," Cassandra said, already reaching for the bottle.

"No," Desiray thrummed. "What's this about wards, girl?"

Wren frowned at her. "All the wizard hits have them, mistress. Has it been that long since you did a hit yourself?"

"Don't be smart. I used to have a mage along to foil them," she poked Cassandra in the ribs.

"Mages that'll work on a job are expensive." Wren looked longingly at the bottle on the desk. She dipped a finger in the bottom of her goblet and licked the few sweet tasting drops off. "Most of the time I ended up with nothing left from the job."

"How long have you and Grahm been heisting without a mage?"

Wren shrugged. "Oh, since before Sireth died."

"That robbing witch," Desiray growled. "Vulcindra has been charging a mage to the fence values of those hits. She's been pocketing the difference! If she's not dead, I'm going to kill her myself."

Cassandra folded her arms and shook her head. "Such a wonderful little organization you have there in Corwin, Desiray. Based on what we have said, it is likely that this Vulcindra has thrown in with the Dagger. She scrambled your defenses on purpose. Sent the two strong willed lifers away the day of the attack. What else did she do?"

Wren had been letting the warm feeling in her stomach relax her. Cassandra's question made a bolt click in her mind. "The secret way in," Wren burst out. "They came in from the underhalls. She told them where the stealth entrance was. It all makes sense. She was really upset when Grahm and I came back early. When the fight started, she bolted like a frightened long-ear. Ishtar, it was a set up."

Desiray put her glass down. She'd grown very stiff. Her hand gripped the hilt of the sword on her hip, the knuckles white. "Cassandra," she said, voice hollow. "I can't promise you anything. I have to get that avatar out of my guild. There's a traitor to catch. I'll do it your way if I can. No promises." She stared at Wren. "Are you ready to go?"

She put her glass down. "Now?"

The mistress' face looked carved from stone. "Right now."

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Never imagined I'd ever be jumping around the Realms with magic. After doing it once, I not only couldn't imagine it... I dreaded it.
--Wren

Standing in the book-lined study, Wren held her breath. She wished for another few sips of Cassandra's fire wine as she watched Desiray's anger rise. It started like a ground tremor at the woman's feet and rose until her whole body was vibrating with restrained tension. Gold-skinned Cassandra watched Desiray, the mage's angular face unreadable.

The three of them had discussed the guild and the events leading up to the attack on the Brethren. The facts pointed to two things, Vulcindra had not only been stealing from the Brethren, but she'd also engineered the downfall of the Guild as well.

The revealing of a traitor had cracked it for Desiray. She was going back to Corwin to win her Guild back and track down Vulcindra. Now.

"How?" Wren asked.

Desiray's tone sounded hard. "Same way you got here."

Wren's stomach tightened. She groaned, thinking of how she had felt after the Sovereign transported her to Ivaneth.

"Your first time?"

She nodded. "I've never been that sick."

Desiray's smile could have frozen water. "It's not much better the second time." Desiray turned to Cassandra. She put a hand behind the bigger woman's neck, fingers twining in her hair.

She rose on tiptoes and pulled the gold woman to her. Faces close, lips not quite touching they stared in each other's eyes. "I'll see you in a few days."

Cassandra smiled. "See to it, you minx."

They broke apart. Desiray fixed Wren with a stare.

Her eyes narrowed in concentration, the pupils dilating. Light flared around herself and Desiray, then all Wren saw were green eyes blazing in brilliant white light. She felt a stomach wrenching acceleration, and they plunged through a black star-filled void.

They slammed back into reality. Desiray was the only fixture that remained constant. They now stood in a dark alley. The white-haired woman inhaled long and deep, then let it out slow. She smiled. The after affects hit Wren like a hammer. Unable to breathe and barely able to think, she listed like a scuttled ship. Desiray took her by the shoulders and let her slide down the wall.

"How you going to be tough, girl, if you can't handle a little teleport?" She glanced around. "Be back for you shortly."

Desiray blended into the shadows. One moment she was there, the next she became a part of the darkness.

Wren only groaned. Ishtar it hurt. Corona made a concerned piping on her side. She gripped his pommel. Power flooded into her, warm sensations blotting out the pain. She drew a full breath without difficulty.

After a few deep breaths, she rose without effort. Despite his drawbacks, having Corona definitely had its benefits. No longer paralyzed by pain, she could turn her mind to other things. How had Desiray brought them here? Even a mage had to cast a spell. She simply concentrated and carried them off through the void.

What kind of creature could do that? Her skin grew cold. An avatar could do it. That might explain why Hethanon attacked the guild. One avatar after another? Wren bit her lip. Did she really want to know?

She identified her surroundings. The alley smelled of rotting eggs and carrion. Rats squeaked and rustled in the refuse. She'd been in this alley before. The guild was only two blocks away. So close. Something in her said she should tremble. She didn't shake. Her outstretched hand was as dry and steady.

In the distance, the citadel bell tolled six times. The changing of the baytown guards started now. Patrols in the peasant and craft quarters would begin seeking out their watch commanders.

Their jump westward had turned back time. It was only dusk now. The russet sky was dotted with burgeoning stars and clouds. Pernithius, the harvest moon, glowed wanly, streaked in with gray clouds. Triatus, the distant moon, was too faint to be seen, even in the weak daylight.

She moved furtively down the lane to the end where it met the main avenue. She peeked around the corner toward the guild.

The familiar dives, taverns, and warehouses all looked dark. Dogs whined in a lane across the street. On a rooftop, someone let out a raspy laugh. Normally, at this time of day the thoroughfare buzzed with activity. Now, only a few people walked the street. Everyone visible hurried along, scanning the street and obviously uncomfortable.

Pulling her hood up, she swept from shadow to shadow. The new boots Cassandra gave her absorbed the sounds of her footfalls. The only noise came from her cloak whispering through the air.

The night mists were settling in, the air turning brisk. An uneasy stillness pervaded the atmosphere. Even the sea breeze smelled stagnant tonight.

Wren circled the guild at a respectful distance. She listened to each creak of the settling buildings, the cry of nightbirds, and the groan of rooftops under the feet of lookouts. The whole area had a tense, defiled feeling. The smell of death lingered in the air.

Corona snarled in the sheath on her side. He smelled the enemy. She did too. A mouse couldn't slip through the cordon the Dagger had put around the guild. There'd be no way in without incapacitating at least two guards.

She could live with that.

Wren circled back to the alley where they'd arrived.

Arms folded, the mistress waited in the shadows. The only thing that marked her presence was the wisps of white hair escaping from her hood. The woman stood so still she might have been a silhouette on the wall. Desiray had changed clothes during her absense. The polished blue of her armor had been replaced by an unnamable hue, so black that light seemed to be struck dead and gobbled up by the fabric.

"When did I say you could go investigate?" she asked in a deadly whisper. A hint of green glinted from inside the folds of her hood. When she moved, a ripple shimmered through the armor, like stones dropped in dark oil.

Corona made growling sounds. Wren clamped a hand around his pommel to quiet him. "You didn't say anything--mistress."

"You won't be satisfied until I break your neck, will you?" Her voice sounded matter of fact as if she were talking about the weather.

Wren's voice dropped. "Sireth is dead. Now, Grahm is too. If you'd been paying attention, neither of them would be."

Desiray's eyes narrowed. "I don't give a horse flop what you think is my fault. They're dead. Live with it."

Wren didn't even feel herself pull Corona. In an instant, the dagger shined in the space between them. The blade trilled, hungry for a taste of blood. She felt a giant heart pounding in her chest.

"You cold hearted bitch." It took all her will to keep from striking out. She could feel Corona in the back of her head whipping the anger into a frenzy. Kill her. It's her fault Grahm died. Wren's hands clenched and unclenched. "If you even have a heart. Grahm and I gave fifteen years of our lives to you. Sireth longer. She worshipped you. You're worse than Hethanon."

Desiray squared off, arms and legs twitching and ready for battle. "Spare me. Best put that blade away or be ready to use it."

Wren felt more than ready. The fire in her chest burst through her limbs like an explosion. Corona hummed with glee as she attacked twice in the time it took to blink. She barely felt the stone wall behind Desiray parting.

As fast as Wren struck, the mistress managed to leap away. Behind where Desiray had stood, smoldering gashes had opened in the brick, dripping white-hot molten stone.

Her swords readied, Desiray crouched in a fighting stance. The two blades shone mirror bright, golden sparks flickered around them. Her green eyes became glowing slits in the darkness. Wren saw her glance at the wall. For an instant, Desiray's face registered surprise. The woman's jaw tightened.

Wren spun Corona. The weapon's feather lightness made it a blur in the dark air. In all her time as a Brethren, Desiray had never been beaten in sparring. Right now, she would change that.

Sweat trickled between her breasts. Her heart raced like a galloping horse. The phoenix talisman turned to ice against her skin.

Desiray attacked next. Wren didn't even see her move. Just felt the vibration in her arm as she instinctively brought Corona shrieking down on the first blade. Pain erupted from her thigh as the sword creased her leg in a gout of blood. She countered instantly to stop Desiray's other blade. The block only deflected Desiray's weapon and it plunged through her shoulder in a numbing shock that splashed blood onto her cheek.

Wren spun inside the mistress' guard. Feeling the power of a star surging through her limbs, she grasped Corona two-handed and brought it crashing pommel first into Desiray's stomach.

It hit with thud. The mistress slammed through the brick wall. Through. The woman must have been made of iron, not flesh. Broken bits of masonry and wood collapsed top of her. Rats ran in all directions; all except the big white-haired one in the middle.

Corona chattered excitedly, craving more. Her two wounds burned like acid. She had to stop this. Part of Wren didn't want to. Hit her again! She killed Grahm. She betrayed Sireth. She destroyed your life!

A knife whizzed out of the dark hole. Wren felt a flare of energy. Though the weapon moved like a bolt of light, somehow she saw it--sensed it. Her hand left a glowing trail as she snatched at the hurtling blade.

A tremble shot through Wren as she stood grasping the hilt of the knife that had been thrown at her. She felt a sting. She had stopped it exactly as the point drew blood. Crimson trickled down the bridge of her nose.

Desiray leaped out of the darkness. The woman came up short. She blinked. That the mistress could move at all amazed Wren. She struck the woman hard enough to kill a giant.

The weapon Desiray threw vibrated in Wren's hand. Angry red tendrils of energy licked out of the weapon, striking at her fingers and wrist like venomous snakes. With Corona filling her mind, she only stared at the gnawing, tearing magic. She felt heat growing in her arm, power building to an explosion.

Rechanneling all of the stored force into the throw, Wren slammed the dagger into the ground at Desiray's feet. The impact made the cobbles tremble.

Taking breaths in gasps, the mistress stared at the smoking hole. It went down out of sight. That same hole could have been in her. Wren wanted her to know it.

Wren felt her strength ebbing. The two wounds were deep. Her right arm felt like wood. She switched Corona to the left. He gleamed and made laughing sounds. The weapon glowed.

"I have nothing to lose," Wren said. "You have a lot."

"Think I'm afraid to die?" Desiray snarled.

Wren twirled Corona, ignoring his lethal edge. "I think you're too smart to die."

Desiray's swords trembled with her rage. "I won't back down from some shredded babe. Even if she is holding that thing in her fist."

Corona made a sharp insulted chime. Kill her.

No. The guild needed Desiray. They needed someone like the mistress to liberate them. The woman was like nothing Wren ever saw... or had she? Images of Beia struggling in the doorway of the tavern flicked through her mind. A fist shattering rocks instead of the other way around.

Could there be a connection?

The mistress didn't give her the opportunity to puzzle it out. The woman lunged with both swords. Wren reacted long before her eyes registered movement. She turned her body. Metal grated across bone and flayed open her belly. The pain hit her like a hammer. Only Corona kept her limbs working. Desiray had gambled everything on that attack, too overextended to twist away when Wren brought Corona's pommel hard against her temple. It sounded like an axe whacking a log. The woman staggered and tried to focus. Wren aimed another blow square between the woman's unfocused green eyes. The impact rocked the woman back, causing one of her swords to pitch into the refuse. Reeling she tried to orient again. Wren shook her head, the woman had unbelievable resilience. She gave her another resounding thump in the forehead.

The mistress dropped. The ground shook. Corona let out a tinny cheer. Puffing, Wren clutched herself and dropped to her knees. Blood pumped over her fingers. For the first time in her life, Wren was thankful for the lean times. If she'd weighed a quarter stone more, she'd have lost both spine and guts.

The anger and indignation that had been filling her melted and was replaced by a sense of accomplishment and release. All over now. The bitch had gotten exactly what she deserved; a good thumping.

Problem was, she'd killed herself in the process. The world grayed. Too many wounds to staunch and too much pain to move. She knelt in the dark trying to keep from falling unconscious. Trying to hold her guts in.

Is this what they call a pyrrhic victory? Despite the hurt, the irony of the question made her smile to herself.

The sensations flooding into her from Corona overwhelmed the agony, blocking it out in a surge of warmth. A fierce itching came from the wounded areas. She pulled her hands away from her gashed stomach. The blood was hardening. She undid the straps on the hauberk and lifted it up. The skin around the deep furrow rippled. The edges of the separated flesh knit. The slashes in her shoulder and leg were doing the same.

She held up Corona. "Are you doing that?"

He hummed happily. He'd gotten his taste of battle and seemed satisfied now.

Damn, where had this dagger been her whole life? It was a risk taker's dream come true.

Now what? She looked at Desiray. As hard as she hit the woman, it only staggered her. The mistress would wake up with an aching head and murder on her mind.

Wren listened for sounds of activity. The fight had been over fast. It didn't seem like the noise had brought Dagger scouts descending on them.

What could she do? Her strength seemed to be returning but it felt like it would take a while. Desiray would come around before then. With injuries like this, she stood no chance at all in a second battle. There wasn't a way to run from someone who could go anywhere in the blink of an eye.

"Damn," she muttered. "You got me into this, Corona. Now, how will I ever get out?"

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Telepathy, mind bending, rapports, under-speech, all that stuff was just fiction to me. Then, I started doing it. I always knew I was odd... but that odd?
--Wren

Wren knelt by Desiray's head. Two large circular welts stood out between her eyes where Corona's round hilt had struck her. Welts. The woman's head should have been staved in. Wren ran a finger across the mistress' skin.

So smooth. Perfect. Her fingernail couldn't even make a mark when she pressed. The woman looked like a normal person yet her skin seemed tough as hard leather. How could that be? Was her body somehow denser? Desiray was slim and barely a half-hand taller than Wren. The ground had shaken when she fell though.

The hand that held Corona began to itch. She looked down at the weapon. The hilt had started glowing. She felt her arm being urged to move. Some feeling said she should move the weapon to the wounds. Why? To heal Desiray as well? She pressed Corona to Desiray's forehead. The dagger hummed. The red gem pulsated, the crimson illumination grew brighter. This time the dagger's humming was more than audible, it rang in her head. The gem itself seemed to grow. Or did she shrink? The sounds and the smells of the dark alley vanished as something tugged her toward the gem's blood colored light. Corona's humming grew louder. She felt as if she were falling. Her heart pounded as she flailed for some way to halt her plunge into the redness spreading around her. Her hands found nothing.

"Corona!" she screamed. "What are you..!"

The words came too late. The alley was gone. She drifted as though submerged in an ocean of translucent red. It was as if she'd been sucked into the heart of Corona's jewel.

What had happened? More importantly, how would she get out again..?

Wren fought to control her panic as she oriented herself in the red haze she floated in. Every direction felt 'up'. Her limbs met resistance when they moved, but there was nothing tangible to touch or grasp. Occasionally, glimmers of gold winked far in the distance.

Am I really inside Corona's gem, or is this some mind trick that makes it 'look' as if I am? Why am I here?

She tried to find reason in what Corona had done. A solution. As she focused, she realized she'd forgotten the question. A solution for what? There must be an explanation. She scanned around for some clue, nothing but red space sprinkled with gold.

One sparkle looked closer than the others. On instinct, she reached for it. Her fingers closed around it. Long slender silhouettes flooded into the space around her, whirling and snapping like long holiday banners. In the streamers, she glimpsed images.

Intuition said these strands held the key to getting free of this crimson prison. The streamers spun and dipped right out of reach.

She lunged. Her hand closed on something hot. Light flared around her...

Wren stood in a slovenly shanty leaning against a rickety table. Her back burned. Someone--something held onto her arm. Confused, she tried to twist away. It happened so fast, one moment in the redness, the next... Despite the surroundings being completely new, they somehow felt familiar. The air reeked of spoiled grain, overripe tallow and stale sweat.

She tried again to twist away from whatever gripped her. Stringy black hair fell across her face. Her hands didn't look right. In fact, nothing was right. What was this place? She'd grabbed for an image and... a jolt of agony disrupted her thoughts. A hulk of a man loomed over her. Her heart pounded as she saw his deformed face. The muscles and skin hung slack on the right side, making the flesh appear half melted. His left eye gleamed while the other stared off in a different direction. She'd never seen this grotesque hulk before, but she knew his name. Maldar!

She struggled to pull away from him, but didn't possess the strength. Her arms and legs trembled and her insides burned. Even Maldar's bad arm, withered and shriveled, could hold her.

"Steal food from me!" He lashed her with a hide strap.

Wren screamed.

"Thought ya'd cheat me." He dragged her away from the table. Towing her behind him, he shambled across the dirty hovel with his awkward lunge-drag gait. "Old Maldar's gonna make sure ya never wanna steal again. No sir. Not again."

Her pleas made no difference. The crippled man only kept mumbling to himself.

An old sluice barrel stood in the corner of the cramped space. As he dragged her toward it, she smelled mildewed wood and rotting straw. Flies buzzed around the opening.

Wren struggled harder. Maldar uncapped the barrel, grabbed her by the neck, and forced her into the slimy confines. Her skin prickled. Things squished under her feet.

Words came from her mouth, but they weren't her words. "No, please! I'll be good. I promise."

"Oh you'll be good, little Desi, oh yes you will." He grimaced. "After you spend a coupla days in there."

The cap crashed down, blotting out the light.

She shrieked.

"Keep yellin, I'll make it a ten-day," he growled.

"Please, no." So dark. She hated the dark.

"Teach ya. Little thief. You'll learn." Wren clamped her hands over her ears as sharp impacts rocked the tiny enclosure.

He was driving nails into the top.

"Please!" She pounded on the sides. Splinters spiked into her fists. No, not the dark. Anything but the dark.

"Never again," Maldar muttered. He rapped home another nail...

Wren realized she was back in the redness again. The slender strands of colors whipped around her in erratic orbits. Horror and shock gripped her like a giant fist. The nightmare seemed so vivid. It had been as if it were an experience out of her past. She'd never met Maldar though. The only man to terrorize her had been Koonar the whore broker, but he locked her in a cabinet, not a barrel. Sometimes she pounded for days before Aven or Jahna let her out.

She felt a ripple shoot through the redness. She heard fists pounding on wood. A girl sobbed in a terror-choked voice. It sounded like her voice! "Aven! Jahna! Please let me out. I'll be good. I promise! I promise..." The echoes died.

Wren sensed movement. She couldn't touch or see the person, but she sensed--a woman? Wren felt she should remember the person's name. Like the banners the flickered around her, the name danced barely out of remembering.

There must be a reason for her being here. Why couldn't she recall? She must get out. Off in the distance, Wren felt a humming. The strands had to be the answer. One of these must be the key to getting out. She grabbed for another.

Illuminated by reddish shafts of twilight, the bent and crumbling stone walls of Dregstown looked like rotting meat. The dirty back alley stank of moldering wood and decomposing refuse. The flat sounding cracks of knuckles, leather, and wood on flesh sent jolts of through her.

"Aram!" She yelled, struggling against hands that gripped her arms. "You're killing him!"

"Watch 'em sweety," the gang leader said in a gravelly voice. "This is what happens when you try to freelance on our turf."

Six men joined in on battering the tall dark-haired easterner. His deep indigo tunic and breeches were ripped and streaked with blood. Discolorations marred his beautiful face. He bit, elbowed, and clawed. Hitting with knees, fists or anything that came to hand. More than once he scored telling blows. These were alley hardened thugs though, and they outnumbered him.

A lead-filled sap came up against Aram's chin with crack of splintering bone. He cried out.

"Aram, no!" She kicked and clawed, trying to get free to help, but the three of the gang held her solid. "Dear lord, no! No..!"

Lead stiffened leather whacked hard against Aram's temple. He dropped like a felled tree. The six thugs, bloodied and in a rage pounced on him, kicking and hitting the still twitching body. Wooden clubs and saps rose and fell, rose and fell...

Wren curled up in the redness and clutched herself against the spasms wracking her stomach. Such pain. That wasn't her partner. No. Somehow she remembered that face, unbloodied, clean-shaven and straight. A wonder to touch. Dark eyes, deep as country wells and lips that always seemed to smile. Lords, she loved that face. No. Not that face--another.

More ripples hummed through the blood-colored void. A body twisted as if trying to break free of bonds. The light in his eyes fading. Yellow tinged flesh growing cold. Limbs trembling, hands clawing trying to keep a grip on life, shuddering, growing still...

Wren jerked. Grahm. She sensed the pooled memories growing confused. Where did she start and the other end? She felt her ability to distinguish between the two of them fading. Somewhere else in the void, the other kicked, no doubt alarmed at sensing its dwindling sense of identity. Wren had to find that key.

She grabbed for another of the banners spinning around her...

Wren shivered. Her hand itched. She was staring into the red jewel in Corona's crosspiece. Something crawled along her leg. With a start, she sat up and kicked away the rat. It squeaked and scampered off. Corona hummed. He sounded faint, as if his tones came from far away. Ishtar, what had he done? Why would Cassandra empower the weapon to merge memories like that? Desiray lay on the dark cobbles, her face pale and eyes clenched shut.

Wren checked the stars. How long had they been unconscious? Much of her strength had returned. The laceration on her stomach still looked like an ugly red tear.

She shuddered. How many of Desiray's memories had she participated in--a dozen, a hundred? Experiencing Desiray's misfortunes had been like getting lashed with a whip. The mistress was no stranger to misery. She'd turned the pain into a shell, a frosty armor through which hurt couldn't penetrate.

Had Desiray experienced Wren's trials and horrors? Even if she did, would it make a difference?

Wren looked at Corona. "When I asked for help, that wasn't what I had in mind."

He only chimed faintly. Knowing each other's pain would only work if there were any compassion left in Desiray. As she knew all to well now, little enough sympathy had been spared on the mistress.

Wren pushed a finger through the slashes in her armor--the same armor Desiray used to wear. There'd been more than one reason the armor and Wren's appearance angered Desiray. It brought the memories back. Times the woman would prefer to forget. No wonder she never looked like herself anymore.

The normal creamy color of Desiray's skin had returned where the welts on her forehead had been. Wren touched that perfect face again. She wouldn't be allowed to do it while Desiray was awake. What did it feel like to live inside skin like that? Even alley grime didn't stick to that silky smoothness. She laid a finger against Desiray's neck and felt the steady pumping of blood. Leaning close, she detected shallow breaths on her cheek.

Wren listened for unusual sounds. The rats continued to forage. Occasionally, she heard a roach skitter across the flags.

Something in her wanted to run. Leave the conflict with Desiray behind. There were only two outcomes; a truce, or a battle ending in death. With all Corona's power, she had almost lost the fight. Desiray would win if they fought again. It was stupid to gamble that the mistress would wake up and say all was forgiven. On the other hand, getting hunted by this powerful woman might be worse. Desiray could go anywhere simply by willing it. Trying to run from magic like that only delayed the inevitable.

Leather boots trod on stone somewhere nearby.

Wren turned toward the sound. Close. Too close. Damn, laid out like this they'd see Desiray. Rising, she took hold of the mistress' arms to drag her through the hole she'd made in the wall. Heaving with all her strength, she barely made the woman's body stir.

Ishtar, she can't be that heavy! She's not much bigger than me!

Controlling her panic, Wren sheathed Corona and tried to roll Desiray like a log. Sweat dampened her arm pits and broke out on her forehead. Wedging a shoulder and using both legs in a supreme effort she managed to flop the woman over onto her stomach.

What is she made of? She must weigh twenty stone. Grabbing off the woman's sword belt, she sheathed one of the swords. Using the pace long scabbard as a lever, she flipped the woman over again.

There wasn't enough time. The sounds couldn't be more the thirty paces away. Spreading her shadow colored cloak, Wren dove on top of Desiray.

Sweat trickled into her eye as the sounds grew closer. She blinked away the sting. Wren examined herself as best she could without overt movement. Did she cover them both well enough? They both wore night-colored clothing. She'd sheathed Corona to keep his light from escaping. Did she get everything?

She smelled scented jasmine oil on Desiray's skin, and the flowery odor that lingered in her hair. The woman felt feverishly warm. Moisture began to collect on her neck from Desiray's breathing.

The sounds came straight toward them. That gap in the wall was impossible to miss. Please, let them see no-one and move on.

An icy shiver ran down her spine as she remembered; Desiray used two swords. She'd sheathed one, but not the other. Where did it go? Was it hidden? The blade had been mirror polished.

Ten paces. Nothing to be done for it now. If she moved, they'd be seen anyway.

She estimated there were four people. From the weight of the vibrations caused by their footsteps, she guessed all were men. The sounds stopped. Eyes seemed to probe the darkness.

Her heart pounded. Her fingers tightened in Desiray's hair. Her neck ached from holding it up. To relieve the strain, she pressed her face into curve of the white-haired woman's neck and shoulder. Her lips touched salty tasting skin.

Desiray stirred. The woman's head moved, pinning Wren's hands. Wren tried to pull loose, but their combined weight had wedged her fingers.

Oh no. She felt muscles ripple underneath her. She tried again to dislodge her hands, but couldn't get enough leverage. She'd have to twist to yank them free. If she did that, her chances of getting off a surprise dagger throw at the men would be ruined.

The footsteps started approaching again. If she couldn't get them all, they'd sound an alarm.

Desiray's throat muscles worked against Wren's cheek. She felt the woman's heart pick up speed.

She heard men breathing. One of them wore hard boots. Wren guessed a thug, they used iron toes and heels for kicking and stomping. The night colored cloth must be hiding them or the men would have yelled by now. Their covered bodies probably looked like debris from the shattered wall. The sentries wouldn't know what to make of that hole and wouldn't be eager to investigate.

Desiray twitched.

Damn. She couldn't keep her still. She weighed a fourth of what Desiray did. The mistress wouldn't even notice her weight.

The mistress' throat vibrated. Her jaw worked.

Trying to talk! Cover her mouth. Damned hands. She couldn't get her hands free. She pressed her cheek against Desiray's lips. Moist flesh pushed against hers, trying to move.

They'd step right past them to look inside. Cloth swished. Swords scraped from sheaths. Tallow crackled. From the muffled sound, she guessed it must be a dimmed down lantern. Apparently, two men stayed back while the remaining two came nearer.

Desiray stirred again. Wren tried to hold her motionless through pure force of will.

Boots scraped on stone. They sounded only a pace away now. One stepped near. Rats squeaked. Roaches skittered. Tallow crackled. Men breathed.

One man was nervous, she heard his hand loosening and tightening in a leather glove. Somewhere close, a stomach growled.

He took another step. She felt the fabric of her cloak pull taut. Cold sweat trickled down the small of her back. Even with Desiray's flowery scent in her nostrils, she detected the man's foul body odor.

Steel pinged on brick as if he were probing the edges of the hole with his blade.

Desiray's jaw moved. Her throat tensed as she inhaled. Words were coming. Wren's cheek wouldn't stop them. The man stood right by them. Seal it. Muffle it. No hands. All she had was her--

Wren locked her mouth on Desiray's, swallowing the mumbled words. Desiray tasted like Cassandra's wine. Struggling to keep herself from jerking away, Wren shut out of her mind she was kissing a woman. She'd only kissed a man a few times, much less a woman.

She sensed the sentry still peering through the break in the wall. Thank Ishtar his attention was focused in the hole and not on the ground. She felt his foot twist on the cloak as he shifted his balance, leaning to peer around, probably aiming his lantern.

Wren kept the mistress' noises muffled. The other woman began to respond as though it were an intimate morning kiss. Her body stretched, muscles unkinking, hands starting to move to hold whoever she thought was kissing her. Wren did her best to keep Desiray's squirming invisible to the men nearby.

The mistress was in for a real shock. Wren hoped after all this that she didn't try to break her neck.

The man over them snapped his fingers.

Desiray stopped twisting. Instantly, her intense emerald eyes were wide.

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Ziedra was always sweet on me. Nice as she was, pretty as she was, I was never sweet on her quite the same way.
--Wren

Wren lay in the alley, arms wrapped around Desiray, kissing the woman to prevent her from speaking. Wren's stomach tightened, she felt she would die of humiliation. With torchlight flickering through her hood, Wren could see the startled woman's eyes. It had been the thug's finger snap that brought Desiray around. Something sharp and unusual that dispelled whatever dream she'd been experiencing.

Desiray tensed, an explosion ready to happen. Wren could do nothing more than plead with her eyes. Hope somehow the mistress would understand they were in danger.

The man snapped his fingers again.

The mistress' eyes narrowed. Wren saw comprehension dawn on her face. The woman's body tightened. Wren pulled her lips off Desiray's mouth, thankful for being able to do so.

Men shifted in the darkness.

Desiray nudged Wren's cheek with her chin. She focused on the woman's eyes and felt the tingle of probing go through her.

It sounded as if Desiray shouted in her ear. <Wren?>

She jerked then forced herself still, realizing that if Desiray had vocalized, the men would have jumped too. Another man moved up next to the first. Wren felt her cloak draw tight against her throat. Sweat trickled down her forehead and along her cheek. It splashed on the mistress' face.

The woman's eyes became slits. <Wren, you hear me?>

She was using mindspeak like Cassandra had used. Wren nodded that she heard.

<Speak back like you did with Cassandra.>

It seemed like a century ago when she sat in the tower across from the gold-skinned mage, the woman's fingers against her temples. How did she do it then?

<Like this?> she tried.

She felt Desiray's surprise. <Perfect. How many men?>

Wren listened for anything that might contradict her initial assessment; rummaging rats, skittering roaches, breathing men. Nothing had changed.

<Four.>

<Fine mess, damn it.> She felt several emotions roll through Desiray.

She couldn't read the mistress' thoughts, but she could sense them beneath the surface. Enemies all around, lying on her back in an alley with another woman on top of her.

Wren could relate.

<If I could get my hands free,> Wren thought to her. <I might be able to throw my daggers at a couple of them.>

<Your hands?> It took Desiray a moment to puzzle that out. She shifted her head, allowing Wren's fingers to come untangled from her hair. <Don't risk it.>

The man twisted again on the cloak. Any second now, the fool would get his foot tied up in it and he would fall on them.

<They'll find us!> She felt another drop of perspiration slide off her face.

Desiray flinched. <Stop sweating on me, will you?> A pause. <They won't find us. Need a distraction is all.>

Wren felt the mistress reach out telepathically. In an instant, she sensed dozens of tiny psyches, scampering at the edges of her mind's eye. Desiray focused, broadcasting a single impression.

Cats, everywhere--cats.

Squeals and the sound of tiny claws clicking on rock erupted all around them. The sentries gave out grunts of surprise, stumbling and tripping.

<Hold on.>

Desiray's eyes lost focus. Her pupils dilated until the green vanished. Wren braced, ready for the blaze of light and the gut wrenching tumble into the void that would follow. An instant later, they thudded back into reality in an open stretch of grass.

The shock hit as it had twice before. A hard jab between the eyes and a left to the gut that took away all her wind. Any stiffness that had been in her body went away. She collapsed on top of Desiray. Between her wounds, the dreams, and the tension, she didn't have energy enough to roll off. If Desiray wanted to kill her, she couldn't lift a finger to stop her.

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you were starting to like me," Desiray said in an amused tone.

Wren groaned.

Desiray pushed on Wren's forehead until their eyes met. "By the way, you kiss like a boy."

Where the energy came from Wren didn't know, but a surge of heat made her cheeks burn. Chuckling, the mistress pushed her off. A gentle push, not a rough shove like she expected. Wren lay on her back in thick grass. Fingers of mist plied the upper edge of an ancient wall covered in thick vines. The stars and moon remained the same in the sky, Desiray hadn't taken them far. Water gurgled nearby. Chirp-bugs sang their night songs. Hints of star-flower and dew-blossom lingered in the air with smells of cut grass and tilled soil.

Wren tried not to think what the fight and the delay had cost them. It might be a bell before she could fight again, if at all this evening. Corona's mind joining or whatever he'd done, had all but incapacitated her. She prayed that this squabble hadn't cost Brethren lives. As far as she knew, no other guild elders remained alive. That made her Desiray's second, and responsible for the lives of the guilders beneath her.

"Close one," Desiray remarked. "Damn, feels like I've been in a sauna. Is there anywhere you didn't sweat on me?"

Some of her breath had come back. "At least it's honest sweat."

The woman snorted. Desiray lay back and stared at the sky. She looked oddly serene. Had Corona done more to Desiray than merge their memories? Wren expected the woman to be spitting mad about her mind having been invaded. She hadn't even mentioned it yet. Did she even remember?

She would steer the conversation away from it just in case. "You know, I nearly broke my arms trying to drag you."

"Your fault, girl. You picked the fight."

"Me!? You begged for it and you know it."

"Maybe so." Desiray admitted it with surprising ease.

"Tore me up." Wren swallowed. "I almost died."

Desiray raised an eyebrow. She held up her hand. "Khairhavkul." Light flashed and as it dimmed a dagger lay in her palm. Wren gazed at the shining weapon, the same one she'd buried deep in the alley dirt. "You should have died," Desiray said in a flat tone. "Threw it hard enough to kill a rhinotaur. Bloody caught it. How in Hades did you do that?"

Wren eyed the weapon that had been magically summoned from the air. After seeing the things Corona could do, much less seemed amazing. "Don't know. Saw it. Grabbed for it. Just did."

Desiray harrumphed. "Good trick. Wish I could do that."

"Trade it for that skin of yours."

"No deal."

Desiray seemed so calm. Wren realized her own anger over Grahm's death had faded too. Still, the root of their whole problem continued to bother her; Vulcindra. If the mistress had replaced the previous second, Sireth, with Grahm or herself, the Brethren would never have been overrun. She needed to ask.

"Did you care about Sireth?"

Desiray looked over as if surprised. "Isis' eyes, yes." She drew a breath. "Best second I ever had. Lords, that girl had heart. Climb a glass wall if I told her to. Loved her."

"Then why?"

"Why what?" Desiray turned on her elbow. Strands of shiny white hair drifted across her face. Her emerald eyes flashed. "Why weren't you and Grahm put in the seat? She didn't want me to."

"Huh?"

She sighed. "Girl, being master makes you a target. You and Grahm were her children. She wanted you to be free, not tied to me. Much as she loved me, she resented every moment."

"I don't understand."

"Sure you do."

Finally feeling better, Wren sat up. They appeared to be in a garden. Cobbled paths lined with flowered trellises led up to a sprawling manor in the distance.

She pulled her knees against her chest. "Someone taking ninety-nine percent of my blood, sweat and tears."

"That's it." Desiray sat up and crossed her legs. She drew an invisible line in the air with her fingertip. "Khairhavhel," she murmured. The air split apart along that incision. A mirror polished sword appeared. The one that had been lost in the fight.

The mistress pulled a skim rag from a pouch on her side and began cleaning the dried blood off the weapon. Wren's blood.

Feeling numb, she watched Desiray rub away the remnants of the fight. It took a moment to form her question. "Why not take a fairer amount?"

"There's a novel thought," Desiray chuckled. She snapped the rag, folding it and flipping it over. "Asked myself the same question, right before I went rogue."

"And?"

"Tried the generous route. Doesn't work. Donating to the community is novel enough. Like Cassandra said, give them enough money and the good ones run off as soon as they have the funds." She turned the sword over and started on the other side. The cleaning process made Wren nervous. "Two percent keeps them fed, clothed, equipped. They hang on 'til they can't take it anymore. Takes courage to break away."

"I never saw it that way."

"Have to sit in my chair to see it." Desiray's eyelids fluttered. "What in Isis' name did you do to me anyway? I should have taken your head off by now."

Wren's stomach tightened. "Does in matter?"

"Shreds, yes. I should be sliding this sword between your ribs not acting cozy." She gestured toward Wren with the sword. "Last I remember, that's exactly what I was trying to do."

"Would it be enough to say you won?"

Desiray rubbed her forehead. "Doesn't feel like I won."

Wren sniffed. "Sure doesn't feel like I did." Corona made an irritated chime on her hip. It had been a while since he'd made any noise. "Didn't ask for your opinion," she said down to him.

"Well, since you're the last elder in my Corwin guild left, guess I can leave off killing you." She pulled a sheath off her back and lay it across her lap. Snapping the last of the residue off the rag, she placed in back in its pouch. Desiray held up the sword and examined it. She flipped it into the air, grabbed the scabbard, and let the blade sheath itself with a loud clack.

Wren clapped. "Nice. How many fingers did you lose before you learned that trick?"

"Broke a few with a blunt practice sword. It was my showoff husband got me fired up to try. Saw him do it with two swords."

"Your husband? You're married?"

"Course. He was in that painting in Cassandra's study."

"Him? I thought he was her husband."

"He is."

"Oh." It seemed so implausible that this woman would share a man with another. That explained the bond between her and Cassandra. "So, ummm, you have any..?"

"Eight," Desiray answered. "Four boys and four girls."

Eight? When did she have time? How did she have time? How old was she? From her face, she couldn't be more than thirty. She'd guess a lot less if it weren't for the fact that she'd joined the guild fifteen summers ago and Desiray had been a master then. A thought rang in her head. Something Cassandra had said. Gifted with the right knowledge you could live forever.

"Wow."

The astonishment must have shown in her voice because Desiray grinned. "Didn't think I had it in me, did you?"

She shook her head.

"Your curiosity bump been rubbed enough?"

"One more?"

Desiray looked at her one-eyed. "What?"

"I met this blonde Myrmigyne, really strong, shadowbolt tattoo on her cheek. She had two friends, this huge white-haired--"

"Beia, Damrosil, and Ess. What about them?"

"What are they? Is Beia an avatar? When she touched me--I felt this tingly sensation. I felt it near Hethanon too but it hurt. Like standing face first against a wall of needles."

Desiray uprooted a piece of grass and twirled it. "What would you call that? Guess you'd say she's been immortalized."

"Immortalized? As in live forever? Is that what makes her so strong?"

"You said one question." Desiray rose and brushed the grass off. She turned back to Wren and pointed a finger. "You met Damrosil? Did you throw daggers against her?"

Wren climbed to her feet, not wanting to crane her neck to look up. How did she know that? "Yes. Went seventeen for eighteen with her. She beat me because all I had were these." She pulled one of her rusted iron knives from her boot and held it out.

Desiray took the blade and weighed it in her hand. She made a sour face. "With this?" She flipped the blade and caught it. "One of my talent scouts left a report about the contest. I'll be." She looked around. Her gaze fastened on a wooden column about thirty paces away. "Can you hit that knot in the wood?"

Wren found the spot. "What is this place anyway? Should we be sticking knives in their decorations?"

"This my estate on citadel hill. If you sit on top of that vine wall you can see all of Corwin."

Wren shook her head. Why ask? Desiray could own citadel hill if she wanted. She glanced at the column. "The knot?" At Desiray's nod, she flipped her dagger at it. It hit. It also stuck.

"Shrrreds." Respect rang in Desiray's voice. "That's something else I have to take up with Vulcindra. Girl, why didn't you ever say anything? Isis' eyes, why didn't Sireth?"

"My name has topped the tournament board in main hall ten summers running. Top earnings for eight."

"Haven't checked the rankings in long while, too much to do."

Wren shrugged.

"We have a lot to talk about. We'll do it too, after we take care of Hethanon. Throw away those old iron hunks and use these." She reached elbow deep in a fist-sized bag and pulled out two jeweled throwing knives.

Wren gazed at the pouch for a moment. Had she seen correctly? Daggers and swords that appeared out of the air. Desiray certainly had enough tricks. It probably came from being the sister wife of a mage like Cassandra. Eight children--Wren still couldn't believe it. She weighed the blades Desiray gave her, one at time. She spun one, pommel down on her fingertip. "Bout as good a dagger as they get." She sheathed both knives.

"Of course," Desiray said. "I don't bother with less." She studied Wren, hands on hips. "Come here."

She stepped forward. Wren tried not to flinch as Desiray laid a palm against her throat, then knuckles against her cheek. "Pretty pale. Do you need a charge?"

"A charge? I've felt better if that's what you mean."

"You need one then. We don't have time to rest." She smiled and held her palms up. "Don't worry. This feels good."

She held still as Desiray placed her palms flat against Wren's sides, fingers spread, thumbs meeting across her navel.

"What?"

"Be still. You'll see." Her eyes lost focus and the pupils dilated like when she teleported. Wren braced, not certain what to expect.

She stiffened as Desiray's hands glowed and a warmth spread through her from where the woman touched. The sensation swept away aches, and made tired muscles vibrate. It felt similar to the surges that Corona gave her, only larger. For moments, she seemed strong enough to juggle mountains.

Desiray drew away, leaving Wren hungry for more. Instinctively, part of her knew what she had experienced.

It was what it felt like to be inside Desiray's skin.

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Wren? Yes, that girl amazed me--still--amazes me. Gads, to think of the gold I lost when I overlooked her. I kick myself to this day...
--Desiray

Wren sighed as Desiray's magic withdrew from her body. The white-haired woman stepped back and folded her arms. She sized Wren up, green eyes glinting in the dim light. Still dizzy, she could only stare back. Every sense seemed enhanced. The cool night air tingled on her skin, the redolence of the estate garden was vibrant in her nose. Even the stars in the sky appeared to sparkle more brightly. A 'charge', the mistress called it. For a moment, she'd felt invincible. She put a hand on Corona. He hummed. Whatever the Desiray did, seemed to have helped him as well.

"Feel better?" Desiray asked. "You look better."

Wren swallowed. "Wow."

"I'll take that as yes." Her face hardened, so did her voice. Her whole bearing became that of another person. "That's my limit on pleasantness. You and I will get along if you follow orders. Any backtalk, we conclude our business in the alley. We straight?"

Wren nodded.

"Good." As she spoke, Desiray adjusted her armor's buckles and pouches. "Now listen, I can't teleport us into the Guild. There's too much chance of there being someone where I want to appear. We'd be dead before we started. We'll slip through the southern perimeter and use a route into the hall that Vulcindra didn't know. Once inside, we sneak into the dungeon and release any prisoners. When they're free, we go for Hethanon."

A bead of sweat trickled between her eyebrows. Brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes, she stared at Desiray. "We're taking on the entire Dagger guild?"

"Aye." Desiray glanced down to where a slithershell was leaving a glistening trail as it crept slowly across a rock. She stomped on it with a squishy crunch. "Got a problem?"

Wren's stomach tightened as she looked at the shattered mess on the rock. "Nah."

Mists turned blue-gray from the light of the moon fingered the carcass of Slagtown, a disintegrating collection of shanties, ancient warehouses, and tenements that lay south of Guildhall. Pitted and bowed by time, the contorted walls looked like decaying bone fragments. Broken pillars and insect-riddled wood leaned together like kindling for a massive funeral pyre.

Gusts knifed through the ruins, moaning through the rocks and weak wood. Wren pulled her cloak tighter and hurried to stay at Desiray's side. Slagtown was no place to be alone, even during the day. Scavengers and pests had so badly overrun this area that even toughs steered clear of it. She doubted there'd be Dagger scouts, but stayed wary regardless.

The smell of decay lingered in the air. Wren had come to Slagtown only once in her life, the day the place marked her. One tepid spring day six summers ago, she'd decided to take the short way through the ruins. She'd just received her cut of successful run and was on her way back from the market where she'd bought herself a sack full of fat red crunch-fruits.

Strolling down the avenue, munching giant mouthfuls of the sweet fruit, she'd been enjoying the sun, the salty-fragrant spring breeze, and the satisfaction of a job well done. Juice ran down her chin and covered her hands. She felt absolutely decadent.

Three scavenger kids sat on a stoop watching her with hunger hollowed eyes. They looked dirty and thin with rags for clothes and an open sky for a roof. Feeling generous, she'd tossed them each one of the big red fruits.

With gasps of pleasure, the kids bit into their gifts, munching with glee. Right then, disheveled men and women flooded out of the ruins with incoherent cries. People screamed. Fabric tore. Bones cracked. The spot where the three children sat became a writhing mass of biting, clawing, human beings. Blood dotted the cobbles. Dead eyes turned on her. Sallow bloody faces grimaced and glared. The scavengers stalked toward her. She threw the bag into their midst and ran. Leaving howls of pain and anger in her wake.

Months passed before she could sleep without those horrible yells invading her dreams. People reduced to animals, killing one another for a little bit of food.

It taught her that generosity isn't always a good thing. She hadn't eaten a crunch-fruit since...

Those same animals hunkered in the dark places; hungry shadows awaiting a sign of weakness. A swarm of human scavenger bugs that could rush in a pick a corpse clean in a matter of instants.

She hated Slagtown.

Desiray moved with purpose, slow enough to be wary, but sufficiently fast to show she wouldn't tarry an instant longer than necessary. Wisely, she carried her sword in the open where it could be seen. Wren kept Corona unsheathed as well.

Somewhere, a dog let out a yelp of pain, quickly cut short. She tightened her grip on the dagger. Corona made nervous chiming noises, the red gem in his crosspiece flickering.

<Hate this place,> Desiray murmured in her mind. <Makes my flesh crawl.>

<Me too,> Wren agreed. After the first few exchanges, she'd grown accustomed to the white-haired woman speaking in her mind. She found it comforting that nothing would hinder their contact. They could confer without interfering with each other's awareness of the sounds around them.

A fat drop of water stung Wren's cheek and ran down her neck. Her skin prickled. Instants later, more drops followed, smacking the stones in ones and twos.

She looked west across the city to the big thunder heads mushrooming against the light of the moon. They still lay leagues out to sea. Already, the icy breeze was picking up. This storm would equal the deluge the night previous. Her stomach tightened. She couldn't help but remember what nearly happened on the night of the previous storm. She hoped to be done with this mission and sitting in front of a warm fire before the storm. It was a forlorn wish, but it didn't stop her from wanting it.

Desiray looked up. <Rain--just shredding great. I want to be at home in front of a fire before that storm hits.>

Didn't everybody? She felt their nearness to the guild. Two women against a hundred men. Long odds, but the mistress appeared confident. Living inside of that woman's skin, Wren guessed she might feel the same. No mere knife would hurt Desiray.

If only the same applied to her. One scratch from a karagal poisoned blade, and she'd die as quickly and painfully as Grahm did.

Desiray ducked through a space between two collapsed warehouses. Wren kept pace, watching her back. Moisture dripped. Rats skittered. The wind moaned. The sky flickered white. Thunder rolled through the ruins, making the stones rattle. In the distance, a horse whinnied in fear.

<Stay close,> Desiray advised. The mistress sped up. She pulled a dagger from her boot. Her fingers flexed on the pommel.] Gusts of wind made Desiray's cloak flair around her like shadowy wings.

They dropped into a dry canal and followed it North. Their boots crunched in crusty sand. Desiray kept near the canal wall, vigilant toward the ruins above them.

A hundred paces down the darkened track, the canal bed slanted underground into darkness. Noxious smells wafted up from below. Tears formed in Wren's eyes and she backed off a few paces. This canal met the sewers and underhalls some fifty paces deeper.

Desiray knelt in the sand, examining the area. <Lots of recent activity,> she thought to Wren. <Probably how they got into the guild. You were right about Vulcindra.>

Wren nodded. <They'll have the underhall entrance guarded to defend their retreat. Think they found your other way in?>

<Doubt it. Paid plenty to make sure no one knew of it, and doubly sure no one'd find it by accident.>

The tempo of the pattering rain picked up. The sky flashed. A crack rolled over the city a few heartbeats later.

<We should approach on the guild's southwest corner,> Wren told her. <It has the least number of spots for sentries.>

<Agreed. Lead the way.>

Wren sprang up the canal wall, grabbing hand and footholds in the ancient stone. Desiray kept with her, a dark shadow that echoed every movement.

She led the way, skirting the crumbling edges of Slagtown. Dragging worn haversacks behind them, derelicts crouched in the sheltered spaces, hunkering down to ride out the storm. Nightwings squeaked, chasing moon-bugs that fluttered around the few torch posts that were still lit.

The top edge of the three story Guildhall was visible to the North. The silhouettes of its crenellated parapets and carved gargoyles were unmistakable. Figures paced along the East and West facing walls.

Wren pointed, indicating the lookouts. Desiray nodded. They continued paralleling the guild, weaving from shadow to shadow. Tall flimsy buildings girded the hall on the southwest, hampering a clear view of the streets and alleys. Age had rendered the roofs of the structures too decrepit to safely support a man's weight. Any watchers covering that corner would be on the ground where they would be easier to deal with.

Wren slowed to a creep. Rain hissed steadily from the sky now. The wet soaked into her cloak and moisture trickled down the small of her back. Gusts of wind hummed against the wax-paper windows and tarpaulin doorways of Daw street. A bolt of lightning forked across the sky with a boom. She jerked despite being prepared for the sound.

She put a hand over her racing heart. Desiray gripped her shoulder. Wren glanced toward the guild. The tension was getting to her. Not more than fifty paces away, an avatar waited.

Hethanon. She weighed Corona in her hand. Cassandra wanted her to destroy him with it. Her body stiffened at the prospect of facing that evil creature again. Part of her pleasured in the idea of killing him. Grahm died because of that creature. Hethanon should be paid back for Grahm and every other Brethren who'd died.

She slipped to the North side of the alley, hugging the wall to get some shelter from the blinding rain.

<Despise rain,> Desiray grumbled in her mind. <Water belongs in a lake or an ocean. Not pouring down on my head.>

Wren agreed with the sentiment. Edging up to a notch between two buildings, she stopped.

At a corner ahead, she saw soaked fabric flicking in the wind. <First sentry.> She pointed. Had to be, the Dagger wouldn't let anyone else shelter that close unchallenged.

<Do it,> Desiray responded. <Use Corona. Take him out.>

<With Corona? I might lose him.>

Desiray snorted. <Trust me. I know Cassandra. Last worry you have is losing that blade. Getting rid of it will be your problem.>

The back of Wren's neck tingled. Desiray's words had a disturbing ring of truth. <I've never thrown him.>

<Shreds, girl, want me to do it?>

Wren gritted her teeth. <I'll do it.>

She maneuvered to get a better view of her target, in case it wasn't a Dagger sentry. The hissing rain, darkness, and buildings made details difficult to tell even in the flashes of lightning. The position and clothing looked right. Accidentally killing some beggar huddling out of the storm would ride on her conscience. However, she'd lose no sleep over taking the life of some murdering Dagger craven. Anyone who used poison was a vermin who deserved death.

She flipped Corona's blade to her fingers and changed her stance. To get him, she'd have to hook the knife in an arc.

Desiray drew her own knives, probably preparing for the eventuality of other guards being flushed out.

<Go,> the mistress ordered.

Wren's chest tightened. Kill or be killed. Retribution for murdering brethren members. You have been judged guilty. The penalty is--

She threw. Wren had known something would happen, but not what. The gem in Corona's crosspiece flared and he shrieked.

The weapon erupted from her hand at ten times the speed she ever could have hurled it. A dazzling white trail flashed along Corona's path as he exploded into his target. She might as well have thrown a mountain at the doomed sentry.

The big surprise was not that she hit her mark. It was the screaming white meteor that changed course and hissed toward she and Desiray. Corona not only returned.

He came back with a vengeance.

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After we got past our differences, Desiray and I turned out to make a great team. Where I have talent, she has experience. She's a whiz at locks, and me at wards. Quite simply, together we're a menace to society...
--Wren

Wren could only throw herself flat to avoid Corona as he hurtled out of the darkness, as a flickering red and white blur. Desiray gasped and lunged out of the way.

Thunder rumbled. Rain hissed. Water gurgled. Wren tasted foul gutter runoff. Her heart raced and her ears rang. No pain. No sound of impact. What happened?

Laying face down on the sodden street she felt cold moisture soaking through her breeches. The sensation made Wren jerk to her knees.

Corona chimed. He lay in her hand, the weapon's feather lightness unnoticeable in the excitement. Even though the blade had passed through its target, no color darkened the milky white metal. Even rain water didn't stick to it.

Desiray was on her feet and helped Wren up. <Shreds. Did Cassandra warn you it would do that?>

Wren stared at Corona and spoke aloud. "No." Regaining her composure, she went back to mindspeak. <I suppose this is more of Cassandra's humor.> She gripped Corona hard and shook him. "It wasn't funny," she growled.

Corona made a whimpering 'forgive me' sound. Damn Cassandra. "No more surprises," she hissed at the weapon. Corona responded with flat 'harrumphing' sound. "I mean it."

<I need to spank Cassandra,> Desiray said in Wren's mind. <Damn thing is as dangerous to us as them.>

They waited to see if there was any new activity. Wren was surprised that there hadn't already been some response to Corona's brilliant light.

<Nothing,> Wren said to Desiray. <They must have thought it was a lightning flash.>

Desiray shook her head. <Strange.> She stepped further into the alley and peered toward the sentry post on the guild's roof. Lightning outlined the saw-tooth silhouettes of the merlons that jutted up from the guild's roof battlements. <The sentry hasn't come back to the corner.>

Wren frowned. <Does that mean the corner is open?>

<Let's get closer.>

Probing ahead with her sword, Desiray led the way toward the guild, approaching the spot where Wren hit the lookout. Wren sensed the woman listening and reaching for the reasons behind the unexpected silence. Had the other guard actually left his post? Shouldn't there have been more ground level watchers?

At the corner, beneath the overhang, they found the downed sentry. Little remained of him save some streaks of crimson running into the gutter. Wren's stomach tightened. Even killing scum like these Dagger thieves made her ill.

<Look,> Desiray pointed a short ways away between the buildings. Another individual lay face down. <Guess you hit two.>

A chill went through Wren. <Better make it three. Look over by the guild's wall.>

A splash of crimson formed a large red circle on the stones of the guild. Another Dagger thief lay collapsed beneath it.

Lightning flashed. Wren closed her eyes and looked away from the sundered corpse. A queasiness rumbled in her stomach.

<Shreds! What's going--> Desiray stopped herself. <Damn, four!> She pointed to a body slumped through one of the notches at the top of the wall.

Wren shook her head and held up Corona. "Did you hit all those men off that one throw?" she asked.

He made a smug sounding hum.

<Thing is wicked,> Desiray murmured in Wren's mind. She grinned. <Have to get Cassandra to make me one.>

Wren stared at the mistress. She found the scene appalling, not funny. Did Corona know the difference between friend and enemy? What if innocents had been on the street? She never thought of herself as being squeamish. The sight of blood usually only made her uncomfortable. To her, a weapon was used for defense. Sometimes you used one on an enemy before they could do the same to you.

Corona went beyond the idea of a weapon. He made killing too easy. She looked down at the simple appearing blade; nothing hinted at his terrific power. Don't let appearances deceive you, Cassandra had said. Corona is a Starwand. I designed it to be sheathed in Set's black heart.

The mage had a well-hidden streak of viciousness.

Desiray surveyed the guild's walls with narrowed eyes. Wren noticed she seemed to be studying the reflections of moisture running down the smooth stone. Cassandra wasn't the only person who designed walls to keep thieves out.

<Can you get up to the roof?> Desiray asked.

These walls Wren knew. <Can a fish swim?>

The mistress raised an eyebrow. She reached deep into the same fist-sized pouch she'd given Wren the pair of daggers from. Elbow deep in the little bag, she made different expressions as though groping for something in a cluttered space. When she pulled her arm out, she was gripping a large coil of knotted climbing rope.

Wren's jaw dropped. What else would she pull out of there?

<Then get up there and tie this off. Unless you think you can do it with me on your back.>

<Doubt it. I still hurt from trying to move you in the alley.>

Desiray smiled. <All right then, go. I'll keep watch.>

Wren nodded. She took the rope, glanced at the wall and paused. She looked back and eyed Desiray's pouch. <Wouldn't know where I could get one of those little sacks would you?>

Desiray patted the leather bag. <Want one? I'll keep it in mind. Get up there.>

Wren wiped the water from her eyes. She waved the rope. <See you in a little.>

Throwing the coil over her shoulder, she ran into the rain. Moving to the guild wall, Wren stopped. Perhaps it was her imagination, but she could feel the avatar's closeness. She shivered. Cold rain poured off her shoulders and back. Her fingers felt stiff and cold. Ishtar, she didn't want to get closer to Hethanon. She wanted to go farther away.

Remember the other guilders. Remember Cassandra's promise to tell you who you really are. Remember Grahm.

Steeling herself, she flexed her fingers, working the stiffness out. Corona growled on her hip. He smelled the avatar too.

She leaped onto the wall and started climbing. The tingle gnawed painfully at the back of her skull. A sizzling sound came from where her fingers and toes bit into the wall. It made no mark, but left five perfectly dry elliptical spots when she lifted her hand away to grab higher up. The wind moaned in her ears as she fought upward. Gusts whipped rain across her face like cold slaps.

It took the span of three long breaths to reach the part of the wall that angled out to become the battlement. She then had to hang upside down as she shinnied along the triangular support to reach where the wall turned vertical again. One grip at a time she clawed her way up to where she could see through a notch onto the flat roof with its up-thrusting sheds and stairwell entries. On the far side, she saw the silhouette of the sentry who paced the eastern side of the roof.

She squeezed between two merlons and dropped to the battlement, scanning for other sentries on this side of the roof. None apparent. Turning back she looked for Desiray. The mistress hunched in the shadows, all but invisible in the soaking rain. She tied the rope around a merlon and let it drop. The mistress dashed across the alley. The rope groaned as she started up hand over hand.

The mistress was not only heavy--but strong. She didn't use her legs and she scaled the rope at the speed of a fast walk. That huge weight appeared no impediment at all.

Wren assisted Desiray over the edge, more as an anchor than any real help she could provide. The mistress' green eyes glinted as she scanned the roof and the enclosures that covered the stairwells and storage areas.

Once on the battlement, Desiray looked back down and ran a finger along the slippery stone of the outer wall. She turned and gave Wren a raised eyebrow. Wren shrugged in response. Desiray had her tricks. So did she.

Wren pointed out the single guard still pacing in the shadows on the far side of the roof.

<Anyone posted on the stairs?> Desiray asked.

<Didn't look. I still ache from the last time I scouted without permission.>

The mistress nodded. <Take the north side of the near well. I'll cover the south. If there's a guard, don't kill him.>

<Done.> Wren headed across the slick roof, conscious of the squishing of her boots. She saw Desiray glide off the other way.

Her heart beat faster as she rounded the East side of the stairwell enclosure. Someone mumbled nearby and she froze. Another sound echoed through the thin walls of the framework covering the stair bay. Metal grated on stone, then again. It repeated in a steady rhythm. Wren narrowed her eyes. What was that sound? The patter of rain disguised the noise. Metal on rock--steady--a mill stone? Probably someone sharpening a sword. Lightning flickered. Thunder cracked. The wooden structure vibrated.

Desiray came around the far side of the enclosure. Wren held up a hand to stop her. She held up a single finger to indicate one enemy and pointed in the well.

The mistress nodded. <I'll draw him out. Take him down. Don't kill him. Understand?>

<Yes.> She stepped back to the corner.

Wren pulled Corona and reversed the blade. "You heard that," she whispered. "No killing."

The weapon made a thrumming against her palm. What she took for a disappointed acquiescence.

Desiray slipped across the roof toward the eastern sentry. What was she doing? Wren listened intently. Lightning licked across the sky. As thunder rumbled across the city, she managed to pick out a man's surprised groan then silence.

The guard on the stairs continued to sharpen his sword. Wren felt her nails digging into her palms. What happened now was critical. That stair sentry could sound an alarm that would marshal the whole Dagger force against them.

A silhouette appeared from behind the storage enclosure. A knot hardened in Wren's throat; too big to be Desiray--a man. Ishtar! She flipped Corona for a throw. Can't let him yell for help.

He looked right at Wren and pointed a finger. Desiray's voice shouted in her mind. <Don't! It's me!>

The volume of the mistress' yell made Wren fumble Corona. She caught the weapon as he fell. Her heart skipped several beats. <Desiray???>

<Sorry, should have warned you.> In a lightning flash, dark eyes glinted from a craggy, sallow looking face.

Over the summers, Wren had noted Desiray's constantly changing appearance. Every time she saw the woman she seemed different; not only clothes but subtle alterations of face and body. She'd assumed Desiray had mastered a magical form of disguise. Such things weren't unheard of. To become a entirely different person though...

She must be a shape shifter. At another time, Wren might have been awed, but she'd already seen this woman's other marvels. After accepting that someone was able to will themselves from one place to another, altering her form didn't seem as impressive.

Wren pulled back to the corner, Corona still readied in her hand to stop the other guard.

"Spsst." The man-shaped Desiray made a noise for attention. "Spsst!"

The sword grinding in the stairwell stopped.

Prepared to lunge, Wren gripped Corona.

"Spsst!" Desiray made a coming gesture. Lightning flashed. Thunder rumbled.

The guard peeked out the doorway of the enclosure. Her stomach tightened. The man was cautious, catching him unawares would be difficult. A lightning flash outlined the guard's profile as he mouthed words pantomime style, asking what was wrong.

Desiray signed to come on, gesturing expansively to indicate urgency. The guard shook his head.

The mistress' movements became more frantic. She pointed off the roof.

With a growl, the stairwell man stepped into the pounding rain, sword readied in front of him. Wren slipped forward.

Her heart hammered. She broke into a run as bolts cracked the sky. The boom covered the sound of her dash. Despite the distraction, he must have sensed something. He turned as Wren reached him. His sword came around right as Corona caught him a behind the ear.

The force flipped the guard. He hit with a thud-splash on the wet stone. He twitched a few times and went still.

Desiray dashed out of the darkness. Not as a man but as a woman again. She knelt and carefully placed her fingers on his temples. <Let's hope he knows something worth keeping him alive for,> she remarked to Wren.

Desiray narrowed her eyes and stared at the man's face. His limbs jerked. The mistress' brow furrowed. Rivulets of water ran down her face. Her arms tensed. She gritted her teeth. The man convulsed.

Desiray rose abruptly. Her green eyes were narrowed to slits. <Hethanon is here, and the bastard is in my office. There are several prisoners being kept in the basement. We go for them first. Then we go for Hethanon.>

<How do we get to the basement from here?>

<The secret way I mentioned is up here on the roof.> Desiray looked around. <Let's move his body. He'll be out a while.>

After hoisting the man on top of the enclosure, Desiray led Wren a few paces away. The mistress knelt and probed the roof with her fingers. After a moment, something metal clicked and she lifted a rectangular panel up. A vertical shaft descended inside one of the guild's walls.

Desiray dropped into the hole using back and feet to brace inside the opening. <Shut it after you,> she directed.

Wren shifted around so as to pull the panel with her. The metallic lid clanked closed, casting them in total darkness.

Metal slithered on metal; a knife being pulled from its sheath. A faint light filled the narrow channel. Wren heard the water dripping off them hitting bottom yards below.

The air smelled stale and dusty. Cobwebs flicked in a draft of air that must be ventilation for the tiny crawl space.

<No matter what we do, you always seem to be dripping on me,> Desiray grumbled in her mind.

<There are worse things,> Wren replied.

<True.> Desiray drew a breath. <Careful, the walls are sturdy but thin. Someone in a hall can hear you if you're not careful.>

She started down.

Wren followed, not wanting to stray too far from the light of Desiray's dagger. She pulled out Corona as Desiray had done with her dagger. The starwand provided a circle of radiance about the brightness of a torch. It made her feel much better in the cramped space, as they slid down the narrow shaft.

They reached ground level and edged sideways down the narrow passage. It felt odd to be inside the walls, hearing the voices of the Dagger men only a hand-width away. Both of them moved carefully in the tight confines. The reek of age and disuse made her want to gag, but she held herself in check.

After turning several corners, Desiray stopped and listened at the wall. Wren shifted nervously, hearing voices that sounded as if they were behind them. She knew it was a trick of sound but felt uneasy anyway. She would be unleashing Corona's power soon, and she found the thought frightening.

<Idiot is leaning against the panel,> Desiray mumbled in Wren's mind. <We need the stairwell to get to the basement.> She paused. <How many do you think there are?>

Wren knew exactly from sounds. <Three. One directly in front of you, another across the stairwell adjacent. The other is off to the right a hair shy of three paces.>

Desiray looked back at her with a raised eyebrow. Her expression asked if she was certain.

<Really,> Wren confirmed.

<Can't risk a blind teleport into the basement. If those men are where you say they are, then the middle of the corridor is clear. I can put us where we can take out these guards. I'll put you next to the right man. Think you can strike fast enough?>

<I think so.> She knew she didn't sound sure.

<You want to wait until they leave?>

Heart pounding, she readied herself. Teleporting in these confined quarters? If she didn't strike true, the disorientation would make her unable to defend herself. <Let's do it. I'll try.>

<Good. Get ready.>

She gripped Corona tighter. The weapon's light grew brighter. He hummed, knowing battle was nearing.

<On a count of three. One--Two--Three--!>

Wren's hands tightened into knots by the third count. A rush of force yanked her through blackness and thrust her back into reality.

A giant man dressed in plate armor stared down at her with glowing red eyes. He raised an already poised sword.

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In my decade or so of guild work I've been hurt plenty. I've seen my own blood a lot more than I'd like. Given all that, I have just one thing to say: "Not in the face!"
--Wren

After being teleported by Desiray, Wren had instants to adjust and find her opponent. By then, the armored warrior was attacking. The huge man's elongated helmet was fashioned to look like a serpent's head. The stylized cut outs for eyes and mouth were trimmed with red tinted glass that glowed in the torchlight.

The stairs at her back, walls to either side, she moved in the only direction she could; toward the towering mercenary. His blade failed to cleave her in two, but the man's thick armored wrist crashed down on her shoulder.

She went to her knees, guts twisting and vision turning gray from the effects of the magic teleportation. She fought off dizziness and aimed Corona at the fighter's heart. The weapon shrieked forward. The man blocked with his shield. The dagger punctured the metal and the arm behind it, pinning both to his shoulder.

Blood splashed her arm as she tore Corona free. Teeth bared, the man countered by swinging at her head.

She sidestepped and drove Corona into his belly plate. The force slammed him into the wall and knocked the sword from his hand. Coughing blood, he drove his mailed fist into Wren's face. She caught only a glimpse of an oncoming spiked gauntlet before colors and pain exploded in her head. She toppled. As she fell, she flipped Corona at him.

The dagger flared out of Wren's hand. The spinning metal punched through the man and whizzed through the air back into her hand. The mercenary left streaks of crimson as he slid down the wall.

Wren tumbled down the steps. Sticky wetness covered her face, the salty tang of blood filled her mouth. Her tongue pushed against sharp fragments and she spit out shards of broken teeth. Horrified, she watched as they dribbled down the steps.

Her vision did a slow roll. When she tried to move, her arms and legs merely twitched. The shock of being teleported, combined with the mercenary's punishing attacks, had left her helpless. Corona lay in her palm, making frightened piping sounds.

A hand grabbed her shoulder. Desiray leaned over her, green eyes wide. <Ow, you're supposed to duck.>

Wren's tears mingled with her blood. She couldn't say anything. She put a hand to her face and felt a squashed nose and split lips. The world flickered out, then back in.

Through a teary blur, she saw Desiray shake her head. <Damn it.> She heard a sword slide home in a sheath. The mistress moved up the steps and bent over the mercenary. The man's corpse vanished in a flash of light and whoosh of air.

Desiray returned, grabbed Wren around the hips and lifted her. A shoulder shoved into Wren's stomach. <Have to get you someplace safe where I can look at you.>

As she hung over the woman's shoulder, her own blood trickled into her eyes. A nightmare--this must be a nightmare. Two days ago she had her life under control, no chaos, no pain, and most importantly--no Hethanon. Now, Grahm was dead, and she'd begun to wish she'd died too.

As Desiray descended the stairs, each bounce gave Wren a rattling jolt of pain. Corona made squeaks coinciding with the jarring as if he were experiencing the discomfort too. The mistress pressed on the wall, and slipped into another unfamiliar passage.

The narrow corridor opened into a small chamber. Wren felt herself laid on something soft.

Desiray shook some decorative metal balls that hung from the ceiling. The agitation of containers caused a dim red radiance. Though she'd never seen one up close, she guessed they were glow balls; rare and coveted magic items made in the east.

She tried without success to stanch the bleeding from her nose. Desiray pushed her hand away and pressed a damp cloth against her face and gently turned her head from side to side. "What a mess. Corona has limits after all. His healing power must be used up."

Corona made a rude noise, a tinny imitation of a puttering tongue. Clearly, suggesting that he had limits, offended him.

Desiray glanced at the weapon and frowned. "Bad time for your powers to run out. This will leave scars."

Wren moaned. All she wanted was for the pain to go away and the world to stop spinning.

Desiray traced a circle on her forehead. "Want me to heal you?"

She nodded.

"Why should I? You don't work for me anymore--remember?"

Wren swallowed. The feel of blood on her face and in her mouth made her stomach twist. "Been loyal--to you," she bubbled.

"Loyal?" Desiray rubbed her forehead. "Wasn't it you who attacked me in that alley?"

"Asked for it," Wren muttered. Corona made high-pitched chime, emphasizing the point. "I loved Grahm--and Sireth. You--mocked their deaths!" Wren rocked her head back. Damn Desiray anyway. She wouldn't beg, no matter how much it hurt.

"Mocked them?" Desiray sniffed. She sat back with folded arms and stared at her.

Wren shut her eyes. What if Desiray didn't heal her? Crippled like this, she couldn't kill Hethanon. She might be able to slip out of the guild and go to Jharon. He'd care for her--he always had.

She imagined the look in Jharon's eyes. It hurt him every time he saw her injured. Every time they met, it brought back feelings of frustrated love. Curse the church. Jharon would have left the temple to be with her if she hadn't convinced him not to.

She couldn't have borne knowing he'd sacrificed his lifelong goals for her. Ishtar gave meaning and purpose to Jharon's existence. She couldn't take that from him. She knew what it was like to be lost and without an identity, having no sense of belonging or destiny.

She gripped the Phoenix around her neck. Oh, Grahm, why did you have to die? She felt so miserable. So scared. Damn Desiray. Damn Cassandra. She shuddered. Damn the creator who'd put her on this world alone.

Corona made cooing sounds, apparently sensing her growing despondency. Surges of energy pulsed through her. Flashes of sensation that briefly dispelled the pain. The result ended up more nerve wracking than soothing, and she willed him to stop.

Desiray made a harrumphing sound. Wren cracked an eyelid. Arms folded, the woman continued to study her. After a moment, she pursed her lips. "All right, maybe I pushed you too far with what I said in the alley. I'll heal you, but remember--you owe me."

You owe me. Didn't fifteen summers of loyal service mean anything? New tears rolled down her cheeks.

She shook her head. A sob tore from her chest. "Leave me--alone. I won't--" She choked. "Be patronized by you." Wren coughed and felt moisture spatter her front. She grabbed a pillow and buried her face in it despite the pain.

Desiray growled. "What's with you?" She touched Wren's shoulder.

Wren shook off Desiray's hand. "Go--to--Hades! Gave you--more than you deserve--already!"

The words and the movement made a sharp pain cut across her face. Wren groaned, gritting broken teeth. Corona made a whining noise that echoed her distress.

"Be that way, little witch." Wren heard Desiray stride back down the passage. The footsteps stopped after a short distance.

Wren heard the mistress muttering to herself. Why didn't she leave? She didn't need her help.

Nothing mattered anymore. Desiray could rot for all she cared.

She rolled over and stared at the domed ceiling. An annoying hum came from a glass globe near the center, a pest deterrent, to keep rats and mice away. Silvery satin pillows shrouded the floor. The walls looked soundproof. Wren guessed this must be where the mistress held her private liaisons.

The muttering in the hall grew louder, then dropped off. The mistress stood in the dark corridor, palms pressed against the wall as though trying to push it over. From the way her body jerked, she appeared to be having a violent argument with herself.

Let her argue. Damn her. Trying to make peace with Desiray had been a waste. Desiray didn't care about anyone but herself.

Wren tried to push herself to a sitting position. A wave of dizziness made her fall back. Being magically transported, added to the injuries and blood loss had drained her of strength.

She was stuck here, battered, bleeding and weak. Without Desiray's power, she wasn't a hunter, but the hunted. She shivered as the irony of the situation dawned on her. She'd gone full circle, back to the same cursed situation she'd been in not more than a day ago. Stuck in this same guild with a hoard of blood-thirsty killers between her and the exit.

Her guts churned. Something else she could thank Desiray for. Why didn't the woman simply leave and be done with it?

"You know, you're bleeding all over my good satin pillows," Desiray said in a flat tone.

The proximity of her voice made Wren jump. She hadn't heard her approach.

Wren sniffed and wiped at her bloody face. "Bill me."

The mistress' jaw tightened. She flipped her white hair with an annoyed swat of her hand. "You're not making this any easier."

"Look at my face," Wren growled. "Do I look like I feel easy?"

Desiray's green eyes flashed and her body tensed. It sounded as if she chewed on the words as she said them. "I know--you're upset--and hurt."

Wren glared straight into the woman's green eyes. In her hand, Corona made a snarling sound. "Yeah?"

The mistress took a breath. "Wren, shut up. I'm trying to apologize."

"Apologize?"

"I know I've been disagreeable. I'm sorry. I know what you've been through." She shuddered and rubbed her forehead. "The mind power of that dagger of yours made damned sure of that."

Wren stared at Desiray. Was an apology supposed to make everything all right? "So?" she said.

"So?" Desiray scowled. "What do you want from me, girl?"

"Lady, I don't want anything from you."

The mistress clenched a fist. She bit back a retort with a noticeable effort. "Maybe, I deserved that."

"You did."

Desiray loomed over her. "You're in no position to judge me."

"I'm in the perfect position," Wren said. "Like always, I took the hit for you. I've given you my life. What do I have to show? Nothing. You want my blood? Well, look at me, you got that too!" She held up her hands, stained crimson. "Fight your own damn fight. I hope--Hethanon eats your heart. Maybe then--he'll let the Brethren go."

Wren rolled over so she didn't have to look at the woman.

The mistress let out a hiss of frustration. "Do you really hate me that much?"

She pressed the pillow to her face. "All I know is--" Her breath caught in her chest. "--that the people I trusted are gone. Grahm and Sireth are dead. I'm alone and I hurt like Hades. I'm scared and I--" she felt fresh tears coming and swiped them away with her arm.

Desiray let out a breath, walked around and crouched where Wren could see her. She bit her lip. "Look, I'm sorry Grahm's gone; Sireth too. I know you want an accounting, but I didn't kill them. Vulcindra set you all up. Her accomplices are out there." She pointed. "I feel for you, but the dead can't be resurrected."

Wren sniffed and wiped her eyes. "Why tell me this? You don't need me. Go."

"Damn." Obviously frustrated, the mistress closed her eyes and rocked her head back. "I'm trying to--"

"Trying to what?"

From the tension in her body, a person might have thought Desiray was summoning the strength to lift a mountain. "I need you, damn it. I want you with me."

"Why?"

Desiray let out another hiss, stood and turned her back. "Before we came on this trip, our memories hadn't been shoved together. Now--" She bit down on the word. "Now, I know what that bastard Hethanon is like. He--" she stopped. "He scares me."

If she hadn't been hurting so much, Wren would have laughed. "Well, hallelujah."

Desiray spun. "You think it's funny?"

"I think it's fitting."

"You're enjoying this!"

"Mistress, right now, joy is a bit out of my reach."

She sighed. "If I heal you, will you come with me? I said I was sorry. I--I meant it."

Wren narrowed her eyes. Maybe she did mean it. She searched the woman's green eyes. She did seem afraid. She saw sincerity too. Wren tried to smile, but it didn't work right. "All right, but you'll--"

Desiray held up a hand. "Watch it. You even start to mention the word 'owe' and I'll leave you here."

"Okay. I'll go with you."

The mistress raised her chin. "Can't go with me bloodied up like that, anyway." Desiray knelt near her. "Lay on your back."

Wren paused, then did as requested. She lay with her head at Desiray's knees. The woman flipped back the soggy strands of her white hair and cupped Wren's cheeks in her palms. Desiray closed her eyes. Wren felt her fingers tremble.

Desiray's hands pressed down. A surge of warmth spread across Wren's face. The air crackled around her skin. Her heart raced and she stopped breathing. A humming filled her ears. It felt like bugs crawled all over her face. The skin around her nose, cheeks and chin grew taut. Pain shot through her gums. The discomfort lasted for long moments as the mistress moved where her fingers were placed; touching Wren's lips, nose, and chin. After a while, the discomfort faded.

"There. This way I won't be forced to have an ugly second in command." Desiray frowned. "Do me a favor--don't block with your face."

Wren brushed her skin tentatively. No trace of the injury remained, not even the blood. "Is there anything you can't do?"

The mistress grinned. "Make Cassandra do the dishes."

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I never will know the extent to which Cassandra's damned starwand messed with my mind. It kept me from killing Wren, so I suppose it's a good thing. Sometimes, I'm forced to wonder at how much we are alike--or are we? Are those even my memories... or hers? Troubling.
--Desiray

Wren rubbed her face again. Her vision cleared and the pain faded. The bright reds, pinks, and blues of the pillows covering the floor of Desiray's liaison room came into focus, no longer blurred by tears. She smelled cloying perfume and incense that hadn't registered in her blood-flooded nose. With a moment more rest, she would have enough stamina to try to rescue the Brethren members imprisoned in the dungeon below.

Healed. Even after seeing Desiray's other miracles she still found it hard to believe. Even her priest friend, Jharon, needed to invoke the power of Ishtar to perform curing. Desiray's magic came from within herself. She saw how powers like Desiray's might lead a person to arrogance. What did Desiray have to fear from ordinary men? A knife would barely scratch the Mistress's tough skin.

That lead Wren to an inevitable question. With Desiray being nearly invulnerable, why did Cassandra worry about Desiray's safety?

A chill went through her. Maybe Hethanon was more dangerous than she even imagined. Desiray feared Hethanon enough to put aside her pride and apologize. If Hethanon could kill Desiray, what would he do to her? The thought made her heart race.

Wren climbed to her feet, taking deep breaths. Maybe she misjudged Cassandra. Did the mage send her to be sacrificed in Desiray's stead?

The mistress didn't sense Wren staring at her. Her attention was focused on rummaging beneath the pillows on the floor in search of something. Tossing a few aside, she lifted a panel in the floor. She grabbed some towels out of the space.

"Dry yourself off," Desiray said. "We've been leaving a trail of water wherever we go." The mistress tossed the cloth to her.

Wren caught it, then let it fall. Already working a towel through her white hair the mistress didn't notice.

"Desiray, tell me the truth."

Wren's tone made the white-haired woman stop. She tossed back her hair and looked at her. "What truth?"

"Is Cassandra sending me to get killed?" Her voice grew heavy in her throat. "Is that why you want me to go along?"

The woman's green eyes narrowed. "Weren't you listening? I told you why. Hethanon scares me. I'd rather not face him alone."

"That doesn't explain why Cassandra wanted me to handle Hethanon instead of you. If you had Corona." She thumbed the dagger. "Nothing could touch you."

Desiray's voice turned icy. "But you see, Wren, I don't have Corona. You do. Cassandra knows what I'd do with a starwand as powerful as he is."

Corona made a piping sound.

Wren studied the mistress and the glint her eyes. Was that merely a clever answer or the truth? She'd seen the woman's viciousness. She could unleash Corona's power with no remorse.

"Stop looking for trouble," Desiray growled. "Cassandra's not the type to sacrifice lambs. Dry off." She grabbed Wren's towel off the floor and shoved it into her hands.

Wren complied, still not certain what to believe. As she dried her hair, she spoke. "So what's the plan?"

"Dungeon," Desiray replied. "We get everyone together in a group and I'll teleport the whole lot of us to a safe haven."

"You can move that many people?"

Desiray's expression darkened. "If I have to, I'll make trips."

Wren nodded.

The woman grabbed her shoulder. "No more mistakes, okay? My magic does have limits. I can't heal either of us again for several bells. Get hurt now and you're on your own."

Her stomach tightened. "Understood."

"Good. I want our people out of here. In case we have to do this in a hurry, make sure when we round them up that everyone is touching each other. My magic can't accommodate more than six people unless they're connected by a physical bond. Anyone not touching the group is left behind. Clear?"

"Got it," Wren answered. Corona chirped.

Desiray glanced at the dagger. "Don't know about him. Never liked the idea of an intelligent weapon. Dumb ones are bad enough."

Corona made a jeering sound.

The mistress raised an eyebrow. "He's obviously ready to go. What about you?"

Wren squared her shoulders and took a breath. She dreaded having to face what waited out there. "Let's go."

Desiray led them out onto the stairs and down into the dungeon. Silence pervaded the halls, and Wren found the quiet unnerving. Were all the Dagger lying in wait for them? The moist stone of the lower hall smelled of mildew, dust, and lamp oil.

Shoulder to shoulder, weapons out, they headed down the torch lit passage toward the dungeon. Wren felt hyper-aware of everything around her, the squeaks of mice, the dripping of moisture, the groan of their boots treading on stone.

The crack of a whip and the answering yell of a man made Wren freeze.

A baritone voice spoke in a wheeze. "Tell us where the lifer woman, Wren, holes up!"

A man groaned a curse in answer.

"Maybe he don't know, Jhacko."

The first man laughed. "Maybe he doesn't." The whip cracked again. The man screamed. "Maybe it don't matter." Leather smacked flesh again.

Wren's skin prickled. Her heart sped and she gripped Corona's hilt. The Dagger pulsated against her palm.

Desiray tensed. The woman's fingers opened and closed rhythmically on the pommel of her sword. <Bastards,> Desiray thought in Wren's mind. <That sounds like Sully they're torturing.>

<It's Sully,> Wren confirmed. <I'm ready when you are.>

The mistress nodded and they both approached the corner where the passage opened into a vestibule that adjoined the guild's training hall.

As she and Desiray took positions, the men continued to whip Sully, obviously taking great pleasure in his pain. By the time they were situated, Wren had discerned at least two more men from their voices. The echoes in the hall made it possible to judge exactly where they stood.

<Sounds like four,> Wren mindspoke. <One straight ahead, two a pace to the left, the other a half-pace right.>

<You sure?>

Wren nodded. Desiray frowned, apparently listening to make her own judgments as to where people stood in the room.

<Use one of those daggers I gave you on the middle man and Corona the right. I'll get the others.> She put her hand on the corner, obviously bracing to launch herself into the open.

Wren slid out one of the finely made throwing knives.

Faster than she anticipated, the mistress leaped into the large rectangular room. Storage barrels, coils of rope, old netting and refuse had been strewn across the normally orderly floor. Four men surrounded the hanging form of lanky Sully, the tall lifer that had first offered to help restore the guild's defenses.

Desiray snapped her daggers at the two men on the left. Wren attacked the remaining two. One went for his sword. Wren planted her borrowed dagger in his armpit. She whipped Corona into the other man. The weapon blazed into its target. This time she was prepared for the silvery bolt that shot back into her palm. Corona chittered gleefully and sent a surge of warmth up Wren's arm. She looked away from the man's shattered remains.

She focused on Sully instead, and hurried to get him down from where he dangled from a climbing ring. With Desiray's help they lowered him to the floor. The cultists had badly sliced the big man's torso and face.

"The others?" Desiray asked Sully.

The man blinked. Blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth as he wet his lips. He tried to speak, but words didn't come. With a shaky hand, he pointed toward the holding areas.

Desiray nodded to Wren. <Go.>

She ran. They didn't have much time, eventually, the cultists would discover them. She checked doors until she found the prisoners. She drew the bar aside and opened the door.

"Shaman." She hissed a code word, so they wouldn't attack her.

Twelve Brethren lay around the room, some badly injured others with more superficial wounds. Twelve--was that all that remained of eighty men and women? The shock hit her like a blow to the stomach; over fifty dead. A wave of guilt and shame washed through her. She'd been playing games while her brothers and sisters died. The grim reality gripped her like a giant hand.

"Wren? Is that you?" A familiar voice brought her focus back to the present. She met the gaze of the dark-haired Farvick. He was stumpy with thick arms and legs, sword and dagger cuts marred his face and arms.

"I brought the mistress," Wren said. "Follow me and bring the others." She shoulder carried one of the men too injured to walk.

Half way back, she heard swords clashing. She rushed as best she could, burdened by her half conscious comrade.

By the time she reached the training room, she found two Dagger thieves already slain. Desiray, a sword in either hand, fought with two of the armored mercenaries. Three Dagger thugs swerved side-to-side looking for an opening to slip around the swordplay and get at the mistress' back.

Wren let go of the man she'd been assisting and hurled Corona at the nearest mercenary fighter. The weapon ripped through him in crimson splash. Corona's bright light drew attention toward Wren. Desiray never paused, she kept after her remaining opponent, swinging her two swords in a snakelike dance. The last warrior fell after a few quick strokes.

Several Dagger thieves armed with crossbows came down the passage from the upper level and bunched up behind the men already challenging Desiray. Behind Wren, the Brethren prisoners stumbled into the chamber.

If she didn't act fast, those bowmen would fire on the Brethren. She hesitated, sick at the idea of what she knew would happen. No choice. She gripped Corona, and threw him with all her strength. The blade blazed with a brilliant white light as he exploded into the armed Dagger men. Wren looked away from the carnage. The little she did see, made her stomach lurch.

She caught Corona as he fluttered into her hand. The blade looked spotless as if the cleanness could hide the violence.

The mistress stared at the sundered bodies in the hall. She overcame her surprise with a growl and turned to the shocked Brethren who'd frozen behind Wren.

"Come to me. Move!" Desiray yelled. She bent and swung Sully's arm over her shoulder.

Wren helped up the man she'd been assisting and brought him to Desiray. Behind her, Farvick and the less injured Brethren assisted the wounded.

"Everyone hold onto a partner," Wren warned, moving quickly around the group arranging it so everyone touched one another.

"Brace yourselves," Desiray said. The pupils of her eyes grew large, then they glowed.

Wren grabbed the shoulder of one of the Brethren and braced herself, knowing what would come next. She gripped Corona tight. Blue light flared around Desiray's arms and spread out across the group.

Corona screeched.

A raspy male voice spoke behind Wren. "Got you!"

Something gripped Wren's shoulder and yanked her backward. She lost her grip on the circle, rolled and bounced back to her feet in time to be blinded by the flash as Desiray and the Brethren vanished.

"Damn, no!"

Corona's cries grew louder.

"Nice of you to stay and visit," said a gravelly voice.

Wren whirled toward the sound. The black-eyed man stepped out of the shadows, a dagger in his fist. An icy wind seemed to blow against the back of Wren's neck.

"Hethanon."

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Avatars? Can we talk about something else, just thinking about them gives me a stomach ache--among other things.
--Wren

"Hethanon." The word was heavy on Wren's lips. As she said it, fear and loathing swept through her. It made a queasy sensation in her stomach. Corona growled like an animal, she felt a charge of energy surge through her limbs. The phoenix pendant seemed to throb against her heart, she put a hand to it.

The black-eyed man came forward, three thugs appeared out of the darkness to flank him. His axe-shaped face split into a yellow toothed grin, and she felt the prickling sensation of his aura. He looked lean and strong, if he'd been covered with scales she'd have mistaken him for a snake.

The rasp of his voice sent itchy tingles down her spine. "A pleasure to have you back. We never finished our talk."

Wren narrowed her eyes, and made sure nothing was coming up behind her. She wasn't afraid. Corona wouldn't let her be. The only thing she felt was the pounding of her heart, and the rising heat of rage. This creature was her enemy, and a part of the creature Corona was designed to destroy. The pulsation of the phoenix was a strong reminder this man was directly responsible for killing everyone dear to her, Sireth, Grahm, most of the Brethren guild. Death was too swift and simple for this atrocity.

"Not much to say. You die or I do. They chose 'die'. What's your choice?" She pointed to the hallway where the shattered corpses of more than a dozen men lay.

Hethanon peered toward the carnage and his smile faded. His already raspy tone took on an even harsher edge. "You have a lot to answer for."

Corona snarled, making her whole arm vibrate. She made her tone low and cold. "Funny, I was thinking the same thing." She shifted her feet, ready to move. Inwardly, she'd been delaying in hopes Desiray would come back for her. It didn't seem there'd be any last instant rescues. If it weren't for Corona flooding her system with angry surges, she'd be shaking. Hethanon was a monster--a powerful one.

Hethanon's henchmen moved, preparing to bracket her. They hadn't seen what Corona could do, so the blade didn't act as deterrent. She hesitated to throw, in the instant it took for him to return, she'd be weaponless. She backed up into the wider portion of the hall, away from debris that might trip or tangle.

"You aren't planning on running again, are you?" Hethanon rasped. A glow surrounded his free hand.

She snapped Corona at the avatar. The dagger shrieked with glee, becoming a lance of light spearing toward the creature's heart.

The snake-man lunged aside with incredible swiftness, twisting his body to avoid the bolt that shredded his tunic and sent a spray of milky blood into the air. Some of the blood struck one of his thugs. The man screamed and clawed at himself, smoke erupting from his skin and clothing. The man directly behind Hethanon had nothing of the priest's speed. He took Corona's strike straight on and disintegrated in a crimson splash. The other man on Hethanon's left faired no better as the blade exploded into the wall behind them then rebounded toward Wren's hand. The hurtling blade sheared through his outstretched arm the way a fishing line parted water.

In a heartbeat, Hethanon's men were down. Corona rested in her hand again and the cult leader could only gnash his teeth, fingering the bloody tear on his chest.

The words echoed in her mind, and thought of vengeance against this creature pleased her. "Does that hurt? Good."

"You witch!" The glow around his hand became a blaze.

Wren leaped. The thunderous discharge ripped across her back in rasp of pain. She rolled and came up throwing. Corona screamed forward. Hethanon managed to twist away again, the hurtling blade opened a slash in his arm. Corona shattered the wall behind him, causing smoking fragments to pepper his back.

He yelled, rolling to smother the hot char burning his clothing.

Wren closed her hand around Corona. The weapon chattered excitedly, sending tingles of warmth through her body. She gritted her teeth against the pain. An instant slower and Hethanon's magic would have cooked her.

She drew back to throw again.

The priest threw his own blade. Wren shifted to evade, but the weapon scored with a numbing jab, slamming up to the hilt in her shoulder. She howled and jerked the weapon from the wound. Immediately, a white hot agony sped through her body. Her vision went blurry. Corona dropped from her fingers with a thud.

Poison.

She saw him rising, and moved for Corona. Hethanon lunged and caught her before her fingers closed around the weapon. Stars exploded in her vision as he slammed her into the corridor wall.

"Toy with me, little witch!" he snarled. "I'll eat your heart."

"No," said a female voice behind him. "But you can chew on some granite."

Hethanon spun in time to have Desiray's hand shoved into his face. She drove the avatar's head into the wall with a crunch. "Nothing irritates--" Like a mallet on a drum, she slammed the man's head against the stone. "Me more--than bastards--like you--killing my--people." She flung him across the room so he smashed into the far wall.

Wren slid down clutching the wound. She stared across the room at Hethanon's twisted body. "Bet that left a mark. Bastard. Hope you killed him." Flashes of hot and cold shot through her body.

Desiray crouched by her. "Doubt it."

The mistress' face swam in her vision. The venom worked fast, already it was difficult to speak. "Poison. Got me--the way they did--" She groaned. "Grahm." She clawed across the floor and closed her fingers around Corona.

The weapon yelped like an animal that had been bitten. His energy spiked up her arm and into her chest. She convulsed feeling Corona's power grappling with the toxin racing through her blood.

"Damn it," Desiray growled. She took Wren by the shoulders. "Have to get you to a cleric. I--"

Wren threw out a hand and tried to yell a warning but it came too late as Hethanon seemed to appear from nowhere bringing down his black bladed knife. It struck Desiray's shoulder with a rending thud. The woman howled and clutched at her back.

"All you'll do witch, is join her on Set's altar," Hethanon rasped.

Desiray whipped around and staggered, yanking Hethanon's blade free. The avatar dodged back out of range. His face looked like a crumbled bloody mask. His eyes red glowing slits.

"Desiray!" Wren called. Despite the pain cascading through her body, she surged to her feet. Corona shrieked and chittered. She threw straight for Hethanon's heart.

Like a demented mannequin of rubber Hethanon twisted out of the blade's path, his clothing catching fire from Corona's brilliant heat as he seared past. He danced sideways narrowly avoiding Desiray's hissing sword. His hands flared and thunder roared. Wren shielded her eyes as the brilliant light engulfed the white-haired woman, who screamed as she was knocked backward down the hall.

The wall at the far end was blackened, and cracks ran along the surface of the rock. The mistress lay in a heap on the floor. She didn't move.

"Ishtar!" Wren gasped. Her grip tightened on Corona. The only thing keeping her upright was the weapon's power.

"Ah," Hethanon laughed. "That felt good." He spit toward where the mistress lay. "Good things come to those who hate." His baleful gaze turned on Wren. "Your turn."

She clutched Corona. The dagger could kill this monster, if she could simply hit him. Her thoughts were cut off as light flashed around Hethanon.

Barely able to flinch, Wren threw out a hand to protect herself, her only thought to guard away some of the magic the way she stretched wizard wards.

The blaze hammered into her, slamming her against the wall. Stunned for an instant, she didn't immediately realize the blast had not burned. Hitting the wall hadn't hurt either. In fact, she felt strangely stronger from it.

Hethanon was laughing and stepping forward, then froze as Wren sat up. Her left hand glowed. Inexplicably, she could feel the tremendous power of the lightning licking and tearing at her arm the same way the magic of Desiray's dagger had done in the alley.

Corona made cheering sounds.

Her voice rang. "Did you lose something?"

Hethanon's jaw dropped. "Hoow-w-w-!?"

She let the magic go right into his face, the blaze smashing him backward to fall amongst the corpses of his thugs.

"You figure it out," she growled, gritting her teeth against the pain. With the magic gone from her body she felt depleted and barely able to move.

She crawled toward Desiray. If she had survived, the mistress had to call for help. In a quarter bell she'd be dead, and so probably would Desiray. She doubted even that nearly invulnerable flesh would be proof against the Cult's virilent poison.

It seemed to take an eternity to drag herself up the hallway to where the woman lay sprawled on her back. Wren's body felt as though immersed in acid.

This is how Grahm felt right before the end.

She came up on Desiray slowly. Maneuvering to check her for signs of life. The black leather sheathing Desiray's midrift had been burned away and the pale skin underneath looked blackened and blistered. Had she been a normal person the blast probably would have cut her in half. The night of the Dagger attack entire ranks of the Brethren had been sundered by the creature's power.

"Desiray." Wren coughed. She covered her mouth with her hand and noticed it came away bloody. "Lords. Desiray!" Trying to shake the woman was like trying to shake a log. She knelt over her and took her shoulders. From the warmth in her skin and the slight rise and fall of her chest, the woman was alive. Their only chance to get help was if Desiray used her mind speaking ability to call for it. The poison racing through her system, Wren knew she'd be dead before she made it to the guild threshold. Exertion just sped the toxin to its task.

The effort of crawling to Desiray had probably shortened the little time she had left. She could feel the burning fever running through her, as if her body were on fire. Corona made frightened piping sounds on her hip, obviously sensing her life ebbing.

In the distance, she heard metal clanging. She had no way of knowing what it meant, whether an alarm that would bring more Dagger men or something else.

"Come on, Desiray. Wake up or we're both dead." She gasped. So much effort to even talk. The room blurred in and out of focus. She felt the perspiration rolling off her brow. The metallic clash was growing closer. "Desiray!"

The woman groaned and stirred. She winced in obvious pain. "Oh shreds. Ow." She rocked her head back. "You're sweating on me again. We must be in trouble. Damn, feels like I'm on fire."

The noise sounded just up the hall now. Clanks and bangs like Hethanon's heavy plate-armored mercenaries moving around.

"Call help," Wren gasped for breath. She coughed. "I nailed Hethanon--but I--don't think the bastard is--dead."

"Help," Desiray repeated. Her eyelids fluttered. She shook her head, apparently trying to focus. She squeezed her eyes shut. "Hard to think. Everything's buzzing. Who's idea was this anyway? Ow."

The noise up the hall had changed, now more rhythmic and rapidly getting closer. Nothing visible yet by the stairwell where Hethanon had fallen. The avatar hadn't stirred. Fitting that he'd be leveled by his own evil magic. She still didn't know how she did that, she felt certain it had nothing to do with Corona's powers.

The room blurred and danced. She didn't have much strength left. Corona made pensive whining sounds. She could feel him trying to use his energies to stem the decay eating away at her insides. It wasn't working.

"Guards are coming. Concentrate. Call for help. You don't want to die."

Desiray licked her lips and grimaced. "It's tough. Shredded lightning has me all jumbled up inside." She reached up and grabbed Wren's good shoulder.

"Hurry." Wren urged. A glance back showed several silhouettes at the foot of the stairs. There were angry snarls at the carnage. "If you don't get help here fast..."

Desiray closed her eyes, fingers tightening painfully on Wren's shoulder. Her brow furrowed. Wren saw perspiration form on her forehead. She gasped. "There's something blocking me."

"Hades." She glanced down the hall. Armored figures were moving their direction, faces shrouded by helmets and poor lighting. She hefted Corona. She had maybe one or two good throws left in her. "Without help--best I can do--is take down--a few more."

"Hold your shot," Desiray groaned. "Maybe they--won't see us."

"Maybe." Wren knew there wasn't much hope in her voice. Her hand went to the phoenix that hung around her neck. Live, be free, grow... She'd failed those expectations in a big way. Wren wondered if she could dodge death the way Grahm had. Somehow she figured her end wouldn't be like that, she wasn't much of a negotiator. It would be to go down fighting. Like right now. Taking out the last of Hethanon's demon soldiers.

She braced herself, ready to send Corona tearing through their ranks. The hall blurred, the angles seeming to cant and skew. She blinked away the sweat.

"Can't get through," Desiray whispered. "There's magic surrounding the hall."

"Hethanon didn't want--us to get--reinforcements." Wren said quietly. The soldiers were searching around the training room where they'd killed some of Hethanon's mercenaries. "Can't say--I blame--him. We did--pretty good--job--ourselves."

"Isis," Desiray muttered. "Are they close?"

"Almost here." She swallowed. "Waiting til they bunch up. I'll punch Corona--through the lot." She swayed. The hall graying in her vision. "Sure there isn't--something you can--do?"

The mistress swallowed. "Not this far--from home."

"There!" Wren saw one of the armored figures point.

"Not long now," she said. She swiped at her forehead with the back of her arm. A knot had formed in her throat. She wished the hall would stop jumping around. It made it tough to aim. Nothing was distinct anymore, nothing but smudges of light and shadow, silhouetted against torchlight. "Corona, I'm trusting you. Get them--all--for me."

The Dagger chimed in response.

The warriors were filing down the hall in rapid succession.

"Last chance--to scream for help," Wren told Desiray.

"I'm trying," the mistress said. "It just won't--go--through!"

Wren blinked. She shifted her grip on Corona, turning the weapon in her fingers to hurl it at the line of men. The weapon slid around in her perspiration slick hand and abruptly tumbled free.

Her heart seized. "No!" She threw herself after the blade that hit the ground with a crack, and skittered to one side.

She heard rather than saw the men rushing forward. Wren fumbled for the silvery blur that danced and wobbled in her vision. Her fingers closed on it just as the shadow of the first warrior fell over her.

She drew back to let fly with the last of her strength.

"Wren!" The voice sounded familiar.

She hesitated. No. It couldn't be. She started to let fly when a hand captured her arm. "It's me, Jharon!"

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Good things come to those who hate...
--Hethanon

"Ishtar in Elysium," Jharon breathed. "What happened?" He scrambled around Wren examining her wounds.

She could barely speak. "Avatar. Poison."

"Damnation," Jharon tossed down his mace. "Uthur! The herb kit, hurry!"

Armor and weapons clanking, Jharon's men filed around them, broad shouldered fighters with hard eyes, shaved heads, and the spiral shaped war tatoos of Ishtar on their cheeks.

He knelt by Wren and brushed the hair away from her face. "We must stop meeting like this."

Even though it hurt, she forced a smile. She couldn't make out his features, it was only a smear of color, but she could imagine his concerned expression. "I--agree. Desiray--" she coughed. "Take care--" She wheezed and coughed.

Jharon let out an oath and barked orders to the other men. He lay her out flat, stood, and began chanting. His voice echoed in the passage and golden light surrounded his head and hands.

For Wren, the world dimmed to smears of color, sounds blended into a cacophony of ringing. The only things that remained constant were the power of Jharon's voice and the thrum of Corona in her hand. The cleric's magic cascaded through her body like a storm wave, diluting the venom and driving it back.

Like a diver coming up from a huge depth, she gasped for air. "Augh." She coughed and clutched her throat. Rolling onto her hands and knees, she gagged as the contents of her stomach convulsively came up her throat. The heaves came so hard it felt like her insides were being lashed.

She rolled onto her back clutching her wounded shoulder. "Ishtar. Jharon, what did you do..? Arrhg."

"Hush!" He snapped, standing over her. "We have to get you to the temple. This poison is too powerful for my curing." He swiped at his perspiring brow. He gestured to someone behind her, snapped his fingers and pointed. One of the clerics knelt by her and started treating the blackened stab wound in her shoulder. "I have temporarily fought off its affects. It should--" He swallowed, looking dizzy. "Hold for a while."

He turned, squatted by Desiray, and took the woman's hand. The mistress opened her eyes.

"I see a big donation in Ishtar's future," he said.

The corner of Desiray's mouth turned up. "How 'bout I give her to you." She moved her head indicating Wren.

He smiled. "If you include her, you'll have to double the donation. I have enough problems."

Desiray let out a laugh, then grimaced in pain.

Jharon dropped to his knees and clapped his hands. He turned his face toward the sky and started another chant. Wren pushed herself against the near wall watched as Jharon called upon Ishtar's blessings.

"Ouch!" Wren growled.

"Apologies." The man said, his seamed face was set with determination. He looked concerned. "The infection is bad and toxins deep." He worked more balm into damaged area.

She gnashed her teeth. Corona made yelping sounds as though feeling the jabs with her.

The glow around Jharon became bright as he channeled his power into Desiray. The mistress writhed. She let out a gasp, thrashed onto her hands and knees and vomited convulsively.

Desiray flopped onto her back. "Feel like--I've been run over by a blasted--Rhinotaur."

"Surprised you feel--that good," Wren groaned.

"Thane," Jharon ordered, pointing to Desiray. "Get her up. We need to be away directly."

"Jharon," Wren said. "You're going to..."

"Omph!" Thane let out dragging on Desiray's arm.

"To need two or three men," Wren finished.

Pushing herself to a sitting position, the mistress smiled up at the startled clerics. "My husband says I need to cut down on my sweets."

Jharon scratched his head and glanced at Wren. She showed him her open palms and shook her head. She didn't understand it either. The mistress was far too curvaceous to be considered skinny, but from appearances she might weigh seven stone at the outside. From the incident in the alley, Wren guessed if the white haired woman stepped onto a freight scale she'd probably measure close to twenty stone.

Jharon picked up Wren and supported her. She felt like a piece of limp seaweed supported by his arm. They watched as finally four men put their shoulders to the task of getting Desiray on her feet. Once upright, it only took two to support her.

"The husband that could carry that one across the threshold must have ogre blood in him," Jharon noted.

Desiray was handed her sword, and the group of them turned to leave. "Keep your guard up," Jharon said. "Destroying this blight can wait."

"Ah," a voice echoed from down the hall. "What if the blight doesn't want to wait? What if he wants you to stay, right here--forever!"

Jharon's men let out oaths and took up defensive positions, four ahead and four behind.

Wren felt a stabbing pain in her stomach, and a wave of dizziness made the hall spin. Corona growled.

Desiray rolled her head back. "Shreds."

Hethanon stood in the midst of his fallen thieves, his skin, blistered and blackened.

"I don't believe it," Wren breathed. "What does it take?"

Hethanon laughed, the sound harsh and without mirth. "I might ask the same of you."

"Begone creature," Jharon said. "You have no right to be here."

Hethanon staggered forward, his eyes red glowing slits in his face. "My right is here." He held up a hand around which flames licked. "Give the women to me, and I might let you live."

Desiray pulled a dagger off her belt. Wren readied Corona.

<Can you still hear my thoughts?> Wren asked in her head. Though the mistress couldn't communicate with the outside, there was still the chance that the mindspeak worked inside.

It seemed to take a long time. <I hear you.>

<He's too fast. We have to trick him.>

<How?>

<Anything that slows him enough I can get a solid hit with Corona.>

The mindspeak exchange took perhaps the length of a few heartbeats. Jharon's face had turned crimson. "Ishtar does not deal with scum!"

"Is that so?" His hand swung down.

"No!" Wren threw herself forward between the front rank of clerics and Hethanon. She heard Jharon and Desiray yell.

A gigantic burst of white erupted from the avatar's hand.

The bolt stopped Wren in midair. Both she and Corona screamed. The power shredded her clothing and made the world flicker out. The next thing she felt was her body colliding with the stone floor. She had just enough strength to focus the explosion biting and tearing in her chest back at him.

Hethanon swayed as though boneless. The magical bolt missed him by hairs. "Not aga--aaah!" He howled. His lunge to leap clear had taken him directly into the path of Desiray's blade.

Instead of aiming at the creature's body, she had aimed for the leg. Her powerfully hurled weapon had transfixed his foot and pinned it to one of the many corpses in the short hall.

Consciousness was fading, Wren flipped Corona. It left her hand aimed at the impeded limb. Hethanon's eyes flashed and he still had enough concentration to cast another bolt of lightning at Wren and the oncoming dagger.

The magic didn't even slow Corona. She felt the pain of the bolt at the same time she heard Hethanon's cry of agony. Then her vision went black.

Something dragged at her. Forcing light into darkness. Noise. So loud. Wren felt presences around her, and one in her. Pain. The sensation had become all too familiar in the last few days. There seemed to be no end to it. Stabs, burns, scrapes and pulls. Fear, grief, and despair--of them all, the emotional shocks hurt worst of all.

<Damn it, Wren, wake up!> The voice blared in her mind again. Desiray's mindspeak carried with it a sense of incredible urgency.

Wren forced her eyes open. Even that took effort. She felt like a strip of pounded dragon-steak. Obviously, whatever talent allowed her to redirect Hethanon's magic didn't always work.

In view, a knot of armored bodies twisted and struggled nearby. Desiray knelt by her. <Wren,> the mistress thought into her mind. <You have to finish the bastard off. We can't keep him down.>

She heard Desiray grunt as though straining. She turned her head and saw the mistress' hands clenched around Corona, trying to lift him. She wasn't getting far. That she could move that tremendous weight at all was amazing. Corona was making flat spitting sounds, like an angry cat. Warning her off. Wren was surprised the weapon hadn't shocked Desiray to make her let go. She guessed Cassandra wouldn't design a weapon that would injure someone close to her.

Focusing all her will, she dragged her arm over and put her hand over Desiray's. The barest tensing of her muscles made the weapon lift.

Desiray let go. "How in Hades do you do that?"

Wren felt a charge of Corona's power percolate through her body. "In the wrist." Ishtar, I want to lay right here and die. Every muscle ached as Desiray helped her to sit up. She didn't even know why she was still alive, the bending hadn't worked at all that time.

One of Jharon's men stood by them, mace in his hand, a stony expression on his boyish face. Wren guessed him to be in his late teens. His blue eyes were narrowed, but she could saw fear in his body language.

"Get me over there," she said, looking over at the men pounding away at the creature that refused to die. A couple of the clerics had already been rendered unconscious, caught by the wicked strength of the creature. The avatar was the power of a god housed in a mortal shell. It took more than simple pounding to disperse the spirit of an immortal. It took magic.

Magic like Corona.

The boy looked at Wren and down at the gleaming blade in her hand. She could tell in his eyes he wanted no part of Hethanon. Neither did she. Too bad for both of them, either they killed the Avatar here this day, or all of them died. Set's minion would not let them live.

Shoving the mace in his belt, the young man pulled Wren to her feet. She glanced at Desiray. The woman's face was an unreadable mask.

Together they forged toward the knot of chaos. Jharon's warriors struggled around the writhing Hethanon using maces, fists, and feet all in an attempt to keep the creature incapacitated.

"Jharon!" She called. "On a count of three. Everyone get away." She hefted Corona. The blade felt like a leaden club in her hand. If not for the wiry strength of the man helping her she'd have fallen. Corona growled. He'd been hurled at this creature several times and only once got a real taste of this monster.

Jharon turned, his dark eyes flashed. "Go!"

"One--two--three!" Wren drew back.

The clerics leaped aside. Hethanon looked like a battered piece of meat. Red light flashed and danced in his eyes. His gaze met Wren's and the dagger she was throwing. The eyes went wide.

A single word reverberated through the room. SET! A black cloud erupted around Hethanon.

Wren threw.

Corona blazed into the darkness as dark bolts twined from the ceiling, floors, and walls into the center.

"Away!" Desiray was yelling. "Get away!"

Corona returned to Wren's hand as the blackness solidified into a giant figure. The presence of Hethanon had been like being jabbed with pins, the aura of this creature burned. Its massively built humanoid body was covered with ebony scales that shined like black mirrors, a kilt of bloody red girded the loins, and in its hand was a pulsing shaft of what Wren could only call shadows. Its canine head swiveled, elongated glowing slits focused on Wren. The stare it gave her made her heart freeze.

"Set." Wren heard Jharon breathe.

"Mortals." Its voice made the walls shake. A sibilant echo that seemed to go on for moments after it was spoken. "You shall not slay my spawn. Its life isss mine."

Corona was jabbering excitedly, making Wren's arm twitch and jump. Abruptly, she realized the boy that had been holding her up wasn't there. She glanced back. He lay on the floor, smoke curling from his eyes. A quick glance around showed that all of Jharon's men were laid out. Desiray knelt on the floor. Her sword Khairhavhel in her hand. Jharon stood a short distance away, bent at the waist, fist clenched around his mace, he looked stunned like he'd been slammed in the stomach.

It took all Wren's strength simply to remain standing. Set's gaze had not wavered from her. Corona's pulsations were so loud now they made her bones ache. He was now within striking distance of the creature he'd been made to slay.

Corona's urging made the choice for Wren, with what little strength she had remaining she hurled the dagger at Set's heart. The god's eyes widened, a flick of his wrist and Corona veered off and exploded into the wall. Smoldering stone bounced ineffectually from the god's gleaming skin. Corona whirled back to her hand, making angry sounds.

The god's smile made her quail. "Foolish child. Your strength is insufficient. Cassandra wastes her magicks." He made a dismissing gesture.

It felt as if a hand crushed her heart to a stop. The pain alone knocked her down, clutching her chest. Corona continued to hum, trying to force strength into her battered body. She could feel his desire to engage the enemy. He could want all he wanted, she wasn't moving anywhere without the assistance of a stretcher.

Set's gaze turned to Desiray. The mistress, using the sword for leverage had managed to rise to her feet. She looked like a strong wind would knock her down.

"Beauteous Desiray, you've seen better days. It's obvious you should seek a better master. The solution is simple--serve us."

"In your dreams," the mistress coughed. "Get out of my guild."

"Yours?" the god's head swiveled as he slowly surveyed the area. "Say you its possession cannot be ours?"

"No, it can't!" she snarled. She wobbled, barely catching herself.

"If its ownership cannot be ours." His lips pulled back in a fanged grin. "Neither yours shall it be."

The walls began to rattle.

Oh hades, no. She willed Corona forward, flipping the blade toward the creature. He shrieked at the god in a peel of wrath and a flash of light. Set gestured to deflect the blade as he did before, but this time Corona's course was only minimally affected, the weapon slashed a flaming swath across the god's shoulder.

Set's roar of surprise and pain only hastened the disintegration of the guild. Wren's head rang, and stones near the creature crumbled into dust.

Corona returned to Wren's hand hot to the touch. She didn't have the strength left to lift her arm, much less throw again. The dagger's magic had augmented her body to the point of no return; no reserves left.

Jharon had been shocked into action, he grabbed Desiray's arm and managed to tow her aside as part of the ceiling collapsed into the area where she'd been standing. The two of them reached Wren. She could barely look up at them. Her eyes were on Set. Whatever Corona did was giving the creature more problems than simple pain. Amidst the falling rocks of the corridor, the god's shape flickered like candlelight against a wax-paper shade.

"How do we get out of here?!" Jharon demanded over the rumbling. He was pale, but still had strength enough to pull Wren to her feet and keep her supported.

"You shant slipaway." Came Set's rasp. "This-s-s--" The figure flickered, rocks fell through the image. "Is your last resting place."

"Only one way!" Wren pointed to the collapsing hall.

A strong feminine voice broke in. "Might I offer an alternative?"

At that instant, several ceiling timbers gave way. The wood and stone sheared away to either side, as though hitting an invisible dome overhead.

"Cassandra!" Set's glowing eyes grew wide then narrowed.

Wren glanced back. The gold mage stood at the back of the chamber still dressed in her orange robes and carrying a staff. Her black eyes scintilated with stars. She wore a fierce smile, someone enjoying the hurting of another.

"No! You can't be here!" Surprisingly, this came from Desiray.

Cassandra raised an eyebrow at her sister wife, then her eyes focused on the god. "Here, in the flesh, though I can't say the same for you. Having problems staying in phase Lord Set?" She gestured and bodies of Jharon's clerics appeared next to her. Most of them bled from gashes and split flesh from being hit by the collapsing rock. She looked over at Wren. "Might I borrow Corona?"

"Witch." Set rasped. A gesture sent lightning crackling at the mage. She never even looked at the god, simply held up her staff. The bolts slammed against an unseen barrier.

Wren barely had the will to speak. "Take him."

Corona drifted toward Cassandra. He made musical chiming sounds as he floated toward the mage. Meanwhile, shafts, bolts, and blasts of light rained out from the dark god, all equally ineffectual as the first attack.

"Set, has your magic lost some of its bite?" She asked, smiling.

"Who is she?" Jharon whispered, his arm tightening around her.

"The wizard of Ivaneth," Wren answered.

The god paused, his clawed hands held up, clenching and unclenching. His toothly snout was gritted, the lips pulled into a snarl. Ripples of light winked on his scales. "Savor these moments, witch. Our next dance shall be shaded differently."

"Color it any way you like," Cassandra growled. "This time, I win." She whipped Corona at the figure.

The dagger became a brilliant tongue of flame. Set held up his hands to ward off the attack, but the weapon lanced straight into him. The god shattered like a pane of glass. The rumbling crescendoed. Rocks and timbers fell in a hail of fire.

Cassandra's hand closed around Corona as she stepped between Desiray and Wren. Her black eyes flashed. Wren felt a gut wrenching twist, then she didn't feel anything at all.

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My mother is amazing in ways that would take a book to express. Still, despite all of her magic, experience, and natural talent... she can be horribly obtuse at times...
--Everia

Wren felt the back of hand pressed against her cheek and then her forehead. Her whole body felt as though made of cotton, every sensation dulled. She couldn't sense her own breathing or heartbeat. It was as if she'd become disembodied. After all the pain she'd recently experienced, the lack of body awareness was bliss. Water gurgled steadily nearby, a fountain she guessed. The tinkling of ceramic wind chimes echoed from somewhere far off. She smelled needleleaf and starflower incense.

"She is one tough young lady," she heard a voice say. She recognized the voice, but it a took while to identify Cassandra as the one speaking.

"Yes, tough, and a good thing too!" Replied an angry male voice. This one, she knew immediately was Jharon. "What in Ishtar's name was anyone thinking of letting her go in there knowing she'd face an avatar! Do you hate her for some reason?!"

"I don't hate the girl," Cassandra replied. "Small miscalculation on my part is all."

"Small!" Jharon's voice was joined by another; female--Desiray?

"She came hairs from being dead, and mistress Desiray as well!"

"My guild is a shambles!" Desiray let out. "Oh--" Wren heard a groan. "My head!"

"Lie down." Jharon growled. "Even with these extra herbs in you, you have to minimize the spread of the poison. The venom almost killed you, and it may yet still."

"You know, I thought our agreement was that you'd stay away from Hethanon," Cassandra rumbled.

"I agreed to try and stay away from him. It didn't work out." She groaned. "Still weak. Can't feel my body."

"That's the injunctive I gave you," Jharon said. "As I said, I could not cure the poison. My guess is that it is magical as well as natural."

Magical? She opened her eyes. Torchlight flickered in the wide chamber girded on one side by a large pool of water surrounded by marble columns. Light reflected on a mural glass skylight through which she could see clouds racing across the disk of Pernithius. Hanging gardens filled with many flowers and herb bouquets hung in neat rows overhead.

Cassandra stood, staff in the crook of her arm, partially turned away from Wren looking at a dais next to hers; probably where Desiray lay. Jharon was doing something with some wraps at the foot of that same dais.

"Set's minions can concoct some deadly toxins. Most of which kill slow-- sadistic craven." She sighed. "So, am I to take it that Corona did not perform as well as I hoped?"

"It did just fine, Cassandra," Desiray growled.

"Ah, from your tone you're referring as to how well it worked on you."

"What makes you think we fought?"

"Those imprints of Corona's hilt on your head." Wren heard what had to be Corona let out a tinny giggle.

Desiray snorted.

"Must've hurt."

"Damn right."

"Probably deserved it. The scars on her shoulder, leg, back and stomach were put there by someone trying to kill and coming hairs close to it. The magic in those wounds is Corona's. My guess is he healed her around the time she thumped you."

"You tried to kill Wren?" Jharon demanded.

"Hey, it was mutual, okay?"

Cassandra sniffed. "Astounding, on your way to confront an avatar and you two take time to fight with one another--brilliant! Apparently, she griped you enough to want to kill her. She must not have been that mad at you, or she'd have put Corona in your forehead blade first."

"The girl has a mouth on her. I got tired of it."

Cassandra laughed. "No doubt she was encouraged by your bountiful warmth and sensitivity."

Wren smiled, the gold mage knew Desiray well. She couldn't see Jharon's face, but she sensed his upset. He probably wouldn't be as mad if he knew she'd swung first.

"Cassandra, your blasted fight-happy dagger is as much to blame as anything. Her head was so messed up she didn't even need a reason to tussle."

"If Wren's mouth bores you, I can take her off your hands."

"Oh no, I already told you and Dorian--she's mine."

That was her cue. "Like Hades you say," Wren said.

Cassandra turned. Her black star-flecked eyes focused on Wren. She smiled. "Awake, and for a while too." The lady put her staff down and held it at her waist. As she turned, it gave Wren a clear view of Desiray lying on the next dais. The mistress had propped herself up on an elbow and was wearing a stormy expression. Cassandra tilted her head to one side. "What, Wren, can it be you feel you have something to say in this matter?"

The mage's sarcasm was not lost on her. "You know I do." She met Desiray's piercing green-eyed gaze. "Nobody owns me. I only want one thing." She could still feel the phoenix on its chain between her breasts. She pulled it out and looked at Cassandra. "You promised."

"Promised what?" Desiray growled. "You made an oath to the guild--my guild."

"The guild I joined is gone. You had wonderful explanations for what's happened; everything from protecting me and Grahm, to traitor's treachery. The real explanation is you don't care. Vulcindra was able to be a traitor because you didn't give a rat's damn. You never checked anything." Wren pushed herself up with effort and swung her legs over the side of the dais. She emphasized with her fist. "I joined a fellowship; the Brethren. Under Sireth, we shared and protected one another. Vulcindra and Tarmagal only cared about profit. The Brethren's brotherhood died a joke, and Grahm and I were two of its biggest fools. Grahm died trying to protect it. Me, I might as well be dead. So, don't even try and lay claim to me. You forfeited that right a long time ago."

Eyebrow raised, Cassandra ran a tongue over her teeth. She tilted her head in Desiray's direction.

The mistress said nothing. Her eyes narrowed and the muscles in her jaw twitched. Jharon standing near her pushed his lips together and folded his arms. He didn't like what he heard, but then he'd never cared much for the guild to begin with.

Cassandra broke the silence. "Politics," she said. "Should have gone into politics."

"Shut up," Desiray snapped. She wagged a finger in Cassandra's direction. "You're the one that's got this girl's head all screwed on backward."

The mage snorted. "You must be joking. You were right when you said that this one has a mouth on her." Her head turned to focus starry eyes on Wren. "Even I'm not immune to that sharp tongue when it gets going. No. You can take full credit for driving her away. After all, you do have a family, and you haven't been taking care of the organization. Why should the truth upset you so much?"

Desiray growled. "You don't know the first thing you're talking about!"

Cassandra made a dismissing gesture. "Oh please, I don't need to eat dragon doo-doo to know it tastes bad. You lost interest in the guild. When Sireth died, you passed it off to your two little pretty-girl flatterers to fulfill favors, and alienated your two top talents because you thought your hold on them was absolute. You figured they'd eat whatever dung you fed them and like it, elsewise you'd just backhand them back into line. That about capture it?"

Desiray put a stare into Cassandra that would have stopped a Rhinotaur dead in its tracks. The mage just met her eye-to-eye.

The mistress' tone was sharp as a mithril knife. "Get off your self righteous throne! Don't try and make this sound as if you have some personal vested interest. You are no more interested in Wren than you are any other of your little prized test animals!"

"Desist!" Jharon held up a hand. "Enough fighting. Your timely rescue was greatly appreciated lady Cassandra. Our energies would best be spent identifying the toxin, and finding a remedy for the poison used on Mistress Desiray and Wren. For now, I can dilute the effects. After I get attention for the others who were injured, we can start." Jharon came to Wren's side and gave her a hug. She returned the embrace, wishing she didn't feel numb. "I'm glad you're back," he whispered in her ear.

"Glad to be back," she replied.

He kissed her on the forehead, cast a glance at Desiray and Cassandra and left the hall at a brisk walk.

"Clerics," muttered Desiray, rubbing her head.

"One that loves her," Cassandra said.

It made a tingle go through Wren. She looked over. "How do you know?"

Cassandra tapped a finger next to her glittering black eyes, and smiled.

Wren knew her tone sounded dark. "Well, maybe, but he loves Ishtar more."

The gold mage sighed and nodded. "Requirement of the profession." She grimaced and abruptly changed the subject. "Jharon is right, an antidote needs to be found for that poison. I know of a lab that specializes in these kinds of cures, but I can't bring it to you. And--dammit, I can't bring you to it."

"What--why?" Desiray asked.

"If I'd known you were poisoned when we were at the guild I would have gotten us out another way. Magical transport does some tricks with nature. There's a principle that governs patterns in matter, an uncertainty principle."

"Uncertainty?" Wren repeated. That sounded ominous. She didn't like being teleported around anyway.

Desiray raised an eyebrow and ran a hand through her white hair. "What's this 'principle', I've never heard of it."

"Because it never affected you before--Dear."

"So, what's uncertain?"

She poked Wren's arm. "You are. Every part of you. This feels solid." She tapped the dais Wren sat on. "Strange as it may sound. It's not. Only one percent is actually matter, the rest is space."

"Ridiculous." Desiray made a face. "That can't be. Why can't we see through it then?"

"Makes no sense to me either," Wren said.

"An example," Cassandra held up her staff. "This rod fills only a fraction of the space in front of me, and you can reach past it to touch me. Here's the trick." She spun the staff. "The faster I turn, the harder it is to push your hand through the plane the staff occupies. If I could spin it say--as fast as lightning travels through the sky--the staff would appear as a solid object in front of me." She stopped and put the tip down.

"So," Desiray harrumphed. "What's that have to do with 'uncertainty'?"

"Bear with me, and apply this idea to all matter. Everything is composed of tiny particles all whirling around so fast that the volume they fill with their motions appears solid. The uncertainty comes down to where any of those particles will be when you want to say--teleport them. They're all moving incredibly fast, and if for some reason they're stopped from moving it's very bad."

Desiray laughed. "But Cassandra, this uncertainty, I mean I teleport all the time. I don't worry about particles moving or any of that stuff."

"That's because the magic you have in your head is the product of a thousand generations of research. It gave the great mages of the past headaches you wouldn't believe. You see, when you put those particles back, they have to be moving in the same patterns and with the same inertia as when they were imaged."

"So?"

"Trust me, its incredibly complex. They solved the problem through a brilliant breakthrough in the translation of matter, where complex organizations of particles could be represented in a far simpler more portable form. It's done with something called--"

"Mandrimin's algorithm," Wren said. She put a hand to her forehead. "Wow, where did that come from? It's like I heard it before. Go on."

"Mandrimin's algorithm." Cassandra gave Wren a sidelong glance. "Mandrimin was a Ta'arthak Nola a--"

"Savant." Wren finished. "I've heard this before, but it--" She smacked her forehead with the palm of her hand. "It seems so far away. Like someone else remembered it."

Cassandra nodded. "That's part of what I promised you. That you know about savants doesn't surprise me."

"Savants?" Desiray scowled. "What are you talking about?"

"So, when we find the cure then you'll tell me about my parents?" Wren asked.

"I promised," Cassandra said.

"What amulet?" Desiray asked.

"It's between Wren and I," Cassandra said. "It has nothing to do with you or your precious guild secrets." She sighed. "Anyway, he was a ta'arthak nola, a savant of matter, a transmuter. His intuitive understanding of how material exists in the cosmos made it possible to approximate an object using what he called chaos mechanics and simulcra theory. Without getting into a lot of detail, when you are teleported from one place to another, you're not really put back the way the spell found you. You're an extremely accurate approximation, the best match picked out of chaos. Because there are discrepancies between how you start and when you finish, its always a good idea to limit the kinds of foreign substances in your body, the kind of magic that might be at work on you, because the reconstruction can have unexpected side-effects."

"You're saying the teleport could have made our condition worse?"

"I'm saying you risked instant death. The wrong chaos similcra picked out of nether space as your reconstruction template and well--"

"Yuck." Wren said.

"Precisely."

"So, here we stay," Desiray grumbled. "Wonderful."

"Right here," Cassandra agreed. "At least it's a nice place."

Wren looked around. Ishtar's precincts were nothing new to her. She spent a lot of time in and around them. Maybe she'd been ignoring the signs. Maybe she'd been going about things the wrong way the whole time. Maybe she should become a cleric. Yeah, right.

"Since we can't get to the best lab. What's the next available option?" Wren asked.

"I'll take some blood from both of you and analyze it in my lab to see if I can't identify it. Once I know what it is, then Jharon and I can work up concoctions for each of you. What cures Desiray will probably kill you."

Desiray sighed. "Cassandra, are you sure it's not just Jharon?" She glanced at Wren. "Maybe what we need is a better priest."

"Truth told, my dear, he's a fine cleric," Cassandra said. "Power is not a factor here. What's wrong is Set. I have a strong suspicion that you've been poisoned with something called Jikartandak which translates from old Silissian as 'faith killer'."

"So what is that?" Wren asked.

"It's concentrated hate," Cassandra said with a tight expression. "Created from the blood of the faithful, and made toxic by worship energies, the demiurge, of the god through his avatars. You are dying because you are enemies of Set. In fact, what makes this venom so ingenious is that it does not affect Set's minions; only his enemies."

"Marvelous," Desiray murmured. "Is there an antidote?"

"None," Cassandra said.

The word hit Wren like a punch in the stomach.

Desiray's jaw dropped. She looked as stunned as Wren. Her voice rose. "What do you mean none? None known? None so far? What?"

Cassandra put a hand on the woman's shoulder. "None so far. It's fairly new, the cult has only been using it the last few summers. The substance breaks down rapidly after a victim dies, so no-one's been able to study the compound. Usually, the person dies before a cleric can get to them. You were both fortunate to have been treated in time, it gives us a chance to analyze the effects and formulate an antidote. Have faith." She let out a breath, glanced over at Wren and gestured with her staff. "Research, labs, magic... that is where I'm at my best. Remember my library, Wren?"

She let out a breath slowly. "Oh there's probably an answer in there, milady. The question is can you find it before Jharon's magic gives out?"

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When I first met Wren, I knew she was someone special even before Mother introduced us. My Mother was such a dunce, she wasted an extraordinary opportunity out of no other reason than lack of book-learning. It would have been great to have Wren for a sister...
--Everia

Wren wobbled a little as the dark-haired priestess helped steady her in the hall. The woman had come in while Cassandra was chiding Wren for her lack of faith. She introduced herself as Dame Ghendel. A plump woman with dark hair and fair skin that looked never to have been touched by the sun. The woman wore a courteous smile that was all business, and little friendliness. Wren guessed that because they were guests of the high priest that granted the only courtesy they would get from the woman. The lady assisted Cassandra in drawing some blood from each of them, and took notes for Jharon on the avenues of research Cassandra would be following.

After the necessary dressing of their wounds and other details, Cassandra suggested that they relax as much as possible, clean up and get a change of clothes. That, they were now on their way to do.

Wren glanced back, noticing the way Desiray moved gingerly along behind her with the assistance of the two temple guards. The mistress was like a shell lizard, if she fell on her back, it would take four strong men to get her upright again.

Tired as she was, Wren thought the water might ease her tension. How could she sleep not knowing whether she would wake up or not? The fact that Cassandra would be searching for a cure, made her feel better, but it was frustrating as well. She hated feeling helpless, and having to depend on someone else. She could tell from Desiray's expression that the mistress hated it even more.

They were escorted to the central cistern where Wren had bathed before, a large bricked in pool surrounded by columns and hanging gardens. The priestess assigned to them waited by Wren, obviously to help her disrobe. The men that had assisted Desiray left with perfunctory nods to the priestess.

Wren hesitated. For some reason the idea of being unclothed around Desiray made her uneasy. The mistress seemed to share none of her discomfiture, and was already undoing the catches on her leather cuirass.

She decided her unease was silly and started working at the ties on her own armor. The priestess assisted her in pulling it off. The removal came with its share of pain. The muscle pulls, and bruising, made her whole body tender. She slid off her boots, removed her blouse and breeches. Conscious of chilly stone underfoot that all she wore was her short clothes and the phoenix amulet.

"The priests know you around here," Desiray said, undoing the last strap on her vest plate. "How long have you known Jharon?"

"Seven, eight, summers," Wren answered.

"Cassandra was right about him?" Desiray winced, trying to shrug the tight fitting material off her shoulders.

"We wanted to be engaged. The hierarchy disapproved of the match though." Wren stepped behind her and peeled the clinging leather off each arm. Desiray groaned as the cuirass was removed. Wren lay the armor aside, and assisted with Desiray's undergarments.

"Predictable," Desiray said. She looked around, saw a bench, and steered herself to it. She plunked down with a thud. She bent to pull off her boots and moaned. "Help me, please. Between lightning, stabs, and poison I'm a mess."

She knelt and helped Desiray pull off her long thigh-length boots. Desiray then slowly worked at her breeches, not self conscious about being naked. Of course, with a body like that, what did she have to be self-conscious about?

"Anyway, the church prefers arranged marriages to a noble family that will tithe regularly. The happiness of lovers isn't a consideration."

Wren saw the priestess who was placing washing cloths, hair soap, and oils by the pool, stiffen. The woman kept at what she was doing without comment.

Desiray levered herself slowly to her feet, weak like Wren and moving around three times as much mass. "Hierarchies are not about religion, they are about finances. Worship is money."

The priestess turned then. "The hierarchy does what is best for the faithful, Mistress Illkaren; nothing more, nothing less."

"There you go," Desiray gestured to the priestess. "Best for the faithful--nothing less, and lords forbid, nothing more."

The priestess pushed a hand through her dark hair, features tight. When she spoke her words were sharp and clipped. "I shall be back in a bell with your attire, unless there's something else."

Desiray smiled. "We're fine, Dame, you may go."

The priestess' cheeks colored. She gathered up their clothing, turned abruptly, and left.

"Why were you so rude?"

"Don't mind that thin-skinned witch. She was treating us like we were the dirt beneath her heel anyway. She knew what I said was the truth and didn't like it. So, that's the amulet Cassandra was talking about?" Wren looked up and saw Desiray was focused on the phoenix.

She nodded.

Desiray reached out and touched it. The shiny metal caught the flickering lamp light. "Looks like Shael Dal."

"That's what Cassandra said. She didn't tell me what it was, but I have the impression it was important."

"You might say that, especially seeing as how all the gold in Corwin couldn't buy its equal."

"What!?"

"Yup," Desiray picked her way down the steps into the swirling water. The stoic expression on her face reminded Wren of the murals of perfect Ishtar striding into the waters of life. She let out a sigh. "Oh yes--ah." She settled herself on one of the underwater steps, and pointed back at Wren. "Little trinkets like that are what makes someone like you into someone like me." She splashed water up over her breasts. "Shael Dal is spirit metal, it's used in annealing, one of the ways a mortal body can be highly augmented." She gestured across the bathing area, indicating for Wren to join her. The woman seemed so blasé about it. What she was saying was incredible.

Wren didn't want to seem too green in front of the Mistress. She didn't like Desiray, and resented some of the things she'd done. Still she respected the woman's knowledge and power. "A piece of metal can do that?" The cool water lapping around her calves didn't feel as good as it might because of the injunctive that Jharon had given her, but her imagination filled in the rest. The water buoyed her up and took the pressure off aching joints and muscles. "Ahhh," she relaxed into the seat across from Desiray. "I mean that seems so--so--"

"Impossible?" Desiray supplied, flipping some of the water with her fingers. "The right piece of Shael Dal can make a common green into an immortal. It can give you unbelievable abilities."

"Like yours?"

Desiray ran a tongue over her teeth. "Like mine." She narrowed her eyes. "That's not what that is for though. Hmmm. So, that's the little mystery Cassandra was going to solve for you?"

"She thinks she can find out who my parents were."

Desiray scowled. "That conniving little--witch." She smacked the water.

"What?"

"Wren, she already knows who they are."

"Huh?"

"Trust me. I've lived with the woman twenty summers. She looked at that amulet, she looked at you. She knows." She made a hissing sound.

"What? What's wrong?"

Desiray drew a breath and let it out slow. "I hate it when she knows something I don't. Ever since she's seen you, she's been rubbing it into me about how remiss I've been."

"You're certain?"

"Oh, no I can't be certain. I'd wager a hefty sum she has a good idea, and that its something big, or she'd have just told you."

Wren frowned. She turned the amulet over in her fingers. For the first time since she'd gotten it she felt the bubbles of excitement that had nothing to do with fear. "She read the word on the back and seemed to recognize it. She's also said something about helping me realize my potential as a Savant."

"Savant?" Desiray eyes narrowed and her jaw tightened. "I've heard that before. Weren't we just talking about that. That nola thing." She grabbed the hair soap off the ledge and worked it through her blood soiled white tresses.

"Ta'arthak Nola, a Savant of Matter."

"Yeah, and that man character and his rhythm."

"Mandrimin. He invented the extraction of simulcraic derivatives from chaotic space, and developed the first universal analogue correction matrices for fractal compression of interpolated particulate helices."

Desiray's jaw dropped. "What?"

Wren put a hand to her forehead. "Whoa. Did that come out of my mouth?"

"Sure as shreds did. Question is, what was it doing in your mouth?"

Wren dunked her head in the water and let the droplets seep down her face. "Confusing it mostly. Don't have a clue as to what that meant." The excitement had soured. Where did those words come from? She'd never been around anyone that might even have a chance of saying them muchless knowing their meaning. Something in the back of her head said that their meaning was reserved only for the most elite of the enlightened.

"Well, that answers my next question. For a moment there, you sounded just like Cassandra. Frightening. One's bad enough." She passed the soap over to Wren. "What was the word on the amulet?"

"Liandra."

Desiray rubbed gently at her shoulders, green eyes searching the ceiling. "It's just a name to me. I'm just not a walking bookshelf like Cassandra. She reads more books in a week than I do in a year."

Wren half smiled. "Knowledge is power."

"Please. I hear that enough already." She raised a finger. "Let's put together the clues. Cassandra says you're a savant. Usually that's just what you call someone who's really smart on a certain subject. She's probably using it in the emblematic sense. This man fellow--"

"Mandrimin."

"Whatever. He's a Savant of Matter, the Ta'arthak Nola. I didn't realize until a second ago. That's ancient elvish. Nola means 'master'. 'Ta' is 'first' or 'primary'. 'Arthak' is Elven for 'material'."

"A master of primary material," Wren put in.

"Not just any master," Desiray said. "Think back to the way Cassandra said it, 'The' master, as in preeminent, undisputed."

"Okay," Wren said. "What does that get us?"

"Rather than that question, answer a different one. How'd you get over Cassandra's wall and up the tower? How did you catch my dagger, or smack Hethanon with his own lightning?"

"I don't know. I just do it."

"Right. A savant doesn't have to know they're a savant to be good at whatever it is they do well."

"So, I'm a savant of wall climbing?"

Desiray snorted. "I doubt that. What do throwing a dagger, climbing a wall, and stopping lightning have to do with one another?"

A strident young voice echoed in the room. "Is this a private riddle or can anyone answer?"

Desiray turned sharply. Her eyes went wide, and Wren saw a startling transformation come over the beautiful but hard lines of the woman's face. She smiled, but in a way that had to be reserved for the extremely special people in her life. "Everia!" With a shove, she thrust herself to her feet.

A slim dark-haired girl in her teens bounded across the cistern area and leaped into water fully clothed to embrace Desiray. "Mother! I was so worried. I had to pry where you were out of Momma-Cassandra."

Momma-Cassandra? Wren could see that relations in a family with multiple wives could get--complicated. She guessed from the fervency of the embrace, Desiray was Everia's natural mother. She still couldn't believe even seeing it; eight children? In a few more summers, this girl would be her age!

"I'm okay, Kitten," Desiray soothed, stroking her daughter's hair. Everything about this callous woman was different with her daughter; the voice, the manner, the attitude. It's as if she slipped into another skin. "Wren," Desiray said with obvious pride. "This is my eldest daughter, Everia." Wren nodded to the girl who nodded back. She was dressed in blue and white silk, which was now plastered to a blossoming and vital young body. Wren could see a lot of Desiray in the girl's face, high cheek bones and big eyes, made bigger by black eye paint applied around the lid in the style of Isis' priestess'. She had a sharp chin, one that lent itself well to being thrust out in defiance. "Everia, this is Wren. Perhaps the best agent in my whole organization."

Well, nice of her to say it--to someone else.

"Apologies, for my bursting in like this," Everia said. She had a strong voice, one obviously schooled in public speaking because of the way she projected.

"Not only is she my eldest," Desiray said. "She's my smartest too. Since you're already wet, you may as well join us. Where's your brother? He must be having a fit."

"He is," Everia said with a wry smile. She peeled off her wet blouse and tossed it on the shelf surrounding the pool, then yanked off her boots one at a time.

Desiray made beautiful children, that was for certain. Wren just wished the son had come instead of the daughter.

"The errands had to get done," Everia continued, pulling off her breeches. "I elected him."

"Ah." Desiray shook her head. "Some day he's going to haunt you." She looked at Wren. "Everia has a twin brother, Darin'Kel. They usually don't go anywhere without the other."

Sigh. A twin. That would be a beautiful boy indeed.

Everia dunked her long hair in the water and wrung it out, and sat next to her mother. "Don't let me interrupt your riddle. I just wanted to be with you."

"It's not a riddle," Desiray said. "More of a question. You know the answer?"

"Come now, Mother, you're teasing me, right?"

Desiray sighed and looked into her daughter's eyes.

Everia frowned. "No?"

Wren realized from Desiray's expression that when she meant smart, she meant brilliant, so much so, she sometimes had trouble understanding her child. From Everia's perplexed look she'd probably grasped the commonalities between those three apparently unrelated things instantly.

"No," Desiray replied. "Share?"

Everia sighed. She glanced at Wren and colored a little, as though her mother embarrassed her. She spoke slowly and in measured tones, like a teacher to a student. "Throwing a dagger, climbing a wall, and stopping lightning. The commonalities are gerunds."

"A gerund?"

"A part of language that is treated as an action and as a thing. Throwing and climbing are both skills, ergo things. Of course, both are actions. Then you add 'stopping'. Stopping is a gerund, but not a skill. As part of the riddle, the implication is that the common thing is a skill." She looked to Wren and Desiray for recognition.

Wren didn't understand. There was something Everia was assuming the two of them knew something that was obvious to her.

Everia drew a breath. "They're all actions, and each involves the transferal of energy; an arm to a dagger, weight to a climbing body, the blockage of electricity. So, what do the things have in common? Kinetics. Specifically, each thing is a kinetic manipulation."

"Kin--what?"

She rolled her eyes. "Kenetics, Mom. The study of momentum mechanics."

Desiray closed her eyes and put her head on Everia's shoulder. "Shreds. I should never have let Cassandra near you two with all those books. It's getting so I can't understand you anymore!"

Wren stared at the girl, forcing herself to blink. "Your daughter has a impressive grasp of concepts. I don't know how she got there, but it makes sense."

Desiray wrinkled her nose and hugged Everia. "Her problem is she's too smart for her own good sometimes."

Everia's cheeks flushed. "Moth-er."

Wren fixed the girl with a level gaze. "Everia?" When she met her eyes Wren looked on. "If someone had complete mastery of kenetics, if they were say a savant of kinetics. What could that person do?"

"A savant of kinetics?" Everia's eyes widened. "You know a Kel'varan Nola?"

Desiray threw her hands in the air. "Dammit! I hate this."

Everia looked startled. "What's wrong?"

The guildmistress took her daughter by the shoulders. "Kitten, I don't want you to be a walking facts almanac! Your study ethic is just too--too--" She bit herself off. "Darling, I wish you'd start doing something besides absorb mother Cassandra's tomes."

"Why?" The way Everia said it, the complete lack of comprehension on her face showed how telling that question was. "What's the matter? Did I do something wrong?"

She wants you to get a life, kid.

Wren sighed. "No, you didn't do anything wrong. Your mother just doesn't want you learn everything from a book."

"Well of course not. There's scrolls, lectures, memstones, tablets..."

Wren held up a hand. "From experience. From life." She looked at the white-haired woman. It was obvious she welcomed any input on this matter. It had apparently come up before. "Although, I wouldn't wish the lessons I learned on anybody. Ouch."

"Oh." Everia pursed her lips. "I'll think about it. So, do you really know a Kel'Varan Nola?!"

"It's a good possibility, Everia." Wren met Desiray's emerald eyes. "A good one."

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It has been maintained by several parties that I meant Wren ill. That is not the case at all. I simply didn't realize her value until slightly later in our relationship. A fact my daughter is always quick to point out...
--Cassandra

"So, let me get this straight," Desiray was saying. Everia sat behind her, rubbing her back with a soapy cloth. "You've heard of this Kel'Varan Nola?"

"Sure. You've heard of Mandrimin, right?"

Desiray glanced over at Wren. "Oh, pain, my head."

Everia drew her hands away. "Did I hurt you?"

"No. Sorry. Mandrimin has come up once or twice in the last little bit. Makes my head sore."

"It's not that bad," Everia chided.

Wren looked at the girl sidelong. "Even that stuff about the extraction of simulcraic derivatives and interpolated particulate helices?" Whatever that meant.

Everia wrinkled her nose. "Fractal compression theory as applied to a zero-latency matter to energy transfer? It's interesting. I've only studied a little of it."

"Thank Isis," Desiray muttered.

"Mom, it's standard study for any kind of understanding of how teleportation works. I don't see how you can feel safe popping around without understanding what it is you're doing!"

Wren laughed. "Have to agree with her there. The feeling sick part was my first clue there was something inherently unsafe." What Wren found curious was that if Desiray didn't understand it, how in Ishtar's name did she do it?

The mistress scowled. "Look, I don't have to know how to forge steel to use a sword. It's sharp. It cuts things."

"Ewww!" Everia clenched her fists. "I hate that. Haven't you heard that what you don't know can hurt you?"

"Sure." The mistress replied. "Ever hear me say I learned everything I needed to know by the time I was seven?"

The classic street smarts versus noble schooling argument. Wren had heard that verbal battle in the Plaza of Philosophers a dozen times. She also knew it was a never ending debate.

"We're getting off track here. Your Mother and I, while we may not agree on everything, we both know you can get along fine without books. I didn't learn to read until I was your age."

Everia put a hand over her mouth, sincere shock on her face. "Oh my, that's terrible."

"Perhaps not. Some day," she glanced at Desiray. "We'll teach you some practical foraging skills."

"Well, maybe." Everia didn't sound enthused. Of course, she was happy in her book insulated little world. Wren figured that annoyed Desiray the most.

"Let's get back to the Nola."

"Yes, lets!" That Everia was enthused about.

"What if this Nola person were an enemy?"

The girl paled. "Nobody lives long if a Kel'Varan is their enemy."

"Why?"

"The Kel'Varan Nola is one of the prime Savants. Do you know anything about them?" Wren shook her head. "There are six, and never more than one of a type at any given time. The foremost Savant is the Garmtur'Shak Nola, the Savant of Reality. He's like all the others wrapped up in one. He can reshape probability. Then there's the Latis Nola, the Savant of Time, who effects the causative and perceptual passage of events. The Chakta Nola, the Savant of Space who can make distances between objects shrink and grow without moving them.

Everia stopped to rinse her hands, and switched the oils she was using. "Mandrimin, the theorician who developed magical teleportation was a Ta'arthak Nola, a Savant of Matter, someone who can control material at the particulate level. Another is the Da'Jhamack Nola, a savant of attractions, the forces that govern such things as compasses and the movement of the stars in the sky. Lastly, there's Kel'Varan Nola, the Savant of Forces, who can channel the energies of the cosmos. Next to the Garmtur, I consider the Kel'Varan to be the most dangerous of the six."

"Why? It seems someone like Mandrimin would be much more dangerous. After all, he could turn you into a frog."

"Because a Kel'Varan could turn Mandrimin's power back against him. In fact, Mandrimin died at the hands of Kel'Varan Damay. Though he was brilliant, he was also something of a despot, and for whatever reason he hated Damay. On several occasions, he tried to kill her with the Ta'arthak. According to the histories, she humiliated him in at least four public duels of Nola power. Each time, he learned from his mistakes and came after her more skilled than the time previous. Damay always found a way to win. From my reading, she was probably the most accomplished of the Kel'Varan's ever. She lived over four thousand years until she was slain by Aarlen Frielos in a duel."

"Was this Aarlen a more powerful Savant?"

Everia snorted. "No. Just the meanest woman to ever live."

"Oh," Wren shook her head. "Desiray, Everia is phenomenal. I wish I had half her smarts."

The mistress smiled. "I am proud of her. I know sometimes I sound like I'm not."

"Don't worry," Everia said. "I know you just want the best for me." She hugged Desiray. "So, Lady Wren, how long have you known you were a Kel'Varan Nola?"

She bit her lip. Yes, this girl was plenty sharp. "About the time you explained it to me."

The girl grinned. "What's it like?"

Wren raised an eyebrow. "Painful, mostly."

"Pardon?"

"Always thought I was a freak. I still don't understand how controlling force makes me able to do these things."

"Yes," Desiray turned to Everia. "I watched her climb a smooth wall slick with rain. Those things still seem unrelated."

"Okay, it helps to understand what force she's controlling. This is something you'll have to take on faith because it took weeks before it was proven to my satisfaction in school. Every object, no matter how small, exerts a tiny amount of attraction on other objects. Much the same way drops of water will pull together into a larger drop. The bigger the object, the greater the attractive force. When you stand or jump, that sensation of weight or falling, is the attraction of this giant ball we call the world of Titaan. What the Kel'Varan allows Wren to do, is to cheat that attraction. She absorbs the attractive force and exerts it on the wall she's climbing. In essence, her weight is being pulled against the wall rather than toward the ground. In theory, she could invert the force and create an equilibrium."

"Levitation?" Desiray said narrowing her eyes.

Everia nodded. "Stories say Damay could fly. The histories are extremely old, so it may simply be elaboration on the tale."

Wren frowned in thought. She wanted to bottle this little bundle of information up and spirit her off. She wasn't as intimidating as Cassandra and didn't have some hidden agenda. Of course, this knowledge came at a time when she might never get a chance to capitalize on it. Though they were sitting here gossiping and washing, the poison continued to age, ready to do its worst when Jharon's magic wore off.

"Okay, daughter dearest, that is a perfectly plausible explanation for the climbing. What about being a good shot?"

Everia stroked out into the middle of the pool and glanced at Wren with her dark eyes. "Think about it, Mother. Force is the Kel'Varan's entire focus. Throwing is nothing more than being able to accurately gauge how much effort you need to plant an object where you want it. Remember how I said every object no matter how small has attraction? They say force savants can sense the tiniest amount of force exerted on them. So, they have an intuitive grasp of everything in the environment around them, how far objects are away, what direction they are moving and how fast. Add to those perceptions an innate talent for vectors (momentum mechanics) and the ability to exactly coordinate the power of their own body, and you have someone that can, without training, be nothing less than an incredible shot. With training, you have someone that can hit their target even in extremely adverse conditions." She stretched. "A product of their body control and their perception of attractive forces should also give her exceptional balance." She fixed Wren with a questioning look. "You consider your balance good, at least marginally better than your friends?"

Wren shrugged. She never gave it much thought. She did feel at home on a rooftop. The wind never scared her even in the most precarious spots. Maybe she'd instinctively known it posed no threat.

"I've seen her," Desiray said. "Sireth told me she was best rope walker she'd seen."

Everia ran her hands through her thick brown hair. "There you go. It's all natural extensions of the same basic ability. It's no wonder she's the best agent in your organization, she has the potential to be the best in the world. There's no ward she can't bend, and no wall would ever stop her. If she wants to, she can be completely silent because she can absorb the kinetic energy of the vibrations of her footsteps. It's all knowing the power's potential, and practicing the mental disciplines to control it."

Yes, kidnapping was definitely looking attractive. She lay back in the water. It was all so huge and something in her said that it wasn't just some story the girl had made up. It explained all of the strange things she'd done.

It explained something else.

Why Cassandra was so interested in showing Wren her full potential. If what Everia described was even partially right, the fully realized talent of the Kel'Varan was a tremendous weapon able to turn an opponent's strength back against them. She knew nothing of her power and she'd done it to Hethanon.

She took hold of the phoenix amulet. There was still more to this. Cassandra had said something about her being abducted. If someone had known her potential it would certainly have made her a target of kidnapping. Why didn't she remember anything before she was eight? The first thing she remembered was the temple of Hecate burning and running away. Then there was Grahm in her dream. Live, be free, grow... Grow. It made much more sense in the context that Everia had provided. Someone or something wanted her to realize that potential. That something had in some way preserved Grahm's spirit in order to guide her. It had given her the amulet.

Liandra.

What should she do? The Kel'Varan was a powerful weapon, and she knew nothing save what Everia had just told her. She had no doubt that Cassandra wanted to use it to exact vengeance against Set. Her best option was to get as far away from Cassandra as fast as she could. Of course, there were two little snags. First, Hethanon's poison would kill her as soon as Jharon's magic wore off. Second, if she fled, she might never find out where she came from.

"Wren?" The voice startled her because of it's closeness. Everia's attractive features were pinched with concern, dark eyes probing. "You feel sick? You went pale."

She forced a smile. "I've just been told something incredible. At the same time, I also realize that it puts me 'tween a stone and a storm."

Everia narrowed her eyes. "I don't follow."

"My turn to explain something. Now that you've told your story, I doubt your mother there will let me retire. Even if she does," she noticed the glint in Desiray's eyes. "Your other mother, Cassandra, has plans for me. If I stay, I get torn apart. If I run away, I get chased and I run away from the only people who might be able to tell me where home is." She sniffed, feeling an ache in her chest. "Oh yes, on top of that, I'm waiting for poison to kill me. So, you can probably grasp my upset."

"Ah." Everia blinked and glanced at Desiray. The mistress' face had turned stony. She didn't like being fingered as the bad guy in front of her daughter. Everia's eyes narrowed. "I believe you have the right of it." She waded to the edge of the pool, grabbed one of the towels, and stepped up to dry herself off. "I won't let them bully you around. It's not fair or right."

"Just like that?" Wren said.

Everia turned and her young face hardened. "Just like that."

Desiray opened her mouth.

"Don't even say the word interfere," Everia said sharply. "That's not what I'm doing. I'm simply being a conscience." She wrapped the towel around herself. "If Wren is a Kel'Varan Nola she should be treated with respect. One look in her eyes tells me that she's been through enough. You and mother Cassandra have enough toys."

The mistress frowned. "You and I are going to have a talk."

"We certainly are." Everia came around to Desiray's side of the pool. "Come on, Mom, stay in there any longer and you'll be nothing but one big wrinkle." She bent as though to lift Desiray out of the water.

Wren pointed. "I don't--"

Everia took Desiray under the arms and hoisted her from a sitting position to stand on the edge. She didn't even appear to strain.

The girl raised an eyebrow and looked at Wren. "Sorry. What?"

Wren's jaw dropped. "Nevermind." That one display of strength dispelled Wren's doubts, Everia could back up her demands.

She clambered out of the water, noticing the way the liquid seemed to suck at her limbs. Even Jharon's injunctive didn't dull the ache. It took altogether too much effort to stay standing. She looked around. Everia was drying her mother off.

"I thought it was a bad idea to blow off that priestess."

Desiray stopped scrubbing the towel through her hair. "What?"

"She didn't come back with any clothes." Wren gestured. "She took our stuff. All we have are towels!"

"Mom looks fabulous in a towel," Everia giggled.

"Oh hush, you aren't putting on that soaked silk either."

The girl shrugged. "I look fabulous too, I just didn't inherit your bosom to hold it up." She raised an eyebrow. "Why is that anyway?"

Desiray rolled her eyes. "Darling, what if you had? You'd only use it as a place to put your bookmark."

Everia made an exaggerated kissing sound. "Meow. Fsst! Fsst!"

"Well, you're being a minx. You deserve it."

"Keeping you from taking advantage of Wren doesn't make me a minx. You've done that long enough anyway, that guild mark on her neck says she joined up more than a decade ago."

Wren rubbed the spot on her throat. "You don't have to stand up for me. I can take care of myself."

"Wren, this isn't chivalry, it's clear thinking. I sense you have a grudge against Mother. No doubt, you have good reasons for your anger."

"Everia--"

"No, Mother, you hush. Hear me." She fixed Wren with a riveting gaze. "For now, the feud isn't serious, but pushed you could become an enemy." Everia took a breath and hiked the towel up on her body. "The family can ill afford to stupidly turn someone of your potential into a foe simply because one or two of us." She shot a hard look at her mother. "Are pursuing some personal agenda. She hasn't read the histories of the savants. I have. As my mother Dorian tells me all the time, allies are something you can never have too many of."

"Are you done?" Desiray snapped.

Everia nodded and handed Wren one of the extra towels. "Her growling aside, do you and I have an understanding?"

Wren took the towel and clasped Everia's hand. "I'm always open to friends."

The girl clasped Wren's hand in both of hers. The expression on her face was earnest. When she spoke her words were picked with care. "I would be gratified if we came to know one another well enough for true friendship. I hope to be at least a valued acquaintance."

Wren patted her hand. "You're already that. Your knowledge gave me something important. That's not something I'll soon forget."

"Oh, knock it off," Desiray grumbled. "Let's find some clothes."

Everia frowned at her Mother, but went and draped Desiray's arm over her shoulder in order to assist her walking. She put her arm through Wren's and provided much needed security. As wispy as the girl appeared, she was as solid as a bridge piling. It was a good thing, because Desiray was none too steady. She staggered frequently, and it took all of Everia's extraordinary muscle to keep the heavy woman from falling.

Upon reaching a main corridor, Wren asked for directions from one of the passing acolytes as to where they could find either Jharon or get temporary clothing. The acolyte, a boy in his early teens with short hair, dark eyes, and buck teeth pointed down a corridor and indicated that they should take the second right then an immediate left.

Half way through his instructions Wren started to get suspicious. "This can't be right. This section of the temple hasn't been used in summers. Look at the dust."

Desiray frowned. "You're right lets--"

Her voice cut off as she saw the four shadowy figures block the passage back the way they'd come. The tempo of Wren's heart increased and she felt a prickling sensation against her face.

The lead figure was only a pair of glowing green eyes peering from beneath a hood. Its voice sounded like glass grinding together. "In the name of Lord Set, you must die."

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Responsibility is discipline, discipline is planning, planning is success, success is life, life is being responsible.
--Sireth

Wren stepped back from the four robed creatures, she recognized the blood red hooded-serpent tattoo that wound around their arms, and saw the knives glinting in their hands. The only sound that came to her throat was a groan. Didn't it ever end? Neither she nor Desiray had weapons, and Everia was only a kid.

"Shreds," Desiray muttered. She glanced over her shoulder. The next turn in the corridor lay twenty paces away. There was no guarantee there'd be a sealable door there even if they could make it.

Everia growled.

As a unit, the three of them took two steps backward. The assassins flowed forward, eyes glowing red in the faint light.

Wren didn't have the enough strength left to hurt them even if she could strike. Desiray would fall over without Everia's support. They would have to take advantage of an opening.

The lead man rushed forward with a yell, swinging the blade low toward Desiray's stomach. Everia cried out and interposed herself into the path of the blade.

Desiray put her hands out too late. The cultist's knife plunged into Everia's midriff with a metallic crack. The girl let out a gasp and bent over the man's arm. Ice rushed through Wren's veins. Ishtar, no!

He yanked the dagger back to stab again.

Metal tinged on the floor and Wren realized the weapon no longer had a blade. The cultist saw this at the same time Everia straightened.

"You--" The girl brought her laced fists down on the man's shoulder with crunch. He howled, legs buckling. "Bastard! That--" He screamed as Everia jammed a knee into his groin, making him fold. "Hurt!" A whistling uppercut slammed him backward with the sound of shattering bone. His hurtling body knocked down two of the attackers.

The last man came at Wren blade first. Too weak to dodge, she slipped the blow, turning her body and striking the man's wrist with her palm. The weapon went wide, but the man crashed into her with breath stealing force. The world grayed and the next thing she saw was the cultist kneeling over her, raising his knife to plunge it into her chest. Before he could bring it down, he was yanked into the air as Everia jerked on his wrist. Loud cracking preceded the man's yelp, then the girl drove his head into the temple wall with a mushy thud. He slid to the floor leaving a wide streak of crimson.

"Scum." Everia muttered, taking Wren's hand and lifting her up. "He didn't cut you did he?"

Dazed, Wren shook her head. She looked down and saw that remaining two cultists lay face down with their necks broken. She might look like a girl, but she had her mother's killer instinct.

Desiray leaned against the wall looking exhausted and angry. "You scared the shredded life out of me!"

"Had to risk it," Everia replied. "I could last until a priest slowed the poison. You or Wren wouldn't have. Lucky my skin is tougher than that crummy iron dagger." Everia held up her hands. Both arms were splashed to the elbow in blood. "Oh ick! I just got clean!" She ripped the hood off the nearest man and wiped her hands. In the distance, footsteps pounded toward them. "Oh, now somebody comes to help."

Wren's stomach felt queasy. "About being friends, Everia. Girl, I never want to be your enemy."

Everia looked up from wiping her hands. "Good."

Jharon, a priestess, and two guards came rushing around the corner.

The woman, the same one who had taken their clothes saw the blood and the twisted bodies and turned the color of milk. "Oh my!"

Jharon flipped over the nearest man, picked up his arm, saw the tattoo and cursed. He came to Wren and hugged her seeming to ignore the fact she wore nothing but a towel. "Is everyone, all right? No one was cut?"

"Fine," she answered. "Lucky Desiray's daughter was with us. They had us cold."

"Thank Ishtar! What were you doing down here, anyway?"

Wren looked at the priestess. "Someone took our clothes, and didn't come back with replacements."

"Your clothes?" Jharon scowled at the woman whose cheeks turned scarlet under his glare.

"Some buck-toothed acolyte told us to go here and that's when those thugs came after us." She squeezed him and put her head on his shoulder. "Right now, I'm just glad you're here."

Jharon stroked her hair. After a moment, he looked up. "Well? Get them some clothes! Get the clean-up staff in here! I want the lead guards in my office! Minions of Set in my temple!" His face had turned red. The guards and the priestess remained riveted. "Move!" He shouted.

The three disappeared.

"I apologize," he said to Desiray and Everia. "This is absolutely embarrassing. Come." Keeping an arm around Wren, he held his hand out to Everia who was supporting Desiray.

The girl smiled, obviously taken by Jharon's good looks and smooth demeanor. She took the hand offered and assisted her mother along.

"Tight ship you have here," Desiray said.

"Mistress Illkaren," he said, his tone dark. "You heard me, I am as displeased as you are. This breech of our sanctity is inexcusable. While we're on subjects of security..." He smiled at Everia. "How did this attractive young lady, get into the temple? She was not allowed in."

Desiray narrowed her eyes. "Guess that security needs more work than you realize."

Everia elbowed her mother. "My sister Cassin brought me. She, how shall I say it, she comes and goes where she wants."

Jharon raised an eyebrow. "How is that?"

"Dal'Taak'tem."

The priest stopped. "Pardon?"

"Dal'Taak'tem."

Wren saw his throat muscles tighten. He narrowed his eyes. "That's what I thought you said. You know--"

"God's grace--"

He turned to Desiray. "I don't want to know do I?"

The mistress grinned. "No, you don't."

Wren looked up at him. "Dal'Taak'tem?"

His gaze flicked to Desiray and Everia. "Elite agents for the gods. The watchdogs."

"The gods have those?"

He sniffed. "I've heard stories." They started walking again, now at a faster pace.

"Cassin's sweet." Everia laughed. "When she's not being an irritating rat."

"So, Desiray," Wren said. "Are all your children terrors?"

The mistress pushed out her lower lip. "Ummm, yes, basically."

"Hey," Everia frowned. "I'm not a terror!"

Wren rolled her eyes. "To your friends; no. Those cultists would have other opinions." She paused. "You teach her to fight, Desiray?"

The mistress shook her head. "Her father."

"Loric, right? So, what is this, three mothers and a father? I heard 'mother Dorian' mixed in there too."

"It's complicated," Everia said.

"I bet."

"Someday," she promised.

They were escorted to Jharon's study, and clothes were promptly brought to them by a now subdued Dame Ghendel, who was apparently concerned over upsetting Jharon. She shot some angry stares at Wren which she took to mean the woman had some sort of romantic interest. The woman was dreaming if she thought Jharon would be interested in some posturing, thin-skinned, snobbish cow. Desiray was right. She was just trouble.

Jharon left while they put on clothing. Everia's assistance was necessary the whole time. Desiray could barely stay upright, and it now took all Wren's concentration simply to walk.

"We will have to take you to a healing chamber," Jharon said. "Continuing to move about will only shorten the time you have left. Lady Cassandra promised to check with me at the next bell. We will do what we can."

"Can you do it?" Wren asked, looking into his dark eyes. "Beat this poison."

Jharon hugged her and kissed her on the forehead. "Ishtar has not saved you all these times simply to claim you now. You have many summers ahead and a family to raise. Come, let us put you to bed."

Wren was too tired to argue and let Jharon lead her down the corridor. Desiray trailed behind half-carried by Everia. The sound of harps and horns echoed down from side passages accompanied by choruses of voices. Spice flower incense curled in thick tendrils beneath high arches inset with gold filigrees. Cool drafts of air sighed down the corridor, the opening and closing of doors, probably the main temple valves. They turned down another byway decorated with murals of Ishtar leading her chosen into battle against an ebony backdrop of stars.

Jharon looked over his shoulder checking on Desiray. He was obviously impressed with Everia's ability to bear her mother along. It had taken two strong men to do it beneath the guild. "She has quite a daughter."

Wren nodded. "A little goddess in the making."

The priest raised an eyebrow. "I'm not sure how to take that."

"Literally," Wren said. "Those men in the corridor, they didn't stand a chance. She's everything her mother is, with twice the brains. When she's older, she'll be grabbing falling stars by the tail just for the ride."

"Poetic. Is that admiration or jealousy I hear in your voice?"

"Equal parts." She sighed. "Only parents I knew only wanted me for the chores I did. Desiray loves that girl. Kid loves her back. Look at them." He glanced back. "Everia would take on Set himself to protect her mother. Desiray irks me, but she cherishes her children and takes care of them. I respect that. Only wish she'd cared for her guild as well."

"You wish you'd gotten that kind of attention." He made it a statement not a question.

"Yes." Wren leaned on him. "I see her and realize for all her adult manners, she's only a girl." She looked up at Jharon. "I was never that young. I couldn't afford to be. What would I be like now if--?"

He squeezed her. "Wren, you can't change what is. You are a fine and honorable woman, brave, strong, and resourceful. Maybe, if you'd had real parents, you might be different--but not a great deal. The decency and loyalty that I love in you isn't learned, it's in your soul. That's what makes you special, your heart. All the sages and all the money in the cosmos can't give you those qualities, nor can they be taken away--only tarnished."

"So, I'm your tarnished little jewel?"

He grinned and his dark eyes flashed. "The jewel I see needs no polishing." He kissed her.

She closed her eyes, snuggling against his warmth. "You know, all the healing I need is right here."

There was a long silence. Wren opened her eyes to find him staring at her. His eyes were moist. A single tear ran down his face. "I wish Ishtar had made it that simple for me."

Wren glanced over realizing Desiray and Everia had stopped and were studying them. Neither said a word, but they both wore similar expressions. Wren wasn't sure how to gauge it. They both seemed--interested. She couldn't credit that either would be at all moved by the frustrating conundrum that kept she and Jharon apart.

"Don't you think--she should be saving--her strength," Desiray said. "There'll be plenty of reason--to celebrate if--" She took a breath. "If you get us through this."

Jharon frowned, obviously nettled by Desiray's remark. He turned and led them the down the hall and up a flight of stairs to a long narrow room where faint light was peeking through narrow mural-glass windows.

The area smelled faintly acrid from whatever had been used to clean recently. A lamp running low on oil sputtered in a corner sconce. A row of six beds, all neatly made, sat against the wall adjacent the windows. Tapestries of great healing scenes decorated all the other walls. Three glass-doored cabinets filled with different powders and unguents took up what space the entry didn't occupy in the near wall. There were several other low flat lockers, one at the foot of each bed and other larger ones obviously for linens and other paraphernalia.

Jharon sat Wren on the bed. "This is one battle best fought by resting and conserving your strength. Prayers won't hurt either. It's a hard thing, I have looked at your blood. Little affects the corruption within it, I believe Cassandra is right. This is Jikartandak, and put in you by Set's avatar. I can prepare magicks which will drive back the poison perhaps once more, but it will probably only buy you perhaps a few more bells. We will have to have a cure by then."

Desiray sat on her bed, the framework groaning loudly under her weight. Her expression was stormy. "Don't you have anything good to say?" Everia gripped her shoulder and the mistress shrugged her off.

"I have not given up, Mistress Illkaren. For Wren's sake, I will not. The poison was caught fairly early, that gives me hope that we can devise a countering concoction."

Desiray merely scowled in response, she laid back on the bed with her arms behind her head. "I'm going to hunt down every priest and follower of Set, and kill them all," she muttered.

Everia looked down at her mother and back to the priest. "Master Jharon, is there any lore at all on this Jikartandak? I am not very good at alchemical things, but I am exceptionally good at research and a very fast reader. I have several brothers and sisters who can fetch things for us, if you know where to get them."

"Your sister the Dal'Taak'tem, the one who goes where she wishes. Can you get her to fetch things?"

Everia glanced at Desiray then back to him. "Certainly."

"Well then, nothing ventured. Come, I will check my notes." He bent and kissed Wren on the forehead. "I won't fail you."

She squeezed his arm. "I know you won't."

"I'll be back, Mom," Everia said.

Desiray struggled to push herself up to her elbows. "You be careful, and don't do anything crazy!"

"I won't," Everia replied, as she left the room on Jharon's arm.

"Right," Desiray covered her face with her arm, muffling her voice. "Might as well ask the child not to breathe."

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Be. It's such a simple word. My experiences with it have made me wish it was stricken from the language.
--Wren

Wren lay in the bed staring up at the ceiling, the image blurring and distorting as she watched. She wasn't sure how much time had passed since they left herself and Desiray alone in the room, but it seemed to have been bells. Perspiration trickled down her face. She could hear the thump of her heart, and the scratchy rattle of her breaths. Somewhere in the distance, wind chimes made silvery tinkling sounds. The acrid scent of freshly burned redbark incense hung in the air, the lingering tendrils of the thick smoke forming spirals against the dark rafters. Her mouth tasted dry, her lips felt swollen. Taking everything into account, there'd been times she'd felt worse, but feeling herself grow steadily weaker and knowing her chances for recovery were getting more slim with each passing moment made the situation a particularly poignant hell.

"Wren?" Desiray asked in a faint voice. "You awake?"

She swallowed. "Uh huh." It was getting hard to talk.

"Do you hate me?"

It took a moment for her to grasp the question. She rolled her head on the pillow and found the Mistress studying her, emerald eyes glassy.

"I hated Hethanon--I think--and the bastard that--that killed Grahm. Everything else--" She paused, it took effort to speak. "My own damn--fault. Should have left the moment you installed Vulcindra. Knew--knew day one that nothing would be right again."

"Really?"

"Really. I couldn't believe it. No one had the--had the guts to tell you, it was a bunch of--doo doo."

Desiray frowned. "When you get older--some decisions... Some decisions you'll make will be unpopular. Sometimes--" She drew a breath. "Sometimes, you have to pay your debts."

"I--" She moistened her lips. "I have a debt to Vulcindra. She's--she's going to get everything--everything she's due--with interest."

Desiray shook her head. "You'll have to stand in line."

"As long as she's still alive--when it's--my turn."

"Don't--" she groaned. "Don't worry. Damn." She wiped the sweat on her brow. "Starting to think--we may not--get... the... chan--"

The room grew dimmer in Wren's sight and Desiray's words faded into muted hum. The humming grew in volume until it sounded like the crashing of waves. Something hard was pressing into the small of her back. It had been bells since she'd had the strength to shift herself, but the irritation made her try.

She moved--easily. Her hand was pressing against a soft texture that wasn't fabric or stone. With a start she realized it was grass. Her eyes snapped open. She was looking into deep azure sky scudded with clouds. At the edge of her vision she saw needlewood trees.

Then she realized that the weakness was gone. She started to sit up and a hand pressed her back. Abruptly, a leg swung over and a person was straddling her. Deep brown eyes gazed into hers.

Wren's heart jumped and her whole body went hot. "Grahm!"

He looked no different than when she last dreamed. Dressed in green leather, his boyish features fresh, dark hair loose and hanging over one shoulder.

Grahm smiled at her, but the smile quickly became a frown. "What are you doing? Hmmm?"

She blinked. The question made no sense to her; none of this did. How did she get back with Grahm again? Was she dreaming? Dying?

"I don't understand."

His dark eyes flashed. "Yes, you do."

"No, I--owww! You're hurting!" His fingers were digging into her shoulders. "Stop it!" She struggled to push Grahm off, but he caught her wrists and put all his weight against them.

He lowered himself so his nose was just touching hers. "I thought we had a deal." His breath was hot and moist on her cheek. He smelled of ice-leaf, sugary and pungent.

"Deal? Grahm, I don't know what you're talking about!"

"What part of our arrangements said go out and get yourself killed? I don't remember that being part of the plan!"

"Plan? Grahm, you make it sound like I was trying to die. I couldn't stop it from happening."

He moved his face even closer to hers, lips brushing her nose, cheeks, and finally hovering over her mouth. She could almost taste the remnants of sweet dharmack juice. "I think you gave up a little too easily," he whispered.

She growled. "I did not!"

"Listen to me," he said quietly. "Nothing can ever hurt you again if you don't let it. Alpha has willed it so."

"Alpha? Who--"

"Listen!" He shouted so loud her heart lurched and she flinched back, banging her head in the soft grass. "Nothing. No-one. Not even Set himself can hurt you. You have to will it. You have to want it. Have to believe. That is your power."

"The Kel'Varan?"

"Exactly."

"Grahm, I tried, but it doesn't always work."

He sighed. "Did anyone teach you to breathe?"

"No."

"Do you have to think about it?"

"Of course not."

"The Kel'Varan is like that. You can't let yourself be afraid. You must accept what you are."

She felt heat rise in her cheeks. "That I'm a freak!"

"No!" He took her face in his hands. They felt warm and firm against her cheeks. "You are a child of eternity, blessed as a daughter of Alpha. Your blood is the blood of the First-ones."

"How do you know this?"

"The dead are privy to certain secrets denied the living." He paused and his lips pressed to hers. Her body tingled and the sharp bitter-sweet tang of dharmack was in her mouth and filling her senses. He drew back. "This particular dead man loves you and wants you to go on living."

She shuddered feeling his emotion like a ripple of warmth licking through her limbs. "Grahm I've been poisoned. I'm a savant of forces, not matter. I can't affect Set's magical concoction."

"Nothing can hurt you," he repeated. "The Kel'Varan takes care of the rest. Don't be afraid... afraid..."

Grahm turned translucent as his words trailed off. Wren abruptly felt as if she were floating. A sharp pain shot up her arm and spread through her body.

"...Afraid we're losing her." A voice said by her ear.

Suddenly her heart was racing, she felt cold, a gnawing ache chewed through her insides.

"Dame!" It was Jharon's voice raised in alarm. "More injunctive--quickly!" Hard boots clicked rapidly on stone.

Wren felt her arm lifted and fingers encircle her wrist.

"Damn it," Wren recognized Cassandra's voice. "I was certain that would do it. I don't understand why it's not working. The same method is working on Desiray."

"She isn't made of rock like the Mistress," Jharon growled. "She took two hits from Hethanon's magic, plus the harm done to her only a day ago."

Wren felt a hand hook behind her neck and lift her. She managed to crack her eyelids and see Jharon's concerned face as he pushed open her lips and upended a container of vile tasting injunctive into her mouth.

She convulsed as the sludge-like concoction flowed down her throat.

"Set's necromancy has a hold on her and won't let go," Cassandra said. Wren caught a glimpse of the mage's gold-skinned face set in a frown. "I can't put more force behind the magical purgative without killing her."

Jharon's face grew fuzzy in her sight. Wren tried to speak but only a mumble came out. Her throat burned and her mouth tasted like sun-dried leather. She made the effort again to form words and came no closer to success.

All the fear, the pain, the sense of betrayal and aloneness had sometimes made her wish for death. Wren realized she never really wanted oblivion, simply escape. If she had to die, she didn't want it to be like this... a limp shell incapable of even speaking. She could feel the pumping of her heart growing slower and weaker. An icy hand closed around her mind. She was expiring and neither Jharon or Cassandra could do anything to stop it.

She focused inward on the one thing she knew how to do. The mindspeak that Cassandra and Desiray could hear. It was difficult to concentrate, but she sensed the far-away voices that were the conversations going on in Cassandra's head. Even in this moment of peril, she could still be amazed at the mage's ability to simultaneously converse with people both mentally and verbally, some of those people an untold distance away.

Wren formed the words in her head, seeing them painted on a huge black background. <Cassandra!>

The gold mage let out a surprised squeak. "Wren?!"

What had Grahm said? She had to believe. As long as she had the will nothing could hurt her. Don't be afraid. Hard not to feel scared when you know you're dying.

"Lady?" Jharon asked.

"I heard Wren," the mage said. "In mindspeak. Right?"

<It's me.> She confirmed. <Hit me with your magic. Get Set out of me.>

"Child, it will kill you!"

"What?" Wren saw Jharon looking at her, his handsome features screwed up obvious empathy.

She felt herself fading. <Tell Jharon, I love him, no matter what.>

"She says she loves you no matter what."

"Wren?" Jharon put his hands to her cheeks. The gesture was so like Grahm's. Cassandra was right, he did love her. She tried to open her eyes fully to look at him, but a blurry image was all she could manage. "Can she understand me?"

"Yes." Cassandra said.

<You have to do it, Cassandra. Do it now!>

"Wren, you aren't strong enough."

<Do it, or I'll die anyway!>

The doors to the room slammed open and running feet pounded in. "Thank Isis, Mom looks better." Wren heard Everia's strident voice. She paused. "Momma C, how's Wren... Oh no!"

Wren saw a new face appear next to Jharon's. "The purging isn't working?"

"She's too weak," Cassanda said. "If I use magic strong enough it will kill her." Cassandra took a breath. "Wren's asked me to try but..."

Everia put a hand on Wren's shoulder. "Do it, Mother. The best you have."

"Everia?"

"Milady?" Jharon echoed. "I don't think..."

"Trust me." Everia rode over Jharon's words. "Trust Wren."

The room flickered. Her heart was only a whisper. It had to be now. <Listen to her!>

"Please," Everia said to Jharon. "I think I know how to help her." She pushed close, reached out and took the phoenix around Wren's neck and removed it.

She stepped around and placed the metal, now hot to the touch, on Wren's forehead. "No time, Mother. Do it. Concentrate Wren, I know you're in there because the sigil is still warm."

As Everia placed the talismon against her skin. A single white dot blossomed in the darkness of Wren's mind.

Everia cupped her hands around Wren's temples, thumbs pressing down on the amulet of Shael Dal. Immediately, Wren felt warmth spread through her, much the way it had when Desiray had pushed her special energies into her. "Focus Wren, the shaladen will help."

There was only one thing to focus on; the white dot. She blocked out everything and made that dot her sole existence. As she turned inward, bringing her whole mind to bear on it, the dot broke up into fragments that danced and spun. As she struggled to stay centered on the dipping and diving elements whirling through her mind, she sensed something odd, as though she were no longer alone in her head.

Voices sang in her mind, the words had no meaning, but she sensed that they were greeting her.

Be, Sister. The strongest of the voices rolled over her like warm oil, soothing and supremely serene. Fall not into despair, let not imagined limits be your end. You are of the first blood. You are Kel'Varan. Be!

A chorus of voices called out from the darkness; men, women, and children, all giving warm recognition. Be. Be. BE.

A realization shot through Wren like lightning. These voices were the generations of Kel'Varan that came before, welcoming her to the lineage. Though she'd lost the only family she knew, she was becoming a part of new kinship, one that spanned a hundred millenniums.

That powerful voice, a resonating female tenor flowed into her awareness again. "You are first blood, my Child. She gave us the gift of sight, the ability to partake of Her blood to make ourselves strong. We are the chosen who may hug the stars without being burned." The voice paused and Wren felt that lost being's joy, and the wealth of her millenniums of fruitful life. "To know Her divinity we must be perfect nothingness and ultimate density."

Abruptly, Wren knew the voice, knew all of them. "Damay! Help me, it makes no sense!"

Damay's presence swept her into an insubstantial embrace, warm and comforting. "You must stop trying to 'make sense', my Child. You need nothing other than to be. She is with you. You are a part of Her made flesh. You are called. Be!"

"How? How do I be?"

No answer came back, only a surge of pain and panic, and the final beats of her heart lumbering to a stop.

Sink or swim, instinct and intuition, discard thought and fear, and do what came natural.

<Now!> She screamed the thought at Cassandra.

She felt the mage summon all her considerable strength and unleash it. Jharon yelled in surprised anguish and Everia growled encouragement.

The magic hit with shaking force, but Wren let it come, thinking of nothing. She only imagined Damay, the greatest of the Kel'Varans wrapped in a protective aura of calm that nothing could breach. Wren felt Her blood pumping through her, a thundering river of star stuff rippling into infinity.

Cassandra's magic passed through her like a storm gusts through an open window, drawing out the blackness eating at her.

<More!> she urged.

Lost in non-focus she sensed Cassandra's surprise, and Everia's elation.

The magic came again, stronger and hotter, burning the blackness that clung to her body like congealed pitch. Still Set's magic hung on, unwilling to give up the victim so close to being drawn down to oblivion.

To survive, she must embrace the star. <Use Corona, Cassandra, all your strength.>

She felt Jharon's love, Everia's eagerness, and Cassandra's wonderment. Distantly, she sensed Grahm cheer and Damay nod sagely.

No fear.

Wren sensed the white hot spike of Corona thrust his incredible magic into her. A burst of magic nova hot and meteor potent. This time it burned and the pain went beyond experiencing, but in the scalding balm was purification and freedom from Set's icy grip.

The deluge stopped. She was clean and new now, a sword annealed in stellar fire. Done. She had overcome, she could be.

Now, if she could only recall how to breathe. Her heart refused to beat. The blood in her veins felt cold. A ringing resonated through her bones, and uncomfortable empty feeling that she sensed wasn't right.

A shudder went through her internally as a different kind of blackness flooded in.

<The guild people call that--> she thought to Cassandra. She felt things starting to come apart. <Call that a 'nice try'.> Awareness faded. <Thanks... for... trying.>

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Gaea gave us the gift of sight, the ability to partake of Her blood to make ourselves strong. We are the chosen who may hug the stars without being burned. To know Her divinity we must be perfect nothingness and ultimate density...
--Damay Alostar

A cool spray wafted against the back of Wren's neck carried by a warm breeze laden with the spicy scents of summer. The rhythmic surge and gurgle of fountain pulsed behind her. The raucous chatter of blue feathers and thistle wings echoed as they dipped and dived across the stone square. In the distance, a smith's hammer rose and fell, and a wagon with badly greased axels groaned down a nearby street-side.

The huge three-tier fountain where Wren sat was the hub from which began nine perfectly straight, cobbled avenues. Elaborately designed stone buildings fronted by statues, topiary, and floral boxes crowded each street. Their brightly painted window sheets and awnings gave everything a glowing too-nice-to-be-true appearance.

She blinked. How did I get here? She glanced around. It looked-- she dipped her hand into the cool waters of the fountain--felt real. She rose, experiencing no pain, nothing other than the normal sensations of her body. The black hauberk of leather that Cassandra gave now clothed her, whole and undamaged. The dark cloak of shadows hung soft and unstained from her shoulders.

This place seemed nothing like anything she would dream. Why here? Though pastoral, the place resembled nothing she'd ever seen or imagined. Didn't she die? Silly question if she could think to ask it.

"Your confusion is understandable," a warm female tenor said behind her.

The voice was so gentle, so soothing, that even though it came without warning and from right by her, Wren wasn't startled. She turned to face a smaller woman dressed in green breeches and a simple brown tunic with a high rolled-over collar. A single line of spidery looking symbols was stitched in yellow from the shoulder to her waist. Her steel-gray hair was tightly coifed around her sun-darkened face. The only thing unusual about the woman were her rings; one on every finger and thumb. Brilliant gold, shiny platinum, emeralds, rubies, topaz, and every kind of precious stone Wren could name lived in a setting on one those ornate circles. Light flashed and winked around her fingers as she put her hand on Wren's shoulder.

Wren felt an indescribable thrill go through her body, as though something previously asleep in her were being brought awake. A warm tingling shot down her arms and legs.

A shock of recognition went through Wren, an instinctual knowledge of this small Lady's identity--Damay. She certainly didn't look like one of the most formidable mortals to walk the inhabited realms.

"Good day," Damay said in that ultimately calm voice. "Sister, I am gladdened you are well." She smiled and Wren saw this tiny woman for the titan she was. Her strength filled the air like a tangible thing, holding Wren in its gentle grip.

It all made Wren's thoughts stumble. "I don't understand. Am I dreaming? How can you be here? How can I be here? For that matter, where is here?"

Damay looked around, completely unconcerned. "Time and space are Hers to command, my Sister. We are Her chosen and death is merely an inconvenience. We go where we are called."

Wren swallowed. "Am I dead then?"

The woman's brow furrowed, the corners of her dark eyes crinkling. "I fear you are too preoccupied with labels. The vastness of the cosmos allows for many shades between life and annihilation. From the first day we are aware, we die a little every day." She smiled again. "You might even say we are born dead. It just takes us eighty summers to stop kicking."

Wren folded her arms. She wasn't sure what to make of all this. What was the purpose? "You know all that philosophical stuff doesn't mean much to a girl who slept in alleys most of her life. I'm pretty much a black-and-white person."

Damay nodded. "I was young and bitter once, I learned better. If you are to fulfill Her expectations, you will have to learn as well."

Wren stepped back. "Look, I know who you are and I respect your legacy." Her voice cracked. "Selfish as it might sound, I'm only interested in one person's expectations--mine. No offense, my potential is nobody's business."

The older woman pushed out her lower lip. She brought both hands up palms apart, fingertips meeting. She looked up at the bright summer sun, the light reflecting in her eyes. "Perhaps if we speak in street terms then." She looked over to Wren, her gaze penetrating in its intensity. "In your line of work," she said the word with the barest hint of sarcasm. "You would agree that those who fail to adapt--perish."

"If by 'perish', you mean wind up dead. Sure, I'd agree with that." Wren still didn't understand. Set's poison had taken the life from her. Unless, she really was in one of those twixt life and annihilation states Damay mentioned. This whole dialogue seemed pointless. She knew instinctively that where they were wasn't real, or at least didn't exist in the here and now she'd been in minutes ago.

Damay stepped closer and before Wren could shift, she pulled one of daggers from its sheath at Wren's side. The older Savant flipped the weapon up and twirled it so it spun point down on the tip of her finger, then caught the pommel in the style of professional knife fighters. She weaved the dagger through the g'at'sarat serpent's-bite maneuver. "Sometimes the thugs want to off you just because you're competition."

Wren eyed the swiftly moving dagger with respect. It was one of the weapons loaned to her by Desiray, and sharp enough to part silk. "So? What are you saying? There are thugs in the savant business?"

"There are many jealous of our closeness to Her." Damay's face hardened. "They call us the Ka'Amok, chaos bringers. Immortals seek us in order to wrest away the gift bestowed upon us by Her."

Wren felt a chill go through her. Something in Damay's words sparked a memory that hovered just out of reach. "Wrest away? How do you mean? Steal our savant abilities?"

Damay held the knife up so the keen edge winked in the light. "Not your powers, Sister; your body." She paused and took a breath. "Many of us have been taken and succorund. Our souls consumed to sate their appetite."

Though Damay hadn't said it, Wren made the connection. A queasy feeling started in the pit of her stomach. "They force us to become their avatars."

The elder Savant nodded.

Wren rubbed at an itching at the back of her neck. The queasy feeling in her stomach became a knot. "That's what happened to me, isn't it? That's what they were trying to do in the temple of Hecate. Why I can't remember anything before then."

Damay took Wren's hand and placed the knife there. "It is best to get to the savant before they know how to defend themselves. They can be conditioned not to resist the succorunding."

Heat shot through her body. "Those bastards. Then it was probably as Cassandra said. I was taken from my family by force!"

"It has happened many times," Damay said in flat tone. "It will continue to happen."

Wren's mind spun. While she hadn't entirely trusted Cassandra, she sensed that this apparition, or time shade, or whatever this manifestation of Damay was, told the truth. The idea made her sick.

"They're treating us like cattle!"

Damay's serene voice rose not in the slightest. "That would be an accurate assessment." She put a hand on Wren's shoulder again. "The passing of one diminishes the whole. We must strive to unify ourselves and our roots."

"Okay, I understand, there's a threat to all savants from the pantheon lords. What does that have to do with you being here? Why you--why me?"

"Each Savant has their mentor, some teachers are flesh and blood, others are bestowed."

Wren didn't know why, but sensed the answer. "The amulet. You were in the phoenix."

Damay dipped her head. "My essence lives on in the casting of Shael Dal."

"So, we're in the amulet? That's how your voice came to me when I was trying to focus the Nola."

"If that answer satisfies you."

"I don't care about being satisfied. I just want to understand, okay?"

"Understanding comes in time. Better now to be."

"There's that be stuff again." Wren shook her head. "It makes no sense, how am I not being?"

"You do not allow yourself the freedom of what you are. You do not accept."

"Damay, you may think this ability is a gift. For me, it's been a curse. It got me taken away from my real family, forced me to grow up amongst peasants, harlots, and robbers. Accept it? It's always made me different, suspected, envied, and now I find out my Nola is something that gods covet and want to control." She paused and took a breath. "What kind of blessing is that?"

The older Savant nodded. "It has not been a boon for you I must admit." She held up a jeweled hand. "There are joys to look forward to. The ecstasy of being one with Her. Where others wonder if their existence has meaning, savants know they have a purpose."

"Which is?"

Damay grinned. "To be."

Wren rolled her eyes. "Why did I know you were going to say that?"

Damay sat at the fountain and dipped a hand in the water. "I suppose it was predictable. You can't change what you are Wren, nor will you be allowed to run away from it. You must become a savant of forces, or you will die."

Walking over to the fountain, Wren put one knee of the wide cordon and looked down the street. She saw no people, but she could hear them. She swallowed, then looked over a Damay. "That was pretty direct."

The older woman raised an eyebrow. "'That philosophical stuff doesn't mean much to a girl who slept in alleys most of her life.' If the realities are all that matter to you, then that is what you have. Adapt and grow, or stagnate and die, at least as a thinking individual anyway. Your body would probably live on for centuries as an avatar."

Wren shuddered. "So, this adapting. Are you going to teach me?"

Damay smiled. "I already have taught you all you need to know. The rest is acceptance, experience, and simply--"

"Being. Yes, I remember."

Damay pointed a finger at her and smiled. "I taught you well."

Wren looked around. "So, like how am I supposed to get out of here?"

"You have to want to live. The amulet has done its part. It is up to you to rejoin the spirit with the shell. Those that care about you have repaired the vessel. You must have the strength to inhabit it."

"How do I..?"

Damay started to open her mouth and Wren cut her off.

"Stupid question. Be? Right?"

"I apologize if the answer seems simplistic, but you will learn it is the answer to most of your questions."

Wren sighed. "Before I try this, I have one question to ask, and it's personal."

Damay raised an eyebrow. "If I can."

"I've been told that if a Kel'Varan wills it, nothing can hurt them." Damay nodded. "It's been said that you were the greatest Kel'Varan ever. How did this person I heard about, Aarlen, ever manage to defeat you?"

Damay looked down into the water. "Perhaps I was tired of living. It had been over four thousand years. Perhaps I underestimated her." Her voice took on a hint of irony. "Or maybe I just felt sorry for her."

"Huh?" Wren stared at the woman. "You let someone kill you because you felt sorry for her?"

"Not in the way you mean it." She pushed her hand through the water. "It was a battle that only one of us would survive. She was--is--the kind that will not retreat, cannot surrender." Damay frowned. "My insight let me know that Aarlen also played a role for Her, she had great things to accomplish. I saw into her soul and knew the pain that made her." She put a hand on Wren's shoulder. "Your pain is a fraction of hers. Imagine seeing your family slaughtered. Imagine further, it is your own father doing the killing. What do you think it would be like to be raised by such a monster?"

Wren felt a cold shiver. "I'd rather not contemplate."

"Neither I. I pitied the creature. Her hatred of the worlds and everything in them had given her tremendous power. We fought and she kept on and on. The sallies kept on. War was all she knew. She saw in me a threat that had to be destroyed. I saw that to kill her, I would have to kill myself. That act would rob Her of a key servant. I had already played my biggest parts. It was Aarlen's turn to play hers. I made a choice. I gave in."

"And she killed you."

Damay shook her head. "No. She captured my spirit in a magical prison. A prison within which I remain to this day." She looked into the sky. "She provides for us in strange ways."

"Aarlen made the amulet? She put you in here?"

The older Savant nodded. "You now have the understanding you sought."

"Oh wonderful, and now I'm stuck in here to."

The corner of Damay's mouth quirked. "You are less stuck and more visiting. Unlike me, you may will yourself out."

Wren looked at her. "Are you certain that you can't get out?"

"If She wanted me out. I would be out."

"Maybe no-one knew where you were."

Damay shrugged. "It does not matter Wren. What matters is that you be. It is your time to flourish, not mine."

Wren put hands on hips. "What if part of that history is restoring you? You wouldn't stop me if I tried to free you, right?"

The savant looked at the water again, her dark eyes clouding, their serenity finally disturbed. "It took me a great while to find peace in this prison. I would welcome leaving it, but I would not relish being in the real world again unable to touch Her."

"Why would that be? A Savant's power is in their spirit right?"

Damay shook her head. "A Savant's power can only flourish in the proper shell. A common mortal body would soon be overwhelmed by the power of a savant's tao."

Wren narrowed her eyes. "Cassandra is awfully smart, maybe there's something she could..."

"Child, in my life I saw four thousand three hundred and twenty-two springs. I have lived, I have been. I do not need a second chance. It is you who needs to be."

"Damn it. You could show me, be my mentor, make sure I don't make the mistakes you did. Everia said you were the greatest. No-one has matched what you accomplished."

Damay dipped her head as though feeling drained. "That was a very long time ago."

She decided on a new tact. "You aren't afraid are you?"

The elder Savant's head snapped up, dark eyes flashing. "Do not mock me, or insult my intelligence with such puerility."

Wren kept her nerve. "Then it's settled. I'm getting out of here and you're coming with me."

Damay's composure returned in an instant. She folded her arms, jeweled fingers drumming. "How is that?"

"You're the master."

"Child, your leaving is not at issue. I have nowhere to go, no vessel to inhabit."

"I refuse to be, unless you promise to let me get you out of here."

Damay sighed and shook her head. "Are you certain this is the course you wish to take? Such an endeavor will take a great deal of effort."

Wren felt a thrill of victory. She didn't let it show on her face. "Damay, the best things in life are never free. If I want to learn to be from the best, I would expect it to take some work."

Lips pursed, the elder woman looked at Wren through narrowed eyes. "If this is Her design, then it is destined to be. I shall not resist."

"Okay, so what will I need to do?"

Damay laughed. "Child, I have only a very general idea. Spirit transfers are the realm of grand-magi. It would take someone of exceptional resources and knowledge to accomplish such a task."

Wren held up a hand. "Never mind that. Where would I start?"

Damay let out a breath. "First you would need a temporary spirit vessel, a lens. Usually a very large unflawed gem is used to serve the purpose. Mages often utilize them for the capturing of demons."

"Really?" Wren felt a stab of excitement. "Like say, oh about, this big?" She held up a large space between thumb and forefinger.

"Yes."

"Hmmm." Wren grinned. It sounded like the T'Darsis gem she'd taken from Cinnibar might serve the purpose. "I think I might be able to get my hands on something like that. Probably already enchanted right, if I know the mage who had it. Mean bastard. What would you do next?"

"You need a body to bind the spirit to. That is the hard part, you must find a body durable enough to contain the tao."

This did sound like the hard part. "Can a mage create a body?"

"I have seen simulacrums. Mandrimin used simulacrums to do some of his dangerous chores. Other mages used them occasionally too."

"So, we'll say, yes. So, I simply have to get a mage to do me the favor, and find a suitable gem, then find the magic to put it all together."

Damay nodded. "That seems a gross over-simplification."

"Let me worry about how hard it is. You just be thinking about what my first lesson will be."

The older woman gave Wren a severe expression. "I already know what that will be."

"That being stuff?"

"No. Listening to your elders."

Wren smiled. "Yes, I probably could use some schooling in that." She pursed her lips. "So, to get out all I need to do is be?"

Damay rose and drew Wren up with her. She took her shoulders and turned her to face the fountain.

"What do you see?"

"A fountain."

"What else?"

"Water."

"Anything else?"

"The town behind the fountain, the sky, clouds."

"You are not being. You are limiting yourself. Let yourself be one with Her. Let yourself be a Kel'Varan Nola. Feel it. You feel the rasp of it when you climb. You feel it when you throw. You sense its protection when you walk the high narrow places."

Finally, something she could grasp onto. Damay touched on the things she understood. She closed her eyes and imagined the tickle in the back of her skull as she climbed; the warmth that flowed through her as she let her instincts guide her aim. She thought of the rhythmic pulse that accompanied a walk across a suspended rope. She sought the sensation of sending her words through space to Cassandra and Desiray. All of it was part of the Nola, part of being.

"Yes! That did it!" The word sounded funny, not from behind her where Damay was, but beside her. The voice was female, but not Damay.

Wren opened her eyes and realized she was lying down. Her surroundings were dramatically different than the confines of Jharon's precincts where she last remembered being. She saw Cassandra, Everia, Desiray, and Jharon all looking at her with concerned expressions.

She shivered feeling cool air against her skin. Abruptly she realized she was nude and lying in some kind of cylindrical coffin. She quelled a surge of fear, knowing that Jharon would never have let Cassandra do anything bad to her. She was not happy about being nude in front of him, and felt a surge of embarrassment. "Jharon!"

He grinned at her. "I'm so glad you're awake!"

She sat up with effort and hugged him. "I'm not wearing any clothes," she said, tight lipped.

"I noticed," he replied, still grinning. "I've healed you before, I know what you look like underneath those clothes. I liked what I saw then, and what I see now, I like even more."

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The first time I became aware of Wren, she was staring at me from a balcony over a hundred paces away. Even then she had an unmistakable presence that could be felt. How no-one noticed for more than a decade is beyond me...
--Cassin

Cold. She was cold and naked. She was cold and naked and people were staring at her. The only thing that made it better was Jharon, his warm arms wrapped around her. The three women were all smiling at her. Jharon's grin was especially bright, and being hugged by him was exactly what she needed right now. She felt mentally and physically exhausted. Strangely, she felt no pain, just a great weariness as though she'd trudged a long distance.

A glance around showed this place to be someplace completely new. A strange chamber with plain gray walls whose only ornaments were all manner of odd pictures and charts. A particularly large one dominated a wall nearby. The illustration had a black background and what she could only describe as long ladder of different colored rungs that cork-screwed down the length of the page. Because of the tremendous attention to detail, the way each junction and color was penned with exceptional care, she guessed it must be a magical design of some kind.

"Jharon, please get me some clothes." She whispered. "They're all looking at me."

"You've bathed with them. What difference does it make?"

"We were all naked then."

Jharon frowned, obviously not comprehending. He looked around to fulfill her request. Cassandra gestured to a counter and a furry blue robe drifted through the air to her hand. She handed the wrap to Jharon, who put it around Wren's shoulders.

Wren pulled the soft material around herself. She shivered despite the fabric's warmth. Something felt wrong; out of place. An impulse drew her hand down the side where Hethanon's knife had cut her. She didn't feel the thickened tissue of the scar. She examined her torso where other marks and blemishes should be. The skin was smooth and unbroken.

Her fingers didn't feel right. She turned over her hand. It didn't look right either. Examining the creases in her palm, the muscles, and connecting skin revealed nothing overtly amiss. Still, something seemed different in some subtle way. She realized then that the differences weren't subtle at all. The tiny hair-line scars of a decade of guild-work no longer marred the landscape of her palm and fingers, in fact--the calluses were gone too! It was as if she'd never done a day of labor in her life!

Startled, she flipped her hand back over. The nails and cuticles were all uniform. They no longer carried the slight darkening caused by summers of getting grime under her nails then cleaning them. Possibilities whipped through her mind, none of which made sense. She grabbed her ankle and pulled, drawing the sole of her foot up for examination. There too, it was if the calluses had never been. It was as if every bit of her was brand new.

"What in Ishtar's name did you do to me!?" she demanded, looking at Cassandra. She glanced to Jharon. "What did you let them do!?"

He made hushing sounds. "It's okay. The poison did a great deal of damage..."

"It's not okay!" Wren shouted. Her raised voice in this tomb silent room made everyone jump. She focused again on the gold-skinned mage. "Cassandra, tell me."

The woman's ebony eyes glittered like fragments of a night sky. She no longer smiled, her face turning serious. The woman raised an eyebrow. "This outburst is a strange way to show gratitude."

Wren felt a chill go through her. This time it wasn't the temperature of the room. "I'm simply concerned about how much I have to be grateful for... and what in Hades you did!" She held out her hand palm up. "This is not my hand!"

Standing next to Cassandra, Desiray shifted forward a scowl on her face. Cassandra put a restraining arm in front of her. Stopped, Desiray spoke instead. Her tone harsh and brittle. "Lower your voice, Girl. You do not talk to her like that."

Cassandra gripped Desiray's shoulder and pushed her back a step with noticeable effort. Everia silently took her mother's arm. The young woman's expression was indecipherable, she didn't seem shocked, surprised, or angry. Cassandra turned back to Wren. Her voice was level and measured, soothing in ways only a mage of her skill could be. "Jharon told you. The poison did a great deal of harm."

"Cassandra, there's nothing left of me that isn't changed!"

The mage's brow furrowed. "I suppose that's a fair assessment."

"What!?" She'd been exaggerating. She hadn't expected it to be true. She moved to leap out of crystalline coffin, but Jharon caught her shoulders. Restrained, she shouted. "Fair! What's so damn fair about that!"

"Wren," Jharon said in a bewildered voice. "I don't understand why you're acting this way. You're alive. You're cured. Cassandra worked very hard to make sure you wouldn't be crippled or deformed by Set's magic. She did a marvelous job. You should be thankful."

Wren gritted her teeth and clasped him by the shoulders, blue eyes intent on his. "Jharon, my very very best friend. I love you--will always love you. Owing you my life does not mean giving up my soul."

The man's eyes opened wide. "Well, of course not! Wren, Lady Cassandra is an honorable woman, she would not be so petty as to help you with the intent of indenturing you."

She let out a breath and slowly looked from him to Cassandra. When their gazes met Cassandra's eyes narrowed a tiny fraction. "Perhaps not, but I am uncomfortable being one of her experiments."

Cassandra's voice went flat. "You know nothing of my experiments."

"Oh, yes, I do." Wren looked to Desiray. The guildmistress' green eyes flashed. "The whole damned world is your laboratory. Corona was an experiment. Hades, the whole Dagger attack may have been an experiment. It wouldn't have been hard for someone of your power to arrange."

The mage snorted. "You are reaching. That's so preposterous even you can't believe it."

Wren didn't blink. "Maybe."

"You disrespectful witch," Desiray snarled. "You'd best get a civil tongue in your head before I hurt you."

"I can take care of myself, Desiray," Cassandra said in a cool tone. She rounded on Wren. "So, what would you have me do? Take back the life and mobility I gave you? If you wish to be a cripple, I could put you back."

"Mother!" Everia finally piped up, taking Cassandra's arm. "She's just upset and confused."

Cassandra looked at Everia, her obsidian eyes very expressive despite their lack of features. She cared for her step-daughter a great deal. Her attention went to Wren. "Are you--? Upset and confused."

Wren met the mage's gaze, she felt a quivering in her stomach. "Did you get what you wanted from Corona? Was it worth almost losing my life to get it?"

The gold-skinned woman pressed her lips to a line. "Yes. It was worth it. Maybe more than you'll know."

"What?" Desiray pivoted. "You mean, she's right? It was some kind of experiment?"

Cassandra colored a bit. For her, a darkening of her gold skin. "Well, not to the extent she's insinuating. I merely took advantage of the avatar's presence to gather data, and test Corona."

"You didn't even know if he would work against the avatar, did you?" Wren demanded. "You weren't even sure he wouldn't just take me over!"

Cassandra raised a hand. "Child, nothing in life is certain. My calculations indicated..."

"Oh no you don't," Desiray interrupted, hands now on hips, body stiff. "Forget calculations. You gambled on an untested weapon functioning as predicted!"

"Neither of you needs to get so upset," Cassandra said in that soothing silky voice. "I was there to back you up when you needed it."

"After we were chopped into dragon steaks!" Wren grumbled.

"Wait," Cassandra pointed a finger. "Desiray didn't want me involved. If you two worked together instead of fighting, that situation would have been different. Corona's healing would have been reserved rather than being used to fix wounds you inflicted on each other."

Desiray's green eyes flashed. "We wouldn't--" she poked Cassandra with her index finger to emphasize her point. "have--been--fighting. If your bloody--dagger--didn't crank Wren up on--battle magic."

"Ladies!" Jharon shouted making everyone jerk again. "I'm certain this argument has a point. It would be wisest not to assign motive or blame here. The avatar is dispersed. Lady Wren and lady Desiray are whole and well. The guild members are rescued, and apparently we've gained important knowledge that will be useful in the future. Let us call the matter settled. Please." He turned and put his arms under Wren and lifted her out of the container, and placed her gently on the floor. He put his arm around her. "Mightn't we be allowed some time to recuperate? I'm certain the situation has been draining for us all."

Cassandra blinked, dark eyes large in her face. She sighed and touched Everia on the shoulder. The girl looked up at her. "Take them to the North wing, and get them both a change of clothes." The young woman nodded and gestured to Jharon.

The priest escorted Wren along, Cassandra and Desiray made way for him as they headed out of the small room and into a spacious corridor.

Wren glanced back into the laboratory, catching a glimpse of a stern-faced Desiray staring hard at Cassandra. There would be words, and loud ones, which was fine with her. Her mind whirled. What did Cassandra do? She pulled the robe closer around her body.

The hall reminded Wren of the ones in the manse in Ivaneth, but a look around immediately made it obvious that this place was nowhere near Ivaneth. They passed a huge double staircase that swept down into a marble colonnade. A black marble floor veined in silver, blue, and gold shone like glass. A massive nine-tier chandelier hung over what must be the main entranceway. Above the massive double portal, light streamed in through a curved radius of stained glass windows that depicted the images of a griffon, dragon, unicorn, and Pegasus. The tinted illumination of the windows played against the chandelier causing a cascade of colored light to play on the walls, floor and ceiling.

The beauty of it made Wren stop and gape. She'd been in many a noble establishment, those owned by royalty and those owned by the churches. Nothing came close to the wonder of that spectral display.

Everia stopped and looked back. "That's father Loric's hobby."

Wren looked over. "Which part?"

Everia smiled. "The whole thing. Making people goggle is his favorite pastime. He has something of an artisan's eye, wouldn't you say?"

"He made the chandelier?" Jharon asked. He too appeared impressed.

The girl made a sweeping gesture. "The floor, the windows, the lighting, everything..."

"One person? How--" Wren stopped herself. "Magic, right?"

"Big magic," Everia agreed. "He does little pieces like the chandelier by hand though." She turned her head as though hearing something. "Come on, let me get you to your rooms. You'll have time to look around later. I suspect you'll be here a few days at least. Mom is going to want to keep you under observation for a while." She started off again and Wren and Jharon followed.

"Everia, can you at least tell me what Cassandra did?"

The girl looked back. Wren didn't let how young Everia appeared fool her, this 'child' knew practically everything. Jharon, though intelligent, simply didn't understand the magic he'd been looking at.

"Regenerative reconstruction," Everia replied. "She took the undamaged parts of your body and magically extracted information from them in order to recreate the portions destroyed by the poison and the purging magic."

They turned a corner in the big hall. Stairwells leading up to a third story split off from this main hall. Wren saw sitting rooms, what looked like offices and studies. She heard what sounded like the laughter of children drifting down from one of the stairwells. This mansion looked to be a veritable maze. Everia didn't take any of the stairways but kept on straight. She noticed that Jharon seemed as interested as her in the surroundings.

"So, what exactly does that mean to me, Everia?"

The girl looked back. "I don't know what you're looking for, Wren. It means that Mother Cassandra helped you do a rendition of the Phoenix. Out of the ashes... a new you."

The corridor split two ways after fifty paces and Everia took the left split. The hall became narrower. Windows on their right looked out across a large lake with an island in the center. Beyond the water, a wilderness of trees backed by a panorama of white-capped mountains stretched out like a painting. The vantage also allowed them to see the battlements of what Wren could call nothing less than a citadel. With its flying buttresses, minarets, domes, and rooftop runways, the place appeared bigger than the royal palace in Corwin.

Jharon's eyes were large as he gazed at the wonder of the place. He still managed to stay on track with what Wren was thinking. "I think what Wren is asking, is what the ramifications of this change will be."

"Ramifications?" Everia echoed. "You mean besides Mother thinking she owns Wren? None that I can think of."

Wren took a deep breath. "That wasn't what I wanted to hear."

"No?" Everia replied. She glanced back, her green eyes bright. "It is what you expected, right? That's what all the squawking was about."

"I think both of us were hoping that you'd disabuse us of the belief," Jharon put in.

A short distance from the end of hall girl stopped at a large ironwood door. She passed her hand twice over what looked like a stylized knocker to the right of the door frame. A rumbling came from the wood in the wall, and the unmistakable thud of metal bolts being snapped from their sockets. The portal swung inward to reveal a short hall that opened into a roomy commons, the further end of which opened onto a veranda that looked onto the lake.

Everia stepped in with barely a pause. "Wren is a fairly good judge of character. Mother is generous, but she expects a certain amount of gratitude in return. Usually, it means that you go along with the plot of the hour." Everia gestured to the commons, sumptuous appointments, fireplace, couches, desks, closets and all the amenities of a wealthy nobleperson's sitting room. She went to a door and pushed it open revealing a bedchamber and adjoining bathing niche, all equally lavish in decorum. "One thing I should mention before you get upset about Cassandra's habits. Is that while she can be manipulative. Her kept people are well taken care of."

Wren let out a breath. "I'll say." Her hand went between her breasts to where she'd grown used to the phoenix being. She gasped, her heart abruptly pounding. "The phoenix! Where is it?"

Everia raised an eyebrow. "Mother had to take it off to work the magic."

"I need it back," Wren said. She fought down an abrupt surge of hysteria. For some reason the thought of Cassandra in possession of that item frightened her. "Can we get that, right now. I really would feel better..."

"You don't want Mother to find Damay in there?"

Wren's jaw dropped. It took her a moment to compose a coherent thought. "Everia, you are dangerous."

The girl made a mock curtsey. "I'll take that as a complement."

Jharon looked confused. "What is she talking about Wren?"

"Long story," Wren said. "Everia please, I have to..."

"Hush," the girl said. Her youthful face abruptly looking serious and much older. "Just--hush. You will behave yourself around my mother Desiray. Do what's asked of you and don't make trouble. I will get you out of this mess, but you have to play the game..."

"Lady Everia--"

"Listen!" The girl said, overriding his deep voice with her own mage-trained one. "I am serious. If you love Wren, and Wren wants her freedom she will have to play the game; you too. It's a game where everyone expects you to know the rules, but no-one will share them. That's the trick. Do what I say and you won't end up one of Mother's puppets. Strike out on your own. Then best of luck to you. Your choice." She paused and smiled. "Now," she reached into a pocket and pulled out something. Opening her fingers slightly, the Phoenix dropped to the end of its chain and swung back and forth. "Dinner is at five bells. A valet will bring your clothing at four. You will find a fully furnished vanity for body and coif, and there is a nice selection of jewelry--for wearing." She looked hard at Wren and then at Jharon. "Be on time."

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I knew we were bound for some fun and profit the moment we saw her. What I didn't expect were the lumps and embarrassment...
--Sindra

Games. The word lingered in Wren's mind as she watched Everia recede down the corridor through the open doorway. The girl's sapphire-colored silk blouse and dress gleamed in the bright light of the hallway casting blue reflections on the paneled walls. Games, the idea made the back of Wren's neck prickle. She didn't mind games of chance, athletics, even the intrigues that went on between the castes and sexes. Mages though, their sport was altogether different. Their manipulative diversions often got people tied in knots that took lifetimes to untie.

Everia wanted her to risk getting embroiled where she might end up permanently shackled or indebted. She'd already vowed to break away from Desiray, and had kept her distance from Cassandra. Now, Everia intimated the only way she'd get away was by following the girl's advice.

Jharon folded his arms, also watching Everia sway down the hall. When the girl finally left their view around a corner, he shook his head and let out a breath. "Ishtar certainly was generous with blessings when that one was born." He sighed. "Generous indeed."

Wren frowned and shoved the door closed with a loud clunk. The abruptness of her move startled him. He gave her a surprised look, dark eyes big in his handsome face. "Why did you do that?"

She closed her hand on the phoenix newly returned to her by Everia. "Oh, no reason." At least, not one she'd admit. Could she say she didn't like him admiring other women, even knowing they'd never be together? It made her sound petty and selfish. Everia was extraordinary, in her appearance, in intelligence, and in the force of her personality. The most faithful and devout of men would admire her.

Logical or not, she didn't have to like it. Wren sighed inwardly. She was already playing games--with herself!

Jharon looked to the closed door. He raised an eyebrow. "You know, if you didn't want me to look, you could step in the way."

Wren frowned. "I'm not that way. You know that."

The priest looked at her askance. He ran a hand through his long hair. "I didn't use to think so."

She felt a pang of irritation. The furry robe abruptly felt itchy and she fidgeted. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He blinked at her. He pointed to the bathing facilities. "Are you going to use those?" He rubbed the dark stubble on his face. "I haven't bathed in three days. I need it."

Wren let him change the subject. She leaned closer and sniffed. She wrinkled her nose. In the intervening excitement, she hadn't noticed he did smell a little ripe. "Go ahead. I need to think about what to do next." She looked out through the veranda toward the lake. It certainly was a beautiful place for thinking.

"Don't worry, little bird, Ishtar takes care of her own. You're special. I think she knows it."

She glanced back at him. "I hope so, my friend. I hope so."

***

Pushing the enameled folding shutters back, she stepped out onto the veranda and looked across the estate that Cassandra called home. At least, one of the places she called home. The manse in Ivaneth beneath the tower seemed more than home enough to Wren. She guessed this place to be four times the size of that huge place with its giant libraries and lavish untenanted rooms.

A stream gurgled out of the lake and wound northward, angling down into the trees. What looked like a small mill nestled among the needlewood, the vanes of a water-wheel churning in the water. Small creatures that looked like large birds flitted between the trees and bushes. She squinted and realized they weren't birds at all, but what looked like miniature dragons!

Dragons. What next? Bad enough to be here in a citadel built with magic, occupied by mages and Ishtar knew what else, but now dragons. She shook her head. If there were little ones, could big ones be far off? How would she ever get away if Cassandra or Desiray didn't want to let her go? She didn't even know where here was. With Cassandra's ability to teleport they could be virtually anywhere. The thought of being trapped in a cage, however beautiful, sent a tremor through her body. How would it be any different than poor Damay trapped in the amulet? She clenched her fists, fighting the sudden panic. She was being an alarmist. All of her worries were groundless. The more she tried to convince herself that everything would be all right, the more certain she became they were in trouble.

She pulled the robe tighter about her body, closed her eyes and took a breath. She shut out thought and concentrated on sensation. As Damay said, she simply let herself 'be'. She inhaled again, taking a deep whiff of brisk mountain air laden with the scents of needlewood and scalebark. The air felt cool and humid against her face, and the swirling breeze heralded the nearness of dusk. Tuning in, she let all the subtle sounds flow over her. Close by, the splash of water, and a cheerful humming that must be Jharon in the bath. Birds chattered overhead. The rip-scrape rise and fall of a log saw came from the direction of the trees. Laughter, high and child-like drifted on the wind, ephemeral and eerie. Muted sounds of metal rapping on wood in rapid series followed by scrapes and clunks came from the south. More faint but detectable, snatches of conversation, the strum of a stringed instrument, the flat whapping of flag or pennon being stirred on its mast.

Unlike the manse beneath the tower in Ivaneth, this citadel was alive. She sensed the energy, the lived-in vibrations emanating from the walls.

Harmonious.

The word abruptly impinged on her consciousness. In the city, she was accustomed to the cacophonous discord. Her senses had been honed to a keen edge to filter out the noise. Here, no discord--none. Even the raw sounds of the saw and the chopping knife seemed as though musically arranged.

Relying only on her senses, nothing about this place felt threatening in any way. It was all serene and immensely peaceful. Then why did she still feel so uneasy?

Cassandra never said anything that indicated she wanted to enslave her. Wren's people-sense told her Cassandra was the type who 'utilized' individuals much the way Desiray did. Everia's warnings only confirmed it. Especially her remark about how well Cassandra kept her people. The implied word was 'pets'.

One incontrovertible fact ruled this situation. Cassandra had saved her life. That put her in the mage's debt. The mage had also gone to the extra trouble of ensuring that Wren's health was not hampered in any way. In fact, she might now be in even better condition than when she first met the mage.

Wren held up her hand, flexing the fingers; smooth unblemished skin. Not a single scar or callus remained, not only on her hands but her whole body. Cassandra had recreated her like a phoenix rising from the ashes. The whole idea made her queasy inside.

What was her life, much less her mobility, worth? She did feel gratitude, and felt obligated to repay the debt... but didn't Cassandra get her into this mess in the first place? She was the one who insisted she face Hethanon; her and that silly mouse with dragon fangs metaphor. In Wren's mind, Cassandra had owed her some healing for doing her dirty work. Problem was, if Cassandra disagreed on what was owed her, how could she resist? Her powers and Jharon's combined probably couldn't even muss the mage's hair if she didn't allow it.

Games. It came back to games. Everia said the only way out was to play the game. Play it their way. What that implied, Wren couldn't guess. One thing she knew for sure, it meant trusting Everia. That went contrary to all her summers of street smarts. As innocent and upstanding as this girl made out to be, she was Desiray's daughter. There had to be a motive beyond simply wanting to stay friends with the Kel'Varan Nola.

The more she thought about it, the more certain she became. Daughter or not, she wouldn't cross Cassandra or Desiray merely on a whim. Damn, where did that leave her? It put her smack inside Cassandra's game, stepping lively and watching for Everia's trick. What if that was Everia's trick--making sure she stumbled into Cassandra's trap? She groaned and rubbed her face with her palms. Too damn much speculation and not enough facts.

Putting aside her concerns for the moment, she leaned on the balcony rail and scanned the rest of the environs. There were other balconies on this wing, none currently occupied. The building itself was made of a reddish brown stone. The rock finished to a mirror polish, the seams between the building stones so tiny they were invisible to anything but a close up examination. She'd found another place made specifically to prevent climbing. She guessed having a resident guildmistress engendered a certain awareness of thieves.

A movement on the wing of the citadel closest to the lake caught her attention. At the far eastern end of the structure, a balcony wrapped around the end of the building. There were shuttered folding doors much like the ones between her rooms and the veranda where she now stood. Two people came out the doors, at first she thought it must be Cassandra because sun-light glinted off shiny gold skin and dark hair with red-highlights. Then she realized there were two!

At this range, around a hundred a fifty paces, either of them could have been mistaken for Cassandra. The way they moved and their manner of dress quickly convinced Wren these must be the gold women she saw portrayed in Cassandra's study. Both wore sky-blue blouses, and darker pants that went all the way to the ankles. Each wore copious amounts of jewelry, favoring red and green gemstones. Wren's experienced eye could make out a ruby or an emerald from further away than this when the jewels were so huge; probably as large as the last joint of her thumb.

The women strolled together on the wide balcony, one gesturing with her hands, the other nodding. Neither spoke aloud, but conversation was definitely taking place.

Two more figures moved out onto the balcony. Because of their size, Wren thought they must be men. As the reddish light of the waning sun reflected off their silvery clothing and pale skin, it was obvious that neither would ever be confused with a man. The haughty saunter, the hand flip through the hair and the skin-tight clothing screamed their identity as pampered concubines. Big described everything about them, from hair to hips. Both were as large, if not larger, than Damrosil, the giant Myrmigyne she played knives with in the tavern.

The gold women stopped at the corner of the balcony. The dark-haired ladies stopped behind the smaller ones. The disparity of height was pronounced, four or five hands at least. The bigger females each put their arms around one of the gold girls. As the four stood together looking northeast off the balcony Wren realized they were two sets of twins. The gold girls could each have been a mirror of the other. Women as huge as those other two would be beyond rare, but as the light struck their rouged and tattooed faces, the profiles were like reflections of one another.

Wren doubted the arrangement was coincidence. The way the larger women embraced the smaller ladies made it clear that they weren't siblings being friendly with one another.

She started to look away then froze. The nearer of the dark women had raised a hand and run it through the hair of the smaller. In that moment, Wren caught a glimpse of a red and black tattoo on her wrist. At this distance she couldn't be sure, but the only tattoo that color worn over the vein of the forearm was the D'klace.

The mark of a royal executioner.

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I had never experienced such comfort or serenity. I didn't want to leave and that made me all the more eager to be gone before the place cast its spell over me.
--Wren

Standing on the veranda, the robe pulled tight around herself, Wren closed her eyes again. What have I fallen into? Blinking, she looked again at the four lavishly dressed women standing on the balcony a stone's throw away. The D'klace tattoo, so completely out of place, especially on a woman. In this strange castle, with its oddly powerful family, she realized the outrageousness, the unlikeliness--fit. Executioners. Huge comely females... who liked... other females. Could things get any more strange? She swallowed, hoping not.

Though she made no noise, nor even a move, it was as if she'd let out a yell. As a unit, all four of them turned their heads to look in her direction. Wren felt abruptly queasy, as though caught in the beam of a search lantern.

The sensation halted almost immediately. One of the gold girls waved. Feeling self conscious and uneasy, she gave a weak wave back.

The other gold girl tapped the one who'd waved on the shoulder and made a motion with her head toward the lake. The other responded with a nod.

Wren drew a breath in astonishment as all four women dove over the balcony rail. Jumping from two stories up was startling enough, but the next thing they did was even more surprising. They didn't fall.

They rose.

Like four birds, they dipped then arced up into the sky toward the lake and were soon lost from view behind the island in the center.

The sight gone, Wren realized her heart was pounding.

They flew. They really flew! She'd heard of magicians who could do it, but never saw it done. Now, four of them... all at once. She let out a breath and retreated within the quarters.

Shaking her head, she crossed the room to the bath and looked inside. Granite tiles grooved in geometric patterns made up the floor. A bricked in pool served as the tub. Two strange bronze fixtures with handles on them jutted from the wall. A quick look around made her wonder. Where had the water come from? There were no containers that the water could have been brought in. They were on the second story. The water was hot, she could tell from the steam. Surely, she hadn't lost so much of her edge that a servant could come and go without her noticing?

Jharon was stretched out in the huge sunken tub, obviously luxuriating in the warmth. The dark-haired priest was humming, busy scrubbing his lathered hair and body.

He looked up. "Well, come to visit. Care to join me? The water is hot and the soap is mild and fragrant." He picked up a colorful container of soap powder. He started to say something else and stopped when he really seemed to see her. His smile faded. "Something wrong? You look pale."

She swallowed. "While I was out on the veranda, I saw two women, who I'd swear were wearing the tattoos of the D'klace. On top of that, I saw them fly."

Jharon raised an eyebrow. "Fly?"

"Not just those two, but them and two others."

Jharon put down the decanter of soap he'd picked up. "You saw four people--flying." He sighed. "Flying executioners no less."

She took a breath and nodded.

"Little Bird, you know, if it was anyone but you, and us anyplace else, I'd be concerned that you had a fever."

"Jharon, what am I going to do!?"

"About what?" He leaned on the side of the tub. "Wren, I still don't see why your making such a fuss. Lady Cassandra is a right and noble woman. I know she appears odd, but I am a fairly good judge of character, and she means you no ill. Now, Desiray, is a different matter, she I would steer wide of."

She sat down, the floor cool to the touch. "I'm not worried about being hurt. You don't know these kind of people like I do. They bind you, make you owe them, get you so indebted you can never pay your way clear."

"You think lady Cassandra is out to bind you?"

"Didn't Everia confirm it?"

Jharon bit his lower lip, eyes rolling up in contemplation. When he spoke, it came out slow. "The girl has an agenda of her own."

Wren winced. The man didn't miss much, even when all he seemed to be doing was ogling the flesh. "What kind of agenda would make her say something like that about her stepmother?"

Jharon shook his head. "Wren, you've never been a part of a big family, especially one where everyone appears to be competing like these people seem to be. I can see a number of ways where she could maneuver you to either benefit her, or detriment someone else." He ran a hand through his soapy hair. "She said it herself, you have to play the game to know what's going on. Right now, you don't know the rules, much less the score."

"Games," Wren let out, slapping her knees in frustration. "I can't believe you think we can do anything playing games!"

"Some games are very serious," Jharon said, the expression on his face turning dark. "We call it a game to make light of it. You played a weak roll of the bones against Set. You're alive because someone else was willing to cast their die with yours. Now, you're caught. You owe." His eyes turned to the ceiling. "We all owe. Some debts we can never repay. It's something you live with."

"That's the part that upsets me, Jharon." Wren balled her hands into fists. "Cassandra coerced me into fighting Hethanon. She forced me to do it. Do I owe her for healing after she pushed me into it in the first place?"

"She forced you?" Jharon asked, voice level. "You didn't agree to accept payment?"

Damn. How did he always know how to stab to the heart of it? "Well, she offered to find out about my parents, and to teach me."

"You accepted?"

Wren growled in frustration. "That's not the point!"

"Wren," he let out a breath. "Remember who you're talking to. I am a high priest--a judge. In debtor's court, I would find for her. You agreed, so the risk taken was your decision. She healed you, but that wasn't part of original deal."

"Wait now." She held up a hand. "I never agreed to all this healing. She didn't get my okay on that."

Jharon nodded. "True. In my judgment, I would say that were you coherent, you would have accepted whatever healing that would have kept you alive. You would owe for whatever it cost to accomplish that."

She gritted her teeth and pulled on a thick bunch of hair. "But Jharon, I can't afford this woman. Look around here!" She gestured to the bathing chamber, to the mirrors, curtained windows and other amenities.

His gaze traveled around the room. He nodded. "She's expensive. Look, feel--the quality of her work!" He drew a breath. "Wren, you didn't see the outcome of your battle with Set's poison. You are better off owing Cassandra, than the life you would have led otherwise. You are too vital, too free a spirit, to spend the rest of your years unable to walk or fend for yourself."

Wren closed her eyes and shuddered. He was right, the idea of being a cripple... it horrified her. "I understand that, Jharon. You know I do. How do I pay her back? It's not like there will be a chance for me to save her life."

He raised a finger. "Now, don't be so hasty. A life is priceless, granted, but it doesn't necessarily have to be hers, and it doesn't need to be a life. What did she say, when you asked if it was worth almost losing your life? 'Yes. It was worth it. Maybe more than you'll know.'" He paused. "There's the game Wren. Knowing. It's the great game the noble houses and temples have played for millennia. Which person knows, and who owes whom. It's a balancing act of engendering one debt to clear another."

Wren leaned down on her elbows so her eyes were level with his. "You sound as if you know more about this game than you let on to Everia."

Jharon placed his chin on his steepled fingers. Water dripped down his handsome face. "You don't get to be high priest on merit alone, Wren. The first rule is to feign ignorance always. That way they never know when you know."

"What about when people can read minds? I know Cassandra can see thoughts."

His expression didn't waver. "That would be strictly against the rules."

"You think they follow the rules?"

Jharon's gaze wandered around the lavish surroundings. "If the man that built this citadel is Lord here." He put his hand on top of Wren's. The skin felt damp and warm, and his strength and his surety came through in the squeeze he gave her fingers. "They follow the rules--to the last degree. In fact," he narrowed his eyes. "It is the Lord of the manor with whom we should seek counsel at our earliest opportunity."

Perhaps it was the cold granite floor against her elbows that made her shiver. More likely it was Jharon's dark eyes and the tone in his deep voice. "I trust you, Jharon. I'll do what you think I should."

"Good. What I think you should do is get off that cold floor, and get in a warm bath. I'll wash your hair and you can tell me about this Damay that Everia eluded to."

Damay. Could she tell him about a woman who could well be a figment of her imagination. If Damay was only her imagination though, how did Everia know about it? She reached down and fingered the phoenix. An amulet with the name Liandra inscribed on it. When would it all make sense?

She sat up, scooted over to the pool, and stretched her legs out in the warm water. The warmth sent a shudder up her spine that made her moan.

"Okay?" he asked, looking up at her with concern on his face.

"Oh..." The sound came out half word, half sigh. It had been a long time since she experienced a hot bath. Most times her baths were cold and brief. "Fine." She slid out of the robe and let the water lap up her nude body until she was sitting on the submerged step in the tub. She held the phoenix between her thumb and forefinger. "Damay. I'm not sure if I should tell you."

He turned so he was sitting on the step next to her. The suds and soap hid his body from view beneath the water, but she was very aware of his shoulder brushing hers. "I am. I can't help unless I know what you know." He leaned across the tub and picked up one of the decanters of soap powder. He pulled the stopper and sniffed the contents. Closing it, he returned it and took another. After smelling two more he found one he seemed to think appropriate. "Starflower, for a little blossom."

"Hmmm." She hummed and took the container from him, and took a whiff. The heady redolence did have an appealing scent. "I don't think I'll recognize myself smelling like that."

Jharon dunked his head rinsing the soap out of his long black hair and pulled it over one shoulder. He snatched a clear phial of blue oil and handed it to her. "Wash." He took the soap powder from her, poured some in his hand, then set the container on the ledge. One handed he turned her back to him and started sudsing her hair.

Anyone else and she would have resisted. His fingertips massaged her scalp with comfortable firmness that made her relax back against him.

"Wash." He repeated.

She remembered the oil and began to treat her skin with it. The solution, unlike other oils she'd used, made suds like soap powder did. It had a fresh fruity smell to it. She couldn't believe how good it felt getting her hair washed by him. Ironic, that now after they'd agreed to stop seeing one another, she'd experience this intimate time with him.

"Damn, that feels good," she murmured.

"Tell me about Damay or I'll stop."

She turned part way to look at him, only to have him push her back to her original position. "Wash. Relax. Talk." He said in stilted succession.

"You are such an ogre," she laughed.

"I'm going to turn into one soon if you don't tell me."

"Oh, all right!"

So, she did.

Dinner. Such an innocuous word. From the first moment she saw the clothing provided for them, she knew that 'dinner' was more than a simple meal. It was an important social function.

She sat at the vanity eying her reflection. Her opportunities to be in front of a large mirror were so rare that the person who stared back was practically a stranger. A mature woman, still young looking with intense blue eyes set deep above high cheekbones, a thin wide mouth, and a sharp prominent chin. The dangly ruby earrings looked out of place. She'd only worn the plain-looking gold crescent of the guild, and then only one at a time, in either the right or the left ear to mark her as a guild member. Having her shoulder length blonde hair fluffed and held with combs also didn't fit the image of herself. Still, the clean, polished, Wren, with her hair up and green satin blouse on, did have a certain appeal.

Jharon's dark visage poked into the reflected image, he reached up to jiggle the earrings so they sparkled in the lamp light. "You have never looked more appealing, little bird. If the counsel elders had seen you like this, they might have given us less trouble."

She looked back at him. "Oh, stop it. It was where I came from that bothered them. I never looked like this," she glanced back to the blonde stranger in the mirror. "But I was clean enough. I look pretty good in my tithing leathers don't I?"

"Well, yes," he put his hands on her shoulders. "Wren, you're a beautiful woman, however you dress."

"Beautiful?" She gazed at the trim lady in green silk gazing up at the broad-shouldered man dressed in an indigo weskit of velvet over a cyan colored tunic of silk. Both figures with their immaculate refined looks seemed out of her ken. "Beautiful? You really think so?"

"I've always said so."

"Right," she replied. "You were always just saying it, right?"

Jharon turned her in the chair, kneeled and took her hands in his. His deep brown eyes seemed to gaze through her. "I have never lied to you, nor will I ever. Neck deep in dirt, you are beautiful. Simple as that."

She smiled, feeling heat in her cheeks. She had to look away from that burning gaze. It made her heart ache. "Simple as that," she repeated.

"Yes."

A knock at the chamber door made him look over. He rose and went to portal and pulled it open. Even sitting several paces away she heard him draw a breath.

"Master Jharon, I presume," she heard a breathy female voice say. "We are your escorts for dinner."

An uncomfortably long silence followed her words. The man stood like a statue at the entrance. Wren rose, still unable to see the visitors. Finally, Jharon spoke. "Milady, please, forgive my manners. Come in." Pulling the door wide, he stepped back and gestured to the interior.

Stepping through the portal were the two auburn-haired gold women Wren had seen earlier, now dressed in revealing red bodices and skirts. Behind them dressed in blue taffeta, long raven black hair curled and fluffed so as to fall about their shoulders like a shawl, were the two huge courtesans. Both had to dip to keep from hitting the top of the doorframe.

Despite the room's size, the two couples seemed to fill it to capacity. Out of the narrow entry hall each set of twins took a side.

With their blouses being sleeveless it was easy for Wren to catch sight of their wrists. Both of the dark-haired ladies wore the D'klace tattoo reserved for the bounty-hunting executioners that held authority in every major kingdom on the known continents of Titaan.

The gold woman who'd first spoken, smiled. Her ebony-filled eyes sparkled with stars the same way Cassandra's did. Her face and body were fuller in shape than her mother's, and her smile was broad and disarming. Her twin, a mirror image in every regard, grinned even larger than her sister as though holding back a laugh.

"You must be Wren," the gold woman said, her voice pleasant and measured. Having seen these four ladies fly earlier, hearing the woman's voice made it certain. Her tone and enunciation were so perfect she must be a mage. "I am Cassin, this is my twin Annawen. These are Sindra," the nearer of the dark women dipped her head, "and her twin Drucilla."

"Honored to meet you," Wren said, meeting each gaze with a smile. She glanced to Jharon who stood at the near end of the entry hands clasped before him. "We appreciate your courtesy."

Cassin dipped her head. "Call it curiosity. We wanted to meet the newcomer who's caused such a stir between Desiray and mother Cassandra."

"I assure you. All stirring was entirely unintentional."

Annawen put a hand on her sister's shoulder, the stars in her dark eyes sparkled and flashed. Cassin nodded in apparent response.

"Ah, let me apologize in advance." Cassin put her hand into the back of her sister's hair and gave a little tug. "Annawen does not speak--aloud. It is the same for Drucilla. Sindra and I tend to do the talking."

"You do well enough for both of us, Darling," Sindra said, flashing white teeth. The big woman's voice rolled through the room rich and clear. The vibrato in her tone made Wren's skin prickle.

"Yes," Cassin said, the corner of her mouth quirking. "Well." She pursed her lips. "We wanted to meet you ahead of the others. We've become something of the family's official unofficial greeters."

"I hope I didn't intrude on your privacy earlier," Wren said keeping a smile on her face. "I just happened to be out there thinking."

"Think nothing of it," Cassin said. "It gave us an excuse to come and meet you in person; infamous character that you are."

Jharon cleared his throat. "Infamous, Lady? Wren?"

The women glanced at him. Sindra held a hand out toward Wren palm up. "We've heard tell that she's one of the best footpads ever living."

Wren frowned. "Really? Who told you that?"

"An associate of ours," Drucilla's mouth quirked up in half smile. "Perhaps you know her--goes by the name of Vulcindra."

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I've known four Kel'Varans in my life, and have had the good fortune of calling two my friend. The First-one made my life interesting for more than a century. The other, well, I haven't recovered yet...
--Loric Felspar

Vulcindra. The name sent a shock through Wren's body. She eyed the huge D'klace bounty hunter, Sindra, who smiled back at her, brushing at strands of her perfectly curled black hair. The room, which already felt tiny with the four women in it, seemed to shrink even more. Wren's focus narrowed down to Sindra's silver-gray eyes.

"When did you see her?" Wren's tone was forced.

Sindra looked at her askance. "No business discussions now."

Wren's tone became sharper. "Please, Lady Sindra, when did you speak with her last?"

The big woman rubbed her throat, jeweled rings flashing on every finger. "Three days ago. Scared witless. Seems she'd just learned you escaped from Hethanon."

"How did you happen to run into her?"

Cassin spoke up. "We get around. We visited Corwin when we dropped off my sister Everia."

"Dal'Taak'tem," Jharon let out abruptly. "That's right. Everia said Cassin brought her. These are the ones she said were Dal'Taak'tem."

The gold woman held up a hand. "That's it. There's a rule. No business right before dinner. We are definitely straying in that direction. So, if you're ready, we should be adjourning to the dinner table."

"Damn--"

"Later!" Cassin cut her off. Wren didn't get out even a word of protest before the two gold women each had her by an arm and were propelling her toward the hall.

A glance back showed Jharon being escorted in a similar fashion by Sindra and Drucilla. Big as he was, the two giant ladies outweighed him and pulled him along without apparent effort.

Wren relented, mindful of the Cassin and Annawen's touch. Their skin felt feverishly warm, the flesh of their arms when it brushed up against her was perfectly smooth and without hair. The hard heels of their boots clacked on the marble flooring, echoing in the long hallway. Lamps glowed overhead bathing the passage in a steady yellow-orange light.

"There will be time for everything," Cassin said, looking down at Wren. Her coal-dark eyes glittered. "Revenge is one of those things that should be allowed to age, planned so that its taste is sweet rather than flat."

Wren looked down at the woman's abnormally warm hand on her arm. For someone who said something so cold blooded, her skin didn't have the feel of a reptile. Of course, she had to remind herself that this golden lady kept company with D'klace bounty-hunters. "So you're an expert on revenge?"

Cassin half smiled. "I have a good imagination."

"Yes, well, I imagine my revenge will be non-existent if Desiray gets to her first."

"Tall lanky lady like that Vulcindra? Should be enough to go around."

"If you knew we'd want her, why did you let her go?"

The gold woman looked at her askance. "When did I say we let her go?"

Wren tried to stop, but the impetus of the two ladies just towed her along as though she were caught in a current. "You--"

"Shhh," Cassin hushed. "Don't you have happier things to entertain your mind? Your health for one thing?"

"My health is great," Wren answered. "It's my freedom I'm concerned about."

Cassin brushed a strand of auburn hair from her face, her dark eyes like pieces of the night sky focusing hard on Wren for the first time. "It was aptly said, 'It is better to be a slave to a demanding teacher, than a free person chained to ignorance.'"

"Kam'a'k Ta of the fifth Silissian dynasty," Jharon said.

Both of the gold sisters looked back. Cassin nodded. "Very good."

"They called him the 'Literate Dictator'," Jharon said to Wren. His gaze went from Cassin to Annawen, then centered on her again. "Peasants who refused the free schooling provided by his churches were imprisoned until they learned to read."

"Really?" She'd never heard of such a thing.

"True," Cassin agreed, a wry expression on her face.

Wren glanced back to Jharon. The priest only smiled and shrugged. Sindra bent down so her eyes were level with Jharon's. "But do you know the other famous quote Kam'a'k was known for?"

Jharon's brow furrowed. "No."

They turned the corner and started down the steps into the main hall. "He said, 'Kill them with kindness!'" Sindra laughed and Drucilla chuckled.

The priest grinned. Wren rolled her eyes and looked up at Cassin. The bigger woman only shrugged.

"Somehow, I don't think he said that," Wren said to Cassin.

Cassin glanced back to Sindra. "I don't know, she was around then. He might have said it."

They came to the bottom of the stairs and stepped out onto the broad marble floor of the entry hall. The great crystal chandelier glowed with a thousand flickering flames, the many facets casting reflections across the ceiling, walls, and floor. Silver and gold flakes glittered in the striated black marble underfoot and cloudy imperfections in the slab gave the same impression of the glow seen in the heavens on clear starry nights.

Voices and laughter came from the archways leading deeper into the manor. Along with them came a myriad of intermingled aromas that hit Wren's palate like a physical blow. Instantly, her mouth was watering. She forgot what she'd been about to say.

"What is that I smell?"

Drucilla and Sindra walked by them, Jharon still under tow. "The reason business is not discussed until after dinner," Sindra said looking over her shoulder.

Wren started forward as Cassin and Annawen did.

"What you smell is only half an indicator of what Mother's cook puts on the table," Cassin said.

"It smells pretty damn good!" Wren said, starting to get enthused for the first time. She realized she was hungry. When did she last eat? She couldn't remember.

"It tastes better."

"Better?" Wren couldn't imagine what could taste better than the impression she already had in her mind.

Wren allowed Cassin and Annawen to lead her down two short turns into a large brightly lit area. The chamber had a low ceiling compared to the other spaces in the citadel, and was roughly circular in shape. It was easy to tell from the number of passages that ended here that this was the very heart of Cassandra's home.

The air of the place was charged, and there was so much that was unfamiliar and so much movement it was hard for Wren to take it all in at once. There were more than a score of people seated at the further side of the area at a semicircular table, the back of which looked out a huge curved window across a landscape of trees and mountains. The purple and orange tinges of sun-down were still visible on the horizon.

The nearer side of the room where Wren and Jharon entered was what served as the kitchen. The cabinetry and everything in the area was designed to look as if they had grown from the surfaces. Nothing visible had a sharp corner or edge to it. Unlike the halls Wren had been in where the kitchen was a separate chamber, here only a wooden island divided the two. Grills, ovens, cutting boards, pots, pans, crockery and a dozens of other cooking paraphernalia Wren couldn't name occupied the kitchen. A slight dusky-skinned woman flitted amongst the several steaming kettles and pans busily serving up portions to four younger family assistants.

The smell. Wren breathed deep the aroma put out by the pots bubbling on the strange flat grills. The dusky woman was most certainly a magician in her own right to make food that smelled so succulent.

Cassin pulled on her arm, and Wren took a few more steps forward. Focusing now on all the people moving about the area. Wren had seen many a noble gathering, and none could boast anything that was an even a pale comparison. There wasn't any single thing that Wren could pin-point among the people that made them appear so outstanding. Their clothing wasn't the finest, nor the jewelry particularly exquisite, though some was very nice. It was the people themselves that shone, beautiful people with shining eyes, and bright smiles. There was great diversity among them, while at the same time she could see common traits in the line of a nose or the curve of a jaw. The thing that really stood out in Wren's mind that was different from other gatherings was the look in people's eyes. In the times she'd been amongst nobility, and despite their superior attitude, a great many nobles were insipid with only a rare few being particularly keen.

Not here. Every face she saw, every pair of eyes that she briefly met gave an immediate impression of calculation and insight. At first, there were so many that none separated themselves out until words were spoken to her.

"Lady Wren," a pleasant male voice said to her from close by.

Trying to take everything in, his proximity startled her. She looked up into the dark eyes of an absolutely beautiful young man. The word handsome didn't come to mind, he was too androgynous to be considered strictly male. The sleeveless blue weskit that showed off his corded arms and ridged stomach made him definitely male.

She goggled for a moment before remembering her manners. "Pardon me. Yes?"

"Good evening, to you. You are much more beautiful than Mother gave credit." He took her hand and bowed over it, pressing his lips to her knuckles. A tingling immediately spread up her arm, and she felt heat rise in her cheeks. "Allow me to introduce myself, I am Caldorian, this is my brother Sebenreth." He gestured to another young man who stepped from behind him.

Twins. How could two such beautiful males exist? She stood in stunned silence while Sebenreth, picked up her hand and kissed it as Caldorian had done. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Milady."

Wren blinked and swallowed. "Oh yes, very pleased."

Sebenreth smiled. He looked up at Cassin whose presence Wren had completely forgotten. "Sister, I believe we can take it from here."

"I bet you can," Cassin said.

Sebenreth held up an arm and placed Wren's right hand on it. Caldorian took her other side and did the same, leading her up to all of the activity at the dining table.

After what Everia had said, Wren had no idea what to expect coming to this dinner, but certainly not what she was seeing or experiencing. Desiray sat by Cassandra who was sitting next to a broad-shouldered man with intense gray eyes. Caldorian and Sebenreth stopped in front of him with Wren between them.

"Welcome," the older man said. His deep voice was smoky with the slightest hint of a growl in it. It wasn't a growl of irritation or anger though, she could tell, it was just a tonal quality in his speech. After only hearing him say that one word, she knew the man could spout gibberish and she would have listened rapturously. "I hope you find your stay in my home a pleasant one."

She paused, mesmerized by the sound of his voice and caught by the intensity of his gaze. His eyes were very deep and expressive. This was Cassandra's (and Desiray's she reminded herself) husband, Loric. The stern appearance given his eyes in the painting showed only the intimidating aspect of him. Here, at ease, his presence was more a restrained joviality than hostility. She had thought of Cassandra and Desiray as being creatures of immense power, but she sensed this man was on a whole other echelon above them. He possessed the kind of potency that didn't need to be obvious or flashy. Jharon had been right, this was definitely the man to have the ear of. No one with any sense would break a rule laid down by this person.

Jharon. Wren suddenly realized she didn't see him. She put her immediate concern aside and focused on not appearing stupid before the head of the household. "I am--" she looked to Cassandra. "Honored, Sir. I greatly appreciate the hospitality of your home." She looked up to Caldorian and then to Sebenreth. "And your family."

He nodded to her. "Indeed. Well, I am your host, Loric. You already know my wives, Cassandra and Desiray." Neither woman spoke, but Wren felt their gazes on her; no doubt waiting for some kind of outburst. She trusted Jharon, games were not something she knew well, but she could play along.

A movement amongst the dozen or so people at the table caught her eye and she noticed Everia seating herself near Jharon. Sindra and Drucilla were still with him.

Wren's attention went back to Loric. "I am in your service, Milord," she said. "I owe your wife Cassandra, my life and health." She fixed her gaze on the gold woman who stared directly at her now. "I don't take that lightly. To take sup at her table is perhaps more than I deserve, considering the debt I owe her."

Loric raised an eyebrow and smiled. He turned his head slightly to eye Cassandra, pushing out his broad jaw and rubbing it with a finger. "Such a noble sentiment is appreciated young lady, but hardly necessary. The guests of my home are all welcome at my table. May your fast be broken and your appetite sated."

Wren bowed. "Thank you, Sire. I am blessed by your generosity."

Loric grinned. "Ah, my child, I see you will be a fine addition to the dinner table. Please, find a seat and enjoy your repast."

Wren bowed again and let Caldorian and Sebenreth guide her back toward Everia and Jharon.

"Excellent introduction, milady," Caldorian said to her. "I commend its polish, it was as if you'd practiced it."

She let out a breath, feeling herself deflate. "Nothing could be further from the truth."

Sebenreth chuckled. "All in your favor milady." He grinned. "Polish from the heart is worth double points."

"Double points?"

Caldorian flashed a smile that mirrored his brother's. "No business at the table."

"It's not business, right? It's a game."

"Ah." Sebenreth leaned over a kissed her on the forehead. Under most circumstances she would have flinched, but nothing about these men set off any of the normal defensiveness in her. "Nice try."

They had circled around the table, walking along a narrow aisle that ran next to the curved glass window.

"Sister Everia," Caldorian said. "Your protégé. She promises to be both lively and delightful."

Everia turned on the padded bench and looked up at her brother with narrowed eyes. "I'm certain. Look elsewhere for a play toy, Cal--hands off."

Cal nodded to Wren, not seeming to have heard Everia. He bowed gallantly over her hand, and kissed it. The touch of his lips made her whole arm tingle. "Milady, it was a distinct pleasure. I'm certain there will be other times."

Sebenreth bowed over her other hand and kissed it in the same way Cal had. "As he said--a pleasure. May we meet again."

"You too, Seb," Everia growled. "I mean it."

Caldorian put his hands on Everia's shoulders and leaned down, his nose near her ear. "You are so territorial, Sister. Could it be you want her all for yourself?"

Everia shook him off and shoved him back a step. "Rat."

Seb and Cal both laughed. Cal held out his fist and Seb brought his fist down to tap it.

Wren watched them stalk down to the further end of the table. She'd seen some fine looking men before, but none that made her stomach flutter like those two.

She noticed then that Jharon was staring at her. "What?"

"Nothing," he murmured.

Wren looked at Everia who had a stormy expression on her face. "So, that's what it's like to have brothers?"

The young woman snorted. "Rats, both of them, the only thing they lack for, are tails."

Wren smiled. "I didn't see any whiskers."

Everia pushed out her lip. "They hide them well."

"I guess." Wren glanced past Everia, Jharon, and down the length of the table where a score more men and women chatted quietly. Sindra who was closest, gave her a wink. What surprised Wren was that there wasn't more noise. There were more than a score of people and all of them appeared to be conversing.

"Sit please," Everia gestured to the seat next to her.

Wren settled on the soft bench, placing her wrists on the table edge a few finger-widths from the finest silver cutlery she'd ever seen outside of a display case or a loot-sack. The goblets were gold chased pewter. The plates were fine enameled porcelain with gold and silver filigreed edging.

Trays of tonight's victuals were still being placed on the table and as she settled into her place the dusky-skinned woman shot past with a pitcher, filling her cup and that of the others down the table. She'd meant to say she didn't want anything to drink, but the woman came by so fast she didn't have time to stop her.

She reached out and pulled the goblet to her, curious to see what had been poured for her. It looked familiar. She sniffed it and was surprised at the familiar smell, she took a sip; sticker-berry wine! She was one of a few who enjoyed that stringent concoction. She noticed Jharon seemed to be enjoying his too.

She frowned. He hated sticker-berries! "I thought you didn't like sticker-berries."

"I don't... why?"

She gestured with the full cup.

He raised an eyebrow and looked at his goblet. "This is honey mead."

"Can't be, she poured them all from the same--" Wren stopped herself. She really had to stop imposing arbitrary limits on a house full of magicians. "Nevermind."

Everia smiled at her. "You'll learn."

Wren took a gulp of the exquisitely smooth concoction, feeling it burn all the way into her stomach. "That's what I'm afraid of."

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Loric has an ingenious means of torture. Employ a cook who makes food so good you eat yourself into near unconsciousness...
--Wren

Dinner. Wren would never think of the word the same way. Cassandra and Desiray lived. Their family lived. The whole night-time meal was an experience that Wren could only describe as magical. The dusky-skinned cook, whose name Wren learned was Vera, zipped around the room like a lightning-bug--filling cups, taking platters from the table, and bringing in other meal courses. It was easy to tell everyone in the family loved the lady, and she earned every bit of it with a dynamic energy made Wren tired merely watching her. Could this really be an every-evening experience?

Vera heaped five courses on Wren's plate all of which, by the same coincidence as the sticker-berry wine, happened to be well-liked meal items. There was breaded snapping-fish, ocean claw-bug meat in red sauce, spear-greens, mashed tubers, and baked yellow-melon. The greens were tender, the tubers beaten smooth and running over with poultry gravy. It all looked and tasted as if bells went into the preparation of each item. The more amazing thing was that few people seemed to be eating the same things.

With Everia sitting between her and Jharon, Wren had difficulty speaking with him, especially since Sindra and Drucilla capitalized on having him next to them, and kept him engaged. Cassin and Annawen who sat in the next two positions didn't seem at all put out that their partners were speaking with Jharon and not them.

Everia had taken an interest in her food, chewed in silence, leaving Wren to get in a few snatches of conversation with Jharon.

The Ishtar priest appeared to be enjoying himself immensely. He spoke with Sindra and Drucilla, engaged in some odd debate about Silissian entropic philosophy (whatever that was).

"I hope you don't mind," a male voice said from behind her.

Wren looked up. She blinked and looked again. Nothing looked like that. Certainly nothing that ever wanted to sit next to her. He was breath-stealing. She had thought that Caldorian and Sebenreth had been beautiful, but this auburn-haired young man was a paragon. His long hair was pulled into a tail and clasped in the same fashion that Jharon kept his. He wore a dark blue kilt and an open-front tunic with lapels chased with gold braiding. A blue jewel had been pressed into the flesh under his right eye, and a small gold ankh hung from his left earlobe.

For a moment, Wren wondered if any of these children were actually born, but instead leaped fully grown from someone's dreams. How could one family have so many awe inspiring beauties?

"Lady?"

She realized she was staring. "Oh--sorry--certainly."

"Wren," Everia said beside her. "That's my brother, Darin'kel. Darin, this is Wren."

Darin nodded, seating himself next to her. "Sorry, I'm late," he said. He reached for his empty goblet. Before his hand reached it, Vera zipped in and filled it from her seemingly bottomless pitcher.

How did she do that?

He didn't seem at all surprised that his cup had spontaneously filled and took a sip from it.

"Why were you late?" Everia asked.

"High Priestess Drak'Malan kept me over."

"Again?"

He nodded.

Balancing a tray with different serving dishes, the cook came by and doled out three different kinds of vegetables and two kinds of meat onto his plate. Wren didn't recognize any of it.

"This High Priestess doesn't want to talk much, does she?" Wren asked. "Just sits around and sighs at you, right?"

He looked sidelong at Wren, the corner of his mouth quirked up. "Basically."

"Understand the sentiment. Don't know if I would be that subtle."

"Trust me, she's not. If she weren't such a high ranking official in the church, I wouldn't put up with it."

Wren shook her head and smiled. "The privileges of rank."

He frowned. "Yes, quite." He took a few bites of his meal, and sipped from his cup. "So, what's your involvement with my mother Desiray?"

"As little as possible," she answered with a flat tone.

He stopped chewing for a moment. His gaze went to her and then he finished swallowing. He cleared his throat, and focused deep brown eyes on her. "Weren't you working for her?"

"Decade and half."

He held out his goblet that, in a matter of instants was refilled by Vera as she flitted by. "So, did she mistreat you or something?"

"In a manner of speaking," Wren answered.

"Pardon me," he said, handsome face stormy. "Either she mistreated you or she didn't."

"You picked the word," Wren said. "She hurt me. It wasn't hurting like stabbing me with a sword (she did that too), but one of neglect. She forgot her responsibilities and fifty people who depended on her died, including my best friend."

Wren realized abruptly that the whole table had gone silent. Two dozen people were looking her direction. Even the cook had stopped her perpetual motion.

At the end of the table, Loric's elbows bracketed his plate. His hands pressed together in front of his chin. His gray eyes seemed to stare right through her. Though soft, his voice carried the length of the table and Wren heard it as if he were speaking directly in her ear.

"Is there a grievance you wish to articulate, Child? The vitriol with which you spoke is potent."

When she had been talking, the volume had been for one set of ears only. With the other conversations at the table, at best two other people might have heard her words. The way everyone had focused indicated that everyone present heard every word and the tone in which they were spoken.

Her heart beat heavy in her chest. Jharon's eyes were wide and focused on her. Desiray too, stared at her, green eyes burning.

Wren closed her eyes, swallowed and spoke. "A grievance, Lord Loric?" She looked up and met his eyes forcing her shaking insides to quiet. "Grievances and grieving don't bring back the dead. They don't soothe the living. They don't make up for lost time, or love that will never be. In fact, nothing compensates a life spent wrong. One can only grieve friends lost, and mourn a decade squandered pursuing a lie."

After she said it, she wondered where the words came from. It had come from her mouth, from her heart, but she had been gripped by a peculiar clarity when she spoke. She fingered the phoenix through the satiny blouse. Perhaps Damay was right, stop trying to confine herself in a box, but simply be. Being didn't mean becoming something else, but allowing what was in her to come out. Even if it was something foreign and unfamiliar.

Loric stroked the back of his fingernails up his throat. He leaned back and turned his head to one side to eye Desiray. The Mistress wore a frown fit to kill, her gaze snapped from its focus on Wren to Loric.

The man smiled. "There was no mention she could be so poetic."

"Said she had a big mouth, didn't I?" Desiray growled. "Same thing."

"She can be rather passionate," Cassandra said.

"One would have to be dead not to recognize that," Loric remarked. "So, Wren, my obvious question is this. How long will you carry this grudge and what do you intend to do about it?"

She saw Everia's face, the expressions of Sindra, Drucilla, Cassin and the others. There was no animosity or upset in any of their eyes. The only thing she saw in their faces was curiosity.

"It's a grudge I will probably carry for all my days. The circumstances are such that there may be understanding, but never forgiveness. My time fighting Desiray is over. We both took our lumps. Her being dead wouldn't solve anything or make me feel any better."

"Lumps?" Loric raised an eyebrow. He glanced over at Desiray and brushed a hand across her forehead. The white-haired woman flinched back, scowling. "So, that explains her reluctance to discuss the origin of her little unicorn knot."

"More like Cassandra should explain it," Desiray murmured.

"Me?" Cassandra placed a hand over her heart, and put on an expression of total innocence.

"My sweet darling," Loric said. "Shall I have Vera go get your halo?"

The cook came forward and refilled his goblet. She spoke with a breathy accent that was unfamiliar to Wren. "I know where it is Master. In the left dresser drawer."

Loric grinned and put an arm around the little woman and squeezed. She accepted the affection, also pouring for Cassandra and Desiray. Other family members around the table began to relax and start eating again. No one spoke though.

"That won't be necessary," Cassandra said. "You know I'm always wearing it."

Desiray put a hand to her throat and made choking sounds. "I think--I think I may--be--ill."

"You have been sick, dear, very sick. Let us not forget who healed you."

Desiray bowed her head. "I have thanked you--Dear. There are only so many ways to show gratitude. What else do you want from me?"

Wren felt a chill run down her spine. Few better lead ins had ever been uttered. What was coming was as inevitable as her next heartbeat. Everia's hand settled on her wrist and squeezed. The girl felt it coming too.

"Well, since you ask," Cassandra said. "You have a certain person, I've taken a fancy to. A person now displaced, who could benefit from a roof over her head."

Desiray growled. "We already discussed this. She's mine."

Wren gritted her teeth. Everia clamped down on her arm.

"Two points, my dear." Cassandra looked over at her husband and put an arm around him. She held up a finger. "First, we don't believe in chattel here. Second," she flicked up a second finger. "You did ask what I wanted. Is that so unreasonable, for saving your life, and helping you recover your guild?"

"That's not fair!"

Cassandra looked at the white-haired woman sidelong, her space-black eyes gleaming in the light. "Whoever mentioned anything about fair? When was the last time you were ever fair to Wren?"

"Desist," Loric held up a hand. He looked down the table toward Wren. "You've barely been here a few days and look at the stir you've caused. I don't know if another resident is what I want Cassandra. Perhaps it's my failing memory. I don't recall being asked."

"I really am too much trouble," Wren piped up. "Not being house broken and all."

Half the table broke into laughter before scowls from both Desiray and Cassandra shut them up.

Loric looked at his wives. "What are you two frowning for? That was amusing. You two are much too serious."

"This is a serious matter," Cassandra said in a flat tone, eyes flashing.

Loric sniffed. "I bore of it. There is no question as to the right of this situation." He looked back to Wren. "She is not Desiray's to give. Neither is she a toy that you can take possession of, simply because you believe it is the 'right' thing."

"It's none of your business," Cassandra said folding her arms and staring straight ahead.

"My house, Sweetling--my business."

"Our house, mine and Desiray's privacy."

"This forum is hardly private," Loric's tone had become a growl. A real one this time.

"You chose to make it a debacle."

Abruptly, Sindra stood up. With her head nearly brushing the ceiling she was hard to miss. "Lord, ladies, being only a recent addition to the family, I know it's not my place to interfere in such matters, but--"

"But you feel obliged to butt in, do you, Sindra?" Loric asked.

A D'klace that wanted to make peace? Now, Wren had seen everything. She certainly had the size and presence to be a peacemaker.

"Well, Lord, dinner is not complete, and I'm wondering whether you should be breaking your own cardinal rule--no business at the table?"

Loric's eyes narrowed. "I don't need to be reminded of my rules."

"No, reminder, Lord. I merely wondered at the precedent it sets for our guests."

Loric growled. "Yes, Sindra, it's a poor precedent. Thank you for pointing that out."

"I am but to serve, Lord." She settled back into her seat grinning.

"Yes, quite," Loric grumbled.

"Besides," Sindra said in a low voice to Jharon. "If they kept that up, we wouldn't get any dessert."

Now, it made sense to Wren. The big D'klace had not been driven by a desire to set matters straight, but to sate the huge appetite that probably went with her gargantuan height.

"I guess," Loric said, casting a fractious glance Sindra's direction. "We will discuss this matter at a later time. I do wish this resolved forthwith. Though I like her," he nodded to Wren. "She is a disruptive force. We all know how well I like discord."

Several people hummed or made acknowledgements.

"Well," Loric cleared his throat. "After that very uncharacteristic--debacle, as Cassandra called it. Let me introduce the authors of such excitement." Loric stood. Though the man wasn't huge, he did have a powerful frame with wide shoulders and tight waist. "Master Jharon if you would," he gestured and Jharon rose. "Lady?" He pointed to Wren.

Feeling her face grow hot, Wren rose.

"This is Hierophant Caladan Jharon Mak'Acktar de Ko of the Ishtar's grand precincts of Corwin. He is a warrior and scholar of some renown in the area. Leader of the highly successful campaign against the Drakmarian pirates, and one of a handful of champions who fought in the Corwinian overthrow of Bal'Ak'Ta, one of the last of Hecate's Avatars in Sharikaar."

Wren had never heard Jharon's titles or his accomplishments spoken in such a way. How did Loric know? When they first came to the table the man didn't even appear to know them.

"Our other guest is more of a mystery." Loric's eyes glinted. Wren felt a tingle go through her. The phoenix between her breasts turned cold against her skin. Averting her eyes from Loric, she realized that her hands had a soft white glow around them.

Loric had paused for an uncomfortably long time. Wren looked up. The man appeared perplexed. "Hmmm. Our other guest does indeed bear watching, as she is proof against the Eldar truespeak and the inner eye. I will speak these trues as my divining allows." Loric drew a breath. "Our new friend is a Ka'Amok, an inheritor of the blood of Alpha, the first Father. She is the twenty-seventh of long line of Kel'Varan Nola, who have walked the star-paths for over one-hundred millenniums. I know only a handful of their names but they are distinguished.

"There was Tydallic, the creator of the abjuration school of magic, and Modren, who developed force-sight. After them were Protector Korath, who guarded the statesmen of Numinor, and the great lady and stateswoman Damay who truespoke the nuptials binding myself and my third wife. There were Indren the gatekeeper, Bellaphon the innovator, and Lord General Kharaton the undefeated master of six million."

"The accomplishments of these few predecessors alone are legion. In my estimation, the lady before us is no exception to the line, but summers of living will tell. In the streets of Corwin, she goes by the name Wren. The tavern goers and knife throwing competitors call her The Point, and she has taken Guild Honors every season she ever entered dagger and dart throwing competition. She is the survivor of a direct confrontation with Set's Avatar Hethanon and Set himself enfleshed. My family, I present to you Lady Liandra, daughter of Euriel Idundaughter of the Aesir."

As Loric lapsed into silence, Wren realized her heart was pounding and perspiration was running down her forehead. Without prompting and totally by surprise the patriarch of this family had given her a name.

Liandra. It wasn't a word--it was a name. Her name. That was its significance on the phoenix. So simple. He'd done more than that, he'd named her mother as well--Euriel.

She clenched her hands closed to keep them from shaking. Her eyes were brimming with tears, and she knuckled them so she could see.

"Any words, Lady?" Loric asked. He was grinning. "Perhaps you would rather speak first, Master Jharon."

"From the both of us," Jharon said, a concerned expression on his face. "Our thanks. Your truespeak is wondrous indeed and your words flattering. Your hospitality is warm, and your cook a culinary magician without peer. We hope to repay your generosity in every way we can."

The game. Wren realized abruptly they were in the thick of it. With beginner's luck she'd played Loric against Desiray, which led to Cassandra staking her claim. Because Cassandra had challenged him, Loric had responded by throwing down a gauntlet of sorts.

The truespeak.

He'd given Wren the thing she wanted from Cassandra--the meaning of the phoenix. Cassandra could no longer hold that knowledge hostage. He'd unveiled the depths of more secrets to be plumbed, but the foremost question had been answered. It gave her a start. She had a mother named Euriel, who was an--Aesir? Details only.

"Lady, will you speak for us now?" Loric said in that mesmerizing voice.

Wren swallowed. "I fear that I may have already spoken too much tonight." She drew a breath and let it out. Her gaze sought out Desiray. The white-haired woman stared back, her chin rising. "I said some things against Lady Desiray. I'll take this opportunity to say that." She paused, collecting herself. "To say that--my problems and our differences do not diminish my acknowledgement of her accomplishments, both as a Mistress of the Guild and as a mother of some of the finest people I've had the pleasure to meet." She put a hand on Everia's shoulder. The girl looked up with a half smile. "To Lady Cassandra, my gratitude. We've had words and something of a separation of purpose. Again, that doesn't take away from my great respect or what I owe her. To the both of you," she bowed. "Thank you." She pressed her hands together at her lips. "Lord Loric, my heartfelt appreciation for the revelations of your truespeak."

Loric nodded with a smile. "You're welcome, Child."

"Yes, my husband," Cassandra managed to growl and smile at the same time. "Later, you must let me tell you how much I appreciated that fine semblance of soothsaying."

"Yes, I'm certain." He grinned. "Vera, the dessert!"

Wren and Jharon sat. Wren settled with great relief. She never knew that dinner could be so draining. The cook raced into the preparation area and rolled back a cart on which were more than a dozen different confections, cakes, pastries, and pie, and began giving the people at the table their choice.

"That was very well done," Darin'Kel said on her right.

"Father Loric, gave you quite a present," Everia added.

"Yes," Wren said, drawing a shuddering breath. "Quite a surprise."

Sindra leaned out so she could be seen around Jharon, dark hair falling across her face. "Out the gate, you're a charger, girl. Think you can go the distance?"

Wren shook her head. "I have no idea."

"Time to figure it out," Jharon said. He smiled as Vera rolled up the cart in front of them. "Cake anyone?"

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An opportunity missed is an opportunity squandered--that's how it goes, right? That's for amateurs. Create your chance, do your business, and leave them looking... better yet, make them think you were doing them a favor...
--Sindra

Wren moaned and gripped her stomach. She leaned against the corridor wall. Most of the family had gone ahead of them into the 'living area', a section adjacent the main library and the Citadel's central fireplace. "I think I'm going to die. I can barely move."

"You must admit, it's a very ingenious form of torture," Jharon groaned in a thick voice. "Put the implements of pain in front of you, and encourage you to hurt yourself. Ishtar be my witness, I never been so gluttonous in all my life."

"Gads, I don't know what came over me either. I never should have eaten that last piece of pie. I think I'm going to explode." The sweet taste that had encouraged her to over-eat still lingered in her mouth. If she lived in this house for very long, they'd have to grease her sides so she could fit through doorways!

Jharon let out a very ungentlemanly belch and thumped his sternum. "At least they'll bury me happy. That cook must be on loan from Elysium. Better food could only be made by Elysian angels."

They hadn't moved very far down the hall when they saw two huge figures coming back toward them. From the sky scraping height and the brilliant blue of their clothing it was easy to tell it was Sindra and Drucilla. The sisters were alone as they sauntered up.

"Moving slow, I see," Drucilla said. "Enjoy dinner?"

"Greatly," Jharon answered.

Wren nodded. Something in her wanted to like these two huge ladies. They were very personable and had a wicked streak that was still appealing in its own way. She still didn't trust them; they were D'klace. What she liked less was the way they were glomming on Jharon. Sindra had already taken up a position behind him and had her hands on his shoulders. He made absolutely no effort to stop her either, which made it more irritating.

"Wren," Sindra said, moving closer, and lowering her voice. The woman's proximity really emphasized her size. She wasn't twiggy like tall women usually were, but full bodied with perhaps one or two extra stone of well placed flesh to make them really stand out. "I wonder if I might impose upon you for a favor. It's somewhat personal, but it would mean a great deal to us."

A great deal to these two spoiled ladies? This Wren had to hear even if she turned them down. "How personal?"

The lady pursed her lips, dark eyes fluttering. She knelt down so that their eyes were more on a level. She lowered her voice further. Now close to the woman's face, Wren realized how much like a statue Drucilla looked. Her skin had a smooth texture to it, as though carved and sanded from marble. Wren saw no openings in her skin like normal people possessed.

"My family has made something of study of Ka'Amok," Sindra said. "I'd be obliged if I would be allowed to verify that you are indeed a daughter of Alpha."

"Who's this Alpha everyone talks about?" Wren asked. "I've heard it mentioned before."

The big lady looked back down the hall toward the living area then back to Wren, as if she didn't want to be seen here in the hall with Wren and Jharon. "Alpha is the All-father, the progenitor of the First-ones. The First-ones are the fathers and mothers of those we know as gods, entities like Ishtar and Isis."

"So, I'm supposed to have blood in me that is part of something that is greater than the gods?"

"That would capture the essence of it, yes." She glanced back to the living area. "May I?"

Despite the pain in her stomach and the suspicious way Sindra was acting, she was intrigued. She looked up at Jharon. He gave Wren a one-eyed look. He knew they were up to something too. Apparently, he was as undecided as herself as to the danger of it.

"How? I mean, how will you verify this?" she asked.

Sindra took a breath and let it out slow. "First, I would have to touch you. I will have to examine some--ummm, private places." She glanced up at Jharon. "The more detailed examination is not necessary though, unless my cursory checks indicate that further study is merited."

Wren looked up at Jharon.

"I don't know," he said. "It sounds--ah..." His words were cut off when Drucilla started massaging his shoulders. The burly man seemed to turn to the consistency of putty in the space of a few heartbeats. He relaxed back against the buxom woman, which sent another pang of irritation through Wren.

"You were saying, Jharon?"

"Oh, sorry," he apologized, straightening up, obviously self-conscious about the way he nearly swooned. "She just hit some spots... What was I about to say--oh yes--what harm could there be? I mean just a cursory examination."

Sindra looked at Wren with a question in her expression.

"I guess."

The big woman looked back down the hall. "Why don't we step over here." She indicated a doorway about twenty steps away. She led Wren to it, gestured to the door that opened obligingly much the way that portals opened for Cassandra in her keep.

Walking inside, she gestured to either side and the lamps flared, flames rising on the wicks and growing brighter. It looked like an office, there was a desk, a modest library of a few hundred books, and a few chairs which Sindra swept out of the way. Drucilla escorted Jharon in, closed the door behind her, and put her back to it.

Sindra turned and went to her knees on the floor. "If you would come here please, we only have a few moments before we're expected back in the living area."

Feeling somewhat uneasy Wren stepped over.

"Your hand," Sindra held out her palm.

Wren placed her hand into the woman's huge grasp. The giant lady's skin felt different than any she had touched before. It didn't have the same texture that she was accustomed to.

Sindra fished something out of her pocket which looked a great deal like a jeweler's loop. Wren noted it wasn't a common object because it glowed as she ran it around the outline of each of Wren's fingers.

"Hmmm," the dark-haired lady narrowed her eyes. "All right, now." She held up her left hand. "Lace the fingers of your right hand with mine."

Wren did as requested. Her hand seemed so tiny compared to the bigger woman's. She felt the strength in those fingers, and it made Wren feel vulnerable. The D'klace looked soft, but there was rock hard strength in that hand.

"Now, listen carefully to what I tell you." She reached into a pocket and pulled out what looked like two tubes with a large green gem suspended between them. "Hold your other hand up."

She did so, and Sindra slid the tubes down over Wren's fingers so that the gem lay in the crotch between them.

"Look only at the gem," Sindra told her. "Think only of its color, of its shape. Out loud, starting at the very top, count the facets going in a circle to the right. If you see a pattern in a facet, describe it to me. Begin."

This was so strange. What did she expect to discern from this? It didn't seem threatening, so Wren obeyed.

Wren guessed there were around fifty facets on the one side of the gem she could see. It was large, about as far across as the last joint of her thumb and cut in the spindle fashion. She started at the top and counted around the circle to the right. "One. Two. Three." She narrowed her eyes, noting that there were indeed some kind of ghost like patterns in the jewel. "In four there's something that looks like a cube. There's a pyramid in five. Six. Seven. Eight has something swirling in it, little dots swimming around a larger one. Nine. Ten. More swirling..." As she continued to count the patterns became hard to describe. "Twenty is all kinds of interlocking rings, going bigger to smaller. There's more but I..."

Sindra's dark eyes were flakes of obsidian now. All the light in the room seemed to be absorbed into them. "Don't worry, keep counting."

She continued counting around the circle, feeling strangely detached, struggling to describe the patterns. Her hand locked with Sindra's began to perspire against the warmth of the woman's skin.

Thirty, thirty-five, each facet seemed infinitely deep, patterns within patterns within patterns. How could something like that be made into a jewel? It was immensely beautiful, all the little colored motes whirling around one another in different cadences and helixes.

"Forty-eight," she murmured. It was an immense relief to utter the word. At the same time she felt abruptly liberated, as if a tremendous weight had been lifted from her shoulders. The complicated helixes that spiraled through the gems facet where much like ladders she'd seen depicted on Cassandra's wall in her lab; colors and motes all in a dance of infinite complexity and progression. How was she able to see all that in one tiny gem facet?

Abruptly, she realized her hand was glowing in the same way it had shone at the dinner table when Loric attempted to truespeak her.

Sindra moved with surprising speed, producing from somewhere in the depths of her hair a long pin. Before Wren could jerk she stabbed it into Wren's upraised hand.

She never felt it penetrate. She only saw the flash as the metal implement struck and deformed, the way a soft dagger blade might against hardened steel. A warm tingle ran up her arm.

"What did you do that for!?"

"Didn't hurt you did it?"

"No, but it scared me!"

"It's all right--thank you." Sindra unlaced her fingers from Wren's. She looked at Drucilla and nodded.

"That's it?" Jharon asked.

"That's all," Sindra determined. She removed the jeweled device from Wren's fingers and placed in back in her pocket. "No further examination is necessary."

"So, what did you learn?"

"I'll have to tell you later. They're looking for us out front. In fact..." Leaning back off her knees she rose to her full height. She pressed her hands together over her head and undulated her body the way a snake moved. As she did so sparkles spiraled down the length of her body, transforming her clothing. In a few heart beats, she'd gone from wearing a blue taffeta gown to an open-front leather halter and loose white riding breeches and boots. Drucilla changed herself in exactly the same fashion so she wore the same clothing. Wren was impressed. "Pardon me," Sindra said, placing her hands in Wren's hair. The dark woman ran her hands gently down Wren's face, across her chest and stomach, and trailed down the length of her legs. Where the woman's hands went, Wren's clothing sparked and changed. As quickly as she'd changed herself, she'd altered Wren's clothing. The red silk bustier and black weskit were more daring than Wren would have selected for herself. Likewise the tight black hose, and thigh length skirt.

She looked over and noticed the Drucilla had changed Jharon's clothing as well. "What's this..."

As she started to speak, the door to the office squeaked open. Sindra grabbed Wren's hand. The universe abruptly exploded around them. Colors imploded from all directions and a horribly familiar falling sensation was followed by a hard slam back into reality.

Wren staggered, and Sindra caught her. The D'klace's hands felt hot, almost to the point of being uncomfortable. "Oh, don't tell me. You just had to be a virgin, didn't you?"

"A what?" Wren tried to catch her breath, but didn't have the wind for more words. That same disorienting, breath stealing sickness gripped her. Without Corona's powerful magic to shield her, the teleportation sickness hit her hard.

They had reappeared at the top of the banister. Jharon stood next to her with Drucilla holding him up. The priest looked green and confused. He obviously was nearly as new to teleportation as she.

"Wren?" She heard Everia call from down the hall.

Even if she wanted to, she didn't have the wind to answer back. Sindra put a hand over her mouth. "I'm up here, Everia." Wren heard a perfect imitation of her voice come from the D'klace's lips. "I needed to change. I'll be right down."

"Wren?" She heard Everia's voice get closer. "Is Jharon with you?"

Drucilla had also covered Jharon's mouth. "Right here, milady." The big woman duplicated his deep voice perfectly. "Don't trouble yourself with coming up. Tell them we'll be along directly." The twin could speak, and well!

"All right," they heard Everia say. "Be quick. Everyone is waiting." Her footsteps receded.

Sindra took her hand from Wren's mouth. "Sorry."

Wren had a great deal she wanted to say, but no air to say it with. These two huge women didn't appear to be affected in the slightest. How did they do that?

"What--" she tried to gasp out the words, and still had poor success. "What are you--doing?"

"Doing?" Sindra raised an eyebrow. "Being circumspect. Now," she touched her own forehead with two fingers, the tips of which began to glow bright blue. She made a pattern in the air, streaks of blue seeming to linger as though painted on glass. She then touched Wren's forehead.

As suddenly as the disorientation and lack of air had come, it vanished. She gasped and drew a full breath, or an almost full breath, the bustier the woman had magicked her into was tight.

"Better?" Sindra asked.

"Much," Wren said, taking another deep breath.

Jharon was breathing easier as well, after Drucilla worked the same magic on him.

"No one needs to know about the examination," Sindra said. "Actually, I suggest you don't bring it up."

Wren looked at the D'klace sidelong. "We just broke some rule didn't we?"

"You didn't," Sindra said. "We did. Your silence on the matter will be repaid. We pay our debts."

Wren glanced at Jharon. He glanced at the two women and nodded. It had all happened pretty fast. What rule did they break? So much, she still didn't know. She still needed to learn the guidelines. "All right."

"You go ahead," Sindra said. "We'll follow in a little bit."

Wren took a breath and took Jharon's arm, and they went down the stairs. The two sisters leaned against the railing. Sindra waved.

At floor level, they turned and headed to the living area. "We're in trouble aren't we?" she asked Jharon.

"No," the word came out weak and he cleared his throat. "No, but they managed to get some important information from you, that they didn't divulge. How that plays, I don't know. It's significant though. Especially the extra trouble they went to make sure that their examination wasn't found out."

"There you are," Desiray stepped out of a side hall. The white-haired woman wore a stern expression. She'd dressed in a blue robe and her hair was braided. "You two shouldn't be wandering around on your own, until orientation."

"Just a change of clothing," Wren said.

"Yes," Desiray said, green eyes scanning her up and down. Her expression was one of suspicion. "Not exactly your style. Something prompt the change?"

Wren looked down at herself, then back at Desiray. "Some nice looking unattached men in this family."

Desiray narrowed her eyes.

"Was there something else, milady," Jharon interjected. "Lady Everia said there were proceedings awaiting our arrival."

The mistress folded her arms. "Yes. Maybe there is."

"Desiray, darling..." Sindra appeared out of no-where. "I love that robe. The braid, that's nice too..."

At the same time, Drucilla grabbed each of their hands and dragged them down the hall toward the living area. Desiray tried to reach around Sindra, but the giant woman might as well have been a wall.

"Sindra..." they heard Desiray growling behind them. "Get--out--of my way!"

"You know darling, you must learn to stem that hostility. It's bad for your complexion."

Their words faded as they moved smartly down the hall.

"Sindra! Move!"

Drucilla smiled at them.

"Why is it you never speak?" Jharon asked her. "You obviously can when you want to."

The woman only shrugged. It was probably the best answer they would get. Wren sensed they still had many a mystery to resolve before this little game played itself out.

As they stepped into the fire lit living room. Wren drew a breath. People were gathered on divans and pillows before a roaring six log fire. Many of them had musical instruments in their hands. Vera was handing out cups of some dark colored brew that Wren didn't recognize.

Loric was sitting at the head of the room right next to the fire. "Ah, the guests arrive. In time to come by the fire and tell their story."

Wren froze as she stepped on the carpet. "Story?"

"Yes," Loric said. "Hospitality requires that the guests bless us with at least one story in return for their night's lodging."

Wren blinked at all the people who were now eyeing them. She glanced back down the hall and saw Desiray striding quickly toward them.

"A story, yes! Of course!" She drew Jharon with her toward the head of the room. "I hope you all have strong stomachs. Have I got one to tell..."

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No matter what anyone including Wren says, I will always consider her a part of my guild. She made her life mine more than a decade ago. That oath cannot be broken.
--Desiray

Wren never considered herself much of a story-teller, especially since thugs and pickpockets never made for a good audience. Aside from that, the typical guilder wasn't particularly intelligent. Those with sharp minds, who made a profession of burglary, were the ones that distinguished themselves as the elite. There were few of those--very few. Only her close friends, Grahm, Jharon, Sireth, Ziedra--were ever able to really connect with her, understand her ideas, her occasional flights of fancy and sarcastic wit.

Loric's enclave was like no group she ever imagined she would sit in front of, much less perform for. What made the experience particularly special was they seemed genuinely interested in the tale. All the onlookers gave the impression of not only being smart, but educated as well. Unlike past recipients of her stories, big words and complicated images weren't road blocks. Instead, they appeared to focus the group.

At first, with Desiray glaring at her from across the room, she thought she might not be able to carry it off. Then she resolved to tell the story despite the woman.

She accepted the warm mug from Vera, and sniffed the dark sweet smelling brew. Something white and foamy floated in the mixture. Even though she'd overeaten at dinner, the palatable smell encouraged her to try some. After the first rich sweet-tasting sip, and the warm glow that settled in her middle, she was hooked. She didn't know what it was called, but she knew she'd want it again.

She began with a description of her assignment to retrieve the Malicent gem from Cinnibar's tower. She described how she and Grahm had inched their way past guards, locks, and pitfalls, forced to foil all manner of traps and wards to reach the wizard's inner sanctum. There wasn't a single drowsy eye as she elaborated the moments of breeching the last of the magical defenses before finally lifting the huge amber colored gem from its pedestal.

"Then--crack!" Wren yelled. Everyone in the room lurched in their seats. "That's when the first of the lightning bolts hit. Fortunately, it just grazed me, and we both managed to jump out the window."

A dark-haired woman who was snuggling next to Caldorian, his wife from the ring on her finger, piped up. "Five levels up?"

"Yes," said another, he had to be one of Cassandra's sons, because his skin was gold and eyes were black like hers. "And how did the mage miss at that range?"

"Grahm trusted me to catch him, so he just dove. As far as Cinnibar being a rotten shot... he got me the second time." She shivered. "Felt like having a red hot poker shoved into my side." She made a swinging gesture with her arms. "The blast actually shredded my good leathers right off my body. I hit the dirt in the alley with about two shreds of clothing left."

"Owww," someone moaned empathy.

"Damn right," she said. "Anyway, Grahm comes down and starts yelling in my ear. I just tell him to go away 'cause I think I'm dead. He shakes me again. 'Where's the gem?' Can you believe it? I dropped the damn thing going over the wall." She shook her head thinking about it, and grinned at the image in her mind. "He flew over that wall like it wasn't even there. No way was he going through all that for nothing."

"So, you had to've gotten away," another lady said. She was tall and had her arm around Sebenreth.

"From Cinnibar, yes. Of course, things were about to get a lot worse." She leaned back, allowing the fireplace to warm her back. She took a sip from Vera's dark concoction that had somehow managed to get refilled when she wasn't looking. No one had moved. Even Cassandra seemed rooted to her chair. She glanced at Jharon, the priest had a contemplative look on his face. Desiray seated herself toward the back, apparently ready to wait it out. Wren looked to Loric. "More?"

The gray-eyed man smiled. His gaze scanned the score of people, who in some cases were literally at her feet. "I think if you try to leave now, you'll get lynched."

"Hmmm," she sighed. "Not exactly a favorable prospect. Really, you folks want to hear more of this?" For some reason, she wanted to tell it. Saying the words, reliving the images hadn't been as painful as she initially thought they would be. In some ways, it was liberating. Of course, the hard parts of the tale were still to come. Something in her said that she could get through it, and be stronger for it.

There was a chorus of assent from the watchers.

"Okay," she said. "Don't say I didn't warn you. It isn't nice and it's less than pretty. Here it goes..."

She launched into the narrative. Breaths were drawn as she detailed the Dagger raid, Grahm's death, and her clash with Hethanon. She related her plunge through the storm, and her subsequent rescue by Jharon.

Wren brought each moment back into focus, and made them all participants in her travails.

She puffed herself up and made her voice roll out in an imitation of Cassandra's. "'Are you aware, of the damage inflicted on a body that drops 77 paces onto cobblestones?'"

Everia smacked her knee and laughed. "That's Mother all right!"

Cassandra looked over at her daughter. "I fail to see the humor. She frightened me, and I reacted accordingly."

"I think your daughter is referring to your sense of the melodramatic," Loric said with a grin.

"Well," Cassandra ran a hand through her dark auburn hair. "Perhaps it was a little droll. It was a tense moment, I didn't know what had climbed in my window."

Wren drew a breath. Simply thinking about the moment made her shudder. "Well, the what was trying not to wet herself. I started pleading for all I was worth. I don't even know really what I said..."

"Oh, something about people dying," Cassandra filled in.

"People dying," Wren nodded. "I was coming apart. Anyway, I finally talked her into putting me right side up, and she asks me all kinds of questions..."

She went on with the story. She left out no details even when Cassandra gave her some warning glances. She related the fight in the hall, the confrontation with Desiray, their battle in the alley, and the embarrassing scene where she'd kissed the mistress in order to keep her quiet.

"Does she kiss good, Mom?" Darin'Kel called over his shoulder to Desiray.

The white-haired woman half smiled. She looked sidelong at Cassandra. "I've had worse."

"Oooo..." somebody made a taunting noise.

Cassandra stuck her tongue out at Desiray in a very unlady-like fashion.

"Well," Wren raised her voice. "Then she asks me in my head what's going on. Right after, all the rats start going crazy."

"Cats," Desiray put in. "I projected cats into their little critter minds. Worked pretty good."

"Gave us a distraction, then we were gone."

She went on, to detail their walk through Slag town, their first experience with Corona, and their entry into the guild. She went on to relate her painful encounter with the mercenary, the freeing of the guilders, and the showdown with Hethanon. She described their return to Jharon's temple and the hours of slow disintegration as Set's vitriol ate away at her. The only thing she left out was her encounter inside the phoenix with Damay. That secret didn't bear sharing, although Everia seemed to know about it somehow.

When she finally finished, she didn't know how long she'd been talking except to know that she'd gone through five or six of the cups of sweet brew.

Not a single person had nodded off. There were murmurs amongst the listeners.

"A horrific tale well told," Loric commended. His gray eyes showed real concern. "I would laud it more, except I felt the pain in the telling." He let out a breath and bowed his head. "My condolences for the loss of your friends."

Wren nodded to him. "I think--" she drew a breath. "I think I'm learning to cope. Right after, it hurt so much I couldn't see straight."

Desiray rose and stretched. "That story is about all I can take for a night." Her expression was flat and emotionless. She pointed a finger at Wren. "We'll talk tomorrow."

Sindra and Drucilla looked over at her emphasis on the word tomorrow. The two sisters went back to cuddling with their respective partners, Cassin and Annawen.

Cassandra rose from her chair and put an arm around Loric's shoulders. They watched Desiray stalk out of the living room and down the hall. "What's griping her, I wonder?" Cassandra asked.

Loric looked up at his golden wife. "You're asking me?"

She pushed the fingers of one hand through his hair. "Why not ask you? Don't you know everything?"

He sighed. "The ability to know everything, and the desire to do so are very different things... Dear. However, your emphatic desire for me to mind my own business makes me think I should learn more about your plans concerning our new guests."

Cassandra looked over at Wren. "Would you be so opposed to being trained?"

Wren glanced at Jharon. The man's gaze went to Cassandra.

"I appreciate learning, Cassandra," she answered. "I like discovering new things. I'm just not fond of being forced."

Several heads turned, and people straightened up in their positions.

Cassandra held her hands palm up. "When has there been mention of forcing?"

"There hasn't," Wren admitted. "In fact, the hospitality I've been shown is enticing. I already like it here, and I haven't stayed a night. What happens when I tell you I'm not interested?"

"Why speculate? You haven't done that yet."

Wren pressed her hands together in front of herself. "You heard what's happened to me. You're part of what's happened to me. Forgive me if locking myself in a cage, however comfortable, doesn't appeal."

"I understand you've been through a traumatic experience, Wren," Cassandra said. Her voice stayed level and calm. "In fact, a time like this..." She gestured to her family members. "Wouldn't you agree this is a bad time for her to be alone?" A couple of the men and women nodded. "You need people, Wren. You need your kind of people. People who can help support you."

Wren folded her arms. "I don't need support, and I don't need charity."

"I didn't mean it that way," Cassandra showed no sign that she received any rebuff whatsoever. "You're a smart girl, capable, talented. Didn't you feel lonely not having someone to talk to? Wasn't it frustrating not having someone who understood you, and had something intelligent to say?"

Cassandra had her there. She'd been thinking about it as she started her story. With Grahm gone, things were going to be terribly lonely. She couldn't keep hanging onto Jharon. It would make things tough on both of them. She would never jeopardize his place in the religion of Ishtar. After these past experiences, he might even quit his position to be with her. It would kill him. The guilt would crush her.

The mage obviously saw the chink in Wren's armor. "See, you are lonely. You're at a vulnerable time right now. Tell me, besides being with Jharon, can you think of a place you would truly be better off? Here, there's good food, good company, books to read... I would venture to say that everything you've ever wanted in a home is right here for the asking. Now, what rational reason can you give me for walking away from that?"

She couldn't think of one damn rational reason. She could think of plenty of irrational ones though. "Cassandra, you don't know me. This--environment--was not how I was brought up. Like I said, I'm not house broken..."

Cassandra shrugged. "I'm duly warned. If you soil a few carpets, it'll be the price of doing a good deed. I'll somehow manage to survive."

Loric gripped Cassandra's shoulder. "Dear, let the girl breathe." He focused on her, his rugged face kindly. "All this logic aside, Child. I believe she is right. You should spend some time in the company of others. Get things into perspective. Determine what your next step will be. If you are leaving Desiray's guild, it means you will have to find a trade and livelihood. You shouldn't have to be worrying about where your next meal will come from, or where you'll sleep while you're trying to sort these things out. I believe you have things to teach, and I know we have much to offer in return."

Cassandra she could resist, just on general principles. She could hang onto irrational fears of debt and enslavement. Loric's gentle voice and totally rational discourse proved convincing. Still, there remained a serious issue.

"What about Desiray?" she asked.

"I don't see that she has anything to do with this discussion," Loric said. "We are speaking about you."

Wren took a breath and folded her arms. She looking into the flames sparking in the fireplace. She concentrated on the warmth against her skin. She couldn't recall being this comfortable in a long time. The surprising thing was that she could feel at ease with all these strangers around her. Some instinct, some feeling, knew that no threatening feelings or thoughts were directed at her. Of course, that could change in a heartbeat.

"Milord, there is no fondness between Desiray and myself. The respect I have for her is not shared. To her, I am an object, not much more. Killing a person is a serious undertaking, trimming a fingernail is not. I do not wish to be trimmed as a matter cleaning up loose ends."

Loric's expression hardened. "I think perhaps your loss colors your judgment, Child. My wife is not one to murder babes in cold blood. I find the suggestion offensive."

She bowed her head. "I apologize for that, Lord. You were not in that alley when we fought. She struck to kill. Only good fortune and powerful magic brought me through that alive. She neither forgives nor forgets."

Loric glanced at Cassandra. The gold woman frowned. Gray eyes searched ebony ones. Wren found their expressions difficult to read. She looked out to the family group. No one moved except for Vera, who was pouring more of her brew.

Wren looked to Jharon. The priest smiled, took her hand and patted it.

"What do you think?" she asked him.

"I think she feels you are part of her fold, and that you cannot leave without being released."

"You heard me ask her at dinner," Cassandra said.

"I heard you ask. I didn't hear her agree."

"This is silly," Loric said. "What is this girl to Desiray? She barely knew she existed before she showed up on your windowsill."

"It's principle, Father," Caldorian spoke up from the couches in front of them. He ran his hand through the dark hair of his wife, who captured his hand and kissed it. "Guild property. She can be forced or coerced into giving it up, but it remains the guild's no matter who or what has acquired it."

Cassandra focused on Caldorian, then looked over Sebenreth who was whispering something to his wife, their foreheads bowed together. "Seb, you agree? Is this some sort of 'Guild Business' silliness she gets in her head?"

The other son looked up. He glanced at his brother, then back to Cassandra. "It's not silliness, Mother, it's the part of the edicts. Members of the Guild are property, they're guarded like any other assets."

Wren looked at Caldorian and Sebenreth, neither had the look of initiates. Sebenreth spoke with a tone of authority, the way a lifer might of existence within the guild structure. She doubted this pampered and pretty young man had spent a night with cobblestones for a bed. Of course, he did have Desiray for a mother. His experience might not be first hand, but he did have a model teacher.

"The word is 'freelancer'," Wren said. "Someone who has broken away without being dismissed."

"Freelancers who practice on guild territory are hunted down and punished," Caldorian said. "Repeat offenders are often killed."

"This is not the Guild," Cassandra said in a flat tone. "She wouldn't bring that kind of law into this house."

Sebenreth cleared his throat. "I think the concern here would be after she leaves. Mother Desiray can be--vindictive. Wren embarrassed her. If she stays here, even at your request, it's going to be taken as an affront."

"Well then," Cassandra said, standing up. "My course is clear. If your staying will be so offensive to Desiray, then I shall have to smooth things over." She bowed to Loric. "Husband, I go to see if all this palaver holds any water." She nodded to Wren. "I doubt she'll begrudge you the night. Sleep well, we shall discuss your stay further in the morning."

Wren nodded.

Cassandra bent and kissed Loric. She turned to look out at her family, then wagged a finger at Sindra and Drucilla. "You two," she shook her head. "If I get an inkling that you plan to make trouble, there will be sparks."

Sindra covered her heart with her hand. "Cassandra, you wound us. Whatever kind of trouble could we possibly be planning?"

The mage narrowed her eyes. "You two may be old and sneaky, but I see more than you realize. Behave yourselves."

"Of course, Cassandra," Sindra answered. "You know we would never do anything that would disrupt either you or dear Loric's harmony."

Loric rolled his eyes. He looked at Wren. "Please, accept our hospitality for the night. Even if there are some of us with less than pure intentions, trust that your well being is guarded and safe within these walls."

"Thanks," Wren responded. She certainly hoped it was true.

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The moment we met, I liked the smell of her. Sweet sweet blood with an aroma like fine wine, and a life vibrance that just hummed on the lips...
--Gabriella

While returning to their rooms, Wren's head was filled with all manner of questions, few of which had answers. She didn't know what to think of Loric's place or its numerous, mysterious, comely, and inviting residents. She could only liken it to a spider web baited with sweet promises. Accept the promise, find yourself stuck and unable to leave. She was especially confused by the interplay between Loric, Cassandra, Desiray, and the D'klace twins. It all made her head hurt and it was late.

The hard floor underfoot made flat padded sounds underneath her soft boots. She looked up at Jharon. The priest walked along with his hands behind his back, his expression could only be described as reflective.

"What's the matter?" Wren asked. "I mean besides the obvious?"

Jharon winced as if her words had been painful. "Oh, there's a great deal going on, and I'm not sure I can keep up with these people."

"What do you mean, 'keep up'?"

"I don't want to let you down. However, there is a great deal more history than I imagined."

They turned a corner onto the final hall before entering their suite. The lamps in the hall had been lowered, but there was still enough light to see by. The shadows were long and dark.

"Do you know what an immort is Wren?"

"An immortal, you mean like a god?"

"No, an 'immort', those who are 'like' but not quite gods. The oldest of these ageless people are called elders, and great elders."

"What does that have to do with here?"

"Loric is a great elder. Didn't you hear what he said? Damay gave the nuptials for his third marriage. He was old then."

"Nonsense, he was speaking congenitally from that magic or whatever he was doing."

"No, he wasn't. Sindra and Drucilla weren't joking about knowing ancient Silissian royalty. They were there."

"How? You said yourself that was thousands of years ago!"

"I don't know how, but I'm certain it's true. I'm not sure where the sisters fit in, but they are ancient too. You were there Wren, how did they move us like that?"

"The same way Desiray does it--with magic."

They stopped at the door and Jharon opened it. "The way Sovereign Dauntless sent you to Ivaneth; that's magic. What they did... I don't know what that was. I have felt it before when Cassandra brought us here. It is magic practiced by will alone. That is a power reserved to immorts."

"You're saying we're in a house full of demi-gods?" Wren asked as they walked in their quarters.

"Come now, did you look at those people at dinner, does it seem all that far fetched."

She thought about Desiray's beautiful twin sons, Everia's brother Darin'Kel. He did have a point. Still what did it mean to them? "So, how does it change things?"

"I don't know yet."

She looked at the huge four poster bed. It looked soft and inviting. She didn't know how well she would sleep in this strange place, but she was tired enough to try. She pulled off the little shoulder coat then fought the straps confining her in the bustier. It was the most attractive torture device she'd ever worn. The elder had fine taste in clothes, but terrible taste in comfort. "Jharon can you help me out of this thing?"

The priest had just removed his tunic. He looked over. "You know, I didn't get a chance to say you look rather fetching in that."

"Maybe so, but if wear it much longer I'll suffocate."

He smiled. "Turn around."

She did so and he worked at the ties. After a moment there was a gratifying release of pressure as the tightly bound corset and brassiere loosened. "Whew. I never realized what those court ladies went through! I've heard of lifting your spirits, but..."

Jharon chuckled, and tossed her a nightgown that was lying on the bed. That hadn't been there a moment ago--had it? She hated always wondering.

"I'll be in the suite on the other side of the bath," he said.

She dropped the red bustier to the floor and held the gown up over her self. It was made of fine opaque satin, it felt wonderfully cool against her skin. This place would spoil her in no time. "You mean you aren't going to sleep here with me?"

He smiled at her. "As much as that appeals. I think both of us know that it wouldn't be appropriate."

She sighed. "No, it wouldn't. It's a nice fantasy though. I understand you priests of the love goddess know how to take care of a woman."

He grinned. "There are some interesting studies in that direction, yes." He stepped over and kissed her on the forehead. "I'll see you in the morning." Jharon hugged her. His embrace lingered, and she felt him tremble against her. He broke away abruptly, and vanished through the bath into the adjoining rooms.

She looked after him. Her hands were trembling. How she wanted him, had always wanted him. It was a good thing he had retreated. She didn't think she would have had the strength to stop if their embrace had gone on for any longer.

She removed her hosiery and slipped into the nightgown. It felt comfortable and pleasant against her flesh. She stared in the direction of the other room. If she went to him now, he might not turn her away.

That wasn't the problem. It never had been. Jharon loved her. She loved him. Ishtar...blasted Ishtar and the temple...they had to come first.

If she'd been a right and noble lady they'd have been married two summers ago. By now, she'd be cradling her first child. It made her tremble inside. She had let Jharon go, and had put Grahm in his place. Now, Grahm was gone and she and Jharon were closer than ever... here in this house of riches and finery.

Standing in the candle-light she blinked. The guild was a bad memory behind her. She didn't have to go back. What was stopping her from becoming acceptable in the eyes of Jharon's bloody church?

She padded through the bath on silent feet and peered into the darkness of Jharon's chambers. She could see his silhouette outlined against the moonlight coming through the shades. He was laying on his back, hands behind his head. He was whispering to himself.

It was a mantra. A mantra of self-control.

He wanted her as badly as she wanted him. The only thing keeping them apart were rules and laws. She'd broken rules and defied laws all her life. Jharon would skirt rules and bend the law for her, but doing so would slowly destroy him.

Now, was her chance to change. Maybe here amongst all this strangeness she could get some nobility and finally be acceptable to the church.

With what she'd seen recently, it didn't seem like much of a miracle. She could talk like a noble, look like a noble, then the lords willing she could become a noble. Then she and Jharon could be together.

She listened to his mantra for a while longer. His deep voice reciting words of abstinence.

He wouldn't have to do it for long. Not if she had anything say about it. She returned to her room and crawled onto the huge bed, lay back on the feathery soft mattress. No wonder Cassandra was so jaded. How could anyone who lived in such decadence relate to someone who used a stair-step for a pillow? Not easily, she guessed.

Pulling back the coverlets, she sniffed the cleanness of the sheets. Some kind of fruit based cleanser had been used to freshen them. Last time she was near a bed, she had to fight the bugs for it. She doubted bugs were allowed to disturb Loric's harmony.

She sighed, feeling the way the mattress cradled her body and imagined Jharon lying next to her. The more she thought about it, the more the idea appealed. There had to be some way to follow the rules and be with Jharon. She fell asleep dreaming of his arms around her.

Wren's eyes opened as rays of light streamed across the coverlets. The scent of fresh morning air filled the room. She realized that the balcony shutters had been opened. Someone had come in while she was asleep? She didn't hear anything. It couldn't have been Jharon. The priest was many things, but light-footed wasn't one of them. A glass of red juice sat on the bed table by her head, and a small plate of wafers. Her dressing chair had been pulled over and what looked like exercise togs laid across the back.

This place had already dulled her senses. Someone had come in and done all that without her being aware. She found the thought disturbing.

She sat up feeling more rested than she recalled in a great while. Her muscles and back remarkably free of kinks and soreness that she usually experienced in the morning.

Wren slid out of the coverlets to the floor. Her toes touched something soft. She looked down and noticed that in the exact place where her feet touched down, lay a pair of slippers.

Slippers? Someone must be joking. She reached out to the glass and touched it. Cold. The condensation on the outside was fresh. It hadn't been sitting there long. She lifted the container and sniffed. The smell was heavy and unfamiliar, but not unpalatable. She took a sip. The flavor was tart and pithy, and it rid her mouth of that dry filmy taste that came after sleep. She tasted the wafer, it had the consistency of bread, but with a sugary taste. At the flavor's core was something bitter, but it was masked by the sweetness.

She wasn't sure what to make of all this. Were Cassandra and Loric simply showing her the easy side of life, what it was like to be provided for and pampered? If that was the case, they were succeeding... she liked it. Her instinct always was to wonder what it cost, and how she would pay. Perhaps that was wrong thinking on her part, but summers of street living had made it second nature. Virtually everything had a cost, hidden or otherwise.

She sat and sipped for a few moments, eating a little more of the wafer. She suspected that there were some stimulating herbs in the bread-like substance because she felt the tempo of her whole body increase. It was similar to the strong brews that some of the members of guild liked in the mornings.

She heard Jharon moving around in the next room, and rose to go see how his night had been. She met him in the bath area that joined their rooms. He stopped in the doorway rubbing one eye, dressed only in a pair of breeches, his long dark hair mussed. A night-time's worth of beard darkened his angular face, and he rubbed at it.

"Ishtar's blessing," he greeted in a low voice. "You are looking comely this morning."

"Thank you. Did you have a visitor this morning as well?"

He nodded. "Royal inns should have such service. I must say, the servant is a quiet one, to move around so without my hearing."

"Thought that myself. So, what do you think is expected of us this morning?"

"The togs would indicate they have some regular training discipline. Loric has a martial look to him, wouldn't doubt that he has a regimen for the entire household. You might have noticed that no-one around here looked soft. Even the cook is fit."

"That cook?" Wren laughed. "She could win every foot race ever run in Corwin carrying a pitcher and two dinner courses!"

Jharon chuckled. "What makes me certain is the battle-bread that was left for us."

"Battle-bread?"

He shrugged. "It's a tradition in most schools where there is regular fighting training. Every school has their own special mix. It wakes up the body without making you sick during heavy exertion. Regular break fast will be after training." He glanced around the bathing facilities and pointed to fresh towels and other accouterments. "We must be meant to bathe prior to working out."

Wren nodded. "Guess we best not keep them. Wouldn't want to disappoint our hosts on our first day."

"Definitely not," Jharon agreed. "I think it shall be interesting."

"Oh, I bet," Wren agreed. "I wonder which of us they'll beat up first."

It didn't make much sense to Wren to bathe prior to getting sweaty, but she guessed it was intended as part of a morning wake-up ritual. So they did as expected. The togs left for them were close-fitting and well made with leather and other sturdy fabrics. The boots were guild quality with running soles.

By the time she was dressed, the energy in the battle-bread was pent up and ready for release. She guessed that was the intention. To come to the morning workout ready to grapple the world. It was a good feeling.

Heading down the steps into the main hall the smells of breakfast were wafting out of the kitchen. Wren followed the smell as though in a trance. Vera flitted about a plethora of steaming pots and crockery, cooking eggs and other breakfast cuisine. Only one person sat at the table. Morning light streamed in through the windows, and she sat in the brightest pool of light. She was a middle-aged woman dressed in blood colored robes, with strikingly pale skin and exceptionally thick black-hair. She wore jewels on every finger, in her ears, on necklaces and bracelets. Square spectacles were perched on her nose, and she held a book in one hand and was sipping something black from a mug.

The woman looked up from her reading. She had a broad face with a thin nose and full lips. Her eyes were large and startlingly blue, the effect magnified through her glasses.

"Fine dawning," she said.

Wren nodded to her.

"Lady," Jharon bowed to her. He paused. "Milady, have we met? It seems I've seen you before."

The woman raised an eyebrow. "I do not believe so. I would recall having met such a handsome young man. Perhaps you have me confused with someone else."

Jharon shook his head. "You are very striking, milady. You are not one easily forgotten, perhaps it is your portrait I have seen?"

She nodded. "Oh, perhaps," the woman smiled. "There have been a good many of those."

Wren must have been mistaken, for an instant she swore she saw fangs. The only reason she gave it credence for even a heartbeat was that Jharon had reacted too, a little of the color draining from his normally dusky features.

There was an uncomfortable silence where the woman looked at both of them with open amusement. "I am Gabriella," she said. "You two must be Wren and Jharon." She looked to Wren. "You come with something of a reputation young lady. I hope we will get a chance to speak. It's been a good while since I conversed with one of the savants. They are so very few, and difficult to keep in one place for any time."

Wren frowned. "Pardon? What do you mean?"

The woman frowned. "Well, the Ka'Amok are prized by the immortals. Those that live any length of time, spend most of their lives on the run--beastly existence. I don't envy you."

"What? What is all this about Ka'Amok--"

Gabriella held up a hand. "You are safe here child, Loric has made this place safe against their prying. Let us speak later. You should be getting downstairs, they are waiting for you." She pointed to a hallway. "The first stairwell on the right."

Jharon bowed to her again, and Gabriella smiled at him. Wren was certain of fangs now. This house had so many strange inhabitants.

They took their leave, heading where Gabriella had indicated.

"I know I've seen her before," he grumbled, rubbing his head.

"I suppose you see people with fangs all the time?"

"No," he wore a serious expression. "I know I've seen her before."

"Well, if it weren't for the light," Wren said. "I'd swear that Loric was letting a vampire into his home."

"Vampire," Jharon shook his head. "I doubt even he is that permissive."

They came to the stairwell that Gabriella indicated. There were grunts of exertion and echoing clacks of wood. The air had the thick scent of a well-used workout area. Wren let out a breath and started down ahead of Jharon.

"Vampire," he let out behind Wren. "That's Gabriella Sarn Ariok! She is a vampire."

Wren had hit the bottom step as he said it. The passage opened into a huge underground chamber, skylights let morning light pour into the area. The floor had been made into a grid. There was a sizable swimming area, a place to run, three fighting circles, numerous forms of equipment that Wren guessed were for conditioning because of the way some of it was being used. Like everything else in Loric's home it was extremely complete and exceedingly elaborate. There were about twenty people in the area, all of them stopped at the sound of Jharon's outburst. Wren recognized Desiray, Cassandra, Loric, and one other familiar face.

Beia, the Myrmigyne that she met in the tavern when she'd played knives against Damrosil. The blonde woman sat cross-legged in one of the three dirt fighting circles in front of Caldorian, Sebenreth, and their wives, and two of Cassandra's golden sons. She seemed to be giving some kind of lecture. Loric was in one another circle, a wooden practice sword in hand, opposite Everia's brother, Darin'Kel who had a wicker mace in his hand. Everia sat at the edge of the circle tightening the laces on her boots.

Cassandra and Desiray were with a group of others using the apparatus. Desiray was up on a set of parallel bars elbows locked and legs straight, obviously preparing to do some kind of acrobatic maneuver. The Guild used a similar apparatus to train arm strength for climbing, and to develop the balance for swinging maneuvers. Cassandra stood by the white-haired woman in the spotter's position.

Everyone returned to their morning regimen without remarking on Jharon's words. Loric gestured them over and Wren moved that direction.

As they walked toward Loric, Jharon bent and spoke quietly in her ear. "The reason I recognized that woman, is that there are many portraits of her. That's the Dragon Queen of Silissia!"

Wren stopped and put her hands on her hips and looked at him. "Oh, come on. Even I've heard of her. She'd have to be--what--more than five thousand summers old!"

Jharon nodded. "She was reputed to be a vampire."

"And vampires are immortal," Wren agreed. "Problem is... vampires are somewhat opposed to sunlight. She seemed to like it there in the sun."

He shrugged. "She looks like the portraits. Her name is the same."

Wren let out a breath and turned back to Loric. "Let's hope it's an unfortunate likeness."

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The more we practice during times of peace, the less we bleed during times of war...
--Jharon

Wren watched in amazement as Loric sparred with Everia's brother Darin'Kel. The young man moved with incredible swiftness. His attacks were visible only as a blur. Despite his incredible speed however, he was frustrated repeatedly as Loric, who seemed to move like molasses in comparison, always managed to evade then score a telling strike.

Lord Loric would say 'go' and Darin would launch forward his mace cracking through the air. The master of the manor would slip inside the swing, turn his body, or somehow twist to evade the blow.

Darin missed with the mace, then spun to bring his elbow into Loric's face. The gray-haired man caught the elbow with his palm and with some shift of his balance too subtle to make out, kicked the feet from under the younger man.

Darin yelled, a flailing hand caught hold of Loric's tunic, shredding it as he went down with a thud.

Loric fingered his ripped clothing and frowned. He removed the shirt and tossed it aside, revealing his muscular upper torso complete with the scars of many battles. A white gem about half the length of Wren's thumb glowed in the flesh a little above his sternum.

Kneeling in the dirt, Darin slammed a fist on the ground and growled. "Damn. Why can't I get it right?"

"You have not concentrated enough on technique. Have no doubt, you would crush an opponent who hesitated." Loric helped him to his feet. "A skilled warrior will not be intimidated by your strength and speed."

Jharon who'd been watching with folded arms said. "Loric knows what you will do because you give it away. You use the daman'tat style with the mace. It is an unfavorable style when used against a more skilled opponent."

"Ah yes," Loric nodded. "I forget, Ishtar's priests are students of battle. Perhaps you would care to demonstrate?"

The young man looked at Jharon sidelong, and gave him the wicker mace. Jharon stretched out, and limbered up, arching his neck side to side and loosening his shoulders.

Wren looked at Everia who hadn't said anything. The dark-haired girl watched Jharon.

She didn't look at Wren. "He's a nice man," she said. "I like him. He's handsome, smart, generous, and he loves you. Why aren't you two together?"

"Church didn't care to have a thief in their fold."

"Ah," Everia nodded and looked at her sympathetic dark eyes. "Is he a good fighter?"

Wren watched him spin the mace. "Jharon does everything well. Of course, I'm biased."

Jharon held the mace across his palms and bowed to Loric. "Nak jayer tack ist."

Loric nodded. "Dalem. Dalem." He bowed over his sword. "You may engage."

Jharon moved a third as fast as Darin, but his movements were fluid and smooth. The mace never slowed as he whipped it right and left. Loric circled, moving more than he had with Darin.

"Master Jharon, uses the rak'tem style, used by warriors who have trained to use either hand." He shifted right, then abruptly left. Jharon's mace whipped through the space where he'd been standing. Loric lashed out at Jharon's head. The priest blocked and jumped as the Lord reversed the weapon at his knees. Jharon blocked another attack aimed waist high and lashed out with a side kick.

Loric deflected the kick, but the offensive had been enough to make him retreat. "Ah, very good!" the Master commended. "Watch him Darin, he changes styles and stances."

"It is an honor to spar someone with your experience," Jharon said. He whipped through a series of attacks that the master blocked with no apparent effort. There was a shift of pace, a clash of weapons, and abruptly Jharon toppled. The priest slapped as he went down, rolling immediately to his feet. He faced Loric and thumped his own chest. "Tai."

"Octa," Loric answered. "Sheath throw. You stepped past my first circle without shifting your weight."

Jharon bowed. "Kanta."

Wren looked to Everia. "What's that he's speaking?"

Everia wrinkled her nose. "It's old Numinorian. It's what they speak at the tournaments."

A female voice spoke from behind them. "It is the traditional language of the fighting art. The Numinorians created many of the first recognized disciplines of war as well as magic. Warriors who seek the ways must know the proper spoken forms."

"Yes, aunt Beia," Everia said. "However, I think Wren's friend is simply making points with Father Loric by doing the traditional respects."

"Hello, Wren," Beia came up and put a hand on her shoulder. Wren experienced the tingle she felt before, the powerful presence that filled the air around the woman. The Myrmigyne was dressed in a blue velvet tunic similar to the one she'd been wearing in Ivaneth. She'd braided her blonde hair into knots at the base of her neck. The most memorable part of the woman, her penetrating emerald eyes still had the fire Wren remembered. "I didn't realize I'd see you again so soon."

"Neither did I. So, you're Everia's aunt? That would make you Desiray's sister?"

"Cassandra is my sister."

"Oh." Wren didn't think she'd ever fathom this family's relationships.

Beia looked to Jharon who'd joined the combat with Loric again. "I don't think Wren's friend is trying to flatter Loric. Because he is your father you don't respect him as a War Master. The master's children aren't required to pay formal respects. Strangers are different."

Darin'Kel snorted. "It's all traditional dragon doo."

Beia's hand flashed out, she grabbed Darin by his tunic and yanked him so they stared eye to eye. The Myrmigyne was shorter than the younger man by more than a hand, but her intensity made her seem three times his size. "Dragon doo, or not, the customs of the warrior caste will be spoken of with respect. You are the beneficiary of our blood-won skills, when you are yourself a War Master, then you may judge--not until. Are we clear?" The woman's dusky face reddened. The black lighting tattoo on her cheek stood out against her skin. When Darin didn't answer she shook him. "Clear?"

The young man growled. "Yes--mistress."

"Good." Beia let go. Loric and Jharon had stopped.

"Thok tal." Beia bowed to Loric. "Hemic kas nal."

Loric looked at Darin who's face was red. He frowned. "Dalem."

An uncomfortable silence fell over the three of them as they watched Jharon spar. The priest demonstrated every bit of the skill that Wren expected and admired of him. Against Loric though, it became obvious he was tenfold outmatched. The Lord simply had an answer for the best that Jharon could deal regardless of how swiftly or skillfully he brought it to bear.

Sweating and breathing heavily, Jharon picked himself up from a rather nasty tumble in the dirt. "Daga." He bowed to Loric energetically. "Dago firmy!" He turned to Wren grinning like a waif who'd been given a new toy. He was dusty, sweating, and a bruise darkened his cheek. "Marvelous!" he said to her with real enthusiasm. He turned back to Loric. "Thank you, Master!" The only times she'd ever heard Jharon sound more reverent was when he preached about Ishtar.

Loric nodded to him. "You are a good student."

"What's marvelous about getting beat up?" she wanted to know.

"Lady," Jharon bowed to Beia who nodded back. His gaze went to Wren. "Learning Wren--learning is wonderful. I learned more in the last little bit than I have in summers."

"Really?" She glanced at Loric. The master was sizing her up with hands on hips. "All I saw was you chewing on his boot leather."

Jharon's ebullience was too high to be dampened by one of her barbs. "It's worth it," he said firmly. He looked to Loric. "Thank you," he said again. He wiped his face with the back of his hand. "I must find a towel."

Loric pointed to a corner of the room and Jharon went in that direction.

"Crazy," Darin mumbled. "He'll be back for more too."

"He seems to like getting beat up," Everia said. She looked at Wren. "Is there something about him we don't know?"

Beia folded her arms gaze following Jharon. "He's dedicated. He respects learning, and--" she turned and looked at the sister and brother, her voice becoming emphasized. "Really appreciates the invaluable opportunity he had in working with a teacher as good as your father."

Loric held up a hand. "Peace, Beia. Some things never change." He focused on Wren. "Your friend is a good man, and a capable warrior."

She frowned. "And you enjoyed making him look silly."

"Not at all, Child. He is good. I have the advantage of a several centuries of experience is all."

Darin snorted.

Loric glanced at the young man, then back to Wren. "Perhaps you're ready for some practice?"

"Master, I think my skills are too rudimentary for me to learn anything from someone of your expertise."

"Please, allow me to be the judge of that," he said in a firm voice. Wren knew then, he wouldn't let her out of it.

She glanced at Beia, and then at Everia, then sighed. "Okay, I suppose a few lumps aren't too much to pay for the fine bed and breakfast."

Loric smiled. He went to the edge of the ring and picked up a wicker weapon that was the same length and approximate heft as the short swords she was accustomed to using. She stretched out, loosening her muscles. She wondered if Loric were after something. What? Embarrassing her seemed too petty. After all, she was a guilder and he a war master.

Loric handed her the wooden sword. She took it and weighed the weapon in her hand. She noticed that Cassandra and Desiray had stopped their exercises and were walking over. Sindra and Drucilla had also appeared, dressed in tight black hose.

Oh great, now everyone would see him drub her. She drew a breath and stepped onto dirt. She had no illusions. Speed did no good against this juggernaut, nor did strength. Only skill sufficed, and even someone as accomplished as Jharon could barely make the man backpedal. The only way for her not to look an utter fool was to be unpredictable.

She closed her eyes, calming herself and letting the blood flow. She relaxed her restraint, she tried to be. She felt that itchiness at the base of her skull she experienced when she climbed. She didn't recall the feel for it being so readily available. Maybe she was getting better at "being".

Raising her chin, she met Loric's gaze. He grinned at her, no hostility or humor in his gray eyes. In that moment, she felt him studying her reactions, analyzing how she handled the situation.

Wren reached up and rubbed the phoenix through the fabric of her blouse. The metal felt warm between her breasts. That hunk of metal represented so much: Grahm, her identity as a savant, Damay, and thanks to Loric it represented the life stolen from her. Her name was engraved on it.

Her friend Ziedra, a daughter of gypsies, said names were the most potent of magicks. Loric named her and gave her a great power; the power of self-knowledge. Now, she owed him and Cassandra.

She knew her name. Time to start being who she'd been born to be--Liandra Idundaughter. Since she owed Loric, she'd start repaying him by doing her best.

Idundaughter. The words did have potent magic. They felt right, and spurred something in her. She drew a breath, feeling a tingle go all through her body. For an instant, Damay smiled in her mind and she joined with the Motherforce, feeling one with the cosmic 'all'. It sung through her, an uplifting sensation of total invincibility.

Lost in the instant of her revelation, she didn't realize that Loric had moved. His sword came whistling toward her at hip level where it would undoubtedly leave a whopping bruise on her posterior.

The sword came fast, yet seemed to be taking forever to arrive. She stepped away, and brought her own sword around. It too appeared to move in slow motion. Loric twisted out of the path. His eyes hadn't even focused and he'd started to evade.

Instinct. Centuries of trained reflexes honed to respond to the most subtle of cues. As though joined in a dance, she continued to evade his attacks. She didn't know how she'd summoned this magical time focus, or whether she could do it again, but she would get the most out of the moments it lasted. She switched from the defensive to the offensive, feeling the tingle in the back of her skull, thrusting toward his body and closing his first circle. Each strike missed, forcing her to lunge away from his ripostes. Even with the magic fueling her, he could keep her at bay. She would have to be even a step faster, stronger, better to even make an impression on him.

Grasp the moment--be.

She had touched the perfection of her own potential and might not ever achieve it again. She would take the opportunity to do the impossible. Get a hit on war master Loric. She summoned all her energy to make the effort.

Loric thrust at her sternum and she somersaulted backward. Instead of continuing backward, she hand-sprung back to her feet. Leaping over a foot sweep, then ducking a grab for her shoulder, she kept with him as he turned. Strike, strike, strike... dodge, strike...evade, kick, punch, drive... He grabbed again to throw her and she went with it, twisting and bringing summers of climbing honed flexibility into play. He realized the feint too late and her instep cracked solidly against his jaw. He gave with the blow and staggered back a couple of steps before catching his balance.

Abruptly, everything snapped back to normalcy. Breathing in gasps, she landed on her heels, sword ready. Brow furrowed, Loric rubbed his cheek. Her heart was pounding and her chest hurt. How long did they grapple in that rapid exchange? Her body ached as if she'd run hard all the way across Corwin. She dropped the sword. "That's enough lesson I think. I learned plenty, thank you."

She glanced at Everia and Darin'Kel. The two stared at her with wide eyes.

Cassandra made a sound like, "Hmmm," behind her.

She heard some clapping that came from Sindra and Drucilla.

"The food here must agree with you," Jharon said.

Wren was careful to bow to Loric. "Apologies."

The Lord nodded, eyes narrowing. His gaze went to Beia.

"Best demonstration of battle-mind I've seen in over a decade," the Myrmigyne said nodding. "You must share your secret instruction techniques."

"Battle-mind?" Loric rubbed his cheek. "If that's what she was doing, I didn't feel her do it."

Beia shrugged, and gazed at Wren, green eyes appraising. "You mentioned she was kin to Idun. That means she has Aesir and Ajeer blood."

Wren had no idea what they were talking about. Cassandra was openly staring at her, as if she could dissect her with those dark eyes. Desiray stood next to the gold mage, arms folded, her rainbow colored hose damp and clinging to her lithe body.

Sindra and Drucilla were grinning, openly amused by the display.

Loric nodded. "Whatever the case, it was quite a surprise."

Wren looked around, her gaze coming back to him. "Do I pass?"

Everia chuckled. So did Cassandra and Beia. Desiray didn't appear amused. Sindra and Drucilla were laughing behind their hands. Jharon put an arm around Wren's shoulder and hugged her.

"Was I testing you?" Loric asked.

Wren turned her head to one side. "Weren't you?"

The Lord pushed out his lower lip and sniffed. His gray eyes glinted. "Each day of life is a test, my dear. A passing grade means getting on with another morrow."

Obviously, he would evade simply on general principles. She looked to Sindra. The two sisters seemed particularly satisfied with something. She wondered if her performance against Loric, might not have something to do with them. She'd done things while holding Sindra's hand that she couldn't recall being able to do. Could the dark-haired D'klace somehow bring parts of her nola talent out?

The more she thought about it, the more troubling those thoughts became.

Return to Contents

I've always been a pragmatic. When you grow up in the street, what choice do you have? The cynicism has always been something of an irritation for all my altruistic friends...
--Wren

Wren accepted the towel from Jharon and wiped her face. Her body felt as though she'd been drenched in a downpour. The fabric of her togs was soaked. Loric, Beia and the others were still standing together with perplexed expressions on their faces. Loric didn't ask, but she knew he wanted to. How had she managed to keep pace with a war master, not only evading all of his attacks, but getting a solid hit of her own. They wouldn't find out from her. She didn't have a clue how she did it. The sensation had come upon her and she'd let it take over.

She looked around the workout area with its conditioning equipment, running and swimming areas, still amazed at what Loric had built. She had been referring to this home he shared with Cassandra and Desiray as a citadel. Now, she felt the description appropriate. It was housing and training an army. Family or not, the people who sat at Loric's table were soldiers.

Jharon had incisively pointed out that everyone they had met were elite members of humanity; strong, smart, disciplined, all with extensive schooling. As she'd seen Everia demonstrate against Set's assassins, they'd all received combat training from a young age. If that weren't enough, they were beautiful too. She looked again at Darin'Kel. She could look at him all day. The nice thing was he looked back. The beautiful young man was standing next to his sister openly staring at Wren. She didn't mind.

Cassandra went to Loric and put her arm around him. "Maybe now you'll agree with me. That was an interesting trick don't you think?"

Loric nodded. "Agreed. However, Darling, simply because I find someone intriguing does not give me license to study them unless they grant me leave to do so." His gaze sought and found Wren. "The girl has a right to her privacy and freedom."

Cassandra harrumphed.

"So, that's why she's here," Beia said. "I was wondering. She was trying to get in to see the wizard of Ivaneth."

"Why didn't you bring her to me then?" Cassandra asked.

"Who am I to judge who you'd want to see? She was good with knives. Ess and Damrosil liked her, so we blessed her with a little gold and sent her on her way." The myrmigyne looked to Wren. "So, are you going to share how you did that, or is it a secret?"

Wren smiled. It was tempting to make as though she'd done it intentionally. Before she could answer, the D'klace twins moved in, one to either side of Wren and Jharon. Sindra was on Wren's side. The woman put an arm around her. The warm hand that squeezed her shoulder completely engulfed it. Wren still found it surprising how huge these two women were.

"The Kel'Varan have an ability that is similar to battle-mind," Sindra said. "They can synchronize themselves with all the force waves around themselves or an opponent so as to anticipate and react to their actions."

Loric frowned. "Even so, only a trained savant could do that. This girl has had no such tutelage."

"Perhaps she's a natural," Sindra said.

Now, Wren knew the two D'klace were up to something.

Desiray stepped forward. "Sindra, what were you and Drucilla doing with Wren last night?"

Both twins smiled, mirror images of each another. "We were merely having some fun with you, Desiray." Sindra looked at Wren, her silver eyes sparkling. "We were just having a private chat."

Cassandra flipped her hair and folded her arms. The expression on her face was pure suspicion. "About what?"

Wren wished she knew what she was suspicious of. As Jharon had warned they simply didn't know enough about what was going on.

The D'klace woman pushed out her lower lip. She spread her feet and took a stance that dared anyone to try and move her. "Pardon me, but we are entitled to privacy. So is Wren."

The gold mage scowled. "Wren, what did they want to know?"

"We talked about savants. That's all. Is something wrong with that?"

Cassandra frowned and let out a breath. "No." Wren sensed the woman wanted to say more, but held back for some reason.

Desiray pushed a hand through her white hair. "Wren, I can't believe you trust these two. Do you know what they are?"

Wren looked up at Sindra who looked back with a raised eyebrow. Being so tall, standing by the woman was like standing by a tree.

"She's a D'klace assassin who also happens to be three times my size. She has more wealth hanging off her ears than I've made in my whole life, and is probably one of the most powerful magic-users I will ever have occasion to stand close to. Do you really think I'm going to fuss if she wants to put her arm around me? How stupid do you think I am?"

Desiray frowned. "You got in my face plenty quick when I did something you didn't like."

Wren narrowed her eyes. "I don't like you, and you've been a witch to me." She glanced at Sindra whose expression was one of mild amusement, then to Drucilla who was also smiling. "Sure, they probably intend to manipulate me in some fashion. At least they treat me nice."

"Bless my soul," Sindra said, grinning. "A pragmatic."

"I don't know what the problem is Cassandra," Beia said. "They have as much right to court Wren as a possible apprentice as you do."

The gold mage's face tightened. "Not in my house they don't."

Sindra grinned. "Wren, I understand you don't want to be under her thumb. Want to leave?"

She smiled back. If only it could be so easy. "Nice as your thumb is, I don't want to be under it either."

Sindra held up her thumb and made a show of examining it. "It is a nice thumb isn't it? Did you know it comes with a stipend of three thousand gold a week? It also includes a position designing security and training guards for royal palaces of Titaan. You would be entitled to living arrangements of your choice, and any schooling you happen to want." She looked sideways at Desiray. "You won't have to deal with the Mistress, and you get training in how to use your savant talents from someone who not only has met other savants, but has made a study of them."

Wren shivered. Sindra sounded serious! "That's the nicest damn thumb I've ever seen!" she said emphatically.

"She can't make you that offer," Cassandra growled.

"Why can't I?" Sindra asked with an arched eyebrow.

"Because you're married to my daughter. That makes me your mother, and you do what I tell you."

Wren was stunned. The twins were married to each other? They were all females! She'd heard of such things, but never knew anyone so entangled. She looked at the hand on her shoulder. If that giant lady wanted to swing from the other side, it was her business. She just hoped she would keep her preferences in the bedroom.

"Ladies," Loric growled. "and wife." He scowled at Cassandra. "Business is not discussed at meals, nor does it have a place during the morning training ritual." He looked around and everyone with intense gray eyes. "If you must fight over our visiting Kel'Varan please do it after breakfast!"

As he was finishing his words Cassin and Annawen appeared out of nothingness about twenty feet away, and walked over next to Sindra and Drucilla. They were dressed in tight fitting blue hose belted at the waist with silver. Their auburn hair was plaited and the braid looped around their neck. Cassin eyed Sindra and the way she had her arm around Wren. The D'klace put her arm around Cassin and pulled her close. That seemed to satisfy the gold girl.

"Cassin," Cassandra said in a dark tone. "Kindly tell your mate to behave."

Cassin frowned and gazed up at Sindra with her starry night-black eyes. She focused again on Cassandra. "Mother, you know I don't tell her what to do. I ask and often receive--but orders have never worked."

Cassandra snorted. "Beia, they're your responsibility, you make them stop it then."

Stop what, Wren wanted to know. Stop being nice to her? Stop making incredible retirement offers that guilders dream of.

The Myrmigyne raised an eyebrow. "Cassandra, I don't order them around either, except in matters of state. This hardly qualifies."

Matters of state? What state? How might Beia be responsible for those two? What would a myrmigyne have to do with two pampered magic-using noble-women?

So many questions. She didn't think she wanted to stay long enough to learn the answers to all of them.

Cassandra frowned. "You know what they'll do."

Beia shook her head. "I know what you think they'll do. Trouble is Cassandra, they know where your dragon is bound and love to yank your chain to make you squeak."

The gold mage put hands on hips. "I do not squeak!"

Cassin and Annawen grinned and covered their mouths when Cassandra glared at them.

"If you aren't going to work out," Loric said in a dark tone, looking at the twins. "Go away and stop trying to instigate things."

"As you wish, Master Loric," Sindra said, bowing. She took her hand off Wren and nodded. "After breakfast, perhaps?"

Wren nodded. "Yes."

"Wren! I--" the gold woman started.

"Cassandra!" Loric yelled. "Heed me."

The auburn-haired mage lapsed into silence, her expression hard.

"Pardon," Wren said. "I think I've had enough workout already, Lord Loric." She bowed to him. He bowed back. "Lady Beia," she nodded to the myrmigyne who returned the gesture. She didn't say anything to Desiray, but simply took Jharon's hand. The priest made his own offers of parting.

Both pairs of twins waved and in a whisper of air and soft glow vanished from sight. Wren blinked. It would be difficult to get used to being around people who could do that.

She and Jharon headed for the exit.

"Wren," Everia called. Wren looked back. The girl picked up her towel and some clothes and made to follow them. "I'll come with you."

"Everia," Loric called. "You have to take your turn."

Scowling, the girl rolled her eyes. She waved Wren on and turned back. She picked up the mace Darin had been using and stepped in to the ring. Darin stayed with her.

Wren and Jharon left the sounds of Everia's battle practice behind, and started up the stairs to the kitchen.

Being in the shadows from the light from the hall above, the fifteen pace length of the stairwell had barely enough light to see by. Gabriella was leaning against the wall half way up. The woman's black hair blended perfectly in the shadows. Her pale face also seemed to blend into the semi-dark. Only her blue eyes, visible as a faint glow, really stood out.

Wren noticed the odor of dew-petal blossoms.

"Interesting trick with the force sync," Gabriella said looking down at her long red nails. "So, how much of your blood did you let the twins get?"

"Pardon?" Wren asked.

"When they cornered you in my office last night," the woman smiled, showing her fangs. "How much of your blood did you let them have?"

"None," Wren answered looking at Jharon. The priest shrugged, he didn't seem to know what she meant either.

"Good," Gabriella said. "No matter the price offered, let no-one have your blood. Powerful magic can be made with savant's blood. Magic stronger than you can imagine."

"My blood? How can that be?"

Gabriella pushed and hand through her hair. "You'll have to take my word on it, Child. I'm something of a scholar where it comes to blood."

The fangs did seem to support her statement. "I thank you for your warning. While I have you in private milady, might I ask you question?"

The woman looked at Wren askance. "That question being?"

Wren looked at Jharon, then back to the woman. "We were wondering if you were an immort."

Jharon grabbed her shoulder. She looked back to him. He shook his head, eyes wide. Wren made a shooing motion as a response.

"A what?" Gabriella asked.

"An immort," Wren repeated. She felt Jharon's grip on her shoulder get more persistent. She pried his fingers loose and pushed his hand back at him.

Gabriella pursed her lips. "That's what I thought you said." She looked down at her nails. "That depends on what you think an immort is."

"Milady, it's only a word to me. I have met those around here that are--" She drew a breath. "More than mortal. Meaning no disrespect, Jharon here," She glanced at him. The priest looked like a blackhorn caught in a hunter's lantern. "Jharon swears that you're the Dragon Queen of Silissia. You'd have to be more than five thousand summers old to be her."

Gabriella smiled, her fangs glinting. "Do I look that old?"

Wren smiled back. "Milady, I hear some are fortunate enough to get better with age. Kel'Varan Damay was forty-three hundred and twenty-two when she met Queen Frielos in battle and chose to give in."

Gabriella pressed her shoulders against the stairwell wall and folded her arms. "Chose to give in? That's not how I heard the legend. Your specific account of her age is also an interesting detail. No one knew her age, because the realms where she originated did not record the birth dates."

Wren continued to look at the woman. As she watched Gabriella she became increasingly aware of feeling of 'presence' around her like the sense she picked up from Beia.

"Wren," Jharon said in a soft voice, pulling on her arm. "Perhaps the lady would rather not say."

"Jharon, let go, please. Lady Gabriella can take care of herself. If she finds me impertinent, she'll turn me into a wart-hopper or something."

Gabriella laughed. "Ah yes, a wart-hopper..." She shook her head. "Wart-hoppers are out of style. Household furniture is the transformation of choice nowadays for boorish people."

"I'd make a good utensil drawer, I think," Wren responded with a grin. "Ishtar knows I've stashed enough silverware in my time."

Gabriella shook her finger at Wren. "You've got brass girl, and you amuse me." She pointed a lacquered fingernail at her that rasped and sparked with tiny lightning bolts. "In the future, I expect proper respect. Yes, I am immort. As are others here, but I cannot speak for them, their blessings are their business."

Wren bowed to her. "My apologies for being so direct, but one never knows unless one asks."

Gabriella half-smiled, and looked past Wren to Jharon. "You intend to keep her out of trouble don't you?"

"Yes, Milady," Jharon frowned. "She just abruptly got it in her head to--accost you."

The woman ran a tongue across her lips, blue eyes fixing on Wren's. For an instant, she felt trapped in those eyes, unable to move. "You're the kind I liked in my younger days." Her voice took on a hollow sound, the tones hard-edged and sibilant. "Young girls, sassy, sweet, so full of life... they made such delightful handmaidens." Her eyes widened and her fangs seemed to become more pronounced.

Wren felt a chill run down her spine, she wanted to look away to back up, but she was paralyzed. "Sometimes child, legends are played up to be worse than the truth." The blue of the woman's eyes turned to a brilliant crimson, and Wren could see her own frightened reflection in them. "Sometimes," Gabriella droned. "The truth is far worse than the myth." She reached out and hooked a finger in the front of Wren's tunic. She pulled her close so their faces were only finger-widths apart. The scent of dewpetal grew strong in Wren's senses. Gabriella's fangs glinted.

She tried to struggle but her arms and legs stayed frozen. Her heart began pounding, and she could barely breathe. Jharon made a wheezing sound.

"Remember, I said I was a scholar of blood?" She stepped around Wren and whispered in her ear, nose and lips brushing her neck. "I smell power, girl. Great power lying dormant." Wren heard Gabriella sniffing, felt the woman's hand brush the hair from her forehead. "Yes, I remember when I would have found you tasty indeed."

She stepped in front of Wren, crimson eyes glowing, pupils like pinpoints in sea of red. Wren tried to jump out of her skin to avoid the long fingernail the woman ran carefully along her cheek. "Fortunately for you, that's behind me. My hunger is sated by more acceptable fare." She put both hands on Wren's shoulders. "Oh my, I have you trembling. What could I have done to bring that on?" She grinned, showing the full length of her fangs. Pursing her lips, she trailed her hands up Wren's neck and made a show of examining her with narrowed eyes. "Remember this, Child, a show of fangs is often a warning." The woman moved close again to sniff her neck, and Wren's heart flailed in her chest. "I think you've been sufficiently warned about proper respect." She pulled back, eyes burning into Wren's. "I am a boon to my friends, and Hades incarnate to my foes. Talk nice, act nice, you'll find me the most gracious of acquaintances. Otherwise--" Her voice softened until it was almost inaudible. "You never know when you could meet me in a dark hall." She kissed Wren on the forehead. "Now, come eat breakfast and no more silliness." She blinked and her eyes were normal and blue again. She turned and walked up the steps.

When Gabriella turned the corner at the top of the steps and moved out of sight, Wren found herself able to move. She gasped for air.

"Don't--" Jharon gasped. "Don't ever do that to me again! What were you thinking!"

"Hey," Wren responded, holding a hand to her chest. "All I asked was whether she was an immort or not. It's not like I asked her 'where the body was hid' or anything!"

"Still," Jharon breathed. "Let's make a rule. If they have fangs--don't take chances, okay? Ishtar--" He gripped his chest. "The Dragon Queen here... I don't..."

"I don't get it... What's a mythical demon-vampire-dragon-mage doing living among this 'make nice' family?"

Jharon narrowed his eyes. "Since you love asking questions. Why not go ask her?"

"Maybe I will," she took another breath and winced. "Just not right away. Damn, she was scary."

She headed up the steps. She wanted to be where there was more light. In the kitchen area, they found Gabriella where they'd seen her earlier, reading a book at the table. A plate arranged with meat strips, eggs, hashed tubers, and prickle-berry marmalade on toasted bread sat in front her. She nodded to them and bit into her toast with an uncomfortably loud crunch.

Fortunately, Vera had set their plates at the opposite end of the table. Vera served some of the best breakfast items that Wren had ever tasted, but the whole experience was soured because whenever Gabriella bit into her toast the sound seemed to reach all the way down the table.

Wren believed Gabriella's words with a firm certainty. To her enemies, the Dragon Queen was Hades incarnate. What made her uncomfortable was that if one of the most powerful forces for evil ever known on Titaan was keeping company in this place. What other surprises might she find here?

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The Kel'Varan Nola is like a living thing, it has moods. One moment it protects me, the next I can't make a spark. Since the day Damay told me to 'be' I have done more and more wonderous things. At times, I scare myself...
--Wren

Wren and Jharon were more restrained at breakfast, although it was tempting to eat until they burst, both of them were careful to curb their appetites. Loric, Cassandra, Desiray and a few others came up from their practicing half way through the meal. Loric kissed Gabriella on the cheek. The woman cooed over the gesture, obviously pleased. Wren noticed that Cassandra and Desiray made a wide circuit around her. The other people were very cordial and apparently happy to see her. She seemed on good terms with everyone except them.

Wren found that detail interesting.

Wiping her face with a towel, Everia walked up and plunked down in a chair across from Wren. The sky-lights had been opened and shafts of orange morning light made her damp hair glisten and sparkle. The girl's dark eyes were sharp and animate.

She pulled her cup toward her. Vera flashed by filling it with some orange colored nectar. The young woman sipped it and sighed. She stretched and worked her neck side-to-side.

"You are very fortunate to learn from so skilled a teacher," Jharon said with true envy in his voice.

Everia nodded. "I suppose I am." She sipped at her drink and rubbed at her ribs as though they were sore. "Sometimes, I don't feel all that fortunate."

"You'll only feel the fortunes when you're naked in a hallway with assassins coming at you," Wren said. "Then we all feel fortunate for your father. I did."

Everia let out a breath. "Yes, that was apropos for certain, identical to the drills I do every day." She paused as Vera came by with a tray of eggs, vegetables, cheese and bread. The cook doled out a healthy portion and moved on to the others. Desiray and Cassandra were conspicuous in their eating at the kitchen counter while Loric and Gabriella chatted at the Lord's end of the table.

If that didn't make a statement, Wren didn't know what did. Neither of the two house matriarchs approved. Because nothing in this house was ever obvious, Wren bet herself their reasons weren't because of the woman's past. If past was an issue, she doubted Cassandra would allow her daughters to associate with the D'klace twins.

Beia straggled in with two young boys aged around ten and two more girls slightly older. They were jumping and hopping around the stern faced woman. When she noticed Gabriella, she gripped their shoulders to calm their ebullience. She went to the table and nodded to the lady, asked Loric for permission and took a seat adjacent the ancient woman.

Wren noticed Cassandra eyeing the situation. It was apparent the gold mage didn't like her sister Beia associating with the Dragon Queen. Desiray frowned too, but it seemed more because of Cassandra's upset than of Gabriella.

The four children went up to section of the wall and pulled out a table obviously set-aside for them. They took plates and cutlery from the counter and set their places. They all made a point of going over and giving a hug and kiss to both Cassandra and Desiray.

Watching it, Wren noticed the careful politics of the children to both women. She heard compliments, and greetings, the hugs and other shows of affection bestowed with obvious care not to show favoritism or bias. It became more obvious as a half dozen more children ranging from toddlers to teenagers ambled in, swarming around Cassandra and Desiray. The two women doted on the attention with sincere expressions of warmth and affection. Wren saw that Desiray truly had a softer side, she just happened to be a witch to everyone else outside her family.

Everia glanced back at the group affection session, smiled, then concentrated on her food. Between forks full of egg she said, "I thought we had an understanding last night."

Wren glanced at Jharon. The priest merely leaned back, apparently willing to let her respond to it.

She took a sip of water from her cup. "We did."

"Didn't seem like it at dinner. Struck out on your own like a shot." She pointed at Wren with a folded piece of bread. "You are going to get yourself in trouble."

Jharon chuckled.

Everia eyed him. "What's your part in this? You know better."

The priest shook his head. "Wren has a talent for trouble, and no amount of effort on my part will keep her from it. In my estimation, her politicking has actually worked out quite well."

Everia harrumphed, the sound a fair imitation of the one Cassandra made. "Messing around with the twins will give you worlds of trouble you can't even begin to imagine."

"Yes," Wren said. "Of course, it's not like this place comes with a guidebook explaining the hazards. For instance, the sun-bathing vampire lady you have over there." She nodded to Gabriella.

Everia looked to the Dragon Queen. "You spoke with her?"

"Spoke with her?" Her voice rose. "She almost--" Jharon gripped her arm hard. Wren forced her voice to a whisper. "She almost bit me!"

The dark-haired girl leaned back sincere shock on her face. "She what?"

"'Bit' as in 'bite', you do know what that means right?"

The young woman rolled her eyes. "Don't be silly. Why, what did you do?"

Wren scowled. "Why do you assume I did something?"

Everia glanced at Gabriella. "She never breaks the rules. There are strict conditions under which elders and youngsters can interact in this house."

Rules. Damn games. Didn't the girl just hear what she said? She leaned forward, palms pressed against the table top. "That's another thing--assassins, flying people, magic cooks, women married to women, immorts, royalty... A warning would have been nice!"

"You didn't give me time."

"Time hell. It was 'get ready for dinner, goodbye'. You can't slip out of that. I'm more angry with your mother for not warning me--it's her house, and she's the one who wants me to stay."

"She takes it for granted."

"Yeah, well, maybe you do too."

Everia nodded. "All right, guilty. I wasn't thinking about it, I had other things on my mind."

Wren snorted. "Yes, you must have so much more to occupy your mind. After all, I mean I've only had my best friend die--avatars and assassins are using me for target practice, and mages want to make an experiment out of me. I'm not off your mother's slab half a bell and you're forcefully reminding me to remember my manners at dinner. Now, you're telling me you had so much to occupy your mind that you couldn't remember a little detail like vampires and immortals?"

Everia's cheeks colored. "Don't presume to lecture me."

She looked at her askance. "Then don't call me out about some bargain you were trying to force me into. You offered protection. I haven't seen much."

The girl pointed her finger and opened her mouth to say something. At the moment she did, Darin'Kel swept in, took a piece of bread from Everia's plate and shoved it in her mouth. His shoulder-length hair was still dripping and his skin had the damp sheen of someone who'd recently climbed out of the water. His clothes, a turquoise tunic and black trousers, looked as though pulled on before his body was fully dry. Even disheveled he looked like a dream.

"She's sorry," Darin said in his pleasant baritone, keeping the bread in his sister's mouth with both hands. "Things have been tense, and she hasn't been able to give things the attention she would like. Right, Everia?"

Glaring at him, the girl chewed and swallowed. "Darin..." there was a hostile come-to-blows tone in her voice.

The young man stared back and picked up another piece of bread and waved it. "You're sorry, Everia--for almost getting mother's new house guest almost killed."

"What are you--" she started.

"You're sorry," he growled. He nodded down the table toward Gabriella. The elder was staring at them. No--the elder was staring at Everia.

Everia looked where he indicated. Her dusky skin paled. She swallowed. "Oh..." Eyelids fluttering, she took a drink of her orange juice. Her voice cracked. "I apologize, that was terribly irresponsible and lacking in proper manners. I was charged with your care and--" she paused. Her gaze drifted back to Gabriella's end of the table. The Dragon Queen was apparently chatting amiably with Loric, Beia and two younger people. For an instant the woman paused, blue eyes gazing hard at Everia. The girl stiffened. "I was charged with your care and neglected my duties as a hostess."

Wren met Gabriella's gaze. The woman smiled and nodded. Even though the look given her seemed friendly, it made her tremble.

"Gabriella likes Wren," Darin said in a tight voice, his hand on Everia's shoulder.

"How did she--?" Everia had part of the words out and flinched when Darin clamped down on her arm.

"I was alone," Darin said. "Down there in the pool, by myself. Dammit, be nice."

Wren wondered what could have transpired. Gabriella never left the table, and didn't speak to anyone except Vera until Loric came. Somehow though, an impression had been left on Darin.

Jharon looked concerned. "If you don't want to be responsible for us, we'd understand, especially knowing what we know now."

Everia held up a hand. "Don't be hasty. I know I became a little--" she looked up at her brother. "Testy. I said I would get you out of trouble and I will."

Wren glanced toward Gabriella. The woman didn't appear to be paying attention any more. "Look, you did enough for me in the temple. If it's a hardship, Jharon and I will figure it out. I may have already figured it out."

"No!" Everia blurted, then stopped. In a lower voice she said. "Sindra and Drucilla are a bad option."

She folded her arms. "Why? They offered me more gold than I could spend, living arrangements, interesting work, and an education. What's wrong with that? Unless they have no intention of providing what they promised. I'm pretty sure even that amount of gold is pocket change to them."

Everia's expression was dark. "You are correct, to them, it is pocket change. They would keep their promise. It's still a bad choice."

Wren leaned back in the chair. "That reason being...?"

"They don't need you, and their family certainly shouldn't have a savant of forces as part of their arsenal."

She glanced at Jharon. The contemplative look on his face made her stomach tighten. "Whose 'arsenal' I choose to be a part of is my choice."

"Wren," Jharon said, eyes on her. "Everia is emphasizing you shouldn't facilitate the activities of people who have questionable ethics and moral fiber."

Wren winced. "Jharon this is me we're talking about. Desiray is no saint, you didn't object to me working for her."

His dark eyes were level on hers. His voice stayed calm and reasonable. "I saw no point in straining our relationship over something neither of us could change. This is different, you have a responsibility."

"Responsibility?!" She growled. "To whom!"

"To society," Darin said. The expression on his beautiful face was earnest and engaging. She could look at him all day. "Wren, you're an ethical person, you have a conscience. You have a sense of what's fair and right."

She gritted her teeth. "Oh yes, I know what's fair and right. What did 'society' ever do for me, huh? Certain as hell didn't keep me warm on winter nights or put food in my gut!"

"They're killers!" Everia let out. "Doesn't that bother you?"

Letting out a breath, she shook her head. "You kids really don't know what it's like--do you? In the streets, everyone is a killer. We may not all have taken another's life, but we will to survive. Your mother didn't like my mouth, to her, a sword in my gut was a good solution." She stopped seeing the reproachful look on Jharon's face. Darin and Everia wore cold expressions. "What? Don't like hearing how it is? That's too bad. I had the scars to prove it. Her little organization, charities or not, rode me to ground and used me. I worked my entire life for her and what do I have to show? Nothing. She couldn't even remember my name. Just because I work for a killer doesn't make me one too."

"They would pay you in blood money," Jharon said.

"For me, that distinction is a little too fine. What they're paying is freedom. Money is money, it spends the same as any other gold."

"By working for them you condone their actions."

Wren covered her face with her hands. "Oh please!" She rocked her head back. "No one gives a dragon flop about what I condone or not. You can't eat an ethic, and morals--well, morals aren't very filling either."

"You're eating now, aren't you?"

"Don't think I don't appreciate it either." She knuckled her eyes. "I also know it's costing me."

"You're very cynical for someone your age," a young woman said walking in from the hall.

At first glance, she looked younger than Everia, but the way she moved, the sway of her broad hips, and the thrust of her bosom against the brilliant red surcoat suggested a far more mature woman. Auburn hair pulled into a back bun then wrapped tightly to form a tail gave her an exotic look. The similarity in appearance to Everia made them at least sisters. Carrying a jeweled and metal shod staff taller than herself, and sporting a sword on her hip, she was the kind of person that made heads turn in a room.

The woman stopped between Darin'Kel and Everia, putting aside her staff and putting an arm around each of their necks.

Wren didn't say anything, just looked at her. She learned the hard way with Gabriella and wasn't about to make the same mistake twice.

"You must be Wren," the newcomer said.

"You have the advantage," Wren responded.

The woman smiled. "Oh, so I do. We've spoken, although you might not remember. My name is Dorian."

"You mean with the mindspeak," Wren asked.

"That was I," Dorian confirmed.

"I don't know--I pictured you as--"

"Older, yes, I know. So, have my children been taking care of you?"

"Children?" Wren was lost. She looked like a child herself.

"These two," she pulled on Darin, then Everia. The resemblance was extremely strong.

"I thought Desiray..."

"She is."

Wren sighed. "Nevermind, I don't want to know."

Dorian grinned. "A perfectly acceptable attitude. Sometimes, I don't want to know."

"Mother," Everia growled.

The mage kissed the girl on the ear, then focused intense green eyes on Wren. "It sounded like I came in on the tail of an ethical dilemma."

She shrugged. "For them maybe. They're trying to convince me how I owe society, and how I couldn't possibly allow myself to work for dishonest, violence mongering folk."

Dorian raised an eyebrow and smiled. The woman's smile was unsettling, as if she knew something she shouldn't. "I can understand how you might feel even somewhat justified. Forced to fend for yourself, chased around--abused. I could see how anyone would be rightfully angry about how that was allowed to happen to you."

The way she said it, the tone of her voice, the look on her face, Wren was certain the woman understood exactly how she felt as if she'd been there herself.

"Uh huh," Wren confirmed.

"You owe them nothing," Dorian went on.

Wren nodded. "Yes."

"If anything--society owes you, and everyone else who had to suffer the same way, right?"

"Precisely."

"And of course, you wouldn't feel a bit of remorse over helping those same people to disadvantage others like yourself. After all, you paid your dues, it's time to get on the payroll and collect!"

"Yeah--!" She stopped. "I mean--no."

Dorian looked at her sideways. "What? Can't have it both ways, Dear."

Wren closed her eyes. Like a green fresh into training, she'd followed the bait right to the hook. What an idiot she was. She felt her face flush. Bloody mages, always twisting words around. "Dammit, I was starting to like you."

The mage grinned. She glanced at Darin'Kel and Everia, the two had tight expressions with furrowed brows.

Wren spared a look a Jharon. The priest wore a wry smile. He rose from his chair. "Well met, and well played milady!" He bowed. "Jharon, Jharon Ko."

The mage smiled and flipped at her hair. "Jharon is it? In the Malbrage tongue, it means 'integrity'. Your care-giver was a Malanian midwife, was she not?"

Jharon looked astonished. "Why, yes, milady..."

"You're the right age, lot of battlefield births in the north-wars. They needed every man, woman, and child in the field. The name was something of an ironic joke. A 'truth' grown out of a lie."

Cassandra came up behind Dorian, put her arms around her waist and her chin on the woman's shoulder. She spoke in drawn out words. "Hell-lo, Dorian."

"Bright morning, Cassandra," she answered back.

"What are you doing?"

"Talking to your friends."

"I know that, Darling. What were you talking about?"

"Cassandra, you're so suspicious. I was just having an innocent conversation."

"Dorian, you haven't had an innocent conversation in thirty summers."

The woman leaned her head to one side to look at the gold mage. "You're so cynical."

"With you around, I have to be."

"Don't worry Cassandra," Wren said. "She was only having a little fun at my expense."

The gold woman raised an eyebrow and leaned back to eye Dorian. "Hang around her long enough, you get used to it."

"I'm not planning on it."

Cassandra's face hardened. "I am."

Wren felt a cold hand grip her insides. "You can't keep me here against my will."

"I think you know I can."

Wren leveled her gaze on the gold mage. "Pardon me, Milady, I think it would be a big mistake. Anyone who keeps me prisoner is my enemy. I might not be able to fight you today... but there's always tomorrow."

She felt everyone stiffen around her. She didn't care. She was tired of being pushed around and told what she could and could not do. It was her life.

Cassandra's voice dropped to a whisper. "That's a dangerous attitude."

Jharon gripped her arm and she shrugged it off. "I've already died twice. What do I really have to lose?"

A powerful hand gripped her shoulder from behind and yanked her out of the seat. "Your head, little sister," growled a powerful feminine voice. "That is what you will lose."

Wren was past the point of caring. She pivoted and swung her fist at the sound.

Her knuckles crashed hard into flesh--just not the organs she'd hoped. Beia had blocked the attack with her open hand, gripping Wren's fist a finger width from her nose. The Myrmigyne's green eyes narrowed and her jaw set.

"Careful that your anger does not get you into further trouble," the blonde woman said in a low voice.

"Some people should mind their own business!"

The Myrmigyne scowled. The shadowbolt tattoo on her cheek seemed to glow.

"Ahhck!" Wren struggled to pull away as pain shrieked through her hand as the mymigyne clamped down with enough pressure to make the bones in her hand grind together.

"Some should mind their mouth."

Wren went to her knees as the larger woman applied crushing force, twisting her hand back.

"Arr--let--go!" she snarled.

"Beia, stop it," Cassandra ordered.

"Sister, you should take this one's threats more seriously. She's far more dangerous than you realize."

Even with her attention diverted, the myrmigyne's strength was tremendous. Wren knew with little effort that the woman could turn her bones to pulp the same way she smashed the bricks at the pub in Ivaneth.

Damay's voice echoed in her head. Be.

The sensation came even easier than it had when she sparred with Loric, a fierce buzzing in the back of her head. Like an irresistible force, Beia's strength levered against her arm. She felt that power flow into her body, make her grow hot.

She pushed back.

The myrmigyne noticed the resistance and applied more force. "You will stay put, little girl, until you are given leave to move."

"Lady, please," Jharon said. "Understand, Wren is troubled, she--"

Wren pushed harder, the more pressure Beia applied, the more strength she seemed to have. A burning sensation went all through her skin, her bones seemed to hum.

Her hand started glowing. "I'd let go, if I were you," she said in cool voice.

"Would you?" Beia's eyes narrowed. "I am not your enemy. You will not threaten those of my house, whether serious or in jest."

She felt like she did when Desiray had pushed her immort power through her. Strong enough to move mountains. The glow around her hand brightened. She focused all of that strength into a surge, uncoiling herself like a spring.

The force slammed Beia back against the wall. The impact resounded through the room. Another person would have been flattened but the woman seemed to have that same leathery toughness that Desiray did. Wren didn't even see the weapon appear in the Myrmigyne's hand. Suddenly, it was there, a pace long sliver of glowing metal with edges that glittered.

A hand gripped Wren's shoulder. "Stop it," Dorian yelled. "Both of you." When Beia started forward, she pointed a finger. "I mean it." The Myrmigyne stopped.

With a snarl, Wren started to peel the mage's hand away only to find she couldn't move.

"You're right, Beia, Wren is dangerous. All animals are dangerous when cornered," she looked back, Wren assumed at Cassandra, but she couldn't move her head to see. "Let's be calm and rational." The woman stepped around in front of Wren so that her youthful face was level with hers. "That's an order."

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There aren't a whole lot of people we truly like, but Wren is one of them. Yes, okay, we've threatened her with personal harm, but nothing that wouldn't heal... What's a broken bone or two between friends...?
--Sindra

Wren fought the force restraining her, but whatever it was seemed to have deadened her limbs at the source. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't even get a finger to twitch. She could blink her eyes, and felt as if she might be able to speak if she made the effort.

She hated this house and all of these bloody magic users. First, the vampire woman froze her in the stairwell, and now this Dorian person right as she was confronting Beia.

She'd let anger get the better of her. Attacking the myrmigyne ranked with the most stupid things she'd ever done. The woman could rip her in half without trying! She hadn't meant to attack so much as simply break free. The countering of the woman's tremendous strength had been explosive, and with far more power than she would have chosen.

Dorian knelt in front of Wren. The woman's green eyes were captivating in their intensity. She brushed a few loose strands of auburn hair away from her forehead. She looked so child-like and innocent, but as Cassandra had said, the woman was a good deal more hardened than appearances let on.

"Beia, Cassandra," Dorian said, her gaze fixed on Wren. Her voice, like that of most mages sounded melodic and clear. This mage's speaking was particularly seductive to the ear. "Advice from someone who works with people. Favors are bought with smiles, gold, and sweets. Frowns, threats, and iron bars only make enemies. It is a good thing our young friend only knows how to channel in one force spectrum at a time, or I wouldn't have been able to stop her."

She looked over her shoulder toward the blonde Myrmigyne. The slender woman with the shadowbolt tattoo on her cheek still hadn't put her sword away. "By the way, Beia, you don't use strength on a savant of forces. You wind up giving your energy to them. After she's put you through the wall, it leaves the rest of us to deal with a charged up little bundle of anger."

"I didn't know she could do that," Beia murmured.

"You know it now." Dorian's chin rose and she looked across the table to someone behind Wren. "Cassandra, you're the one most at fault."

"Me!?" Wren couldn't see the gold mage's face, but she heard the outrage in the woman's voice. "I'm simply trying to do what's best for the little snip."

Dorian sighed. "Debatable."

"Debatable!?" The sound of Cassandra's voice came closer. "What kind of remark is that?"

The mage shrugged. "My opinion. What else would it be? I would challenge that any 'best' you've picked out for her is skewed to your convenience not hers. As I said, 'debatable'."

"Let me go," Wren growled.

The young-looking mage focused on Wren. "Are we done with our tantrum?"

"It was not a tantrum."

"Arguing with me won't get you loose. Beia thought you were dangerous. You proved it. Anyone less sturdy would be dead right now. You're more dangerous that anyone thinks, and that makes you potentially more harmful."

"Milady," Jharon said. "I really think you should free her."

Dorian raised an eyebrow. "It's not up to me. It's up to her."

"What people assume, isn't my fault," Wren forced out. "Also, coming here wasn't my idea. I'd be glad to leave."

The woman nodded. "True." She showed no inclination of setting her loose however.

"Look, I'm sorry. I've been very frustrated--you know?" She couldn't turn her head to look at Beia. "I didn't mean to take it out on somebody who didn't deserve it."

Gabriella appeared in Wren's peripheral vision. She stepped behind Dorian and placed her hands on the woman's shoulders. The auburn-haired mage sighed and rubbed her cheek against the elder's fingers.

When the woman spoke it was with a different accent than when she spoke to her and Jharon in the stairwell. The tone was softer and with the consonants rolled instead of clicked. "Cheecha, what are you doing?"

Dorian answered in that same rolling accent. "MaMadra, have you noticed that everyone asks me that? I was playing peacekeeper."

"I noticed. You touched the young one rather hard didn't you."

"She's rather gifted. I didn't want my magic turned on me. That would have been embarrassing."

Wren saw Jharon frowning. He'd been ready to confront Dorian, but wouldn't so quickly risk angering Gabriella. Wren felt like a painting on a wall, trapped and unable to move while people spoke about her as if she were an inanimate object.

"Let me go, I promise to behave," she said.

"Ah," Dorian said. "That's what I was looking for." The woman touched the side of Wren's neck with her index finger. She felt a chilly sensation and her arms and legs tingled. Her mobility returned by stages as if she'd been frozen and were thawing out.

"That's a mean trick," she grumbled.

"And poorly done," Gabriella said in stern tone. "It was sloppy."

Dorian looked back. "Sloppy? I did it exactly the way you taught me."

The Dragon Queen snorted. "You insult my teaching capacity with that--approximation."

Wren rubbed her neck. "For my sake, I hope she doesn't get any better at it."

Cassandra chose that moment to come around the table. Wren noticed that Beia stopped the gold mage a good pace away. The Myrmigyne obviously saw her as even more of a threat now. Cassandra didn't seem to notice Beia's guarding.

"Gabriella," Cassandra asked, "is there some reason you need to be involved in this?"

The Dragon Queen smiled, her fangs glinted in the bright morning light. Her gaze shifted to Wren then past her to where Darin'Kel and Everia had also started to move closer. Both of them stopped as if she'd rooted them to the floor.

"Now that you ask, why yes." Her gaze drifted to Wren, then focused back on Cassandra, meeting the woman's solid ebony eyes. "Do you make it a habit of allowing extremely lethal characters to wander the halls unescorted?"

"Lethal?" Cassandra echoed. "What are you--"

"Look at the wall, Lady Felspar." She pointed to the solid rock of the dining room wall. The stone showed a noticeable impression and cracks. Cassandra looked. "Was it my imagination or did I not see this youngling kick war master Loric in the face earlier this morning?"

"She was lucky."

Gabriella glanced at Beia. "Did we see a display of luck this morning?"

The myrmigyne shook her head.

"She disagrees. I'm inclined to trust a blade master's opinion."

Cassandra sighed. "Gabriella, what are you trying to say?"

The woman tapped a long-nailed finger on her chin. "Wren is a Ka'Amok, and even gods handle them with care. Antagonizing and alienating such a being brings risk to everyone--that includes myself. While she remains here against her will, she is a threat. Either persuade her to stay as a guest of your household, or let her go."

"What if I don't agree with your assessment?" Cassandra asked with narrowed eyes.

"Then I withdraw my sponsorship for you and Desiray in the hunt." Cassandra's eyes widened and the smug look on her face vanished. Gabriella went on, her smile nasty. "Your papers are due tomorrow, and family may not represent to moderating staff. You are no favorite of the moderator, and it was only my considerable influence that won you a berth in the contest."

"Cassandra!" It was Desiray's extremely loud protest. Previously silent and probably enjoying the ruckus from a distance, this challenge brought the guild mistress in the fray. "We've been practicing an entire season for this!"

The gold woman held up a hand. "Hush!" Wren saw Cassandra seething. Whatever the 'hunt' was, she valued what it represented. "That is a low and devious ploy. What do you get out of it? Why help her?"

Gabriella raised an eyebrow. "Unlike you, I can see myself a thousand summers from now. Having friends in high places is good thing." Her blue eyes tracked to Wren. "Besides, I like the way she smells."

"The way--she--smells!?" Cassandra's voice trembled on the verge of explosion. The gold color of her face became a faded yellow and the stars in her solid black eyes vanished. "You're going to ruin three summers of practice because of how some waif smells!"

Gabriella's jaw tightened and her eyes narrowed. Her voice dropped a notch. "Watch your tone--Cassandra."

Beia immediately shifted positions, obviously ready to intervene should some sort of conflict break out.

Dorian put a hand on the gold mage's shoulder and the woman shrugged it off. She glared at Dorian and then back to Gabriella.

Wren glanced back to Darin'Kel and Everia. They looked scared. Desiray had crossed the kitchen and stood opposite across the table. Loric was standing now, arms folded. Vera was escorting the children into the corridor.

Jharon took a step and put an arm around Wren. He had the look of a man readying to bolt across a battlefield. It was probably a wise sentiment, if these mages decided to do battle, even getting out of the citadel might not be safe enough.

The air off to Wren's left sizzled and a line of light sliced from the ceiling to the floor. After a heartbeat, the line bulged, and then flared in a brilliant flash. The four twins appeared in the illumination. Sindra and Drucilla were dressed in brilliant maroon velvet, with their long black hair brushed out to a shiny cloak over their shoulders. Cassin and Annawen wore a silvery tight fitting fabric that looked like a mirror painted over skin. Their auburn hair had been braided into tight coifs.

None of the four smiled and when they moved, it was with purpose.

Despite her size, Sindra moved with impressive speed. She covered five paces in three steps, speaking as she came. "Sorry, to interrupt your bickering. We need Wren and Jharon."

Cassandra moved to interpose herself. "You--will--"

The gold mage never got out the last word, Sindra brushed the woman aside like she might a tree branch.

"What--?" Wren didn't have the word out completely before Sindra's huge hand clamped on her arm.

Drucilla took Jharon around the waist.

"Sorry," Cassin said, stepping up by Sindra. "We'll explain later!"

Annawen took hold of Drucilla's arm. At the instant of contact, the room blurred, then toppled away from them at an angle, blackness rushed in followed by a dazzling shower of stars and color. They slammed into reality a heartbeat later.

They appeared on the steps to a building, the orange tinted light made it to be late afternoon. The sounds of crowds placed them in a city somewhere. Still reeling from the transition, Wren didn't immediately know where they'd appeared.

"We're at my temple. Why did we--? Ishtar's eyes!"

The abrupt anguish in Jharon's voice spun Wren around. They were indeed at the front steps to Corwin's temple to Ishtar. The doors were smashed in and the stone-work was scored by ashes and soot. Windows on the exterior were shattered, and Wren saw what could only be blood stains on the nearby walls.

Jharon started to race up the steps, and Cassin yanked him back. The gold girl wasn't as big as her giant mate, but apparently she was still plenty strong. "Hold yourself, unless you want to die."

"What's happened?" Jharon's face turned hard.

"A nasty snag," Sindra said in whisper. This giant woman wouldn't be so subdued unless something were seriously amiss. "We went to get Vulcindra, and found out we'd had a visitor in our absence." She looked to the temple. "We tracked the person here, and found the temple under attack."

"Attack? We have to get in there then!" Jharon surged forward and this time huge Sindra held him back. "Charging a mage this powerful is stupid. We brought you along because if we get this person out of here, you're going to be needed."

"What did Vulcindra have to do with this?"

"Vulcindra is dead," Sindra said in cool voice. "Died messy. My guess is it's someone looking for Hethanon and following up the loose ends."

"Have you seen who it is?"

Sindra shook her head. "We're going in now, but we want Jharon's knowledge of the layout. Since the two of you are glued together, we brought you both." She paused and looked into the shadows of the building. "Keep sharp, this is a powerful mage possibly with shape-shifting powers. Trust no-one. Jharon keep with Annawen, Wren you're with Cassin. If we get separated head for the roof."

She headed up the steps with big strides, taking three at a time. As she climbed her clothing shimmered and turned the color of coal. Sparks flickered around her hair, and the strands became a braid that looped itself snake-like around her neck.

Drucilla's transformation mirrored her sister's. Cassin stepped by Wren and Annawen took a position by Jharon. Their silver clothing shifted to a deep bluish hue, and what looked like metal bands shimmered into being around their arms and waist. The four women moved in concert as though perfectly synchronized with one another.

Wren stayed with Cassin as they neared the entrance. As they reached the top step the gold girl placed a hand on Wren's back. She felt vibration go through her body. The armor and cloak that Cassandra gave her shimmered into being around her body. The tough armor showed no signs of damage nor did the cloak.

<I don't have a dagger like Corona to give you,> Cassin whispered in her mind. The transition from verbal to mental was smooth and familiar. Cassin's mental voice was similar in timbre to Cassandra's but warmer and more gentle.

Wren guessed Cassandra or Desiray must have shared information about her, or that Sindra and Drucilla knew an uncomfortably much about her. <I hope these will do.> A half-dozen mithril-steel Kerras throwing blades appeared on the gold woman's palm. She dropped them in Wren's shaking hand.

Wren knew the double edged and runed weapons only by reputation. She'd only seen two, and those had been in a glass case. They were the preferred weapon of Malan's elite scouting unit 'the Bane', and were reputed to be the best throwing weapon known.

<Did I ever mention you four are incredible?>

<No,> Cassin answered, smiling. <But you can repeat it as often as you like.> She drew a line with her finger diagonally down Wren's chest and a bandoleer of knife sheaths appeared.

Wren hastily put the blades into the scabbards, as they walked into the main hall. She noticed that Annawen had brought Jharon's armor and mace into being.

All was quiet in the entry. The vaulted ceilings were dark, the candles in the chandeliers that normally lit the area burned down to nothing. The podium where the greeter usually stood lay empty, and blood speckled the wall behind it. A fetid odor hung in the air, one that made Wren wish they were going the other way. It smelled as the guild had after the battle with the Dagger.

She glanced at Jharon. The priest's face looked cast from stone. His lips were moving.

He was saying a prayer.

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Ultimate wealth and power can be had at a price. It costs you your soul, and the souls of your children, and the souls of your children's children... Quite a bargain, no?
--Mishaka

They moved through the temple of Ishtar in deathly silence. Sindra and Drucilla moved ahead of them like shadowy wraiths, their feet like whispers on the stone floors. Aside from their tattoos, Wren had seen little about the two that suggested them a part of the D'klace guild of assassins until now. Their stealth and the way that they moved made Wren a believer.

Instructed to partner with her and Jharon, Cassin and Annawen had done as ordered. Though not as stealthy as their mates, the two women moved with professional confidence, checking corners and signaling with concise hand gestures. Cassin warned Wren that even mindspeak would be kept quiet, lest their enemy psychically overhear them.

Wren heard her own heart beating in the palpable silence. The fetid smell of death hung in the air, and though they'd seen no bodies, she knew they'd come upon them eventually. Who had done this and why? Was it revenge for what happened to Hethanon? There hadn't been enough Dagger left to assault the temple. Even without Jharon, the Ishtarites possessed a virtual army of armored warriors. What could have fought through that?

She sensed Jharon's agony. He'd gone with her to Cassandra's citadel, and in their absence, this carnage took place. She knew the priest was berating and blaming himself for not being here. She saw it in the lines of his face, and his narrowed dark eyes. The muscles in his jaw worked every time they came upon evidence of violence. They'd seen plenty already.

Whatever the assailing force, they were the neatest killers Wren ever heard of. Little evidence of battle remained except broken furnishings and a few blood spots. Despite the smell, they hadn't found a single body. Wren fingered the Kerras knives in their scabbards across her chest. She wanted to plant one of those steel fangs right between the eyes of whoever had done this. Jharon didn't deserve the anguish he must be feeling now.

Sindra slipped around a corner ahead, and Drucilla stopped. With their tree-top height and broad bodies the two women together filled some of the narrow halls of the temple. They'd come down a back way circling the central hall. This area served as a gallery of murals depicting historic romantic unions, kings and queens joined before crowds of adoring subjects. Benches lined the wall opposite where observers could sit and appreciate the fifty odd paces of intricately painted art. Like all of the temple so far, the torches had been dowsed or allowed to burn down.

Drucilla slipped into the passage and gestured Annawen and Jharon to follow. The three moved into the darkness. Wren stepped forward. The silence bothered her. An attacking force should have made some sound by now, unless they already departed.

She looked around, trying to remember if she'd ever been in this area before. Nothing about the pictures or the benches sparked a memory. Her gaze crossed something odd on one of the benches and she focused.

Wren touched Cassin's arm. The gold woman froze. Her chin came up, eyes sparkling in the gloom. Wren pointed to where an object a little smaller than a fist lay on one of the benches.

Together they moved to investigate. Wren pulled a knife and nudged the object. It was a piece of partially eaten fruit. From the browning on the rind it had been left not more than a bell ago. Cassin tilted her head to one side, then turned to look at the mural best observed from this vantage.

The painting depicted the nuptials of Duke Ironwood to Lady Karn Taath, the woman historically known as the Iron Queen. The eastern kingdoms gave Lady Ironwood a less flattering appellation.

They called her the womb of abominations.

Wren couldn't be certain what the picture sparked in Cassin because the gold girl's lips moved in a curse. She dragged on Wren's arm and pursued the others at a jog.

While they'd been examining the bench the others had continued. Cassin raced to catch up. Anyone else would have slammed into a support or tripped, but the mystical perceptions of the gold-skins let the girl tow Wren through the tight halls at a run.

They caught Annawen and Jharon at the threshold to the main hall, a steep ascent of steps that would came out behind the rostrum, hidden from anyone that might be occupying the stage. There hadn't been time for Wren to question why Sindra and Drucilla thought whoever had attacked the temple would be so blatant as to wait in the most obvious place.

As Wren topped the steps, she knew why. The desecrator wanted to be found. The carrion stink stunned her with its strength. Her eyes watered and her stomach churned.

Annawen and Jharon took the final steps to the summit as she and Cassin reached the bottom. The gold woman raced up the steps with Wren in pursuit. At the top, the stairs opened onto a short landing that slanted up into the main hall of worship. The flickering illumination of candles came from the area outside. Wren saw Cassin miss a grab for Annawen as the twin's dark clad form pressed into the light. Except for the occasional smile or a gesture, Annawen never spoke.

Until now.

"Oh--dark!" The woman's voice shook. Heedless of being detected Annawen rattled instructions into Wren's mind. <Get Jharon out of here. Both of you, leave!>

Cassin had already moved into the light after her sister. Wren froze at Jharon's side at the fear in Annawen's voice making her heart race. She gripped Jharon's arm.

"Go!" Annawen emphasized in forced whisper. "Now!" She pointed back the way they had come.

Where were Sindra and Drucilla?

Wren didn't argue. She didn't want to see. The smell told the story in vivid detail. She dragged on Jharon. He didn't move. She tugged harder. The priest stayed firm. Dressed in his heavy armor she might as well have been pulling on a mountain.

"Come on!" Wren pleaded. "You heard her."

"I cannot," he said. His voice had a resigned sound... a desperate sound. "It was my duty to protect them. The same way I protected you."

Oh no.

He took a step up the ramp. She heaved on his arm, but he forged forward another step, not seeming to notice her efforts. He acted as though in a trance. Two steps--three.

Jharon, please don't.

She reached out with her mind. <Cassin!>

The gold woman didn't answer. Both she and Annawen had disappeared at the end of the ramp.

"Jharon, don't go up there."

"They need me."

The tears burned her eyes. It felt like a knife stabbed her in the heart. "Dammit, I need you!"

He shuddered. Pain seemed to wrack his body. "I'm sorry." He hunched his shoulders forward as though pushing into a gale, and plunged the remaining distance to the top.

Wren's efforts to stop him only resulted in her getting drug into the candle-lit hall.

In the chamber, it looked like high holiday with the whole congregation in attendance. Heads bowed as though in prayer, a body occupied every seat. In fact, one wouldn't know anything was out of the ordinary if weren't for the smell--and the fact that every face wore the sallow skin of death. Pooled blood completely hid the bright blue tiles of Ishtar's most sacred precincts in Corwin.

Wren fought the urge to vomit. Her chest ached. She felt the danger near, the skin prickling presence of a creature of power.

Cassin and Annawen had frozen a dozen steps from the opening. They were looking toward Sindra and Drucilla. The D'klace twins were near the center of the room looking toward the lectern, the candle light reflecting on their pale skin and dark hair.

A dirge chime rang.

"Jharon, oh Jharon," a female voice called out. The voice rang through the hall, shaking the stones. "I can feel you, but I can't see you. Won't you come out and play?"

The priest stood riveted, looking on the grisly sight of an entire congregation butchered. His body shook and his hands trembled.

The chime rang again.

The female voice dropped a notch, sounding disappointed. "Don't be that way, Sweetness, I know you want to come up and give mumsy Ishtar a kiss. She's been waiting so terribly long for her wayward son to come suckle at her sweet bosom."

Something in Jharon snapped. "Monster!" he screamed.

He yanked the mace off his belt and hurled himself toward the rostrum steps.

"Jharon, no!"

He was super-charged with pain and anguish. Against that, Wren had no chance. She knew the enemy was simply goading him into the open. She didn't know why Sindra and Drucilla were just standing there, or why Cassin and Annawen had done nothing--but she couldn't let him go up there alone.

"That's it," the voice cooed as he rushed forward. "Come smite me."

She saw the flash without seeing its source, and dove on Jharon and the two of them went down. She heard Sindra's unmistakable yell as she felt the magic sear across her body.

The pain shrieked through her bones, abruptly becoming a white hot pulsation behind her eyes. Jharon snarled like an animal and fought to regain his feet.

Jharon was out of his mind with anguish. In the instants she had, Wren saw only one way to save him. She drew upon the power pulsing through her and brought her crackling fist down on the back of his head. He went down like a felled tree.

A chuckle echoed from the stage above them. "Oh my, that was delicious. Do you treat all your lovers this way, or is this a special occasion?"

Wren rose to stare down her tormentor.

The woman reclining on the altar looked like a ghost, layers of white on white, shear white silk wrapped around translucent skin, white hair, and moon-gray eyes. She ran her tongue across lips the color of fresh-welled blood. She toyed with a chain attached to the collar of a huge black hound with glowing eyes. The wolf panted, wisps of fire flicking from its mouth and nose. She looked from the wolf to Wren, and her eyes widened. She straightened abruptly, smiling broadly.

She placed a hand to her heart. "I truly must have kissed the moon this day! Liandra...darling, how good of you to come right into my arms!" The woman swayed to her feet, standing on spike heeled cavalry boots. Her hand went to a hide "flaying" lash in her belt.

Liandra? This monster knew her true name!

"No!" Sindra yelled. The D'klace took a few strides forward.

The pale woman fixed the assassin with a hard stare. "Do yourself a favor Sindra. Shut up."

Wren saw a vein pulse in Sindra's temple. "She's ours, Mishaka." The woman's hands glowed, and sparks flicked around her body.

"Fool, then you shouldn't have brought her."

"Didn't know you'd be here," Sindra gritted. The light around the woman grew brighter.

"Your stupidity, your loss," Mishaka said with a wide smile. She bit the nail of her little finger and looked at the huge woman with narrowed eyes. "Sindra... you wouldn't be thinking of attacking me would you?"

The power in the air was so strong it was made the hairs on Wren's skin rise. Whoever this Mishaka was, she knew her, and she knew Sindra and Drucilla.

"You had your chance summers ago," Sindra growled. "That chance is over."

"Ah," Mishaka raised a finger and clacked across the dais on her hard boots. "That's where you're mistaken. You are the servant. I am the goddess. I make the rules." Mishaka gestured. A roar of flame streaked across the stage and slammed in the D'klace. The whole building trembled. The blood on the floor caught fire and burned like oil.

Cassin screamed. She and Annawen moved into the conflagration. Apparently, they needn't have worried. The assassin hadn't moved. The attack didn't appear to have stirred a hair on the huge woman. She folded her arms. They stood behind the D'klace, the flames reflecting in their gold skin.

Mishaka frowned.

Sindra looked at Cassin and Annawen, a brief moment of discomfort on her face. She looked at Drucilla, and the twin took them by the shoulders and pulled them back. Sindra's attention went back to Mishaka. "I'm not afraid of you."

"I told our lady we'd regret ever letting your clan get so powerful. You're all snots and trouble-makers, the lot of you."

"You're leaving without Wren," Sindra said.

"Wren--is that what you call her?" Mishaka looked to her. "Such a quaint sobriquet. We have so much to catch up on. Places to go--goddesses to meet."

In a flash, the words rang through Wren. This creature was responsible for what had happened to her as a child. She'd wasted all these moments listening to this monstrosity's banter when what she should have been doing was figuring out how to kill her.

She pulled out the Kerras blade and flipped it her fingers. She envisioned the razor sharp point penetrating between the ribs straight into evil witch's heart.

"Dear child, what do you expect to do with that?" the patronizing tone that the creature used only made the rage flame hotter in her. This monster had hurt Jharon and had taken her family.

She showed her.

A large part of the avatar's power still rasped and licked behind her eyes, she let it all go behind the throw.

It was like throwing Corona again. The blade blazed from her fingers crackling and snarling like a bolt of lightning. Mishaka raised a hand and a shield of red light barred the blade's path.

The Kerras blade went through and hilt deep into the creature's chest.

Mishaka gasped, staggering back against the altar, gripping the knife. She coughed black blood. "I really--" she sputtered. "I really must--stop--under estimating your--family." Her eyes flashed and she looked at the hound. "Ajax. Fetch!"

Letting out a bone-chilling howl, the coal-colored monster leaped across the stage breathing fire. Wren did a quick three-step to keep space, pulled two knives at once, and aimed for the burning coals of the animal's eyes and let fly.

The monster shrieked as it thudded onto the stage biting and snapping in frenzy of flames and claws. Wren swung around, there were two more eyes she wanted to put out. She drew and loosed the blades one after another.

Mishaka let out a yell. It just wasn't the sound Wren was hoping for.

"Oh, yes, bravo!" The avatar paused before the altar, black ooze staining the sheer silk of her robes, both hands transfixed in front of her face by razor-edged mithril steel. "Pardon me if I don't applaud." She held up her impaled hands. She extracted the Kerras from each of her palms with an ugly sucking sound and tossed them down the steps. She yanked the third knife from her chest with a contemptuous jerk. She dabbed at the blood trickling between her breasts. "Don't you see?" She turned her head to one side. "My heart bleeds for you."

Wren's stomach knotted. This blighted creature was not only evil--but insane. Wren turned to the sisters. "Sindra! Help me!" The D'klace woman had paused at the threshold. Wren could feel the power of her magic.

"They can't darling. It's the pact."

She turned back.

"Yes," Mishaka continued. She clicked down the stage toward her. "You see, ultimate wealth and power comes at a price." The avatar grinned. "It costs you your soul, and the souls of your children." She rubbed away the ragged holes in her hands and licked off the black blood. "And the souls of your children's children. Isn't that right, Sindra?" She looked to the huge woman then back to Wren. "You see, I have that overfed overgrown cow's soul in my pocket. If she attacks me, she breaks the pact for her whole family. A thousand generations of unchallenged rulership turns to dragon drek. Doesn't it, dear?" Mishaka walked past Wren to Sindra. "Doesn't it?" She slapped the huge woman. It sounded like she hit tree bark.

The big woman didn't even blink. "Don't push me," she snarled. Her hands balled into fists.

Cassin and Annawen started forward, but Drucilla held them back. "The marriage binds you too," the silent D'klace muttered in hoarse voice.

Mishaka made a dismissing gesture toward all of them. "Lot's of noise. No action. They love themselves too much."

Wren pulled her last knife. Her hand went to spot where she could feel the cold touch of the phoenix. She felt an odd energy swell from the amulet, pulsing like a second heart behind her ribs. The avatar's immortal body could heal--but the mind--kill the head and the snake died. She drew back.

Mishaka swung around. In less than a heartbeat, Wren sensed the soft spot of the skull, knew where the point would penetrate deep into vitals of that twisted brain.

In the instant she swung her arm forward, she met Mishaka's glowing eyes. It felt like a door slammed in her face. The muscles driving her forward simply ceased to function. Her arms and legs went numb. The knife dropped from her fingers. The heart in her chest tried to hammer, but all it seemed able to accomplish was a feeble stutter. It felt as though she'd been encased in ice.

Damn mages, damn them all. It felt like what Dorian had done to her.

"Tisk, tisk, tisk," Mishaka clucked shaking her head. She bent and picked up the knife and held it up before Wren's eyes. She ran the metal across Wren's cheek. "Child, play time is over."

"Sindra!" Cassin yelled.

"Silence!" the D'klace roared.

"We can take this witch down!"

"You will not." The D'klace's chin rose and her eyes narrowed. She made a 'coming' gesture.

Mishaka looked over her shoulder. "Do I hear dissension back--"

The unexpected movement is probably what made him miss. Wren saw Jharon's body hurtle past her. His mace whistled down before the avatar even heard him coming. The attack missed the evil witch's head, and instead struck her shoulder with a crack like splintering wood.

Mishaka screamed, her blood sprayed across Jharon's mirror polished mail. A splash of avatar's black ichor hit Sindra in the face. Eyes glowing, the assassin's lips pulled into a grin. She made a fist and ground her knuckles against her palm.

Perhaps it was the excitement, Wren wasn't sure, but Jharon's armor and mace seemed to glow. His body appeared to thicken and his speed seemed to double. Screaming like a banshee and calling Ishtar's name, the warrior priest hammered away.

Mishaka cried out, the sound so loud it made Wren's ears ring. Jharon kept on. His mace flashed with each miss, knocking fist sized chunks out of the granite floor. The avatar rolled left and right, her warding arm exploding into hunks of ruined flesh, and then her leg.

Jharon moved like a blur, swarming over the evil creature's crippled body. "For all the innocents! For all the children! You must-- "

Wren saw the D'klace twins framed beyond him. The candle light muting the details of their tall forms. Only their glowing eyes and outstretched hands were visible. Wren saw Sindra turn her thumb down.

Jharon's mace cracked like thunder as he drove it toward Mishaka's face. "Die!"

At the last instant, Mishaka twisted beneath him snaking her head out of the path of Jharon's lethal strike. The mace tore the side of her face and crunched into the rock floor.

Mishaka let out a howl. Dark light erupted around her body. Crimson fire burst from her eyes and lanced through Jharon's chest. Wren saw the steel of his armor melt as energy writhed and bit at his glorious body.

She felt her heart shatter as Jharon Mak'Acktar de Ko, Hierophant and renowned priest of Ishtar rocked back, his body pierced through by the avatar's magic. The weapon clanked from his blackened fingers. His face turned toward her. His body quivered as he tried to speak.

The words never came. She wanted to scream, wanted to wail, but the evil force still gripped her. She could only hurt and wish that it had been her instead of him.

As dark-eyed warrior's body slumped to the stage, Wren knew that her friend, the first man she ever loved--was dead.

She saw Sindra's clenched fist of triumph fall limp at her side. The D'klace bowed her head.

Mishaka's ravaged form came together like pieces of molded clay. She rose, her livid glowing eyes narrowed. Her lips parted in a grimace.

"Next," the avatar growled.

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I wanted to die, would've died, but fate wasn't done having its way with me...
--Wren

For one of the few times in her life, Wren wished she could simply will herself dead. Days ago she thought she had left the pain of lost friends behind. She had hoped she would never again face the horrible specter of one of the avatars.

With savage abruptness, both nightmares confronted her at once. The life of another friend had been claimed. The pain felt like a knife in her guts and molten lava in her chest.

Despite Mishaka's magic holding her, tears welled in her eyes. The most caring, noble, compassionate man she had ever known had been murdered. Not only him, but everything he stood and cared for had been destroyed for nothing other than to fulfill an avatar's sadistic whim.

If she could have made a noise she would have screamed at the unfairness. Worst and most cruel, she been forced to look on, unable to do anything but watch.

Mishaka stared at Wren. Despite her immortal flesh and ability to heal, Jharon had thrashed the spiteful creature to within a single strike of victory. The pale witch's face remained disfigured, her body and clothing still soaked in her own black blood.

The avatar made a fist, blue sparks flicked and rasped around her knuckles. She turned from Wren to Sindra who still stood at the foot of the stage. "You know," she growled. "For some reason I suspect you helped him."

Sindra narrowed her eyes. "If by helping--you mean hoping." The D'klace said in a cold voice. "Aye. There was plenty of that."

Mishaka snarled and drove her glowing hand into Sindra's chest. The big woman staggered backward with a gasp. Mystic energies bit and flashed around her body. She went to her knees with a groan.

The D'klace's chin came up and Wren saw her eyes flash. In that instant, Wren felt the elder's presence within her. The phoenix between her breasts became a burning ember against her skin as the woman's knowledge rang through her. She (Sindra) felt the magic binding her arms and legs, knew its touch, understood the lock and how to form the mental key that unlatched it.

In two heartbeats, the magical hold snapped. Wren's hand moved at Sindra's bidding. She reached toward the spell engulfing the D'klace assassin. Wren felt a tingling at the base of her skull, the hum that signaled her talent at work. It went from a hum to a rumble.

The magic around Sindra leaped from the elder's body to Wren's hand. Mishaka whirled, but not before Wren drove that same crackling energy into the avatar's face.

"Stinking bitch!" Wren let out, feeling her knuckles jam hard against flesh and bone. The blow slammed the avatar backward knocking her skidding across the bloody temple floor and to smash into the benches.

Wren was breathing hard, feeling her heart race, feeling the pain of Jharon's departed life, experiencing nothing but hatred and loathing for the spiteful creature that had been at the root of so much torment.

She saw Sindra rise. The elder had withdrawn her influence at the moment of impact. The last thought still echoed in Wren's mind. The members of the clan must never directly or by proxy raise a hand against the goddess or her assigns. She and Jharon had not been the proxies of the twins. They had shared a common goal, one that the twins supported but couldn't act upon. It was a distinction that only a devil could abide.

"Help me!" Wren pleaded. "Tell me how to kill her!"

"I--" Sindra started.

"I tire of this," Mishaka rasped, picking herself up.

"Wren," Sindra said. "You can--"

"Say another word, and they die," Mishaka pointed her finger, toward Cassin and Annawen who stood behind Sindra. "I might not be able to kill you, but I can rend their souls."

Wren saw the Kerras dagger she'd dropped. She couldn't count on Sindra and Drucilla, they were too bound to this creature. Their family belonged to Hecate and her minions. Only by deception did they provide any assistance at all. She might as well be alone. She stepped over and scooped up the knife.

Mishaka saw her move, and jerked. Her hand came around, fingers splayed wide and glowing. "You're a thorn like your damned Mother, a decade and you both still plague me. Surrender."

She drew back the blade. It was a long shot, but she'd made harder ones in the bar against Damrosil. This would be for Jharon. It would be for her mother and every creature ever wronged by this fiend.

"Oh, stop it." Mishaka flicked her hand at Wren.

The holding force wafted over her. She sensed the tendrils close around her muscles and mind. She felt them clamp down--and slide off. She didn't wait to understand how, but whirled the dagger at her target.

Mishaka's eyes widened in the instant she realized her magic had failed. The knife took too long to reach its mark, and she managed to move. The mithril steel blade imbedding itself in the stone pew behind her.

The avatar raised her hands to the sky. "For Hecate's bloody sake! Just fall down." She slapped her arms to her sides.

Wren cried out as a crushing weight jammed down on her shoulders and smashed her to the floor.

"If only I could have convinced the Lady that we don't need either of you, my life would be so much simpler. I would sooo enjoy killing you and your mother."

"My feelings exactly," said a female voice from the back of the room.

"What now?!" Mishaka turned to face the sound as something twanged. A hiss cut across the temple and Mishaka gasped. Twice more in rapid succession, a twang and hiss, the avatar grunted.

The force holding Wren ceased.

"Aunt Beia!" Cassin let out.

At the back of the hall, the blonde Myrmigyne stood poised with a huge bow in her hand.

Mishaka had staggered backward, three space black arrows lodged in her torso.

"Is this supposed to impress me?" the avatar grabbed hold of the arrow to yank it out.

The sound was not like anything Wren had ever heard. If a dragon could inhale its own roar, it might have sounded like this. The arrow imploded. The whole room resonated as candle-light, sound, and heat all bent toward the point of impact and winked out.

Mishaka screamed, but her cry was pulled into nothingness like all the other energies swallowed by the arrow.

The anti-force drove Mishaka to her knees.

The Mymigyne strode down the center aisle toward the stage. "I don't give a dragon flop if you're impressed or not. The only thing you're supposed to do is expire."

The avatar raised a trembling hand. "You..."

"Wrong." Beia stomped on the floor.

The second arrow imploded, slamming Mishaka back in gale of vacuum.

"Threaten my nieces. Hurt my relatives. Slaughter all these people. Wrong." She stomped again. The third arrow went off. Mishaka went face down on the floor clawing for a purchase, trying without success to crawl away.

Beia reached back into a quiver full of the black arrows.

"No, wait--!" Wren raced across the stage, swinging her arms to make the Myrmigyne to stop.

The arrow had already left the bow. The shaft disintegrated into blackness. Nothing remained of Mishaka, but a shriveled husk.

"She knows where my mother is..." The last blow struck like a mattock. Wren went to her knees, the anguish more than she could bear. She sobbed and beat her fists on the blood stained floor. Everything was gone. The whole universe seemed to conspire against her. To destroy everything and everyone she loved, to keep her apart from the things she wanted most.

Jharon. He couldn't be dead. He was good man, a kind man, who had faith and devotion. The gods rewarded that didn't they?

Didn't they? "Ishtar, he loved you. Why did you let him die? He loved you more than me!" She struck her fists on the dais. "More--than--me! Dammit. Why did you take him away...?"

She was vaguely aware of Cassin and Annawen rushing up to her. She felt Annawen's warmth pressing against her, smothering her shaking body. She heard Sindra and Beia talking, but the details were drowned out by the roaring in her head. She felt so sorry. It should have been her--not him. She wanted the world to go away. She wanted the pain to stop. She wanted life to end.

Someone lifted her up. People moved and shifted. She felt the sharp stab of transition and then blackness.

A cool spray wafted against the back of Wren's neck. A breeze filled with summer scents caressed her body. The rhythmic gurgle of a fountain pulsed behind her. Bluefeathers and thistlewings chattered as they dipped and dived across the stone square. Three voices, two male and one female discussed something in heated tones nearby.

Wren realized she'd been here before. What in Hades? It was the same three-tier fountain where she met Damay--in the amulet! The voices all sounded familiar. She scanned for the source, but they weren't anywhere in view.

As before, the fountain lay at the hub of nine perfectly straight cobbled avenues. The buildings were the same perfect looking community of houses fronted by statues, topiary, and floral boxes.

The sounds of those voices made her anxious. She didn't know why. Why should anything make her anxious? She didn't feel like living anymore. Jharon was dead and it was her fault. Mishaka killed him because of her.

"Ishtar's eyes I want to know why!" One of the familiar voices demanded.

"If you would calm down maybe you'd understand--dammit!" The other voice responded equally as loud.

Wren jerked. That sounded like Grahm! She stood. It came from close by. She could see in all directions though.

"I am calm," the first male voice growled. "For a dead person in the wrong place, I am very calm."

Wren blinked. Her body went cold. "Jharon? Jharon!"

"Damn. Now see what you've done."

"Done? I haven't done anything!"

"Enough!" The female voice ordered.

"Ow! Ow! Ow!" Both males began yelping in pain.

The fountain wavered. The sounds grew closer and stepping from out of the water came Grahm, Damay, and Jharon... the two men were bent at the waist being towed by the ear by the elder savant. They stepped on the fountain edge and to the ground. Damay let each of them loose with a snort.

"I am too old to baby-sit," Damay pronounced. "Behave yourselves."

The savant looked exactly as Wren left her last, graying hair pulled back from her dusky face. She was still dressed in the same green breeches and brown tunic with the high collar. Her whole composure seemed different now though. The woman Wren left in the amulet was more soft spoken and less imposing.

Grahm looked as he did twice before in her dreams, wearing his best leather hauberk and boots.

Jharon appeared rejuvenated. No signs of the battle or torment showed in his features. His dark eyes looked troubled. He shifted nervously, obviously uncomfortable with the surroundings. He'd appeared wearing his black surplice and gold sash. His long hair was loose rather than tied, a single silver earring hung from his right ear.

Wren stared at them. They were here--together. How did the three of them wind up together?

Jharon kept glancing at Damay and Grahm. Grahm was smiling, but his eyes were narrow and fixed on Damay. Wren knew her ex-partner. He was sizing the older woman up. Apparently, he didn't know who she was or how she'd become involved.

She didn't know either. She didn't know how Grahm and Jharon had both been brought into the dream, or the amulet, or wherever this was.

"I don't understand. How is this happening?"

"Tao," Damay answered. Her dark eyes sparked and she frowned at Grahm. "Amok tao."

"What?" The confusion gripped her. She had to know. Was Jharon like Grahm now? She stepped forward and closed her fingers on his arm. It was warm and firm, damp as though from perspiration. "You're alive!"

She threw her arms around him. The priest stiffened up. The arms that encircled her were tentative in their pressure.

"Oh sure," Grahm mumbled. "Hug him... Ow!"

Wren looked up to see her former partner hopping and clutching one foot. Grahm scowled at Damay. "What'd you do that for!"

The savant raised an eyebrow. "If you wish to engage in juvenile behavior, do so when your instep is not so close to my heel."

Wren studied Jharon's face. She didn't know what to say that wouldn't sound silly. Are you all right? Of course he wasn't all right. An avatar killed everyone his temple and put a bolt of magic through his heart. All the other things that flashed through her head seemed equally spurious.

The only thing she could come up with was something he would want to hear. "You can rest easy. We destroyed Hecate's avatar."

Jharon blinked. He drew a breath and nodded. "Good." His whole demeanor was that of a person stunned. An understandable condition considering the circumstances.

"Are you feeling all right, physically I mean?" she asked.

He looked at his hands and touched her shoulder. He closed his eyes and shuddered. "I am whole," he said slowly. "I am feeling no pain. I don't understand either. I was bringing the mace down on the avatar and then..."

"Tao," Damay said again.

"I died," Jharon said. "I know I died."

Wren looked to Grahm. "You said I carry the dead with me."

Still rubbing his foot, Grahm nodded. "I sure did."

"The tapestry of a savant's tao is strong. The spirits of those that care for you can be entangled in that tapestry while alive, and can be drawn to it in death."

Wren's eyes widened. "So now, Jharon's trapped in my dreams too?"

Damay sighed. "An over-simplification, but close enough."

Jharon frowned. She felt his body tense next to hers. She also saw how Grahm was looking at them. That wasn't good.

"I was supposed to rise up to Elysium, and dwell with Ishtar," Jharon said. "This is not how it's supposed to be!"

"Some things are greater than your goddess," Damay said.

Wren blinked. "I'm sorry, Jharon. It's all my fault."

The priest took a breath and this time put his arms around her and pulled her close with firm pressure. She felt his heart beating and his warm breath on her neck. "If you blame yourself for what happened to me," he growled. "I will haunt you."

"She came hunting me, who else's fault could it be?"

He took her face in his hands. "Why are you always so preoccupied with fault?"

"Sireth taught us that nothing is an accident," Grahm said. "Accidents and mistakes are a result of poor planning."

"A harsh task-master for young ones," Damay remarked with arms folded.

"We couldn't afford mistakes." Grahm held up his hands. "Look at me. I made a mistake."

Wren nodded. She remembered some of the first things that Sireth ever taught her. She called it the circle of living. Wren repeated the words aloud. "Responsibility is discipline, discipline is planning, planning is success, success is life, life is being responsible."

Jharon bowed his head. "That is a chain of being. It is an admirable paradigm. I--feel somewhat the same myself..."

Eyes focused on Grahm, Damay rubbed her chin. "I believe I understand now. It is your desire that Wren feel responsible for your death. If she stopped blaming herself, she might let go of you."

Grahm's face reddened. "I think you ought to stay out of this."

"So, if she lets go of us, then we'll go to void as we're supposed to?" Jharon asked.

Damay nodded.

"Are you an idiot, man? You want to die? This is all we have left!"

"It is not a matter of what I want," he said gaze fixed on Wren. "It is a matter of what is right."

"What has 'right' to do with anything? We're dead, there's nothing right about it!"

Jharon's hands clenched. "We are not dead. That is what is askew."

"Stop it, Grahm!" Wren snapped. "Can't you see he's having enough trouble adjusting to this?"

Jharon took her shoulders. "Little bird, I can't adjust to this. It isn't what Ishtar meant for me." The expression on his face was one of pain, a person readying to say something they knew would hurt. She didn't want to hear it. She tried to close her ears. His words came through anyway. "This is not how it was meant for me. I--" he paused. "This is so out of the realm of what I was taught. I only know that it doesn't feel right. I know that this isn't Elysium, and much as I love you--you are not Ishtar."

"It's going to kill me if you die," she responded.

Jharon winced. It had been a mean-spirited selfish thing to say and the pained look on his face made her regret it instantly. Right now, she could only think of what living without him would be like, especially knowing that she might have persuaded him to go on living, even as a disembodied voice.

He closed his eyes and his shoulders sagged. He drew a breath and his whole body shuddered. "Think of how it is for me," he said. He looked down, gaze not rising to meet hers. "I let you down. I let everyone down. I am here. This flesh, this body, is real to me... as you are. How can I go on living while those who depended on me are gone?"

She pounded his chest in frustration. "But you didn't let anyone down! Dammit, Jharon, you're only flesh and blood. You're not an oracle. You can't predict the future. For all that's sane, you can't kill a god with nothing but faith! You were taking care of someone you cared for, and you couldn't be in two places at once!"

His face was like stone. "How can I take your advise if you do not heed it yourself?"

It felt like a knife twisted in her. "Jharon!"

"I lost control," he went on inexorably. "I put you at risk. If I had redeemed myself, perhaps it would be different."

His words made all the hurt come back. The pain of her good friend's death. Now, he was dying all over again. Only now, it wasn't Mishaka killing him--he was killing himself.

She gripped Jharon's shoulders. "You didn't need redemption!"

He only bowed his head. "I am sorry," his voice grew faint. "I know this hurts you. It's the way it should be. The way it must be."

Damay touched Wren's shoulder. The contact of the woman's skin on hers made Wren's body stiffen. The sensation hadn't been unpleasant but it was powerful. She looked at the woman wide eyed. Damay's face wore a cool expression. "It is not right to hold on to him, if it is not his desire."

Wren knelt in front of him. "Don't you want to stay with me?"

"Not if it means killing you," he said, taking her hands and pulling her to her feet. "I think we both know that's what would happen. If you have a choice of being here with me, or living out the remainder of your life, you'd choose here. Added to my misgivings about this condition, my choice is certain and clear."

"How I live my life is my concern," she responded.

"It is your life to be concerned about, yes. It's my choice to care for you, and to want what's best for you, even if it hurts you now." He put his arms around Wren and pulled her tight. "I love you, but Ishtar never meant for us to be together. We must accept the plan she has for us."

"I don't have to accept any plan that involves you dying!"

"Wren," he said with a cool voice. "It's already done."

"No--no! You're not dead. You're here. You're alive!"

"I'm alive because you keep me alive."

"Jharon, I can't let you die. I just can't. Don't you see? It'd be like killing you myself. How can you expect me to live with that?"

He sighed. "You won't be killing me. You'll be letting me move on to what Ishtar intended for me."

She could tell he'd decided. Like her, little could be done once he made up his mind.

Wren drew a breath, she felt a tearing at her insides. "You're certain this is what you want?"

He shuddered and nodded. He kissed her on the forehead and pushed himself away. He pressed his hands together as though in prayer and bowed his head. "Do it."

Wren's gaze went to Grahm. The man's face looked like stone. She'd never seen him look so grim. Damay stood with arms folded, face contemplative. Her gaze met Wren's.

She came and put a hand on her shoulder. The shock that she felt before ran through her body. "Feel him in you," Damay said in that soothing voice. "Feel the arms clutching him tight. You must only swing your arms wide to release him."

She drew a breath and closed her eyes. She felt Damay help her. She could feel him. She felt Jharon's spirit, Grahm's, and Damay's all bound to her tao. Jharon's spirit already struggled to free itself from the clinging fabric of her 'self'. It surprised her, seeing the huge difference in size and power between her tao and those of Jharon and Grahm. Their weaker spirits were like tiny motes caught in its pull. Damay's essence was yet bigger than hers, hovering in the darkness but exerting no influence.

"Wren, do it." Jharon repeated.

She clenched her hands. She felt the bindings holding him, understood the means of their release. One thought could cut him free.

Wren opened her eyes. Her gaze shifted to Damay. The elder woman's dark eyes expressed empathy for her pain.

"Release me, Wren," Jharon said in a more desperate voice. "Don't make me beg."

It felt like ripping her own heart out. "By the lords, Jharon. I don't want to do this."

"Damn, this hurts me too! In Ishtar's name, do it. Please!"

She gritted her teeth. With a heave of effort that made her freeze inside, she pushed his spirit away.

The physical form of Jharon wavered and grew transparent. His head came up. A white glow suffused his body. "Thank you," he said in a voice that seemed to echo from far away. "Though I go. I will be with you always." He faded from view.

Wren stared at the empty spot where one of her best friends once stood. She would never again hear his voice or see him smile. She felt the tears burn their way down her cheeks.

"He goes full circle," Damay said in a cool voice. "From Ishtar he came. To Ishtar he returns."

Wren turned to her, guts feeling cold and empty. "Do you know that for sure?"

The Savant's face showed composure and confidence. "As best it is my ability to give his spirit guidance."

"Just don't get any ideas about doing that to me," Grahm growled. He turned and walked away. As he moved, he faded from view.

Damay shook her head. "He is upset that your affections for Jharon competed with him."

Wren let out a breath. "Now, I don't have either of them."

"Or perhaps, now you have both." The savant looked into sky. "Heal quickly, Wren, I look forward to seeing a real sky again."

"What are you talking about?"

"Those on the outside summon you. I feel their magicks probing the enclosure. Life will be hard, but it does go on. You have much to live for. If I get the opportunity--I will show you..." As she spoke, her words faded.

Wren felt herself being drawn upward toward the light.

Return to Contents

Wren's loss put a lot in perspective for many of us. The girl had been through a lot, and our games hadn't helped. She needed a family. We gave her one.
--Everia

Wren opened her eyes, looking up into the faces of Sindra and Drucilla. The two giant elders grinned. Beia, Cassandra, and Loric also stood around the bed where she lay. The room appeared to be some form of large infirmary, books lined several shelves, and light shined in through stained glass windows. A septic smell hung in the air. Music from a strummed instrument played soothing strains in the distance. She realized her hand was gripping the phoenix on its chain around her neck.

Sindra let out a breath, her shoulders sagging. Her attention went to Loric. "She is strong. She almost pulled me in rather than me pulling her out." She looked down to Wren. "You going to be okay?"

Wren swallowed. The memory of Jharon's passing was fresh and raw. She felt so tired. The phoenix grew hot under her grip. "I'll--" She gritted her teeth. She had to accept it and move on. What choice did she have? "I'll live," she finally forced out.

The twins looked at one another. Sindra put a hand on Wren's shoulder. "We're sorry we weren't more help."

She closed her eyes. "The bitch got what was coming to her, just the same. Just wish we could have--" She felt the tears on her cheeks. "She knew where my mother was. Laughed about it... now, she's gone."

Beia touched Wren's shoulder. Her hand made that static rush of power sing through her body. "Mishaka can still be located and the information wrung from her."

Sindra stared at Beia. "The only thing that's going to get wrung is your neck. You took action against Hecate's avatar, the Magistrix will be furious!"

The Myrmigyne returned the assassin's stare. "I'll deal with the Magistrix." She looked at Wren. "Don't worry about anything. I've taken care of Jharon's affairs, notified his friends and family, and made sure to inform the proper officials. I wish I could have been there sooner." She looked to the twins and frowned. "Unfortunately, I had a tough trail to follow."

Wren felt numb. She was glad that the blonde woman had known what to do, who to talk to. She didn't think she could have held herself together to tell all those people that warm and caring Jharon was dead. She drew a breath and nodded. "Thank you," she said in a faint voice.

"We should allow the girl to rest," Loric said. He came up beside Beia and took Wren's hand. "If you need anything, call. Someone will be near." He nodded to the others, gesturing to the door. They all started filing out.

Loric was the last to go. As he started to leave, she raised her voice. "Master Loric?"

He looked back. "Yes?"

"Do you think some people get a second chance at life?"

His gray eyes narrowed, obviously trying to fathom what sparked the question. "Those who are worthy get that opportunity, yes."

She nodded. "Thank you."

He paused for a moment, studying her, then turned and left.

This time there was no mystic surcease to sooth her spirit. The pain of Jharon's passing stayed fresh and raw in her mind. Remembrances of her friend brought back the death of Grahm and everything else she'd recently lost. Her entire life had been turned into a lie and a mockery. She knew nothing of her real past save what Loric's soothsaying had revealed--Lady Liandra, daughter of Euriel Idundaughter of the Aesir. The words meant nothing without knowing where they originated. She and Mishaka shared a past she possessed no memory of. Mishaka's words suggested that home was not in Corwin or the other familiar lands of Sharikaar. That meant she could be from anywhere humans lived and magic could reach. Her chances of finding her true heritage were as dead as the Brethren Guild.

She had no home, no property of value. Nothing.

All that remained was emptiness and a yearning for some kind of completion. She didn't want to go on hurting. At the same time, she had no energy, no focus. Little seemed to matter--she had nothing to lose and from all appearances--nothing to gain.

The people of Loric's house didn't molest her with questions or try to cheer her up. They gave her space. She had expected such a family of know-it-alls to have been brimming with advice on dealing with grief and loss. After a week, none appeared to be forthcoming. She did sense eyes on her in the halls, and that her walks out-of-doors were shadowed.

She reported to dinner because if she didn't, Vera would bring the meal to her. That simply didn't feel right. The cook was perhaps the hardest working person Wren had ever met, and she couldn't stand the thought of adding to the woman's already enormous load.

The table grew silent over the next tenday. People smiled, and occasionally laughed, but rarely did anyone speak. She wasn't certain whether the two-dozen people were observing the silence of her mood, or they simply had no need for talking aloud. She felt certain that communication did go on, and at times, she sensed that she was the topic of the silent conversations.

At dinner, sometimes Everia would sit close to her. Other times one of the four twins would be at hand. None of them ever said anything, but the language of their bodies was one of patience and understanding. They all seemed willing to listen whenever Wren was ready to talk. She found it odd that the D'klace sisters took part in the vigil. Their power was such that they need answer to no-one save the 'magistrix' she'd heard mention of, and Hecate herself. For whatever reason, they participated. She guessed that Sindra and Drucilla felt responsible for Jharon's death. They had transported them to the temple not only failing to know the level of the danger, but being unable to safeguard them as well.

The tendays stretched into two and three. Though she felt aimless, it was uncomfortable not to have some kind of routine. She'd been a part of the guild for two thirds of her life, and though the organization did a business of lawlessness, life within the Brethren had always been one of regimen and structure.

Her sleep was troubled at best, making it easy to rise before anyone else in the citadel. It gave her the opportunity to visit the workout area in the basement. There, she could stretch on the bars and swim in the pool without bothering anyone or being bothered. After she did this a few days in a row, she began finding bathing-wear and workout togs laid out for her. Though she found it difficult to care about anything, she vowed one day to figure out how things like that happened in her room.

Each morning she watched the sun rise and asked herself why she kept going. Her answers didn't get better with repetition. She only knew that not long ago, she had been contented in her life. She simply needed to find her center again and reclaim the energy that gave day-to-day living meaning.

More time passed. The days and nights melted together. She spent a most of her time walking alone among the trees in and around the estate. She found a great deal to explore, mountain ridges, high overlooks, creeks, caves, groves of shimmerleaf and scalebark, hidden lakes, waterfalls, and faery rings. In the forest, there was little to remind her of the city and woes that came upon her there. The quiet wonder of nature helped distract her from the pain in her soul. She found herself more at ease among the animals and plants. She could observe their grace and beauty for the price of respecting their territory. She came to know the range of two huge brown broadpaws that hunted on the periphery of Loric's property. She'd spent time watching them grunting and snuffling through the undergrowth.

Two or three family groups of blackhorn came down from the higher forested areas of the mountain to graze in the meadows west of the castle or to drink from the north side of the lake.

She grew familiar with the red tailed nut-chasers that bounded through the branches of the needleleaf trees, and the dozens of other kinds of fauna that teemed in the wilderness around the lake. Even after four tendays, she still didn't know where this place was in relationship to Corwin, whether it was in a different land or on another world. With each sunrise, it mattered less and less. There was nothing in Corwin to go back to.

For now, she had rooms to stay in, food to eat, and a place to walk and have solitude. No-one asked anything of her save that she obey the few rules concerning the castle security. It was a trivial concession that she agreed to without concern. Being in the Brethren, she'd grown used to minding the Guild's precautionary needs. Loric's procedures were different, but in the end, they boiled down to knowing who was in the castle and who wasn't. For almost two decades, her life grew out of knowing the rules and breaking all but a few of them. Being a part of the lawless mob had cost her a life with Jharon. Ultimately, it killed Grahm. Now, all that remained of that mob were a handful of scarred and homeless survivors, herself, and Desiray. An existence of rule breaking had left her with no friends, no possessions, and no life. If breaking the rules didn't work, perhaps following them for a change would turn things around.

As she moved from day to day, haunted by dreams of destruction and what might have been, of watching the sun rise and walking the paths of Loric's lands, she wondered if it wasn't too late to change. Jharon said it was never too late to be redeemed. Was redemption what she really sought? That was the problem. She needed something, and didn't know what that 'thing' was.

It had been two scoredays since Jharon died. Wren rose even earlier than her predawn norm. She worked out and headed up to the balcony where she watched the sun rise.

The morning air felt brisk on her damp skin, her hair still wet from the pool. She padded up the steps to the third floor balcony that overlooked the lake. A movement, little more than a shadow on the platform rail made her freeze. A small silhouette appeared to be dancing on the narrow span of wood.

After a few moments, her eyes adjusted to the shadows and she recognized the figure. It was the girl Vera, the cook. The young woman slid and turned on a thin spar that was little thicker than Wren's thumb. To one side was a drop of over twenty paces to the cobblestone hem of the Citadel.

Vera did not seem to notice or be concerned about the fall. She moved with rhythmic precision, hands and feet churning the air with stylized kicks and punches. Wren watched as the woman performed elaborate maneuvers, spinning, flipping, and rolling all while confined to that narrow precipice. It was the finest display of shadow fighting Wren had ever witnessed. It was more than fighting though, it was a dance of precision, discipline, and release. Seeing the woman's supple movements made Wren hearken back to the days she and her room-mate Ziedra practiced at terpsichoric exercises. Vera was blending what appeared to be the warrior's skills of open hand fighting with dance cadences and the familiar guild skills of beam walking and point balance. The combination when performed as Wren saw it now was a wonder to behold.

Despite Wren's being quiet, Vera apparently noticed and let out a gasp. The girl leaped off the rail. When she looked at Wren, her cheeks were flush with both exertion and embarrassment.

"I sorry," she said. Her head dipped as though she had done something wrong. "I did not sense you there."

Wren frowned. "Sorry? It's your house. You were here first. I apologize for sneaking up on you."

"Oh. No. No apology." Vera shook her head. "Not hear you come. You are very quiet. I not listening. Sorry."

"Vera," Wren gripped the small woman's shoulders. The small lady was actually trembling. "It's okay. Really." She nodded to the rail. "I shouldn't have interrupted your exercises. You probably don't get much time to yourself." She bent down so she could look into the woman's dark eyes. "You're very good."

Vera's head came up. "Hie." She nodded. "Thank you."

Wren looked around. "How come you don't train with the rest. You certainly are skilled enough to."

The young woman frowned. "I not of blood." She put a hand to her chest. "My tao, my own. My dishonor not soil the master's family."

Dishonor? She didn't know much about Loric, but she knew that he seemed to accept everyone regardless of their failings. He even let vampire queens hang about! More interesting was Vera's use of the word 'tao'. Was it the same 'tao' that Damay referred to?

She stepped over and leaned against the rail next to Vera. "Did Loric exclude you, or did you exclude yourself? Everyone here thinks very highly of you."

Vera dipped her head. "The Master and his blood always good to me-- always make me welcome. He is noble. His hospitality to me is a kindness. I not take advantage."

Wren wasn't certain she followed that. Vera didn't want to accept hospitality given out of pity?

"Loric knows about your dishonor?"

The dusky skinned girl nodded. Her dark eyes closed. "Hie. He knows. Took me in, when my people..." She stopped, and looked at Wren. "I should not burden your tao further. You returned heavy by three. You cast off one, still burdened by two."

For the first time in many days Wren felt her heart speed. "You know about the dead being trapped in the tao?"

Vera turned her head to one side. "Hie. My people bind to one another, so they may die together. They join tao, so that spirits may stay together when they move beyond." She looked skyward into the grayish morning clouds, and the thin line of brightness now starting to outline the peaks in the East. "When you first come, I see in you two. One young, another very old. When you go with Lady Sindra, when they bring you back, I saw you joined with master Jharon." She looked down. "Apologies, I should not see these things. They are private, yes?"

Wren swallowed. "It's private, yes, but I don't mind you knowing as long as you didn't share it with anyone. Does anyone else know what you saw?"

Vera shook her head. "Lady Cassandra 'sees', but she not understand tao. Not comprehend."

"And you wouldn't presume to teach her would you?"

Vera shook her head vigorously. "Not my place. My blood bad-- dishonored."

Wren nodded. Where did Loric find these people? Even his servants were special individuals.

The girl surprised Wren by taking her hand. "Your spirit heavy, because you must release tao brother?"

Wren nodded. "He did not--" She paused. It still hurt. It hurt far more than it should have. Jharon had wanted what happened. Damn it, he shouldn't have died in the first place. It had been her nemesis that killed him. He died while she continued. What kind of fairness was that? "My tao kept him, but he wanted--he wanted to move on."

Vera squeezed her fingers and put her other hand on Wren's arm. "This pain I know. I capture my Father. Not want let him go. He take Mother with him. I lose both."

Wren looked into Vera's dark eyes. The language was stilted, but the tone was unmistakable. She understood grief. The woman looked young, her body was youthful in its energy, but her eyes were those of someone far older. Wren considered the pain of giving up a father or mother in the same way she had released Jharon. It made her shudder.

"How did you handle it?"

The girl drew a breath. "Not good," she admitted. "I despair long time. I bitter." She sighed. "I do things--bad things. I leave my people in dishonor before I learn coping." She looked down then back to Wren. "You strong, you learn coping soon."

Wren wasn't sure how to respond. Her life had been so chaotic, so painful. Few people were ever kind in the way that Vera was being right now. The girl expected nothing from her save perhaps courtesy.

"Thank you," she said, not knowing how else to respond.

"You not know parents, yes? Not see them in your tao."

Wren shook her head. "I just found out that I was taken away from them."

Vera pressed her lips to a line. She sat on the rail and looked to the brightening line of light on the horizon. Her dark eyes met Wren's. "You want find them?"

Wren nodded.

Vera reached out and tapped Wren on the chest. Her finger struck the phoenix in its hiding spot under her blouse. "You will," she said. "They here." She tapped the amulet again.

She stared at the girl. "How do you know?"

Vera blinked. She shrugged. "I see. Old one--she sees."

Wren's heart beat faster, and her stomach tightened. "You know about Damay?"

The dusky skinned woman frowned. "Not know her. Feel her. She very strong. She shares her tao with you. Make you strong."

In a flash of understanding that made Wren tremble she knew the reason behind some of the unexplained functioning of her talent. Damay. Since she received the amulet, her abilities with her talent had increased, sometimes unpredictably. Damay had been helping her 'be'.

"Vera, how do you know about tao?"

The girl looked uncomfortable. "I train. I learn the disciplines."

Inspiration hit Wren. She looked hard at Vera. "Part of your training is stealth, isn't it? Moving quietly."

Vera nodded.

Wren hopped up onto the narrow railing and looked down at Vera. She looked down to the hem of cobblestones around the castle some twenty paces below. "Could you teach me?"

The little woman looked pained. "I not teacher. I not have honor. Is not for me to teach."

Wren bent down, still balanced on the rail. "Vera, you know things that no-one else does. If you're not comfortable sharing what you know, I understand."

The dark-eyed girl's expression grew taut. She covered her face with her hands. "Ayeee. Not know."

"Don't show me everything then, just teach me how you dance."

Vera uncovered her face. "Dance?"

"You know." Wren straightened, she snapped a kick out and then a punch in an imitation of what she'd seen Vera do. "Like that."

The little woman frowned. "Hip open. Arm not in line. No focus."

She didn't have a clue what that meant. "So you can show me?"

"Ayeee." Vera gritted her teeth. "Not know teaching."

Wren sighed. She hopped off the rail. She looked to edge of the morning light now creeping across the face of the peaks in the east. Abruptly, she felt tired. "I'm sorry I bothered you." She turned away, and headed for the steps.

"Wren?"

She stopped and looked back. Vera took a few steps forward. She reminded Wren of a mouse approaching a cat. The little woman looked very uncomfortable.

"You trust me?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Not know me. Not know my dishonor."

Wren looked at the woman sideways. "Vera, whatever that dishonor was, it's in the past. I only know you by your actions. As far as I'm concerned, it's impossible for a bad or dishonorable person to put half the love and effort into a home like you do."

The woman's dusky cheeks flushed. "Ayeee. Not say such things."

"Vera, I don't think there's a day that goes by that you don't receive praise. You are a marvel, and you bring magic into the lives of this family."

"They praise to be polite," Vera mumbled.

Wren focused on her. "Vera, they aren't being polite. They mean it."

The girl shook her head. "Not talk of such things." She drew a breath. "You want--" She closed her eyes. "I--I teach. Know you feel bad heart. Need balance now--like I needed."

"Vera, I don't want you to do it, if you're going to feel bad. You do enough around here already."

"No." Vera put a hand to her chest. "Teaching you help me too." She looked to the sun rise. "I learn from you."

"Don't know what you expect to get from me, but I'd be glad to show you anything I've learned."

"Hie." Vera nodded. "Tomorrow--we dance."

Return to Contents

Seven points, twelve stances, forty-two attacks and sixty-one defenses--these are the base elements of the G'Yaki's universe...
--Vera

She and Vera parted. Wren continued her day as she had the forty others before this one. She was somewhat surprised at herself. It had been so hard to make herself care about anything. She'd felt little desire for personal contact. Like a wounded animal, she had simply wanted to hide herself in solitude. Old habits had kept her going. She'd been a part of a family of guilders for most of her years. Even though Cassandra's family was not the guild, she'd felt a certain amount of kinship. It had been enough to give her some grounding... a sense of place in this disconsolate time.

Still, the loss had taken the luster and interest out of everything. With Jharon, Grahm, and everything she'd grown up with gone or changed, it was difficult to make herself want to do anything. What was the point? The self pity made her angry at herself, the anger brought on feelings of guilt, the guilt made her despondent. She was a mess and she knew it. She refused to ask for help. She already owed these people far more than she could afford.

That was why she'd been surprised that she responded as she did to Vera. Perhaps there was something kindred in the woman. She knew about the tao. More startling, she knew about Damay.

She didn't know where the path would lead her. She simply hoped it was somewhere, because if she chased herself in circles much longer she wouldn't be any good to herself or anyone else.

Wren startled awake. It was dark in the room and the smell of dewpetal incense still lingered. Outside, chirp-bugs sang. Far off a mocking-feather chattered and warbled. The room itself lay silent. In the darkness, she made out the silhouette of her dressing chair. Someone had moved it. No doubt she'd find her clean togs laid across the back as they often were.

Something was different. She awakened for a reason. Her skin prickled and she rubbed her arms. She'd taken to wearing the silk nightgowns provided for her. The fabric was shear and she felt the slightest draft through it.

Her heart beat faster. Whatever woke her was still in the room.

She reached to the vanity where her knife lay. Her fingers closed around it slowly.

A figure moved in the shadows, its shape all but invisible in the dark. It stepped forward without even the whisper of fabric through air. Wren tensed, bringing the knife around.

A soft feminine voice spoke. "You still want dance?"

Wren let out a gasp. "Vera, you scared me."

"Dance?" the girl asked again.

She took a breath and quelled her speeding heart. "Yes."

"By the pool," Vera said. "I see you soon."

"Give me a little bit, I--" Wren stopped. Vera was gone. She hadn't even seen the girl move. How did she do that? Wren was used to being quiet herself. She'd practiced the art of silent movement for more than a decade. Vera did the skill a different way.

After that strange awakening, she wasn't sure what to expect. She dressed in her togs, tied back her hair, put on her soft boots and left her suite. The marble halls were quiet as they usually were at this hour. The main lamps cast no light, but narrow tracks of a material that glowed with a faint green illumination ran along the bases of all the walls.

The interior of the castle was extremely quiet. She'd noted that the bedroom suites had been sealed against sound. Noises inside the rooms didn't reach out, and nothing shy of a thunderclap would disturb those sleeping within. She slipped down the steps into the entry hall through the kitchen, and finally down the steps to the basement workout area.

Through some strange magic, the underground pool was lit from below, casting the far end of the huge chamber in an eerie blue-green light. Vera stood like a statue near the water, hands pressed together in front of her. She'd arranged her hair in and braid coiled around her neck, and wore a strangely designed charcoal colored robe that fit loosely on her slender body.

As Wren approached, she noticed that Vera was standing at the exact center of a white line ten paces long that had been drawn on the floor. At each end, were two other shorter perpendicular lines.

The shimmering pool light cast strange reflections on Vera's dusky skin and dark eyes. The woman's expression was stony, not that of the retiring house girl that Wren had become familiar with.

Wren stopped at the end of the line. This all seemed very odd.

Vera turned to face Wren, feet close together on the line. Fingers closed to a point, gaze locked on the palm of her hand, she raised her arm until she was looking up. She paused for a moment then snapped her arm out to one side. In a smooth motion, she swung both arms in a circular flourish, shifting her feet to a shoulder-width stance and bringing her wrists down to her hips. She let out a sharp breath and bowed, then straightened again like a soldier at attention.

"Salute," Vera said in a level voice. "That is the first cadence a student is taught."

"Salute." Wren repeated.

"Step to line," Vera said.

Wren complied, stepping onto the intersection, feet apart in duplication of Vera's posture.

"Do as I do..."

Vera offered no explanations. She simply gave orders and did movements. She had incredible control over her body and a wiry strength that wasn't evidenced in her slight frame. She could bend in unlikely ways and hold legs and arms in extended positions without a shiver. She looked young, but like many of the people in Loric's citadel, appearances could be deceiving. She had a discipline that was unlikely to have formed in the twenty-odd years that she seemed to possess.

Vera's dance had a purity of motion and focus unlike any exercise Wren had done before. The white lines became the dancer's universe, at the ends and intersections stood invisible opponents. Each step taken was to engage or retreat, each move of hand or foot were blocks or attacks. Every gesture possessed a name, and every attack had its counter. Vera went through several dozen in the space of a quarter bell. It was far too much for Wren to absorb in one session. She doubted that Vera expected her to. It seemed more of an introduction than anything else. Vera would do the move and say its name, she would repeat it, then demonstrate the counter.

It didn't make sense until Vera put the steps together in a 'cadence'. As the woman moved swiftly from one stance to the next, punching, kicking, advancing and retreating, Wren could imagine the invisible opponents circling as Vera struck and countered. She flowed through the motions, robes whistling with the speed of her movement. Vera's precision and skill made it beautiful to watch. Wren didn't get much opportunity to watch before she had to duplicate certain moves, and put them together into short sequences.

After two bells of constant demonstration and Wren's repetition it became obvious that this was more than some variation of shadow fighting, it was an entire art form in itself. Wren had seen warriors battle bare-handed in the tourneys and these techniques seemed to her far more refined.

Vera ended the session, doing the stylized salute and bow. "We done for now. I have chores. Do more tomorrow if you like."

Wiping her perspiring forehead, Wren gasped and nodded. "Tomorrow." She sat down hard on the wooden floor. She couldn't remember the last time a workout had taxed her so much. Perhaps, days of wandering without focus had blunted her edge.

Vera showed no signs of fatigue, not even a trace of perspiration despite the fact that she had moved with Wren the whole time plus repeating the gestures. "Hie." Vera nodded to Wren, clapping her arms at her side. The stony expression on her face softened. "You be at morning repast? I making baked syrup cakes special for Lady Dorian."

"You--" Wren gasped. "You're going to-- to go start cooking now?"

Vera frowned. "No, must pick up laundry, wake young ones, get eggs. Then start cooking."

"Aren't you tired?"

Vera raised an eyebrow. "Ayeee Wren-friend. This not workout. This only warm-up. There much to learn." She looked sideways at Wren. "Not conditioned. You drink juice. I leave for you in kitchen. I go now." In a few heartbeats, she'd raced off up the steps.

Wren sat on the floor staring after Vera. Where did the woman get the energy? She didn't seem to sleep. Wren had never seen her eat anything.

After a bit, she finally had the energy to try and get up. It took her several tries to get to her feet. Her legs felt rubbery. She would ache tomorrow.

She returned to her room to bathe, and came down for breakfast when the others had finished their training ritual. Loric, Cassandra, Desiray and the others gathered in their usual silence. As the meal progressed, she determined Vera had not been teasing about their practice being only a 'warm-up'. The young woman rushed around the kitchen with undiminished energy. In the days since the incident she had no appetite, even for Vera's wonderful cooking. With all the exercise, she felt hungry and ordered a full portion. As she worked her way through the juice, tubers, and beef strips she felt the attention of the people around the table. When she looked up to meet their eyes they quickly hid their interest.

Wren sat on the bench after breakfast letting the morning light pour down around her. It had felt good to train, the focus had blocked out the pain however briefly.

The next morning was much like the first, Vera woke her and they returned to the lines. The second session built on the first, only now Wren knew what was expected. For two bells straight, Vera moved and demonstrated, Wren mirroring her actions. Already, she'd begun to see how everything Vera was showing her fit together; breathing control, balance, rigid and flexible stances.

Day followed day and Wren threw herself into the training. The focus required to perform in Vera's simple little universe of the lines left no room for regret or sadness. The young woman was satisfied with nothing less than perfection, and she wrung it out of Wren with a calm-voiced inspiring patience.

The sessions grew progressively more demanding. Wren awoke each morning aching but determined to keep up with the pace the girl set. After several days, she could finally walk without being in constant pain. Even the pain was good though, it was different than the burning in her heart.

Vera did not slack off as Wren rose to the challenge, she increased the length of their sessions. She also increased the difficulty of the training. The moves became more complex. Timing became important. Vera wanted more speed, precision, and power. At times, she seemed to want the impossible. When Wren lay panting on the floor after the tenth attempt, she would demonstrate exactly what she wanted.

Wren's days after training remained aimless and without focus. She continued her treks around the citadel, and her hikes in the wilderness around the lake. Often, she felt herself shadowed, but couldn't really bring herself to care. The training relieved the ache inside, but it would come back stronger than ever at times, and she would break out in tears for no reason.

Vera left her sitting on the floor exhausted as she had four scoredays previous. How could anything human go through that torturous exercise and not even perspire? Wren had pushed too hard. She couldn't even move.

Time passed and she was no closer to being able to move when she saw Desiray come sauntering down the steps. The white-haired woman was dressed in a skin-tight blue fabric that hugged her lithe body. Her hair was tied back, and she wore a folded red cloth as a headband.

The Guildmistress appeared surprised to see her and headed toward her. Wren didn't particularly want to speak to Desiray, but it would take more energy than she currently possessed to leave the area.

The mistress stopped in front of her and crouched down. Desiray's green eyes were lively and her expression was concerned rather than condescending. When she wasn't making her feel defensive, Wren could appreciate the woman's striking elegance; not a single hair out of place. Though they were nothing alike now, they did share much in common; from growing up in the streets to being tormented as children.

"You okay?" Desiray asked. "What happened to you?"

Wren had enough wind back to speak normally. "The cook happened to me."

Desiray raised an eyebrow. "Vera? That's who you've been coming down here with? What did she do?"

"Oh, she didn't do anything. I was trying to keep up with her is all."

The Guildmistress smiled. "Save yourself trouble. Don't think she gets tired. Not even sure she sleeps. Closest I've ever seen her come to it is meditating."

"How can that be?" Wren wanted to know.

Desiray shook her head and held out a hand. Wren took it and allowed herself to be pulled to her feet. "You're asking the woman who weighs twenty stone, but has a waist like this?" She ran and hand across her flat stomach, and looked at Wren.

Wren nodded. "Okay, dumb question. I mean she's flesh and blood. I've touched her. She's not an immort."

"There are some things that birth and the right discipline make possible. Shreds, she astounds me at times. I don't know where Loric found her, but she has been a blessing in this house since the first day."

"She's very troubled you know," Wren said.

The Guildmistress sighed. "I know. We all know. She punishes herself worse than any judge ever would." She paused. "Much like another person I know."

She closed her eyes. "If only it were that simple."

"Have you been all right? Dorian told us you were the type that needed quiet support. She said, you'd only be helped by counseling when you sought it out, not before."

Wren stared at Desiray. "Dorian told everyone that? I mean, she's right, but I don't even know her, how...?"

Desiray shrugged and flipped a hand through her white hair. "She's a people person. It's what she's good at--knowing people." The woman paused, folding her arms. "I know you and I have been warring with one another." She took a breath. "People here like and care what happens to you though. You've been chewed up. I mean, you irritate me, but I don't hate you." Desiray's green eyes were wide and her face more open than Wren had ever remembered it being except when she was talking with her children. "What you've been through recently, I would only wish on my worst enemies." Desiray stopped.

Wren looked at the woman. There was an uncomfortable silence as they stared at one another. Desiray winced.

"I--" Desiray stopped then started again. She shifted her feet and looked at the floor before looking up again. "What I wanted to know was--are you all right? I understand, you must feel terrible, but is there anything you need... something you want?"

Wren blinked. She never thought she'd see Desiray show compassion toward her. She hadn't cut the Guildmistress a finger-width of slack since they met in Cassandra's mansion. She'd certainly done nothing to endear herself to the woman. In fact, she'd taken practically every opportunity to alienate her.

"I--" It was Wren's turn to stop herself. "I appreciate you offering. I've felt bad, and I've been blaming it all on you. I know--"

"You were right," Desiray interrupted. "Damn it. I knew it, and I hated having my nose rubbed in it. I let a blasted amateur steal from me. I wasn't paying attention and my guild got gutted for it." She drew a breath. "People died. I didn't want to see it, but it's been keeping me up at night. I guess my own run-in with Hethanon brought home the consequences of being irresponsible." Desiray closed her eyes. "I'm sorry things happened like this. I know an apology is small consolation considering everything that's happened, but it's all I can give you."

Wren felt a cold feeling in the pit of her stomach. Her skin prickled. She knew this was a tremendous concession from Desiray. This woman was such a contradiction. One moment she hated her, the next she wanted to like her. For almost a season she had been numb, wandering around in a daze with no foreseeable future. She was starting to feel again.

She sighed and put a hand on Desiray's shoulder. "For what it's worth, I accept your apology. I can understand being--" she swung her arm to indicate the room and the citadel over their heads. "Distracted by all this. You have eight children. I don't know how the Brethren got any attention at all." She swallowed. "You know, I used to think of you as my grandmother."

Desiray looked at Wren askance, her stare probing. "Really?"

Wren nodded. "Sireth worshipped you. I loved Sireth, she wasn't a great mother, but she cared for and looked after me. She always wanted me to look up to you. When things started going wrong, after she died and it looked like we'd been abandoned..."

The Guildmistress pressed her lips to a line. She bowed her head. The woman's pale cheeks flushed. "Something really shredding ironic." She paused, then looked up. "I have four sons and four daughters all whom I love and am proud of. Still none of them have matured into the children I dreamed of having. Sireth raised you, and you grew up to be the child I'd been wanting." She bit her lip and looked at Wren sideways. "You know, I envied her. I think I may even have been a little jealous that you were hers and not mine."

She shook her head feeling her own cheeks flush. "I don't see how you could be jealous of me, when you've got a daughter like Everia."

Desiray sighed. "I love Everia, she's an amazing child. Don't know if you noticed, but aside from a family resemblance and that we're both stubborn, we aren't much alike." She rubbed the back of her neck looking uncomfortable. "Part of what Cassandra was rubbing in to me that night in the mansion was that you fit the description of the daughter I whined about not having. Shreds, you're the best damn operative I've ever had. I'd forgotten you even existed." She let out a breath. "I was already mad, then you got on my tail and started chewing. You threw all my mistakes at me at once. I'm a cold blood-thirsty witch when you set me off."

Wren frowned. "I swung first."

"Don't kid yourself. I was dying to kick your rump. Cassandra's little toy messed up my plans though. When you cut loose and I found out you weren't going to just roll over--I guess I came a little unhinged."

"A little?" Wren rubbed her stomach recalling the pain of Desiray's swords slicing into her, and the dagger she barely prevented from going hilt deep in her skull. She remembered the cold fire in Desiray's eyes. The woman had no other intention but to kill at that moment. "Fine damn way to treat the daughter you always wanted."

The mistress winced. "Wasn't thinking about it that way at the time."

"I guess not. I see how you treat your kids. You spoil them shamelessly."

"When you have children, you'll do the same thing."

Wren thought about that for a moment. It was hard to imagine her having children. She and Jharon would have had children, he wouldn't have had it another way. He would have made a terrific father. The thought made her cheeks grow hot. Her guts churned, and she felt tears well in her eyes. She nodded. "You're right, I--" She choked. "I would."

"Oh damn," Desiray gritted her teeth. "Don't cry." She held up her hands like she wanted to do something with them but didn't know what.

She rubbed her face. "I--I don't--know why. I just--I just--" She sniffed, unable to get a word choked out of her throat. She'd been so calm. Things had seemed okay. She was even getting along with Desiray. Then the sadness all came back in a rush. Wren dropped to her knees and slapped her thighs in anguished frustration.

Warm arms encircled her neck. "Shhh," Desiray whispered. "You've got to let it out. You've been stumbling around for scoredays trying to hold it in. You're ready to explode."

"I feel so--" The words caught in her chest. A sob wracked through her. "Damn. Hate this." She rocked her head side-to-side, and threw her arms around the other woman. "I feel so damn--alone!" she yelled.

Desiray shuddered against her. The woman pulled her close with arms that could break bones. Instead of being worried, Wren found it comforting. The Guildmistress was made of ice and steel, and vitalized by energies that made her only steps shy of immortal. Right now, Wren needed something solid, something permanent to hold on to.

Wren didn't say anything. She simply held on. Something in the back of her head said if she had her choice, this probably would have be the last person she would have turned to for consolation.

The real irony was she had come full circle. Desiray embodied the guild and the lifestyle that nurtured her. The woman was all that remained of her life that the avatars hadn't destroyed or changed. Of everyone, only Desiray understood her. She grew up in the streets, and knew the pain of losing a partner.

Though the woman understood, that didn't mean she empathized. All that mattered for now was that she cared enough to hold on. Right now, it was enough. The woman had said she was ready to explode, and it felt like it now. The sobs felt as though torn from her; Jharon, Grahm, all the others, blood, fear, and confusion.

Desiray ran a hand through Wren's hair. "We must be in trouble. You're dripping on me again."

The words made Wren give out a laugh, but it hurt deep in her chest.

"Damn, damn," Desiray mumbled. She shifted her body and lifted Wren in her arms. Wren still had her face buried in the curve of her neck. "This is the middle of the workout area everyone will be staring at us."

She headed up the stairs and down the corridor into the kitchen. Wren didn't see, but she could hear and smell Vera's cooking.

"Desiray?" It was Loric's voice.

The Guildmistress stopped, her body going stiff. "Yes?"

"What are you doing?"

"Taking Wren back to her room."

Wren lifted her head and opened her blurry eyes. They'd passed the lord of the manor. Desiray had her back to him, giving Wren a view of his serious face.

There was a long pause when it seemed the man would press further. This was an unlikely combination. Wren had even expressed her concern to him that Desiray would harm her--now this.

Apparently, he guessed what was happening. "Carry on," he said.

They passed others in the corridor on their way to the stairs. Several more people were in the upper halls. No one said anything aloud, but Wren felt the sharp buzz of mindspeak. From the timber of the exchanges that many expressed concern. Even after growing used to being around so many people who used the silent talk, she still couldn't separate words or make out images. She only sensed it as a buzzing, and now, an agitated hum.

For the better part of a moon cycle, the family had been placid. Now, members boiled around her like a kettle. She spilled a few tears and they acted as if she were dying. She sensed some of the people in the hall following as Desiray kicked open the door to her room and lay her on the bed.

"I feel so silly," Wren mumbled. "I've got legs. You shouldn't have to carry me."

"You feel silly? Everyone wants to know what I did to you." She looked back.

Wren saw past Desiray. Cassandra, Everia, and Cassin, were all standing in the doorway. She raised a hand. "I'm--I'm okay." Her voice came out hoarse and cracked. She really didn't feel okay, but they wanted to hear that.

She probably shouldn't have said anything, because all three of them came in then.

Cassandra looked different than she normally did, her hair pulled back from her face in a braid, a close fitting blue-satin blouse tucked into ankle-length black riding breeches. She had emerald studs in her ears, and three loops of pearls around her neck.

Hair brushed out, no make-up or jewelry, Everia was in plain attire as usual and radiant despite the lack of decoration. The simple white linen blouse and skirt contrasted with her dusky skin and dark eyes. She carried a thick black book under one arm and a knapsack in her free hand.

Cassin was the opposite of Everia, wearing a shiny skin-tight body stocking the color of fire. The whole room seemed to get brighter simply from her standing in it. The glossy fabric picked up the reflections of everything around her, making her body shimmer in a thousand different shades of red.

Desiray sat on the bed by Wren and focused on the newcomers. Absently, she took Wren's hand between both her own. "Who are you three going to visit?"

Cassandra raised an eyebrow. She looked sideways at Wren past Desiray. "Right now, we're visiting with Wren. Are you accepting visitors? You seemed rather distressed."

Wren swallowed. "I've been--distressed--for quite a while,"

The gold mage closed her eyes a wry expression on her face and nodded. "A poor choice of words. You seemed more distressed than usual."

What was she supposed to say? Everyone there knew how she felt or they wouldn't be standing there. She put her arm across her eyes. "Desiray didn't upset me or anything. I just--" She sighed. "I just had a little relapse. I thought I was getting back to normal--" She choked, feeling another wave of emotion tighten her stomach. "I--I guess I'm not."

"Cassandra, stop looking at me like that," Desiray growled. "She and I have had our disagreements, but I don't have a heart of stone. I'm the only family she has left." She rubbed Wren's arm.

Wren pulled her arm away from her face. Desiray was looking at Cassandra, body taut. The woman had used a different tone, a protective one. Their roles had changed dramatically in a short span of time.

"Family?" Cassin said with narrowed eyes. "How are you family to her?"

"Sireth was her mother in the Guild. I was Sireth's patron."

Everia put her book and knapsack on the dressing table, turned and put fists on hips. "So, now you're her grandmother?"

Desiray's hand stopped on Wren's arm, her fingers tightened. "That's so hard to believe?"

"You've been threatening to break her head since she got here," Cassandra accused. "Wren told Loric herself, that she felt you'd kill her if she tried to break away from the Guild against your wishes. Was she mistaken?"

Desiray looked away from the three women and back to Wren. Fiery green eyes searched her face. Right now, her gaze was one of compassion, not ice. It was startling to see that face in an act of wanting to protect her instead of intent on running a knife through her. Desiray looked back to them.

"If she wasn't, I'm entitled to change my mind," the Guildmistress said. "Besides, when Everia is a snot, I threaten to break her head too. Nobody ever called me to task for that."

"Everia can take care of herself," Cassin remarked folding her arms.

Desiray looked around at them. "What are you three implying here? I went down to do my normal routine. Wren and Vera had been practicing together. Wren was tired. We talked and something I said reminded her of Jharon and she broke down. I gave her a hug because she needed one. Okay?" She held out a hand to them. "What did you shredded think I was doing? Molesting her? Pounding on her while she's down? Does that sound like something I'd do?"

"Tell you the truth, I don't know what you'd do," Cassandra said with a stony expression. "We've never had a situation like this."

"No we haven't," Desiray rose and put hands on hips. "You're a fine one to talk about concern over her safety. You sent her against the avatar. Have you been watching after her when she goes walking out there in the woods? No. Did you make sure everyone followed Dorian's advice? No. Nobody asked me to do those things. I have a conscience--a small one. I know what's right. So, you just step back."

"Mother, you said you were following her, because you didn't trust her," Everia piped up.

"What?" Desiray snapped, folding her arms. "Isn't that what you wanted me to say? Everyone would have been suspicious if I said something else."

Cassin shook her head. She looked to her mother Cassandra.

Wren felt a surge of warmth in her cheeks. It had been Desiray she sensed watching over her on those long walks? She wouldn't for a moment have thought it was the Guildmistress. She had been such an insensitive witch. Now, it appeared the woman had more heart than she realized.

Everia frowned, her cheeks coloring. She looked up at Cassandra. The tall woman frowned.

Another female voice spoke up from in the hall. "Oh my, is this a private lynching, or can anyone play?" Wren recognized Dorian's distinctive ringing tenor. She sauntered up, put an arm around Cassin, and kissed her on the cheek. She'd come dressed in black; a charcoal colored weskit over a black silk blouse, a dark skirt and hose, and shiny calf length riding boots with spike heels. Obviously for affect, she wore a bright white belt, with a gold ankh emblem. Wren still couldn't get used to the fact that Dorian looked younger than her children. She wore no make-up except for some black lines to enhance the appearance of her green eyes.

Cassin hugged her mother.

"Are they giving you a hard time, Desiray?" Dorian asked.

"Damn right they are."

The mage looked around Desiray. "Feeling better and worse today are we, Wren? A little bit of gumption followed by a big flood of tears?"

The mage's words put energy in Wren's body she didn't know she had. "How did you...?"

Dorian leaned against the massive jeweled staff that never seemed far from her person. A mischievous grin came over the woman's face. "It's what I do." She came forward and slid an arm around Desiray who turned with her. The woman pushed her fingers through the Guildmistress' hair. Desiray rocked her head back against the mage's hand.

"You know," Dorian said. "It's not unexpected for Desiray to feel a little maternal toward Wren. They've been through life and death together." She leaned back a little to look in Desiray's eyes. "After you get over the initial resentment, you gain some respect for the person who beats you up. Especially if you picked the fight to begin with." Dorian pulled back as Desiray bit at her nose. "They are family after all."

"That's what she was saying," Cassandra grumbled. "It sounded like a ploy to me."

"Only two people in this room have to believe it," Dorian said, looking back to Cassandra. She focused again on Wren. "I know about your episode because it's part of the healing process. You'll feel better, then lapse. Sometimes the lapses are much worse than your original shock."

Wren felt a cold sensation in the pit of her stomach. "Oh, I hope not."

Dorian shook her head. "Hoping doesn't help. You've been through a traumatic loss, and no matter how strong you are, it won't just get behind you. That's just not the way people work."

She swallowed. She didn't like where Dorian was heading. "So, what then?"

"You can take what comes, or if you'd prefer a faster recovery, come visit with me a little each day. You've reached a point now where I can help you."

"What will the visits cost me?"

Dorian raised an eyebrow. "That's a valid question I suppose." The woman looked at Cassandra. "When you're feeling better I'd be wanting you to look at this." She reached into a pocket and pulled out what appeared to be a pair of brass tubes with a large green gem in a setting across them.

Wren kept her face smooth. It was exactly like the device that Drucilla asked her to wear.

Dorian's face didn't change expressions. "As I suspected, you've seen one already. The DeChelts device is interesting. Of course, it's more interesting if you have a force savant look into it to tell you the passwords on the cells."

Wren blinked. How had the woman known so fast? She didn't think she'd reacted at all.

"Wait." Cassandra growled. "What do you mean, she's seen one already?"

The green-eyed mage shrugged. "Wren's business is her own. No surprise to me. It's a simple matter for a Kel'Varan to decrypt one of these. Anyone who possessed one of these and knew her power would be likely to ask." She looked at Wren. "Anyways, so I obviously don't have to explain what's involved in the deciphering process. It's easy for you and valuable to me. I'll help you to feel better in return for a perhaps half a bell of your time. Would that be an equitable trade?"

It seemed more than equitable trade. When she had done it for Drucilla, it hadn't been difficult, only confusing. What was so special about the devices that they needed deciphering? "So, what does one of those do?"

"You don't know?" Dorian asked. The corner of her mouth quirked up. "You know, you really should ask more questions before giving someone the keys to destroying the world."

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There's a reason no-one trusts Dorian. Regardless, she can do great good and often does. It's those little deceptions that ruin her reputation...
--Cassandra

Scoredays of depression, malaise, and anguish melted in the space of heartbeat. She lay on the bed in her quarters, Desiray next to her, Cassandra, Everia, Dorian, and Cassin standing around like an audience. It had been Dorian's words that did it. Ask more questions before giving someone the keys to destroying the world. The mage had said it with a straight face and an even tone, as if she were reporting the weather. The idea set her heart to racing.

"Destroying the world!?" she let out, sitting up straight. "I thought that was for testing someone to see if they were a savant!?"

Everyone else all looked equally shocked. They apparently didn't know about the device either, but accepted Dorian's judgment that she'd come in contact with one before.

Dorian looked down at the double brass tubes joined by the large gem. "Well, it could be used that way I suppose. However, that is not its primary function."

"What is its 'primary function'?" Wren asked, mind swimming. She had unlocked the thing for Sindra and Drucilla without knowing. What had she done? The scene had seemed so strange, but not harmful. Her head began to ache.

"Yes," Cassandra said, staring at the magical item lying in Dorian's palm. "And how is it, I don't know anything about them?"

"This," Dorian said, sliding the item over her fingers. "Is one of the few artifices known to be used by the First-ones." She held up her hand and the gem glowed. "They used it the same way we use one of these." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a ring of metal that jingled with other smaller shafts and strangely shaped metal objects. She picked through the assembled objects and held up a single shaft with a metallic flange that made it resemble a flag.

"A key?" Wren repeated. "It's a key? What's that have to do with destroying the world?"

Dorian looked to Everia and raised an eyebrow. "Care to speculate for us, Darling?"

The dark-haired young woman pursed her lips. "Because it opens doors created by the First-ones?"

The mage nodded. "Exactly. What's behind those locks can be long since disintegrated junk, or artifacts created by the First-ones."

Wren let out a sigh and scowled. "You scared me for nothing."

"No," Cassandra muttered. Her voice grew louder. "The potential for harm is great. It is the probability that is low." The gold mage ran a hand through her hair. "How is it I overlooked such an interesting research topic?" She held out her hand to Dorian and the woman handed the item to her.

"I think it was mean to scare her like that," Desiray growled. "You scared me." Desiray turned on the bed and looked at Wren with her intense green eyes. "Still, that leaves who told you it was a way of testing savants."

Wren fell back on the bed and stared up into the canopy. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Desiray, it's her life," Cassin said. "Leave it be." Of course, the gold woman probably knew that it was Sindra and Drucilla who had duped her into telling them the key's images.

"Wren may not want to speak of who she gave the key information to, but I want to know more about the keys themselves." Cassandra held the device up to the light and looked through the facets of the crystal. "Is it easy to discover the door that one of these unlocks?"

"Very difficult," Dorian replied. "Of course, without the codes that activate the key, searching for the door it opens is pointless."

Desiray turned her head at an angle and eyed the device. "Can the doors be opened without the key? Some people with the right skills don't need a key."

"When you can pick a lock composed of dimensional folds, suspended in a living matrix. Look me up, I'll have a lot of work for you."

"A living matrix?" Everia asked.

Dorian nodded. "One of the things that make locating the doors difficult is they move around. The doors are actually living creatures."

"A creature?" Desiray said, rubbing the back of her neck. "I presume a long lived one."

"Or one that can pass the 'door' to its progeny," Cassin added.

"To make sure the signature of the entry creature changed often enough so that it wouldn't be easily located, the First-ones created an entity that expired and revitalized itself."

Wren's heart jumped. She'd been trying to stay out of the conversation hoping the women would go away and leave her alone. "A phoenix?" she asked.

"Correct. They are hard to find, impervious to all but the most powerful magic, hostile to most races, and their lair is usually the lava pit of an active volcano."

"Marvelous," Desiray said, folding her arms. "Has anyone ever gotten anything valuable from one of these phoenixes?"

Loric's voice came from behind the women. "Most of the known Starwand battle-blades came from a cache belonging to the First-ones guarded by a phoenix." The lord of the manor walked in and put an arm around Cassandra. He was wearing his sparring togs, and had a wicker practice sword through his belt. "Next to the Shaladen swords of the Eternals, they are the most powerful magical weapons in existence. Despite their power, people say they are actually some of the least significant of the devices created by the First-ones."

"Wow," Wren breathed. She remembered what it felt like to wield Corona. That had only been a dagger, and a Starwand created by a mortal. Its power had been awesome. Loric described devices that were probably tens or hundreds of times as potent. "Then someday, someone who opens the right phoenix might uncover something even grander than those?"

"That's the gist of it," Dorian answered.

"This is so fascinating!" Cassandra said with passion in her voice. "Why did you never share this with me before, Dorian?"

"The code for the key is unbreakable without someone who has the blood of the First-ones." She nodded to Wren. "It's merely an interesting conversation piece otherwise."

Cassandra looked at Loric. "You knew about it too. I suppose it's because you know everything?"

He smiled. "Not exactly." He held up his hand, index finger extended as if to point. He described a square in air with the end of his finger. The atmosphere glowed along the path made. When his hand completed the circuit, it became a shimmering hole in the air. He reached in, his arm appearing to be gobbled up by the opening. When he pulled his hand back, in his grasp he had a device similar to the one Dorian held. "A long time ago I became fascinated with the purpose of this one. I spent centuries trying to decipher it. As a wedding present for my third marriage, Damay gave me the images to use to unlock it. I spent another century tracking down the phoenix it belonged to."

The word simply popped into Wren's mind. "Mon'Istiaga," she said.

The elder's smile froze. "What?"

"Mon'Istiaga," Wren repeated, frowning. Why did his story spark that word in her mind?

Cassandra looked at him with a curious expression. "So, what did you get out of the phoenix?" She punched him in the shoulder. "We've been married two decades, you never told me this story!"

Loric rubbed his arm absently. He glanced at Cassandra with a raised eyebrow. "Darling, did I not create story nights? I have told a tale of my experiences once a week since we've married. As you're fond of pointing out, I am older than the hill we live on." His attention focused on Wren. He pointed a finger at her. "You bear watching little girl."

"I don't understand," Everia said. "What's so important about Mon'Istiaga?"

The elder let out a breath. "Because it is the name of this." He reached over his shoulder and appeared to take a grip on empty air. A peeling sound rang through the room as metal slithered on metal. Loric pulled into view a two-fisted battle sword over a pace long. The tang and blade were composed of a translucent material that distorted light making it resemble the surface of a rippling pool of water. Sparkles danced around the edges and the weapon gave off a humming sound. When the tip of the sword shifted, a trail of visual echoes remained in the air for an instant before vanishing.

Cassandra's jaw dropped.

Dorian blinked.

"Shreds," Desiray muttered.

"Awesome," Everia breathed.

"Impressive," Cassin said, nodding.

Wren looked at the sword. It made the hairs on the back of her neck stiffen. Her heart started thundering. Her skin prickled as she felt it call to her. A voice in her head spoke with her mouth. "Dama te draga," she let out in hoarse whisper. "Tems nak Mon'Istiaga."

Loric eyes widened. The sword in his hand made a high pitched sound, and the shimmering around it brightened. Rainbows of light began shooting through the blade.

Wren rubbed her throat, eyes wide. For an instant, she had felt herself 'be'. The blade had acknowledged that a descendent of one of its creators was present. Some instinct had pulled the ritual response to its greeting from her mind. Part of the words and knowledge of the First-ones were in her blood.

"What is that?" Cassandra wanted to know. "I've never seen you use it."

"Mon'Istiaga," Loric responded. "Identifies itself as a Helix-blade. You don't see me use it because it refuses to work reliably for me. I keep it close to prevent it from falling into other hands. It's also useful because the blade is unbreakable, and the edge can part solid steel as easily as a regular sword does flesh."

Wren stared at the sword. If she'd had that weapon when she confronted Mishaka, the avatar would have been bleating for mercy. The back of her head tingled, she felt her power reaching out to the weapon. It touched her mind like an icy kiss behind her eyes.

"He doesn't like the way you hold him," Wren said. "Real warriors use the Dan Sadad style, only a chebok uses the Jacdaw."

Loric looked down at the weapon. "So that's why it's always irritated with me?"

Cassin giggled. "It thinks you're a sissy, Father."

The Lord frowned. "I know what chebok means."

Desiray looked back to Wren. "Are you talking to that sword?"

"More like it's complaining to me," Wren answered. "It resents being used as a--" she paused. "What? A--'can opener' it says. Whatever that is."

Cassandra grinned and Cassin laughed.

The gold mage shook her head. "Wren is full of surprises isn't she?"

Dorian had been silent the whole time staring at the sword. She finally looked to the First-one key in her hand. Wren could tell she was imagining what she might find with her key.

"Wren, a deal, the images to the key in return for healing?"

Depression, personal anguish and melancholia couldn't completely rub out a decade and half of street instincts. She looked at the sword in Loric's hand. "I feel like Hades and I know your time is valuable, but there is no way I'm selling out that cheap. On top of the counseling, I want second pick and thirty percent of whatever you find."

Dorian's eyes widened.

Desiray grinned and patted Wren's leg. "She hurting and down, Dorian--not dead. I train them better than that."

Cassandra folded her arms and looked at Dorian. "I would have asked for fifty percent."

Loric frowned. "The mysteries of the First-ones are not to be toyed with by youngsters. My advice is to leave it alone until you are older. Wren has the blood of Alpha, you do not. The ancient magicks will recognize her the way this sword does. To you, they will not be so kind."

"Just the same." Everia shook her head. "It certainly is exciting."

"A fascinating adventure," Cassin agreed.

Wren felt like she'd already received valuable counsel. The painful outburst had faded from her mind. She felt alive now for the first time in two scoredays. She sensed that this was just a reprieve in a long siege, but she'd taken a step towards dealing with the things that had happened to her.

"It sure is exciting," Wren said. "What's your answer Dorian?"

"Twenty," the mage responded.

"Not a chance."

"Twenty-five."

"Thirty-five," Wren countered.

"Thirty-five! You can't go up!"

"Stop haggling. Desiray's right, I feel terrible, but I'm not stupid."

The auburn-haired mage sighed. "The counseling, second pick and thirty percent."

Desiray grinned. "Look at the bright side, you might go to all that trouble and find nothing."

The mage scowled. "Why thank you for pointing that out, Desiray. I feel so much better now."

Cassandra nudged Dorian. "You planning on sharing with your best friend?"

"Only if my 'best friend' helps find the phoenix this belongs to." She flipped the device in the air caught it, and shoved it into her pocket. She turned her attention to Wren. "When would you like to take counsel? I usually have obligations in court in the mornings, but my afternoons and evenings are open."

"After the noon meal, perhaps?"

"That's fine. We shall start tomorrow."

"Again," Loric said, waving the gleaming sword. "I advise you to leave off. This endeavor is a dangerous one."

"Darling," Cassandra said, putting a hand to his cheek. "You said yourself it took a century to find the phoenix your key belonged to. We'll be at least that much older when we find it. So, don't worry."

The elder snorted. "Mark me. Don't say I didn't warn you."

"I'm in," said Desiray. "Have to include me. When you find the phoenix, someone still has to deal with the traps."

Dorian eyed the white-haired woman. "Actually, I was thinking Wren was a better choice. She can bend wards, the First-one magic recognizes her, and she already gets a share."

"So." Desiray put hands on hips. She glanced at Everia. "We have children together, you and she don't."

Dorian raised an eyebrow. "Desiray, I was only jesting. You know you're welcome."

The guildmistress harrumphed.

The mage looked at Wren. "I wouldn't hold your breath waiting for us to find the phoenix. When we do, I promise to include you."

Wren looked at her. "Can I ask you a favor?"

"Certainly."

"Can I see the key, please?"

"Of course," Dorian pulled it from her pocket, stepped over and handed it to Wren.

She took the device and slid it on her fingers. She examined the facets of the gem, concentrating on them. As before, she felt the buzzing in the back of her head. The images appeared to swim in the gemstone.

A single question had lingered in Wren's mind since Dorian had mentioned that the doors, the phoenixes, moved. Alpha's children had gone to great lengths to make sure that it was practically impossible to find, much less steal, their belongings. They even made it so that if someone managed to get possession of the key, it still did them little good without the images or the location of the phoenix. A cubby was supposed to be convenient place to store your valuables. It did you little good if you couldn't find it yourself. She stared at the device. If she had practically limitless power how would she make it convenient? Would she simply know where the cubby was?

Her attention went to the Guildmistress who was studying her. In her organization, Desiray did something similar to what the First-ones had done. She had living cubbies. Couriers were entrusted with stolen goods that authorities were actively attempting to locate. Because of magical searching means, if the items stayed in one place too long they could be ferreted out by the mages in the King's employ. The items changed hands continually, and no courier knew the whereabouts of the others. When the heat was off, Desiray simply left word in several prearranged drop spots, to bring the item in to collect their fee.

That's how you made a living, breathing, moving cubby convenient.

You made the cubby come to you.

The item throbbed on her fingers and the gem glowed. She quickly jerked it off her hand.

"What did you do?" Dorian frowned. "It's never done that before."

Wren handed it back to her. "Didn't do anything. It just, uh--recognized me." She looked at Loric. The elder raised his chin. He slid Mon'Istiaga away into its invisible hiding place on his back.

Dorian pressed her lips to a line and looked at the key. She looked at Wren, one eye closed and pointed a finger. "You're lucky you aren't feeling well."

"Everia, Desiray and I are supposed to be at our morning fitness ritual. You three," he gestured to Cassandra, Dorian, and Cassin. "Should hurry or you'll be late reporting to the moderator to make the final preparations for the hunt." He turned to Wren. "Will you be joining us for breakfast after the workout, Wren? I'm glad you're feeling a little better. I'm certain," he gave Dorian a look. "Lady Degaba will be a fine counsel to help you put yourself right."

Wren nodded. "Perhaps I will. All this excitement, it may be hard for me to stay up here."

Desiray put a hand on her arm. "So, you're okay, now?"

"I think so," Wren responded.

"We'll see you at breakfast then," Everia said.

The six of them said a few more words of leave-taking then left her in the room to ponder the knowledge she had just gained.

She knew the secret of the key.

All she had to do was bring the phoenix to her.

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Sindra, my incredibly wealthy, totally gorgeous friend-- even you don't have that much gold...
--Wren

After having her room crowded practically to over-flowing with the members of the house, Wren found it difficult to simply lie in bed and do nothing. She went to breakfast, and for the first time in a while, actually tasted Vera's marvelous cooking. The cook seemed overjoyed to see her, and was particularly attentive in making sure she had what she wanted to eat and drink.

The table was lively and people spoke to one another rather than keeping that eerie silence Wren had grown used to. She guessed that their silence at dinners was in fact an observation of her mood. Everyone seemed to smile a great deal more and there was more animation in their movements and laughter. The savory aromas and appetizing sights were the same as always, only now her mood let her appreciate it.

Sindra and Drucilla appeared late. Both the giant D'klace wore a dark-blue uniform that Wren didn't recognize. The buttons were polished gold and the sleeves and pants chased with brocade and gold cording. They wore white gloves, and the glistening masses of their dark hair had been tucked up under black-billed hats.

Sindra slithered down next to Wren and signaled to Vera. The cook had a plate and drink for both sisters in less than thirty heartbeats.

Of all the incredible people living in this citadel, Vera impressed her every day.

She noticed that neither Cassin nor Annawen were present. Cassandra and Dorian were also suspiciously absent. She wondered if that meant anything. They spoke as if they expected to make it to breakfast. Desiray and Everia sat at the opposite end of the table with Loric.

Sindra ate in silence. She was obviously conversing with her sister in silence because she occasionally emphasized with her fork or knife.

They apparently finished their discussion. Sindra turned to Wren. "You must be feeling better today."

She sniffed. "I am." She kept her tone courteous, but it still sounded icy.

Sindra raised an eyebrow. She glanced at Drucilla. "And you're mad at me exactly why?"

Wren looked into the woman's intense dark eyes. She shivered, damn she was huge--and powerful. Her voice dropped to whisper. "You lied to me about the phoenix key."

The woman's eyes widened. She pursed her lips. "Ah so." She sighed. "Well, that explains that." She went back to eating.

The silence went on. Wren found it irritating. Finally she said, "Is that it, no explanation? Just 'Ah so'?"

Sindra gestured to Vera who came over and refilled her plate and goblet. She looked back to Wren. "You didn't ask for an explanation."

"Don't I deserve one?"

She shrugged. "I didn't figure I would insult your intelligence by offering some banal lie. I took advantage of your ignorance. Simple as that."

"Ah so." Wren repeated in a tone that mimicked Sindra's. "Have you found the phoenix yet?"

The D'klace wrinkled her nose. "No. They are quite difficult to locate."

"See, if you hadn't been greedy, I might have told you where the phoenix was."

Both sisters froze.

Sindra turned slowly, focusing all of her attention on Wren. "What did you say?"

Wren met her stare. "You... have a key without a phoenix. I... have a phoenix without a key. I won't insult your intelligence."

She went back to eating. Let the woman stew on that for a while.

She did too. It took a great deal of effort not to glance at the woman. She had such a potent presence.

The D'klace let out a breath. "All right. What'll it cost me?"

Wren dropped her voice. "Three things. I want Mishaka, and I want to know where that bitch has my family. Lastly, you started to tell me how to kill her. I want to know that too. She destroyed my life. Now, it's her turn."

The D'klace stared at her, face unreadable. She glanced at her sister who wore a stony expression. "I'll take it under advisement and get back to you." She took a sip from her goblet. Her eyes narrowed. "You can't know the location of our specific phoenix. You have some way of finding it we don't know about?"

Wren looked at her with a raised eyebrow. "To bad we don't trust one another anymore. That would have been a valuable piece of information wouldn't it? Worth more than the phoenix's location itself."

"Ah." Sindra nodded. "Astute. What kind of price tag does that carry?"

Wren gave her a cold smile. "Sindra, my incredibly wealthy, totally gorgeous friend--even you don't have that much gold."

Breakfast left Wren feeling strong. The D'klace had taken advantage of her, and she'd managed to turn it into a sword that cut the other way. She felt vindicated. Even without Jharon to help her, she could play their game. Knowing the secret of the phoenix key was a persuasive weapon no less powerful than the First-one sword Loric had shown them. She ran a risk letting the D'klace twins know about it. For that information, they might break the rules. If she wanted to find Mishaka and her family though, those two possessed the power and knowledge to make it happen. She trusted Beia, but she sensed the Myrmigyne's resources were limited when it came to the minions of Hecate.

She pondered the problem for the rest of the day. She'd already thrown down the gauntlet. For good or bad, she would have to ride out the storm of consequences. If she had to pay a price to get back what belonged to her--so be it. She considered her options, and looked at potential strategies for keeping an upper hand not only against Sindra and Drucilla, but Dorian and the others. To protect herself, she might have to reveal to the others that she knew how to locate the phoenix.

Playing that out could get extremely messy. She knew the power of the D'klace sisters. If they really wanted something, little could get in their way. Of the people here in Loric's citadel, she guessed that only Loric or Gabriella could deter them. She couldn't play Loric though, she sensed that the lord wasn't interested in the power of the First-ones. He kept one of the powerful implements as a trinket. The idea of dealing with Gabriella brought a shudder to her. These people were titans. She was little more than fodder to them. Still, she sensed that Gabriella did feel some odd fondness for her. She had curtailed Everia quickly enough when it was obvious that she'd shirked an obligation. Wren knew only vague legends of the Dragon Queen, but she knew the type. They could never get enough power. A key to a vault belonging to the First-ones was something Gabriella would covet and fight for. The wars fought by the Dragon Queen were legend. Anyone would think twice before crossing her. If she had to hide behind a vampire to get back to her family, that would be the way she'd play it. She was tired of being passive and having events control her. It was time to make things happen according to her plan.

Absorbed in planning for the future, she spent the entire day never once troubled by the past. When she finally lay down to bed that evening, it was with a clear mind and not a single regret. She was riding a wave of emotion and excitement, she knew it couldn't last, but she would make the best of it while she could.

She slept deeply that night. Somewhere in her dreams she heard a sword calling to her. She felt the legacy of the First-ones following her like a crimson shadow.

A hand on her arm startled her awake. "What?"

She heard Vera's soft voice. "You dance this morning?"

Wren blinked to get the sleep from her eyes. It had been a long time since she'd slept so heavily. "Of course." She pushed a hand through her hair.

The shadow that was Vera turned and vanished into the darkness.

Wren took a breath. She vowed to figure out how the little woman did that. She donned the togs laid out for her and went down for the grueling workout she knew lay ahead.

She met Vera by the pool and took her position on the lines and saluted. Already present, the young woman saluted and bowed to Wren. After a few moments of limbering up, they started into a long "dance of the knives". Wren was now expected to stay in sync with her trainer rather than watch and duplicate. The lesson went on, growing in difficulty, kicks, punches, slides, leaps, and rolls.

Frustrating as it was at times, Wren liked that the training was hard. She needed to be challenged. The focus required to follow Vera's instruction blotted out everything except the purity of her body moving in the rhythms of the dance. The cook demanded and she gave, and the giving made her stronger. She traded the pains of her spirit, for those of the body.

Wren leaped and landed precisely at the northern point, snapped a ridge-hand to the right, following it with an elbow and axe-kick. She rolled forward, feet stabbing down on the north-eastern point wrists up to cross-block then yanking her invisible opponent down into a back-fist with a rasping hiss of breath. Pivoting and punching, she slashed through three guard kicks and came down with stomp that made the floor rattle. She pivoted and faced the south point, flashed a hand out and up and performed a salute and bow.

Vera stood at the south point face calm as always, eyes probing and intense. She nodded to Wren, then bowed. "To stance." Wren shifted to a fighting crouch. "Sternum strike attack. Go."

Wren lunged forward with a focused punch with all her breath and hips behind it. Vera guarded it aside with a swipe of her palm.

"Ready position, double punch combination, go."

Wren repeated, swinging with every ounce of energy in her body. Again the little woman deflected the blows without even shifting her feet a hair from the spot she was standing in. How did she do that? She was smaller than Wren, lighter. She turned the attacks so easily.

"Guard stance," Vera said. "Free engagement..."

They wheeled around one another, Wren trying to break through a virtual wall of knees, elbows, fists, and feet. No matter what she tried to do, Vera seemed prepared for it. She would get better and faster. She was determined that some day she'd actually manage to do more than make a fool of herself. She kept on.

Vera finished their workout with a bow. "Well done," the little woman said. It was the first words of praise the quiet girl had spoken since they started. Wren watched as a single bead of perspiration ran down the smaller woman's face. "You ready to train harder now."

"Harder?" Wren gasped. She sat down with a grunt, wiped her forehead and flung aside a handful of moisture. "I don't know if I can."

"We train good when you ready," Vera said, her face serious. "I must start breakfast now." She bowed again and raced up the stairs.

Wren stared after the cook. Harder? She had to be joking. When collapsed onto her back. The workouts were half-killing her now.

Wren heard the sound of feet on the steps and saw Desiray come down into the chamber. The woman paused hands on hips, then walked over.

She was dressed in green instead of blue today. The band in her hair was black. "I was wondering if there'd be a repeat of yesterday."

"I need the exercise," Wren breathed.

"Okay, but do you have to kill yourself getting it?"

"I'll be--" She took a breath. "I'll be able to--keep up with her soon enough."

The white-haired woman grinned. "Girl, that is something I'll believe when I see it." She knelt and patted Wren on the shoulder. "But I admire your ambition to try."

Unable to walk away, Wren stayed and watched the others workout. She sat in on one of Loric's fighting classes. It was nice to get a chance to observe the other people of the house in action. She saw Beia for the first time since the fight with Mishaka. The Myrmigyne worked with the youngest family members. Wren noticed that more than half the time Beia spent simply speaking with them. Much of what she said had to do with fighting as a last resort. Nothing of what the woman said could ever be misconstrued as pacifism. She advocated strength, growing strong and always being able to retaliate against an aggressor. She spoke of looking into an opponent's eyes and defeating them before they ever touched their sword. Make them doubt themselves, and the battle was won. The warrior's most powerful weapon, she said, was in their head, not in a sword sheath.

Wren appreciated what the woman was teaching these youngsters. She spoke of respecting life, of honor and courage. All good paradigms to bestow on youngsters who would eventually mature into formidable forces in the universe.

Toward the end of the workout, Beia and Loric sparred with each another. The Myrmigyne was nothing short of a marvel in action. The war master was a better fighter, but only through shear dint of centuries of experience. Wren saw that Loric was a by far a product of training, on the other hand Beia's skills came from instinct sharpened by seasons of struggling to survive. Loric worked heel to toe, forward and back, with a mechanical precision that was like a fine craftsman creating a piece of art. Beia was edges of feet, side-to-side, a rock one moment and a reed the next, improvising as she went.

Because their styles were so different, it made Beia a reasonable match for Loric. She seemed significantly faster afoot than the lord, and never stayed still long enough to get drubbed. She got in her fair share of hits, before taking punishment in return.

There was so much in this place to learn. The education she received just watching the two of them in combat could only be bought at an inconceivable cost.

More days passed, Sindra and Drucilla remained disturbingly quiet with no mention of their deal. Wren pushed harder to preparing herself to match Vera's tougher regime, spending time exercising in her room and running during the afternoons.

A tenday had passed with no word from either of the elders. She didn't like it, but tried not to think about it. In the times between strengthening her body, she decided to strengthen her mind as well. It was time to start thinking about her promise to Damay. To do that, she needed to know more about savants, the tao, and the magics that made spirit transfers possible. In any other place, such research would be difficult, but in a citadel with more than a dozen libraries, the information was here--some place. The problem was not the availability of the knowledge--it was finding it.

Warm spring sun was shone in through the windows as she wandered through the parts of Cassandra's library that she had access to. Some of the children gave her curious looks when she asked what books were safe to touch. She learned that the covers had colors to indicate levels of access. Anyone could read green. Blues were reserved for more mature readers. Browns contained knowledge that only house members could access. She discovered after asking that she met that criterion. Above brown, were black covers that contained specific knowledge reserved to 'responsible' individuals. Red covers were the great mysteries that only people like Loric had access to. Each color had one to ten white stripes on the binding to further delineate its security. Apparently, powerful magic protected the black and red books, and even the higher level browns could administer a punishing shock when handled by the wrong individual.

One of the young boys, she was fairly certain he belonged to Dorian from his features, patiently showed her the use of the index for doing research and how to locate the books referred to.

She was still slogging through the text in the massive index book when Dorian found her.

The woman had let down her hair, and had come dressed in a simple beige button-down blouse and loose-fitting black riding breeches. As in every other encounter she still carried that same huge jeweled staff. Wren wondered if the thing ever grew heavy, it looked to weigh two or three stone at least.

"Greetings," Dorian said. "They missed you at noon meal."

"Noon meal?" Wren frowned. "Oh, right. I guess I was pretty absorbed." She gestured to the page in front of her. "I never imagined so many books existed! More amazing is Cassandra owns all of these!"

Dorian came and put an arm around Wren, glancing and the book and notes Wren had been scribbling on the parchment. She'd grown used to the woman's familiarity. The contact was nice, it made her feel accepted. She felt certain that Dorian knew that.

"Avatars, Ka'Amok, and First-ones--interesting topics," Dorian said, eying her and rubbing the back of Wren's neck. "Seven stripe brown and above, little bit hot for your hands I'd think."

"Yes, tell me about it," she absently sucked one of the abused fingers. "The general material is next to useless though. I read way too slow to glean anything from it. It looks like most of the specific information is in eight, nine, and ten. Some of them are black!"

"Certainly is. For good reason too. I'll speak with Cassandra about getting you stripe nine access. You have a reasonable head on your shoulders. Ready for our talk?"

"I guess, I'm not getting anywhere with this." She rose and stood next to Dorian. The woman seemed so young and at ease. Wren kept forgetting that she was a mage no less powerful than Cassandra.

"Shall we take a walk so we have some privacy?"

"Sure. Where?"

The mage shrugged. "You choose. Let's go wherever you're comfortable. This is about you, not me."

Wren nodded and headed for the back entrance. She realized her legs felt a bit sore from the workout with Vera. The air outside was cool and the noonday sun felt good on her skin. Birds chirped and insects hummed. It was a nice day to be outside.

Dorian followed along in silence.

"Loric has a wonderful place to live," Wren said heading toward the trail that led around the lake. "It is truly a place of wonder."

The woman looked around. "Especially to someone who's lived in tight confines all their life."

Wren nodded. She stopped and sniffed the sweet pungency of one of the berry bushes growing by the trail. "That's for sure. I never slept on a real mattress before I came here. I don't know how I'll ever go back to sleeping on canvas again."

"Well, you may not have to."

"I can't imagine myself ever really fitting in here. I'm just so--different."

"Different like Desiray?" Dorian asked.

"Okay, you have me there." Wren drew a breath. "I don't have anything to tie me here. I have family," she gestured to the sky. "Out there somewhere."

"You want to find them, don't you?"

"I sure do. At first, I thought they abandoned me and I didn't want anything to do with the idea. Then I found out someone stole me from my home. Then I learned that Mishaka still may have my parents prisoner."

"That makes you angry doesn't it?"

"Damn right it does. Wouldn't it make you angry?"

Dorian put a hand on Wren's shoulder. Her fingers were slender with long rounded nails. Wren noticed the barest hint of stain beneath the woman's cuticles. She'd done her share of work at some point in her life. "Trust me Wren, I'm as human as you. I'd be busy thinking of ways to get even."

"Good. For a moment there, I thought you were going to tell me some dragon flop about dealing with my anger."

The mage smiled. "You are too smart for me to be so trite." She cocked her head to one side. "Might I suggest though, that there is good anger and bad anger."

Wren's brow furrowed. "How so?"

"Hot anger makes us rash, we break things, and do things without thinking. Then there is cold anger, it seethes and churns inside of us. It drives us forward, focuses our lives, and pushes us to plot our revenge."

Wren looked at the woman. "So cold anger is the good kind, right?"

The mage shook her head. "Cold anger is the destroyer. It leaves you changed and bitter. Hot anger is fleeting, a flurry of activity soon over. After the storm, life goes on."

"But nothing gets done, and you act like an idiot!"

"Anger is not a state in which goals are achieved. Sometimes things are achieved in spite of anger, but rarely because of it. Little useful was ever created out of anger, but many things have been destroyed."

The woman spoke with a wisdom not belayed by her youthful appearance. As they talked more, she realized that Dorian had a knack for getting her to say the things that she didn't want to say. When she said them though, she felt better.

Days rolled by. As Dorian promised, she requested that Wren be granted access to the nine stripe books. Cassandra surprised her by giving her permission to use the ten stripe volumes as well. Sindra and Drucilla were silent concerning her appeal about Mishaka, which began to worry her.

She and Vera continued their training rituals. If she survived another scoreday of the ordeal she'd be in the best shape of her career. Loric started assigning her small chores around the citadel to give her something to do. She appreciated that he didn't lecture her on how to get them done, but simply pointed out where all the necessary tools and information were located. He left the solutions up to her. A couple of them were crafts projects that required some savvy with wood and glue.

One was a particularly challenging mystery where several pieces of jewelry had come up missing. The culprit would have been obvious except that the victim was Desiray. It was unlikely that she would steal from herself, and more unlikely that someone would be able to lightfinger the traps she put around her jewelry box.

Through a bit of detective work Wren discovered that some of the miniature dragons she occasionally saw flying around outside were extremely fond of shiny objects. She learned that Cassandra didn't let them into the castle because they tended to "borrow" anything open to the claw. She eventually found what she suspected she'd find. The miniature dragons had found a secret way into the house. From there it was a matter of setting a trap for the scaly pick pocket.

True to her word, Dorian visited with her every day after noon meal. Wren grew to like and respect the woman. While Dorian was not necessarily honest, she was genuinely forthright. At times, Wren suspected the woman knew more about her than she knew about herself. She brought things out of her that she never thought existed. More than once her penetrating questions brought Wren to tears. Other times to rage. In both cases, she weathered Wren's outbursts with her body, holding her close until the emotional storm subsided. She didn't know the woman that well, but for some reason she accepted her touch without thinking.

It was nearing the end of the fifth scoreday since she started counseling with Dorian. She was sitting in the kitchen area enjoying the sun and engrossed in a story that was one historian's adaptation of Damay's adventures. Her muscles still ached from the morning workout with Vera. A few days ago they had moved to the next higher echelon of difficulty and she was already feeling the pressure. Vera pushed faster, more kicks, higher leaps. This morning, they started adding flipping and spinning maneuvers. After three bells, she could barely crawl. Still, it was a good feeling, an alive feeling.

"Good day, Wren," Dorian said, coming in from a side hall. She was dressed a white blouse and skirt, and was wearing several pieces of platinum jewelry. She stopped by the table and leaned on her staff.

She smiled at the mage. "Bright day to you."

The woman nodded. "Feeling good today are we? You seem well content."

Wren thought about it. "Actually, I feel marvelous. A bit sore, but it's a healthy ache." She realized that for the first time in scoredays she'd gone almost an entire day without a single grim thought. "You know, I'm whatever is better than marvelous." She glanced out the window. "It's a beautiful day for a walk."

"So it is." Dorian grinned and gestured toward the back entrance. "Let us at it."

Wren stood up and the mage put her arm around her. They walked out the back together. They strolled down the eastern trail for a while, neither saying anything, simply enjoying the sun and the spring smells coming from the flowers around the lake. The sky was a dazzling blue dappled with gray tinged clouds. Needlebeaks fenced with each other around the blossoms in the fruit trees, and colorful flutterbugs flitted through sprays of shimmerpetal.

"I daresay that you've come quite a ways since we began our talks. You've been more receptive even than I dared to hope."

Wren looked up at her. "I wanted to feel better. I don't know why, but part of me knew if I listened, I'd hear what I needed to make myself whole again."

The mage put a jeweled hand lightly on the back of Wren's neck. "Between us, you have made this a rewarding experience for me. I look forward to our talks."

Wren felt her cheeks grow warm. "Really? Why? I must seem pretty naïve to you."

The woman smiled. She drew a breath a let it out slow. "Naïve is okay, especially when you're willing to accept you don't know everything and can take advice in the spirit it's offered."

She shook her head. "I don't know about anyone else, but if someone like you is giving advice I'm going to listen. You didn't get to be what you are by being foolish or stupid."

Dorian laughed. She patted Wren's shoulder. "You're good for me. I can't get my own children to listen to reason."

Wren pushed a hand through her hair and looked across the lake. For a second she thought she saw metal glinting. Perhaps someone else was out having a walk. She studied Dorian's youthful face. She could tell this topic really bothered the woman. "I think children are made so they can't listen to their parents. I think the gods made it that way simply to devil mothers and fathers."

The mage let out a breath. "It sure seems that way at times."

"I'm not sure I understand though. Cassin and Annawen seem to dote on you. Everia and Darin seem a little--obstinate, but not defiant."

"Well, they behave themselves around others."

Wren raised an eyebrow. The words behave and defiant had sparked a question in her. It had been bothering her nearly since the day she arrived in this place. "Can I ask you a personal question?"

Dorian stopped and gave her a curious look. She leaned on her staff and focused on Wren. "Go ahead."

"It's about Cassin and Annawen. I mean, don't their relationships bother you?"

"What, because they're married to women?"

Wren nodded.

"Who am I to argue what makes them happy?"

"But Sindra and Drucilla are so--dark. They're--well--evil."

Dorian swallowed and her green eyes got a faraway look. "I fought with myself for some time on that point. I stepped back and forced myself to be as objective as a mother can be. You know what I came up with?"

Wren shook her head.

"As black and as nasty as those two witches are--they're careful not to expose Cassin and Annawen to it. They take care of my daughters as well as any partners I could hope for them to have. They've been married ten summers now. I don't think I've ever heard of them even arguing. They're twins married to twins. It's a special relationship. I can't lie to myself and say I really understand it. All I know is they're happy and from everything I've seen, they'll stay that way for decades to come." Dorian started walking again, and Wren stayed with her. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, because I don't trust Sindra and Drucilla. I think they're up to something."

"They're always up to something. Do you know any particulars?"

"No. Only a gut feeling."

The trail topped a low rise and dropped down into a small copse of trees as it went around the back side of the lake. The bright sunlight crisscrossed the ground with shadows as it shone down through the branches.

They walked into trees a short ways and Wren slowed. She felt a prickling on the back of her neck.

Dorian stopped and looked at her. "What's--"

A crackling sound sizzled through the trees. Rising up from the ground and filling the air all around them was a flickering-translucency that made it look as if they were submerged under water. As Wren glanced side-to-side she saw the affect was curving overhead like two halves of a gigantic bubble coming together. When the sections met their view of the terrain outside flickered. Wren felt a twisting horribly wrong sensation shoot through her body, and a sharp pang went through her temple.

Dorian gripped her head and cursed. She grabbed Wren and sprinted back the way they had come.

The ground in front of them erupted, and dark figures burst forth to bar the way. The ground appeared to vomit creatures behind and to the sides. At least a score of black-garbed humanoids, with green scaly features and red glowing eyes surrounded them. Making guttural hissing sounds, the ring of enemies closed in, shining daggers poised to strike.

Return to Contents

I saw something in myself both wonderous and terrifying. I saw something in Dorian that scared me even more.
--Wren

Fear. She hadn't felt that emotion in a number of days, but it came back to her fast. She and Dorian were in a net and the noose was closing. Two dozen knife-wielding killers lunged toward them.

Wren started to dive away, but Dorian grabbed her and leaped. The dark-haired mage moved with surprising speed. They were four paces up when the assassins converged. When Dorian left the ground, she didn't slow.

She accelerated.

If she hadn't already seen it before, Wren would have been amazed. Flying. They were flying. Right below the highest boughs they halted. She noticed a blue glow now surrounded the both of them. Keeping a firm grip on Wren's waist and looking down at the snarling pack of thugs, Dorian shook her head. "Hope this works!"

The mage aimed her jeweled staff as a fighter might point a spear. Red light exploded from the end. A meteor of light shrieked into the enemy. The ball erupted with roar. Wren shielded her face from the flash, blinking to get the after images out of her eyes. The tremendous magical power incinerated two small trees caught in the effect.

Dorian gasped. "'Fraid of that." They whirled in the air, and sped along the trail toward the Citadel.

Looking back, Wren saw why. None of the assassins looked affected in any way. Right then, a white beam of light shot toward them from somewhere behind the assassins.

"Look--!" Wren didn't get the warning completed before the bolt speared Dorian in the back. The woman cried out in pain. The blue glow surrounding them winked out. The force propelling them died and they slanted toward the ground.

"Oh...haaaades!" Dorian cursed as they plummeted.

A voice in Wren's mind screamed 'be!'. She could only relax her body and attempt to roll as she hit. She didn't see what happened to Dorian, but heard the crack of something thudding hard into wood.

The heavily tracked path, tamped down from decades of foot-travel was only slightly more forgiving than cobblestones. The impact sent pain shooting through her legs as she gave with the fall and let the momentum spin her. Dirt and sky whipped through her vision as she tumbled and finally thudded to a stop in a bush.

Heart thundering in her chest, blood rushing in her ears, she righted herself in a flash and oriented on the enemy. She was surprised to be even able to move.

Screaming cries of murder, eyes glowing red from beneath dark hoods, the killers were only steps away. In those first few instants, Vera saved her life. Every morning for almost ten scoredays she had drilled in the dances. The man drove the knife toward her face, attacking her in same way Vera had simulated hundreds times.

Mon'kara. Slip and turn, crouch and counter. She lunged under the attack, dropping low and swinging her arm up to bring her thumb up into the man's armpit. Her sharp nail found the soft vital meat between the shoulder and the ribs. He shot passed her and collapsed in the dirt howling. The second and third men were heartbeats behind the first. She imagined herself on the lines by the pool. Dan'tat. Bend away, grab the wrist, palm heel to the arm. Bones snapped and her opponent cried out. The third came at her back. Leth'katath. Drop. Elbow slam to the sternum. The attacker folded around her arm with groan. Clawhand strike to the crotch. Rip away. The assassin howled, falling to the dirt and flopping as though boneless. She spun up to a stand.

Ready position.

She tossed away the bloody shreds of cloth, feeling the race of her heart, knowing the fear, but controlling it. Focus. She hurried forward. There were too many foes, and she didn't have a killing weapon. The attacker's curved knives were useless for throwing. She sprinted to where Dorian lay sprawled beneath a tree trying to get up. The nearest assassins moved to block her.

"Dorian, get up!" She yelled. "Get--up!"

Wren leaped as one man dove at her. His shoulder clipped her foot and she landed awkward, lost her footing, and missed the opening she'd been aiming for. Three more opponents closed on the mage who still appeared dazed, two more closed on Wren.

The assassins hissed at her, eyes glowing from featureless scaly faces. A chill wind seemed to churn around them and a strong ophidian odor hung in the air.

She ducked and sidestepped as a knife came at her back. She brought her fist down on the base of his neck and stomped the side of his knee. The killer dropped clutching its leg.

"Dorian! Move!" she yelled. The assassins raised their knives to plunge them into the mage.

In a blur, the woman was up, driving the flat of her staff into the midriff of two opponents. The force knocked them across the trail into the trees. The fall had shredded the mage's white clothing, and with cuts and scrapes covered most of her exposed flesh. Teeth bared in a snarl, green eyes wild she avoided the knife of her third attacker and brought the broad end of her staff hard between his eyes. He went down. Before the last two nearby could move, the mage launched herself at them. She kicked one in the groin, and crushed the other's head with her staff. They crumpled.

Dorian fought like no mage Wren had ever seen, and she was glad to have her as an ally. Breathing heavily the woman stepped beside Wren, eyes trained toward their opponents. She pushed against her shoulder, urging them to back down the trail toward the citadel.

Where were the rest of the family? That blast could have been heard a league way. At worst, they might be two long breaths from the back entrance.

The remainder of the assassins had slowed. More than a dozen of the hissing monstrosities continued to stalk forward.

"These must be friends of yours," Dorian mumbled.

"Think they're bad? Wait until you see my enemies."

Dorian snorted. "They're bad enough. We're cut off. They neutralized my magic, and it felt like they threw a chronilation around us."

"What?"

"We're between beats in time. The sound of the fireball may take as long as a bell, simply to reach the house. If it ever does."

"Oh great. There's a lot of them left."

"Keep backing up," Dorian growled. "Don't worry about the fodder. Watch for their mage. He's the one we have to hit."

Wren eyed the blades shining in the eerie light. "We can't ignore those knives. They're covered with Jikartandak. If we get cut, we could die before anyone knows we're in trouble!"

Dorian's voice was cold. "Don't get cut." She glanced back, scanning left to right. "Damn." Her knuckles went white on her staff. "More company, on the right."

Wren sucked a breath. "I see them." Six more figures stalked toward them through the trees. These were bigger and more muscular than their first opponents. They wore space black plate-mail with helmets fashioned to resemble the heads of hooded serpents. They carried jagged-edged great-swords that glowed as though red hot.

"Minions," Dorian murmured. "Set must be really ticked at you."

"All I did was kick his avatar in the crotch."

Dorian shook her head. "They can be pretty sensitive that way."

"I was noticing." She glanced back making sure of her footing. They were still keeping their distance from the assassins. The group of them seemed in no hurry. That worried her. The edge of the shimmering still lay a hundred paces away. A long way to back up while fighting multiple opponents, any of whom could kill them with a scratch. If they turned and ran they'd be exposing their backs to a dozen lethally poisoned blades.

"Damn it, we need a weapon!" Wren growled.

"We have a weapon. We have you!"

"I can't control my power!"

"We best figure it out. They're letting us back up too easy. If we cross that perimeter I'm betting something nasty will happen."

Wren shuddered and looked back to the trail behind them, then to the mob and the score of blades that all wanted to find a home in her heart. "What do you want me to do?"

"Take my hand."

Wren did.

"Remember when you formed a rapport with Cassandra, you could see through her eyes?"

"Yes."

"I need to see through your eyes and use your savant senses."

There wasn't time to argue. She'd spent a great deal of time in Dorian's company. The woman knew practically everything there was to know about her anyway. "Do it."

It happened faster than she imagined it would. She gave the word and instantly Dorian was in her mind.

<Open yourself to me.>

How? She couldn't open herself to herself!

Be. That always seemed to be the answer. She thought of what it was like to climb and that familiar buzz in the back of her head. She imagined a knife, feeling the target, knowing the way to put the knife where she wanted it. She remembered the stab of Hethanon's magic, feeling it crackle in her hand, as she released it back into his startled face. Be.

<There!>

Wren felt a shock go through her body. Patterns shot through everything in her vision. The back of her head tingled.

Dorian stepped behind her and took hold of her shoulders.

"I hope you know what you're doing, Dorian."

<One way to find out. Relax, this should feel good.> It felt as if Dorian opened a door, Wren felt part of herself 'be' in a totally new way.

The forest, the rocks, the ground, the minions--everything, came alive in a million different colors. She could sense every iota in every object in sight, knew each one intimately... She felt herself able to reach out and take the force from any single one those billions of motes, and make it hers...

<Isis eyes,> Dorian breathed in her mind. Wren felt the woman's unvarnished awe. <I never imagined...>

The woman never finished her thought because three of the armored minions had tired of waiting. They charged forward, huge blades lowered to impale. Wren's chest seized, her heart zoomed. "We're going to--"

Be, BE, BE! The words crescendoed through her mind. Three blades plunged toward her chest.

And stopped.

A rush of power shot through her limbs as the strength and momentum of the swords became hers. Dorian, seemed to know exactly what to do with it.

<Backhand him, will you?>

Wren was still feeling the race of her heart and realizing she wasn't dead. Startled, she back-knuckled the nearest of the armored minions. Her fist became a white-hot meteor that exploded into the creature's helmet.

The monster toppled twenty paces through the air before smashing into a tree then crashing to the ground. Green gas poured from the openings in the armor, leaving only a bug-like husk behind.

The other two renewed their attacks. Hacking and pounding. Each strike simply glanced ineffectually off her body, making the heat in her middle grow warmer and warmer. Her heart, already racing, seemed to redouble.

Pulse thundering in her ears she lashed out twice more, crushing their armored forms like paper mannequins.

<Now, that, is a weapon,> Dorian murmured in her mind.

"How am I doing this?"

<You are the savant of forces, Wren,> Dorian crooned. <The wind, the sun, the pull of the ground, its all yours to tap if you have the willpower. I can barely imagine how powerful Damay must have been...> Wren's vision abruptly blurred, and she felt a stitch of pain crease up her side.

"Ow!" She winced. "What's happening?"

<Damn, little difficulty here.> Wren felt strange sensations as the mage seemed to light up portions of her mind. She sensed strange disciplines being used to control her body. Wren's heart slowed and the throbbing in her head lessened. Her hands shook and her knees went wobbly. <Oooh, this is bad.>

The mage's tone sent a shock of alarm speeding through Wren. "What--what's bad?! What are you doing in there!"

She sensed Dorian grit her teeth. <Sorry, I miscalculated. I'm fixing it!>

Wren stared toward the remainder of Set's killers closing on them.

She tried to move and found herself paralyzed. Her arms and legs wouldn't work. "Dorian...This is a real bad time to miscalculate!"

<Damn it,> Dorian mumbled in her mind. <Eighteen trillion ways to get the energy, and not a single damn adaptation for managing it.>

"What are you doing?! They're coming!"

<I'm working! I'm working! Your ability doesn't deal with the backlash, and you are not conditioned like a mage. Your mind is so disorganized it's taking forever to marshal your resources.>

"Hurry!"

<I am! I am! Hades, have to improvise. Take the staff!> Dorian shoved the huge jeweled implement into Wren's hand. <Look into the staff!>

Wren focused. Lines and lattices of energy whirled into view around the two pace long metal shaft bound in leather and studded with jewels. She sensed the networks of magic Dorian wanted, reached out with her mind and took hold. At the same time, Dorian opened the Wren's talent wide and inhaled. Everything around them seemed to sigh. Streamers of force spiraled into the staff. The gems down its length flared white.

The screaming assassins were only a pace away when a loud voice ordered them to stop. Too late.

<Die.>

Wren swung the staff around in front of her. She wasn't sure what would happen, but she knew it wouldn't be pleasant.

A single paper-thin plane of energy cut horizontally in front of her. It made no sound except for loud hum that went abruptly quiet. Then it went totally, horribly silent. Set's assassins froze in their tracks, their cries of mayhem abruptly becoming shrieks of surprised agony.

"What did you..? Oh--bleah!" Wren averted her eyes from the blood, reeling back against Dorian. The magic had created a sheet of power at waist level across the path of Set's killers. Being a thing of magic and only the thickness of a mote, it was sharper than the finest knife. When the spell appeared not only in front of them, but around them, their own momentum had sliced them into fragments.

Dorian pulled Wren toward the shimmering that marked the edge of the time bubble.

Wren coughed, trying not to vomit.

"Don't sick out on me now. It's down to us and him, and I still don't have any magic."

"That--that was--terrible!"

"Pretty grisly. Sorry, didn't have lots of stop-them-all options."

Wren nodded. Her whole body felt spent and weak, and Dorian had to help her along. "What's the matter with me? I feel so tired."

"Takes a lot of energy to power up that staff, much less dump that force-wall through it. You did that all by siphoning the potential out of the air, trees, and ground."

"Could I do all this without you helping me?"

"I wouldn't advise trying. It was irresponsible of me to show you, and risk you giving into temptation, but we are in a tight spot." She looked up as they stopped right at the edge of the shimmering. "Guess we get to find out how nasty this thing is." She looked to Wren. "You up to trying another savant trick?"

"I'm pretty tired."

"I think I can fix that. I know about the backlash now. I can compensate."

"Go ahead."

Dorian stepped behind her, and put her hands on Wren's shoulders. The contact happened smoothly. She sensed the mage synchronizing with her, lighting up those areas of her mind that had gone dark. Her whole brain felt as if it was glowing. She swore that if she could look at herself there'd be light shining out her ears.

<So, we're tired are we? We need a charge.>

"Desiray gave me one once. It felt great."

<Doesn't it though? Wouldn't it be nice to walk around day-in and day-out feeling like that?>

"Some people have all the luck."

<There. That's what we need.> Wren's vision grayed and faint blue lines crisscrossed in her vision.

"What's that?"

<Biophase, my dear, the magic of living things. Loric built his castle here because of the high density of biophase lines. Normally, you need strong magic to see them. Instead, we have a savant of forces in need of revitalization.> Wren reached out toward the lines and felt them bend. They resisted and she pulled harder. They came in a tangle and thudded into her palm.

It felt like grabbing hold of a lightning bolt. Tremendous potential leaped up her arm and shot across her body. The suddenness of it, made Wren yelp and stagger back a step. Then the energy went to work. Her whole body began hungrily soaking it up. Her bones hummed and her flesh glowed.

Wren blinked. "Oh... wow!" It was like the time Desiray had shared her lifeforce only better. There was more and more, there seemed no end. She felt as if she could swallow up the planet.

<The breakfast of savants,> Dorian grinned in her mind. <Ooop, not too much!> Dorian broke the connection.

"Damn, why did you do that?"

<I said revitalize--not eviscerate. Your reach will always far outstrip your grasp, especially with a fragile very human body as the conduit for these energies. Even if it feels good, it can be doing harm. That's what makes magic dangerous. Feel strong enough now?>

"To take on the universe."

<One mage will be sufficient. All we need do is bring him out of hiding. Let's do that, shall we? Look up at the curtain of energy.>

Wren looked up. She saw the fields of energy converging, saw the interplay of wind shear, the movement of the trees, the flow of rising heat.

<So damn much data,> Dorian muttered in her mind. <Would love to know how your adaptation lets you sort through all of this. There. That's what we need.>

Using her abilities to see, Dorian had isolated a single thin red line amongst all the other forces at work in the atmosphere around them. It looked too insignificant to be able to do anything.

"What is it?"

<For lack of a better term, it's a trip wire. It's how our friend will know we've fallen into his trap. It's also by necessity, a straight line back to him. Isis eyes, I LOVE this! I could never do this without twenty different kinds of magical devices. You sure you need this body?>

Wren grimaced. "Certain."

Dorian sighed. <Some people have all the luck. Okay, let's get this blighter and go home. First, we tap in.> Wren raised her hand. Complex symbols and concepts flowed through her mind. Some part of her seemed to absorb it all and shape it. Frameworks of energy formed, the elements came together and fused.

She felt Dorian shudder behind her. The woman's hands tightened on her shoulders.

"What's the matter?"

<Just experiencing a horrendous pang of envy. Half of your First-one adaptations are for the purpose of binding and merging energies--spells. It took you only an instant to formulate that binding conduit, it would have taken me dozens of times longer. Damn, I feel like a magical cripple now.>

From Wren's finger, tiny white threads drifted out and wound themselves around the enemy mage's tripwire. She turned and cast loops of the further ends around an ancient scalebark tree.

"I don't understand. What did we do?"

<Mister mage is about to get a surprise. Step around, so you're between the edge of the bubble and the threads.>

They moved together, situating themselves as Dorian described. <Good. Now, the fun begins. First, a little armor to protect ourselves from the fireworks.> More symbols and concepts flashed through Wren's mind, consolidating and taking form. Her hands glowed and a sheen of blue energy formed on the surface of her skin.

<Nice. That was sweet and tight. Now, some security.> Another spell flashed through Wren's mind and took shape. She gestured at the ground and thick red cords of energy reached up and surrounded her legs. The grip of the power felt good and warm.

"I could really get to like this magic stuff."

<That's what I'm hoping. Spell mergers on the fly, bindings, near infinite resources. I could throw away my staff, all I would need is you. No wonder the gods want you for an avatar.>

"Yeah," the word sounded grim on her lips. She couldn't help but feel excited. This is what it was like to really 'be'. She had thought of Damay as simply being powerful. If this sharing with Dorian was any indication, it was so much more versatile than she realized. The talent was so much more when it was used to facilitate a skill like magic.

<Here goes.> She reached up with one blue glowing hand and took hold of the mass of white binding threads. Then she reached toward the shimmering of the shield.

Wren stopped herself. "Wait! What in Hades are you doing? We'll get blasted! You said so!"

She felt the woman grin in her mind. <Trust me. Turnabout is so fitting.>

Wren hesitated. Still, Dorian seemed to know what she was doing. "Okay, but if I die, I'm going to haunt you."

<You kidding? I'll haunt myself.>

Wren reached out and touched the shimmering with her other hand. The response was instant and savage. Tremendous bolts of magic slammed into her. The mage had left no margin for error, power enough to level a castle thundered down. The magic rushed around her like a hot wind.

As Dorian said, turnabout was indeed fitting. The magic Wren had formed around herself funneled the strike straight into the binding lines. The tiny threads swelled into giant cables, channeling the powerful burst into the tripwire.

Somewhere in the trees, something let out a howl. Apparently, the trap setter hadn't thought one strike sufficient, because a follow up blast hit heartbeats after the first. As the second strike channeled, there was a secondary explosion in the trees. Black fire and smoke plumed toward the sky.

Dorian winced. <Oooh, that must've hurt. Shattered his control matrix.> The shimmering overhead vanished like a bubble bursting. <If he's still alive, he will be one seriously irate fellow.>

Her answer was quick in coming. Now, that she saw the author of this attempt on her life, she wished Dorian hadn't goaded him. A mountain of a creature stormed toward them, the clothing on its red-skinned body a smoking ruin. Golden glowing eyes shone from a blocky simian face, and hands the size of small boulders were clenched in fists of rage. As it drew close, Wren felt the familiar and terrible sensation--

"It's an avatar!" she gasped.

"Grazz't will suck the life from you with his bare hands!" the creature boomed.

A familiar male voice echoed behind Wren. "I don't think so." It was Loric!

"None of us think so," added a smoky-sounding feminine voice.

Wren looked back. Loric, Gabriella, the D'klace twins, Desiray and Cassandra were all standing behind them glaring at the creature.

The jackal god himself might have quailed with that group arrayed in front of him. To its credit, the avatar tried to flee. With the power of four elder mages combined, the duel was over in moments. Apparently, Sindra and Drucilla had no covenant that kept them from crushing the avatars of Set. Their magic was at the forefront of a wave of spells that shredded the creature.

"Glad you could make it," Dorian greeted the others. She gave Desiray and Cassandra each a hug in turn. "I was starting to get bored!" She came back and hugged Wren. "Marvelous job, it was beauty to work with you."

Cassandra looked around at the carnage, seeing the sundered remains of more than a score of creatures. "I take it we missed quite a show."

The woman put her arm around Wren and grinned. "Oh, nothing much. Just Wren and I taking on a small army by ourselves." She leaned toward Cassandra. "By the way, I may need your services. I seem to have misplaced my magic."

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Dorian is the most apt pupil of magic I have ever had the opportunity to apprentice. She also has a way with people that is truly impressive. All of that ability coupled with her extreme innovation is just a wonder to see in action. With all that going for her, I am sometimes very disappointed with her decisions. She can plan something to perfection, and destroy it all with a little bit of impatience. I suppose its good to know she still has something to learn...
--Gabriella Sarn Ariok

The walk back to the castle felt strange, especially with four such powerful elders walking at her back. Those four, with little perceptible effort, had flattened an avatar. It wasn't even a close thing. They annihilated the creature.

As they headed around the lake, Dorian walked with her arm around Wren's shoulder. Now that they had shared a fight, it appeared she'd risen considerably in the mage's estimation. Before this, their relationship had been personable, but their roles had been more of an elder to a youngster. Now, the woman had switched to treating her as a peer. The change in status felt so odd, she was so used to mages treating her as a baby. She liked Dorian. The woman was smart and funny. While she had a large streak of deviousness to her, it simply seemed to add to her mystique. Since they met, she'd always been fair to Wren. She spoke down to her, but not in a condescending way that rankled. As others had said, Dorian was a people person.

"Aren't you concerned about your magic?" Wren asked.

Dorian shook her head. She pointed at Cassandra. "I'm not worried. Cassandra will fix it. She fixes everything. Don't you, Dear?"

Cassandra glanced at Desiray. The white-haired woman was staring at something in her hand. Cassandra nudged the Guildmistress. Desiray put the object back in a pocket and smiled at her. Cassandra indicated Dorian. "Well, we know one thing about her magic deprived condition, don't we?"

"What's that?"

"It hasn't affected her attitude."

Dorian shrugged. She looked at Wren. "If Cassandra can't fix it." She looked over her shoulder to pale woman walking behind them. "Gabriella can. I have faith."

The Dragon-queen smiled, showing her fangs. "It will cost you."

"I pay my debts don't I?" She bit her tongue and raised an eyebrow. "Have I ever missed a payment?"

Gabriella pursed her lips. "Not in recent memory."

"There you go."

Cassandra frowned at her with narrowed eyes. Behind them, Loric was grumbling.

Cassandra looked back to her husband. "What's the matter, Darling?"

"Can't figure out how the damned creatures made it inside the perimeter," he rumbled with a stormy expression. "This attacking of my guests is unconscionable. Wren, Dorian, I apologize for this breech in security."

"Don't worry on my account," Dorian said. "Put a little scare into us. Some bruises and scrapes, but nothing that won't heal. It gives you a good excuse to redo all the wards. I heard you say its needed doing for the last couple moons."

The gray-eyed elder snorted. "This was not the excuse I was looking for."

Desiray looked back to the trees. "So, how did you two do all that damage? I can tell you're proud as Hades about something. You're practically crowing."

"I enjoyed myself," Dorian responded. "Nothing like a little edge-of-death, close-quarters rough and tumble to get the blood pumping. I suppose we'll have to tell the story tonight."

"Yes," Cassandra frowned. "You will."

Desiray leaned around Cassandra, and studied Wren with narrowed emerald eyes. "You're awfully quiet. You okay? You don't look even as banged up as Dorian."

"I'm all right, simply a little dazed. It was a--messy--fight."

"Is there any other kind of fight?" Gabriella asked from behind them.

Wren looked back at the Dragon-queen. "Let's say I wasn't braced for it."

"Violence can be shocking at times," Gabriella replied. She looked up to Sindra and Drucilla. Being in the bright light of day made the size of the two D'klace that much more obvious by the huge shadows they cast across the trail. "Some of us revel in it more than others though."

Sindra raised an eyebrow. She smiled down at Gabriella and put a hand on her shoulder. "Was that one of your pointy barbs I felt? You really must learn to be less subtle."

The Dragon-queen frowned at the hand on her shoulder. Then looked up at the D'klace. "I wasn't being subtle."

Sindra pursed her lips and flipped a hand through her waist length ebony hair. "Oh--my mistake."

Dorian looked back at the exchange, glanced to Wren and shook her head. "Old as the hills and they still haven't grown up."

Wren looked back at the two giant women. "They look grown enough to me. Any more and they'll go to seed."

Dorian laughed and so did Cassandra. The elders must not have heard because they wore curious expressions.

Wren noticed that Desiray dropped back to walk next to Gabriella. She gestured and the elder bent to exchange whispers that Wren couldn't make out.

Dorian leaned close and spoke with a low voice. "Desiray is right. Are you okay?"

"I--" she stopped. "That fight scared me."

"Well, those creeps were pretty scary."

"The scariest part of it was me. The things I did..." Her voice trailed off and she shivered. At the time, it had been exciting. Even after only a short while of reflection, the whole ordeal held troubling ramifications.

The woman drew a breath. "Wren, it's what you are."

"It's not what I am. I see that now. It's what I am to other people." She frowned. "We did incredible feats with no practice. I can only imagine what it would be like if we studied it." She stared hard into Dorian's green eyes. "The frightening part is--if you could do that with my powers." She indicated the elders behind them with her thumb. "Think what they could do."

Dorian glanced back to the Lord. She whistled. "Yesss my dear, I do see your point. It does give one pause."

They were nearing the house. Cassandra eyed the two of them. "What are you two talking about?"

"The nature of things," Dorian answered. "The very scary, very real, nature of things." Her attention went to Wren. "I don't know that I have an answer for you. You're obviously a valuable commodity. That value will only go up as you become more adept with your skills."

"That's the problem. I don't want to be a commodity. I want to be a person!"

"I'll tell you what my father used to tell me when I didn't like how unfair things were."

"What's that?"

"Tough."

When they were inside the citadel, they broke up. Dorian went with Cassandra to the infirmary to clean up her wounds. Mumbling something about 'the hunt' Sindra and Drucilla, headed off to take care of whatever that business entailed. Loric apologized to Wren again about the attack, and went immediately to the task of discovering where the outer defenses were compromised. Gabriella and Desiray trailed her into the kitchen.

Vera whizzed around the counter area, cleaning up the plates from late lunch and starting the slower cooking items for dinner. She paused long enough to smile at Wren, and greet Desiray and Gabriella.

When the little woman stood still long enough to catch, Wren gave her a strong hug from behind. She was amazed at how hot Vera's skin felt. It was like hugging a little furnace. It didn't actually burn, but came close to it. Obviously all that energy generated a great deal of heat.

"Ayeee." Vera looked back at her in surprise. "What that for?"

"Some of the things we've been practicing saved my life a little bit ago. Thank you." She took her by the shoulders. "I owe you."

Vera's dusky face grew taut and serious. "Hie." She touched Wren's shoulder. "You practice harder now then? Stop playing?"

Wren's eyes widened. "Playing? You call what we've been doing--playing?"

Vera turned and grabbed some vegetables from a sack on the counter, rinsing one orange tuber in a bucket of water and throwing it onto the cutting board. She whipped a knife from its sheath on the counter and split it with one swift stroke. She diced the two halves into twenty pieces with a staccato series of chops that was visible only a blur of hand movement. She swept the pile of half circles into a bowl. The whole process had taken a space of ten heartbeats.

She looked over at Wren, dark eyes serious. "Hie. Is playing. I not have time train you properly, but could train better."

"I've been trying, I'm just not in as good a condition as you."

Vera nodded. "You work. I teach." She went back to the rapid dismembering of vegetables, hands flying over the cutting board.

She walked around the counter to where Gabriella and Desiray were still standing. She indicated Vera's rapid knife-work. "Never taught us to use a knife like that."

Desiray watched Vera's knife whiz through its rapid movements. She smiled at Wren. "Perhaps when I hear a few more reports of attacks by killer vegetables, I'll start teaching those techniques."

Wren smiled, but sobered. "No, seriously though, she's good with that knife. I know when someone knows how to handle a blade."

"Wren, you'll find that girl has absolutely stunning talent in a lot of things."

"Then why is she a housemaid?"

"She does not believe herself worthy of anything else," Gabriella said. "Just the same, she is content. It seems like a waste of ability, but it is what she has chosen for herself to do."

Wren rubbed the back of her neck. "Have you ever seen her dance?"

Gabriella shook her head.

"I haven't either," Desiray said. "You're the first I know of she's ever let watch, muchless taught. She stops when anyone else gets close."

Wren's chest felt tight. "Really? She's beautiful to watch. I'd guess she's spent at least a decade training."

"Closer to five decades I'd think," the Dragon-queen said. "The Kirimani people live longer than normal humans. They can live to be as old as five hundred."

Wren's eyes widened. "Five decades?" Wren couldn't imagine working at something for that long. No wonder Vera thought they were only playing.

She paused and looked at the elder and the Guildmistress. Both seemed to want to discuss something. "Is there...something else? Both of you have been--lingering. Do we need to speak in private, or...?"

Desiray glanced at Gabriella and frowned. "Just wanted to check on you," Desiray said, looking somewhat self-conscious. "That was a nasty fight out there."

Wren nodded. "Sure was. We handled them though."

Gabriella raised her chin. "Tell me Wren, do you think you could have handled the avatar?"

She looked in the Dragon-queen's golden eyes. "Perhaps. He wasn't like Hethanon or Mishaka. Apparently, each avatar has different strengths and weaknesses. That one relied on being able to strip away magic. Unfortunately for him, we were able to work it anyway."

Desiray looked at Gabriella again. "Which is exactly--how?"

These two were certainly acting strange. Was there something she was missing? Dorian hadn't said that their cooperation was a secret. Both of the women seemed to be after some specific piece of information. It had to be more parts of their unending game. She couldn't see any harm in being forthright, they would tell the tale after dinner anyway.

"I don't know how to describe it," Wren said. "I let Dorian into my head, and she..."

Both women stiffened. Gabriella's eyes widened. Desiray's jaw set.

That reaction scared her. "What?"

"Go on," Gabriella gestured as though to speed her up. "You let her into your mind and...?"

"She figured out how to work my talent," Wren said.

"After the avatar took her magic, right?" Desiray interrupted.

"Yes," Wren nodded. "He hit her with some beam of magic. Knocked us right out of the air."

"A beam?" Gabriella asked.

These were strange questions. Where were they going with this? Now, she was starting to get confused. "Yes. I saw it come from behind the assassins."

"So, what did she do with your talent, Wren?" Gabriella asked.

That question made sense. "Well, first she protected us. She did something and I started to glow. When they hit me with their swords it--well, it actually felt...good. It made me feel stronger. We did all kinds of things. It was amazing really. To think all that was in me. It was--exciting."

Gabriella nodded. "I imagine it was. The isolation dome, did Dorian explain that?"

"Isolation? She said it was a chronilation, that it might be a bell before anyone would come help us. We figured out that if we tried to pass through we'd get blasted."

Desiray gritted her teeth and shook her head. "That sneaky little opportunistic witch. Loric will make himself crazy trying to find that breach."

The Dragon-queen tapped a long-nailed finger on her chin in thought. "No, if what happened is as you surmise, he'll find it. There will be some ward off in a corner, well concealed and weakened by time. I taught her too well to miss a detail like that."

They couldn't possibly be implying that it had all been an elaborate scheme of some kind. Could they? Creatures were slain. That had been a real avatar. She knew the feel of an avatar. There was no way someone could fake that.

Wren looked from the elder to Desiray. "I don't like the sound of all this. Are you saying that Dorian somehow set all of that up? That's--there's no way. How could you get the people to--I mean those creatures died. You can't get people to sign up to die like that. Especially that way...that was...ugh." She put a hand to her stomach. It still made her ill to think of it.

"It's her signature method of killing large numbers of enemies," Gabriella said. "When you are much older Wren, you'll realize that practically anything can be accomplished with sufficiently clever planning. There is an endless supply of dim-witted pawns whose actions can be manipulated to the point of predictability."

Wren stared at the woman. "I can't believe I'm hearing this. Are you implying she arranged to have herself attacked? They could have killed us both! I saw those blades. They had the poison. That was a real avatar."

The Dragon-queen nodded. "He was real enough, yes. One of Set's newer succorund and still relatively weak and inexperienced. He did not have the power yet to call down Set's host body. I don't think it's a coincidence that he and Dorian happened to be evenly matched. With her superior magic she could have defeated him."

Wren folded her arms. "But he took her magic!"

Desiray reached into a pocket and pulled out a small red disk made of some kind of crystal, and held it up for Wren to see. "Do you know what this is?"

Wren shook her head.

"It's called a Kul'adar stone," Gabriella took it from Desiray and held it close for Wren to see. "This item is made by the goddess Isis. Nothing short of another god's direct intervention can prevent its functioning."

"Wait on that a moment," Desiray said. "Ask yourself this? Was she ever more than a few paces away?"

"Only for an instant," Wren answered, feeling bewildered. "She was vicious with any of the ones that got between us." She stared at the jewel, what did that have to do with anything?

"So, at all other times, she was close or touching, was she not?" Gabriella asked, golden eyes intent.

Wren thought about it. The Dragon-queen was right. Dorian kept a hand on her almost every instant. She nodded. "Yes, she was right there with me."

"See, I filched this out of Dorian's pocket when she hugged me," Desiray said.

Wren held out a hand. "So--what does it do?"

"It's a means of magical transport," Desiray answered. "Way I see it. Never was any danger. Could have activated this any time she wanted. She didn't. Fairly obvious why she might do that."

Gabriella looked to Desiray then back to Wren. "What concerns us more is whether she merely capitalized on an opportunity, or whether she created a situation in order to give herself one."

Wren could only stare at the two women and wonder herself.

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I have done many things I was proud of, and several I would prefer not to discuss. Then there are those followed impulses that just make me want to kick myself...
--Dorian

For the rest of the afternoon Wren wandered around the citadel in a daze. She was a bundle of pent up energy looking for release, consumed by doubts. So many conflicting emotions were running through her. She had felt a very real and powerful connection to her own nature. Better yet, she had formed what had promised to be a special kind of bond between herself and Dorian. The mage showed her amazing things about herself--exciting things. She couldn't remember the last time something had thrilled her like that.

She happened down a corridor in the back portion of the castle and noticed a lone figure standing on a balcony looking out across the lake. She noticed two things. First, that the person was wearing nothing but a towel, and second--it was Dorian.

Wren drew a breath. Dorian's talks had taught her one thing about doubts. There was only one real way to deal with them. Hit them head on.

She headed out onto the balcony and stood a pace behind the woman.

The mage continued to hold the towel around her torso as she looked away from Wren out over the lake. Why was she standing here, rather than at one of the balconies that adjoined a bedchamber?

"Looking for me, Wren?" Dorian asked in a level voice without turning.

Wren's stomach tightened. The woman certainly had keen senses. "Not really, I just saw you here and decided I wanted to talk."

"I'm a little exposed at the moment. I hope you don't mind."

"Little bit of flesh doesn't scare me," Wren answered.

Dorian chuckled. Her laugh sounded so child-like and innocent. It was hard to imagine this woman being the calculating creature that Gabriella made her out to be. Intellectually, Wren knew that much of Dorian's appearance was a façade. It was so convincing though. "No, I suppose not. Until all of Cassandra's patchwork sets up, I can't put any clothes on."

"Patchwork? Wouldn't she just give you some healing potion or something?"

"One of the disadvantages of a career of adventuring," Dorian answered, looking back, an ironic smile on her young-looking face. "You get hurt all the time, and you use a great deal of healing potion. After a while, the bloody stuff won't work on you anymore."

"Really? I didn't know that." Wren drew a breath. "How long did you adventure?"

Dorian looked up to the sky as if recollecting. "I'm not sure actually. Fifty, sixty, summers I'd guess."

"Wow. You certainly don't look that old."

The mage laughed again. "Yes. At sixty, I decided to start going backward. Cassandra says if I get any younger, she's going to make me wear a diaper."

Wren laughed despite herself. This woman was so clever and disarming. She could be so self effacing and homey. Wren had to force herself to consider what she might be capable of. She was dangerous like all the rest in this place. Maybe more so because her true nature was so well disguised.

"What's the matter, Wren? You're hanging back there like I'm going to bite you. It's a public rail. We can share."

With a sigh, she came forward, put her elbows on the wood, and looked across the lake to the trees. They could see the spot where she and Dorian had fought Set's evil creatures. The mage seemed to be studying that area. Wren couldn't begin to guess what might be going on in the woman's mind.

"I'm sorry. I guess today has me a little off balance. The afternoon was a bit more eventful than I planned. Quite a revelation, actually."

Dorian brushed back her auburn hair. Her green eyes had a special kind of intensity. They were eyes that sucked the secrets out of you. "They've been talking to you haven't they?"

Wren's chest tightened. "Pardon?"

"You're all tight around me again. I just got you to relaxed enough to touch you. Now, you look ready to jump out of your skin."

Her heart beat faster. Had the woman read her mind? "I don't understand."

Dorian rolled her eyes. "Wren, you are a horrible liar. You shouldn't even try. Besides," her gaze focused hard on her. "We both know how smart you are. You understand a great deal more than you let on. You have ambition enough to have plans of your own."

"Dorian, honestly, I don't know what you're getting at."

"Oh, Gabriella and Desiray, I saw them behind us scheming. What did they tell you. That I set that fight up? That I did it just so I could get you to let your defenses down." Still holding the towel around herself, Dorian walked over to the balcony doors and swung them closed. She turned around, hiked the material higher over her breasts and returned to the rail. "Am I close, darling? The conspiracy theory is a popular one."

Wren's mind was spinning. "I--"

"Bet they showed you the Kul'adar stone," Dorian went on. "Little snitch. Thought I broke her of that. Guess, I'm going to have to start wearing the pockets that bite again." She sniffed. "Heat of the moment Wren. Would you want to admit that you forgot something like that? It's mortifying." Dorian turned and the towel fell off her body. "What do you think?"

Wren thought she should pick the towel back up. Having the woman standing naked in front of her was--uncomfortable. She had a body that men would kill each other for; full breasts and wide baby-maker hips. Despite that obvious sexuality, she still managed to look young and vulnerable.

"I thought--" Wren forced herself to look into the woman's eyes. "That what they proposed was pretty far fetched. However, that rock was a pretty convincing piece of evidence."

"Ever see me have it, Wren?"

"No."

"Then you only have their word that I actually had it in my pocket. They could be making it up. This time it just happens to be true." She sighed. "I can make a mistake can't I?" Damn, could Dorian still be playing her? The woman made it sound so damn plausible. She didn't know what to believe. Jharon was right. These people were masters, first one ploy then came a countering ploy.

Wren folded her arms. One thing she wouldn't accept. "Dorian, I'm not certain you would make a mistake that blatant. You were definitely upset about hitting that tree, but you always seemed in control. I know you weren't afraid."

Dorian seemed unconcerned about her nudity. She leaned against the rail again and steepled her fingers. "Darling, after you've been through six decades of tight scrapes, tense encounters stop having the same affect on you. It's simply another battle to be survived. Being frightened only gets in the way." She put her back to the rail, stretched her arms and looked up at the sun. The bright light glistened on her tan skin. "So, who do you want to believe, darling? Haven't I spent time with you every day as I promised? Didn't I help you to feel better?"

"Certainly, and I'm grateful. I don't think I've ever felt as good as I do now."

"Why so quick to doubt me them? Hmmm? Where were Desiray and Gabriella when you needed help?"

Damn this woman could twist things around fast. Wren allowed herself a moment to take stock. Dorian was smart; too smart. If this woman was what Gabriella and Desiray implied, there was no possible way with her limited experience to trip her up. The mage was a people person. She might always have a plausible answer.

No. She didn't have an answer. She always had a question. All of her answers were questions.

If what Wren suspected was true, then the woman had one vulnerability. "Dorian, let's put doubt and trust aside shall we?"

The mage smiled and raised an eyebrow. "All right."

"Could you put the towel back on please."

Dorian pressed her lips to line and complied. "My we're getting authoritative, Dear. Any other orders?"

"Tell the truth."

The woman didn't bat an eye. "I always tell the truth, Wren. It's a habit in a house full of telepaths."

"Good. Then it'll make this easy. Did you set up the avatar's attack?"

Dorian frowned. "Well, that's rather direct. Do you think I did?"

It made Wren's knees wobbly, realizing that she knew the secret to thwart this master of misdirection.

"What I think is irrelevant, Lady Degaba. Answer yes or no. Did you set up the attack?"

The mage shook her head and rubbed a finger across her lips. "You're very good, you know. I guess I should expect that from a savant."

Wren stayed focused. "Dorian, answer me."

The mage raised a finger. "Darling, careful now." Suddenly, her voice had the ring of steel in it. "Don't forget our roles. Because I care for you doesn't mean I'll tolerate impertinence."

Turnabout was fair. Use some of this woman's tactics on her. "Do you, Dorian--care for me?"

The woman smiled. "Honestly, Wren, I do. I like you a great deal. You're smart, you have heart, and you're loyal. You do what you have to do to survive. You just want a home and family. All you want out of life is to be happy. I've been helping you work out how to do that, haven't I?"

She couldn't let Dorian turn things back around. The woman used the truth like a shield. Her questions were like knives. She found a chink in a defense, then wedged in one of her questions.

"Dorian, I appreciate what you've done for me. I won't forget. Do you think I'm the kind that forgets?"

Dorian narrowed her eyes, and pointed a finger at Wren. "No, you are not. Not only do you not forget," she pushed out her lower lip and raised her chin and looked at her through her long eyelashes. "You're a fast learner. Wren, there is so much I can teach you. Cassandra and the others, they can show you power. They use magic like a hammer. They overlook how sometimes the tiniest effort can move mountains. It just requires focus and the right finesse. I know you understand. I can see it in your eyes."

She couldn't let herself be sidetracked. The woman was backpedaling, but if she didn't press the advantage she'd never get a direct answer. "Dorian, please tell me. Did you arrange it so we were attacked?"

The mage froze like a blackhorn caught in the beam of hunter's lantern. She drew a breath. She looked to the sky for a moment, then gazed straight into Wren's eyes.

"Yes," she said in a cool voice. "Yes, I knew we'd be attacked."

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I respect Dorian a great deal, and sometimes she just plain scares me. Me, I hurt things with a sword. The woman can tie people in knots with nothing but words. She can stab you in the back and have you apologizing for getting her dagger bloody...
--Desiray Illkaren Felspar

Standing on the balcony looking over the lake Wren stared at the youthful appearing Dorian Degaba. For more than three tendays, she'd taken counsel with the woman, listened to her advice and found healing in it. She had put her life and sanity in the woman's hands, and until moments ago, put tremendous faith and trust in her. To find out that she had participated in some strange conspiracy to get them both attacked came as a great surprise and an even greater disappointment.

The fact that Dorian could look her in the eye and admit doing it as if she had done nothing wrong made Wren want to scream.

"Why!" She finally yelled. "I trusted you! We were almost killed!"

Dorian who still wore nothing but a towel, kept a level gaze on Wren. "Your trust was warranted. You weren't seriously hurt were you?"

"That was luck! Either one of us could have gotten hit with that poison and we'd be dead right now!"

The mage's voice stayed calm and her face placid. "Wren, you handled those attackers with ease. You were in little danger."

"How can you say that! We were in a lot of danger! I can't believe you'd risk setting up something so crazy!"

Dorian rubbed the side of her face and looked up to the sun. "I said I knew about it. I didn't say I arranged it."

"It's the same thing. You put the both of us at risk for nothing!"

The woman sniffed. "They are not the same thing. I do not enter into risks lightly. If you calm down, I will explain it to you."

"I don't want to calm down! You tried to kill me!"

"Silence!" Dorian snapped. The word seemed to crack the air. The sound made Wren's heart jump and it took the air right out of her lungs. She rocked back on her heels.

The mage pushed a hand through her hair and adjusted the towel on her torso. "Listen carefully, Wren. I did not try to kill you. In fact, I took every precaution possible to minimize any chance that you would come to harm. As Gabriella and Desiray so aptly pointed out, at any time if the situation grew to be more than we could handle, I could have teleported us. As it turned out, it proved unnecessary. As I surmised, you are at your best in adverse situations."

"What gives you the right--?"

Dorian held up her hand. "Wait. Hear me out, before you go down the path of what I have and haven't a right to do. I'm not a little girl. I know what I did was wrong, and I it was a rational decision based on what would bring the greatest good to both of us."

"Greatest good!" Wren let out. "Dorian, what kind of fib are you going to make up now?"

"Wren, I never lie. Ever."

The woman said it with iron conviction. Wren stared at her. "All right, what good came out of it?"

"Prior to today, did you know what you were capable of? In that, I mean, did you have a grasp of it like you do now?"

Wren folded her arms. "No."

"Did you understand how intimately tied your abilities were with magic?"

"No."

"Would you say that you now fully understand what motivates the avatars to pursue you?"

Wren scowled. "Yes."

"If that situation had not happened as it did. If I instead simply told you these things, would you believe them in your heart like you do now?"

She gritted her teeth. "Okay, damn it. No! Just the same, you can't make decisions like that for me!"

Dorian half smiled. She knelt on the deck of the balcony. "I sincerely and honestly apologize." She bowed her head. "I abjectly request your forgiveness and forbearance for my transgressions. I abused your trust in me and humbly ask that you allow me to make it up to you."

Wren blinked. She felt uneasy with the half naked mage kneeling at her feet with her head down. She was so different than Cassandra and Desiray. Those two would almost rather die than apologize. She wasn't sure Dorian was sincere. It came too easily. She certainly made it sound sincere.

"How would you make it up to me? I was frightened and you did that--thing, with the magic. I could have lived a happy life never having to see something like that!"

Dorian looked up at her. "What would you like Wren?"

That gave Wren pause. What did she want? More importantly what could Dorian give that she would accept? "In make it up to me, Dorian, do you mean something material, a favor...?"

"Call it a favor. Anything within reason that I can give, is yours."

What did 'anything within reason' really entail? Dorian's capabilities with magic were formidable; she'd seen that up close. That gave her an idea, a problem she'd been considering how to solve for some time. "All right. Tell me, do you know what Cassandra did to heal me? The way she remade my body?"

The woman's green eyes narrowed. She rose slowly keeping her gaze fixed on Wren. It was obvious that she'd taken an unexpected tack. Wren liked that. Anything that kept the mage from gaining control of the situation was better for Wren.

"Yes, I invented some of the process that she used." She folded her arms. From the look she gave Wren, she was obviously trying to figure out what Wren was thinking.

"Really?" Wren found that interesting. "So you know about creating flesh?"

She frowned. "In a manner of speaking."

"So, if you could remake parts of me. Could you remake all of me?"

"Everything but your spirit. I guess with savants you'd refer to it as your tao."

That was a new piece of information. "There's a difference between a spirit and a tao?"

"Oh yes, in a general sense a tao is analogous to a spirit or soul, but a tao is greater in complexity and power. A tao can function autonomously for instance, and can affect the ethereal, astral and physical planes of existence."

Wren blinked. "Autonomously? What does that mean?"

"It means that you can live outside your body without dying. It's one of the reasons that Cassandra was able to put you back together. When a normal person's flesh expires and the silver cord that binds their spirit breaks, they are essentially gone. The astral winds carry them away. A savant's tao can exist for bells after the host shell is disintegrated. They eventually dissipate, but it takes a great deal of time. My reading says they can do considerable damage even in an unfleshed state."

"Ghosts," Wren said. "You're describing a ghost."

"No, I'm describing an unfleshed savant. A ghost is different. They are spirits who have taken on tao-like power by becoming tied to a place or object instead of a mortal shell."

Wren shook her head. "Every time I talk to you, you amaze me with what you know. More surprising is that I know you're dangerous, and you keep making me forget."

"Weapons are dangerous, do you get nervous around them?"

"Yes, especially when they're pointed at me."

"Wren, I'm not pointed at you. I want to protect you. Believe that."

"And you don't lie."

"I do not."

"All right. You asked what I wanted. Let me give you tiny bit of history. Gabriella told me that my blood was powerful. She intimated that I should not allow myself to be studied, especially by Sindra and Drucilla."

Dorian nodded. "I can see why she would say that."

"I didn't understand what she meant until I thought about it. Everia said that Cassandra remade other parts of me from the flesh that Set's magic hadn't corrupted."

"Correct. Each part of your body has a memory that can be tapped to recreate any other portion of you."

"And you said you could remake all of me."

"Certainly, but without a spirit, it is nothing but inanimate tissue. What good is an empty husk with no memory?"

"You asked what I wanted 'within reason'. Is this too difficult?"

Dorian pursed her lips. "The incantations are complex, but I have prior experience."

"Once the body is complete, could you change its appearance? I've seen Desiray change her shape, so I assume that can be done too."

"A have a morphing spell that can accomplish that."

"Is there some way to keep the body fresh until I'm ready to use it?"

"It can be kept in stasis."

"Excellent," Wren said. "That's what I want. That and it's a secret between you and me. No-one else can know."

"You're my client, Wren. I don't tell anyone about the personal things we discuss." Dorian's brow furrowed. "This body idea is intriguing. I know why I might make a copy of myself. I'm curious as to what you're planning. You don't want it to look like you, so you aren't staging your own death. You're too smart to sell such a potentially dangerous weapon. Care to share what you're thinking?"

"No." In a heartbeat, the mage came up with two ways of using the body that hadn't even occurred to her. The mention of a weapon made her uneasy. She was making a weapon, one capable of destroying an avatar.

"Now, is that any way to be?"

"As they say in the pirate towns, 'loose lips sink ships'."

"All right. If that's what you want. Keeping it a secret will be the hardest part. That can be accomplished though." She paused. "I'm sorry to have shaken your faith in me. I hope this will smooth things between us."

Wren pressed her lips to a line. She let out a breath. "You know, I'm crazy, because I'm this close," she held up a tiny space between her fingers. "To believing that you felt we'd benefit from that violent demonstration."

"Treat it like math. It's odds, Darling. If there's a small chance of loss and a great chance of gain, then it's a risk that's worth taking."

Wren nodded and walked over to lean against the rail. "How can you say the risk was small! Did you expect them to steal your magic?"

"I researched the avatar and knew he had that power, yes."

"That's crazy! How did you plan to control the situation under those circumstances?"

The mage brushed back her hair. "As strong as my magic is Wren, I don't rely on it. I knew I had you. You are more potent than any of my spells."

"What if we'd been separated?"

Dorian raised a finger. "That was the main point of control. Running into that tree wasn't in my plan."

"You get angry when you're scared, don't you?"

The mage seemed to think about it for a moment. "That's a fair assessment. It scared me all right. Getting slammed into that scalebark didn't do my mood any favors."

"What about the poison? There still isn't a cure for it. Either of us could have been scratched and killed."

"There's no cure, but I have come up with a reasonably good anti-venom. As long as you're under its effects, it takes the teeth out of the Jikartandak, keeps it from spreading through your body. You can survive the better part of six to eight bells even with multiple deep injuries."

"I didn't take any of this 'anti-venom'," Wren said frowning.

"Yes, you did. Feel the back of your neck."

Wren pushed her hair off her neck and felt the skin. "I don't feel anything."

"Scrape your fingers across the surface just below the hair-line."

Wren dragged a nail in the area indicated and felt something impede its movement; something small and square. She realized that something flat like a piece of parchment was adhered to the skin. After a moment, she was able to peel it off and examine it. The material was sticky and smelled of strange herbs. It felt something like leather only it was stretched.

"The material is soaked in the medicine," Dorian explained. "While it's on you, it keeps the anti-venom in your body."

"How did it get on me?"

"When I put my arm around you as we started down the path."

Wren closed her eyes. "How in Hades did you learn to be so bloody devious? You did have the odds narrowed down."

Dorian nodded. "I value my life too."

She looked to the sky, then over to Dorian who was wearing a superior smirk. "I know one thing for certain."

"What's that?"

"I never want to be your enemy."

The doors to the balcony swung open. Desiray came into view from behind them. She was wearing a shiny black halter and bright red trousers. The woman paused, hands on hips. "There you are. I found both of you at one time." Her gaze focused on Dorian. Her eyes narrowed. "Dorian--what have you been doing?"

The auburn-haired mage rolled her eyes. "Notice how everyone asks me that?"

Wren folded her arms. "Well, now I know why."

Dorian sighed. "No gratitude, I tell you."

"Wren, when we spoke earlier, I didn't say come up here and confront her!"

The mage held the towel to her bosom and straightened. "Well, what did you think she would do?" She walked over and stopped in front of Desiray. She held out her hand. "My gem please--sticky fingered wench."

The Guildmistress grinned. "Oh, you love my fingers, admit it."

"On my back, Woman, not in my pocket." She shook her outstretched hand. "Gem please."

Desiray removed the jewel from a pouch on her side and handed it to Dorian. She glanced at Wren. "Dorian, why are you standing out here with only a towel on?"

Dorian glanced at Wren. "Didn't you know Wren is my new lover?"

Wren was so shocked she couldn't say anything. Her jaw just went slack.

The Guildmistress' eyes widened. Her attention snapped to Wren. "You didn't?!"

"I--" Wren was flabbergasted.

"Of course she didn't, silly. What did you think we were doing? I'm waiting for some of Cassandra's graft goo to set up. You know how long that takes."

"Dorian!" Desiray glared at the woman. "Then why did you say...?"

"Because you're so gullible, darling. The look on both your faces was quite entertaining. Really Desiray, to think I go around seducing little girls a fifth my age."

"I only think that because you're a lecherous old hag," Desiray snapped, arms folded.

Dorian scowled. "Oooh, now that stung. Is that any impression to give to our guest?"

"Why not, it's the truth. We both know how big you are on the truth."

Dorian put a hand behind Desiray's neck and pulled the woman close. Her nose was almost touching the Guildmistress'. "Yes, dear, but not about me. It's rude."

The white-haired woman smiled in Dorian's face. "You know I'm rude, Honey, that's the way you like me."

"So, that's the way you're going to be?"

Desiray bared her teeth the way a cat might display its fangs. "Exactly." She put her arms around Dorian, and her fingers twined in the mage's long auburn hair. She pulled the woman's head back and sniffed at her neck. "Ummm, nice. Go put some clothes on before I bite you."

Dorian dipped her head. "You haven't heard the last of this," she growled.

"Don't get me started," Desiray said in a low voice. "I have entire tomes that I'd be more than happy to share with Wren."

The mage growled again and jerked her head out of Desiray's grasp. She stalked off without saying anything to Wren. Desiray stepped next to Wren and turned to watch Dorian go.

Wren stared after the woman. She wasn't certain she followed the exchange. Both of them had been speaking in ciphers.

"Why'd you chase her off?" Wren asked.

"Because, I decided since you were my responsibility first, I might as well live up to it. She's dangerous, Wren, you have to be so--so careful."

Wren shook her head. "But--she just helped me get through all of my pain."

Desiray put a hand on Wren's shoulder and squeezed. "Don't get me wrong, she can do tremendous good. Thing is, making you healthy is just a way to get close to you."

She eyed the woman's hand on her shoulder. "What's wrong with that? You're trying to get close to me."

The Guildmistress seemed to notice Wren's attention to her hand. "I can't get into your head like she can. She can tie people in knots and make them love it. She's dangerous."

"You do it with a sword. She does it with words. I'd rather get talked to death thank you."

"You just think so. Damn, sometimes I just don't know what to do about her."

"Do, what do you need to do?" Wren frowned. "She loves you. You love her."

Desiray's eyes widened. She cocked her head to one side. "How do you get that?"

"Oh, come on," Wren said. "I'm naïve, but I haven't lived under a rock. You care for her passionately. The way you touched her was very possessive. Are you two--uh--" She looked sideways at Desiray. "Sharing?"

Desiray stepped back and folded her arms. Her emerald eyes narrowed. "I'm starting to see what the others say about you. You're a pretty smart kid."

"Thanks," Wren frowned. "I think."

The woman smacked her lips. "Sharing? That's a delicate way to put it. Are you asking if we sleep together?"

Wren blinked. "Uh. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

"Of course. You must have noticed that women around here swing a little. After all, Sindra and Drucilla are married to Cassin and Annawen."

She looked at the Guildmistress and felt abruptly uneasy. "You have eight children..."

The woman shrugged. "What, I don't look like a woman's woman, is that what you're saying?"

"Well, yes, sort of..." Wren realized she should have kept her mouth shut.

Cassandra and I both share our husband's bed. Either we grew accustomed to being close to one another, or we were going to have uncomfortable lives. Loric has two wives, I have two husbands."

Wren felt her stomach twist. "What?"

"You wondered what went on, right? What the tie between me, Dorian, and Cassandra was."

"I wondered, yes."

"Dorian and I are married to a man you haven't met--Brin. Cassandra and I are married to Loric."

Wren was aghast. "Loric shares you with another man?"

Desiray raised an eyebrow. "Why not, I share him with another woman."

"I--" Wren stopped. She didn't have an answer for that. "So you share children with Dorian?"

"I have four with each husband. Two that I birthed, and two that my sister wife birthed. Make sense?"

Wren nodded. "So why haven't I seen Brin around?"

"Been setting up the hunt. It would already have been held if Beia hadn't upset the moderator."

"I keep hearing about this hunt. What did Beia do?"

"Took down Mishaka. Sindra and Drucilla said the Magistrix would be furious and they were right. That's why we didn't see Beia for a while. They had to delay the hunt until things calmed down. After the hunt is over, I imagine you'll see a lot of Brin, especially if you're going to be 'partners' with Dorian."

"So, can you tell me what this hunt is that has everyone so excited?"

Desiray shrugged. "It's not supposed to be common knowledge, but sure. You remember the tourney's held every year in Corwin, right?"

"Of course."

"Know how they divide the ranks up, by skill and size."

"Uh huh. They have the elite games for the nobles, where they use magical weapons and armor."

"The hunt is like the elite games. Reserved for the most powerful fighters and mages that live in and defend Sharikaar."

"So is it fighting with one another then? I mean, no offense, you're pretty good, but I think Beia would stomp you."

Desiray let out breath. "Whew, don't like getting in a contention with her. She's rough even when she plays. Fortunately, fighting is only a small component of the hunt. Guile, speed, and tactics are the most important. Fighting only resolves disputes over possession. It's a complicated game. All of us love the competition though."

Wren eyed Desiray. "You like competition, but I don't think you'd play unless there were a prize for winning."

The white-haired woman smiled. "It's a nice prize too. This time around it's winner's choice of weapons, lore, or money. The moderator offered up an awesome set of weapons. I want them."

"Have you ever won before?"

Desiray shook her head. "No, damn it, and I'm due! Shredded Dorian, has won twice! Can you believe that?"

"You said guile is important. She's pretty tricky."

"Isis eyes, yes. Makes me want to smack her. Both times she won, we were playing handicapper rules. That always makes it difficult to score."

"Handicapper?"

"Well, how fair would it be for me to play against Loric?"

"Not very, there'd be no way to beat him in a fight. You probably couldn't trick him very easily."

"No, not easily. They wanted to make it so someone like Loric could play so they handicap them. Elders like him have more restrictions, they get less teleports, they're only allowed to use certain kinds of magic. It's all fair, but when you have three or four of them playing it gets confusing."

"You're really into this aren't you?"

Desiray grinned. "Oh yes."

"Think I'll get to watch?"

"Maybe if Cassin or someone can get you a seat with the moderator. It's tough to observe. Most of the players fly. The gaming course is over a league on a side."

"I still can't imagine how it works."

Desiray shrugged. "It's a hunt. There are ten teams of two. Hidden throughout the game course are fifty objects. Each object has a different score value, depending on how tough it is to get. Everyone has a two bells to get as many items as possible and return them to the drop point."

"I heard you say there were rules of engagement, so I'm betting that poaching is one of the strategies."

Desiray nodded. "As a matter of fact. There are lots of strategies. Since you have a team mate, there are different team tactics. There's an allowance for bystander proxies. I'm not one for rules as you know, but the ones in this game keep it interesting."

"It sounds intriguing. Who thought it up?"

"Beia created the first one. Back then it was just for warrior types. She and Cassandra started working on rules to let magic-users play. Later, Dorian put in her part, then Gabriella and Loric."

"How long have you been playing this?"

"Oh, ten summers I guess."

"It sounds really intriguing. I hope they let me watch."

Desiray folded her arms. "Oh, one way or the other, I'm certain you'll be seeing some of it."

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They tied my mother, myself and my sisters to stakes in the courtyard. They made us watch while they cut the heart from my father's chest and offered it up to Kali as sacrifice...
--Gabriella Sarn Ariok

Wren slept uneasily that night. She and Dorian had shared a spot in front of the fireplace and told the story of the attack by Set's minions, and the avatar. As Gabriella predicted, Loric did find a weakness in the wards guarding the citadel grounds. He also found evidence of where the avatar forced entry through the magical shields. No-one mentioned that Dorian had known about the attack. A few times during the evening, she considered telling everyone. She even went as far as to speaking in a leading way so that Dorian would know she was considering the idea.

The mage had only raised an eyebrow and smiled. The look on woman's face suggested to Wren that speaking out was not only expected--but desired! Dorian's superior expression dried the words in Wren's mouth. Throughout the whole process of the storytelling, she tried to guess what possible spin Dorian could put on the truth that could benefit her.

After Desiray's warning, the last thing Wren wanted to do was step into some verbal trap of Dorian's. She was so involved with second-guessing the woman's motivations, that their story-telling time was over before she'd steeled herself to speak out. Either Dorian really did have a way of twisting the truth, or she was the best bluffer Wren had ever seen.

She dreamed of the avatar that night. She dreamed of the minions and their knives. She been chased by such creatures in her dreams many times. Tonight it was different. Tonight the minions stalked her, and when they cornered her, a giant knife sliced them to ribbons. The avatar confronted her, glowing eyes and boulder fists poised to strike. He cursed and threatened and then abruptly began choking and sputtering. He felt to his knees and clawed the soil.

Dorian stood behind him in the shadows, her fist clenched as his body shuddered and went still. Then Dorian reached for her and she felt the intangible fingers clamp down...

True to her word, Vera encouraged Wren to stop 'playing'. She pushed even harder, more precision, more speed, more focus. After the fight with Set's minions they sparred more, concentrating on building up Wren's defenses. They also did more acrobatics, flips, spins, and leaps. Every day she seemed to be doing the impossible--or attempting to do it. She tried and she failed, and failed, and failed... How did Vera make it look so easy? She could be speaking, barely even seeming to concentrate and do kicks and flips that left Wren face down on the floor. Pure frustration...

She was lying on her back, paralyzed by her own exertions when Desiray came down the stairs. The woman stopped by her, and turned her head to meet her eyes.

"You okay? You look like you got run over by a Rhinotaur."

"Vera's--" She stopped to get some wind back. "Vera's new improved--workout."

"Improved? I thought you were having problems with the easy one."

"Was..." Wren admitted.

"Girl, you're crazy. Oh well, it's your body. I'll be near by. Scream if you need me to call for a healer."

"Thanks," she groaned.

Wren didn't move until mid-breakfast. She sat at the table, eating slowly, all the more astonished at Vera's capabilities, as the woman whipped around the kitchen. Even after that grueling workout, the girl moved around with completely undiminished energy.

How did she do it?

Breakfast hummed with excitement, and a number of house members were late to the table. Several times Wren heard mention of preparations for the hunt. Everyone, children and adult alike were excited by the upcoming event. As breakfast progressed, Dorian didn't show up and neither did D'klace twins.

Face almost obscured by a huge black tome, Everia meandered in. Wearing white robes, hair tied back, she wore no other adornment save some subtle lip paint and a golden ankh of Isis that hung on a chain around her neck. She settled next to Wren, still intent on the book. She signaled Vera, raising three fingers. The cook swept some items onto a plate, and poured her a mug of fruit juice.

Everia mumbled a thank you, picked up a fork and started eating, not even looking down to see what she'd been brought.

Wren glanced at the cover of the book. Gold embossed serifs that looked like no letters or words that Wren recognized formed two neat rows across the center. Whatever the contents were, they kept Everia raptly engrossed. The girl's ability to eat and read at the same time was obviously a well-developed skill. Her fork unerringly sought out the eggs, fried tubers, and meat strips without her once looking up from the pages she was turning.

Wren focused again on her own meal that she was making a slow progress on. She felt hungry, but the morning exercise was still playing havoc with her body. Her stomach felt queasy and even the energy to eat seemed difficult to come by.

Her plate was still a quarter full when Everia closed the book. Not even a crumb remained on the young woman's plate. She looked up and jerked as though surprised to see Wren sitting next to her.

"Wren--good morn." She smiled and pushed a hand through her glossy dark hair. "I didn't see you sitting there."

"Pardon, but I don't think you've seen much of anything since you started reading that book. Is it good?"

"Oh." Everia 's cheeks colored. "It's a fascinating treatise."

"On..?"

"It's a magical perspective on heterotrophic force phase mechanics."

Wren frowned. "Hetero-what?"

"Heterotrophic--is energy derived from organic, in this case, living sources."

"People as power sources."

"Exactly."

She eyed Everia carefully and sniffed. "Then why didn't you say that?"

The young woman raised an eyebrow. "'People as power sources' is accurate, but the topic is much broader than that. It's the whole art of tapping into human energy."

"As I understand it, there isn't a whole lot to be had. I keep learning the limits of my body on a daily basis."

"You're right. This whole text is about the various ways used to modify the body, to increase its ability to generate and control energy."

"You mean like the immortalizing that has been done on your mother Desiray, and on Beia?" Wren asked.

Everia nodded. "What interested me were the references concerning savant physiology."

Wren raised an eyebrow. "There's information on savants in there?"

"Yes. The story you told last night got me to thinking about how your power works. You are the ultimate heterotrophic energy source, because you have access to virtually limitless resources. You would think with an adaptation like that you would be more durable to keep that power from burning you up."

"Well, actually I think I'm pretty darn durable. I've been hit with some awful magic, and I'm still here to regret it. I guess it doesn't seem like much compared to your steel-skinned mother."

"Yes, that is an important distinction. You aren't physically more resistant to harm, but you obviously have a strong resistance to magic, otherwise, as you say, you'd be dead. What I was trying to answer was why savant abilities are so mismatched with their bodies. The universe doesn't always make sense, but it usually does. With such evolved capabilities, it's likely they developed in concert with a commensurately sophisticated host body."

"Okay, so it doesn't make sense. I don't see how you can go anywhere from that."

"I couldn't. It started me speculating and reading. It's when I started researching heterotrophic energy and the tao, that it occurred to me that the reason it doesn't make sense is because it isn't the way it's supposed to be."

Wren narrowed her eyes. "You lost me."

"Even someone extraordinary like my mother still has only a basic spirit essence." She turned in her seat. "You on the other hand have a tao, it's what gives you that huge ability to manipulate your element. That tao completely overwhelms your body. It doesn't take a genius to realize that your body was never meant to contain it. The key to my thinking is that all savants are limited in this same way. Remember the other day when father Loric's First-one sword recognized you?"

Wren let out a breath. "How can I forget? My hand still itches to touch it."

"It made me pose a question, what if you were a First-one?"

"It's obvious I'm not though, at best I might be a millionth of one."

"No." Everia put her hand on the book. "That's my theory. You are exactly half of one."

She frowned and rubbed the back of her neck. "How does that play? Where's the other half then?"

"Precisely my question. I went on a search for the other half. So, I started looking for a group of creatures capable of channeling tremendous power, but not having a means to get it. The answer was obvious, but I didn't have the facts to support it."

Wren stared at her. "Obvious?"

Everia sighed. "Certainly. I started a search for supporting data and found what I was looking for. Did you know gods don't have a tao? In fact, their spirit essence is even more rudimentary than my own. They have to feed on spirits of other creatures in order to have enough mana to control the magic that they utilize. They are what a First-one would be without a tao."

She pushed back from Everia . "Okay, now, granted it makes sense. What does it mean? That somewhere out there, my other half is running around and together we make a First-one?"

Everia nodded. "Essentially, gods have always chased after savants. They're looking for that other half. They snatch up the savants and destroy their resistance in order to possess their bodies. The irony is they're doing it backwards. They destroy most of the savant's tao in order to control them, and in so doing get only a fraction of the possible benefits of the merging."

"Wow. So, what you're saying is all us savants are a bunch of taos that ran away from home. Mother and Father go looking for us, but instead of putting us back in the house, they eat us instead."

The dark-haired girl pushed a hand through her hair. She paused to take a sip from her mug. "That's a morbid analogy, but I think it apropos. It has a twisted has-to-be-true logic doesn't it?"

The thought made Wren's stomach ache. It made a lot of sense, especially given the perverse nature of life. To have potentially limitless capabilities, but be doomed to only realize a miniscule fraction of them. "Yeah," Wren admitted. "Yeah, it does."

"I don't know how valuable the knowledge is. It's an interesting insight though."

"Oh yes, a lovely thing to know. I'm a First-one who'll never be. I have abilities that if they don't kill me outright, will make me a target for every power hungry mage alive. If the magic users don't get me, I'll probably get sucked up and destroyed by one of my god-relatives bent on 'rejoining' with their lost half. A bloody marvelous existence to be born into."

Both Wren and Everia started when hands gripped their shoulders. Gabriella stood behind them, the morning light framing her black hair and milk pale skin. A string of pearls the color of blood draped in five loops around her neck. She wore a smoke-colored gown made of a satiny fabric that had been sewn with silver threads to make it appear as though she were wrapped in a spider web.

The elder looked at them with her blue eyes, red-red lips set in a frown. "Your sarcasm is misplaced. You bemoan knowing your origin. Child, you do not understand how blessed you are. You have an identity." The woman's eyes widened, and the sound of her voice rang through Wren's body. "Your forebears walked the stars before humans were. Your true sire, Alpha, begot all that is. Which would you rather be? An heir to the cosmos, or some faceless mutt whose only justification for existence is to fill a link in the food chain?" She bent down between Wren and Everia , and Wren could smell the flowery scent of her perfume. She brushed the hair away from Wren's forehead. "You are a deposed god, but royalty none-the-less. You have an embarrassment of riches that you continue to ignore. Self pity is unbefitting a lady of your breeding, and I'll thank you to stop--whining."

The word 'whining' caught Wren off guard. It brought heat to her cheeks. "Whining! You know what I've been through and you still have the nerve to call it whining!?"

Gabriella caught Wren's chin between her fingers, clamping down until the pressure was fractions shy of hurting. "I have lived and fought through the realms for eleven millennia. When I was twelve summers old, a rival family attacked our hold. They tied my mother, myself and my sisters to stakes in the courtyard. They made us watch while they cut the heart from my father's chest and offered it up to Kali as sacrifice. They slit the arteries on my brother's neck just deep enough so that it took him a day to die. The thuggie priests kept us in captivity and raped us every night until we were with child. I was thirteen when the infant was cut from my body and I was cast in a ditch to die. Since then, I have seen two of my sons drawn and quartered, and have had dozens of friends put to the stake. Tell me, Wren, honestly, how bad have you had it?"

Caught by the power and fervency of the Dragon queen's words, she could only stutter. The vehemence with which the woman spoke made it clear that she told no fantasy.

"I was a victim, Wren," Gabriella went on. "A whining, sniveling, little weakling whose only value was my ability to beget life. To them I was nothing more than a receptacle for the male seed they forced on me nightly. I had to have my intestines slashed, and my womb cut open to make me see how feeble my existence was. I crawled out of that ditch, and held my guts in through pure force of hate. It was a terrible experience, but it gave me identity. It dictated what I would be; a destroyer of the destroyers.

"I did not stop until I scoured every follower, shrine, and temple of Kali from the face of Titaan. I made horrific pacts and sold my soul to see my passion realized. In the end, I achieved what I set out to accomplish. It wasn't until then that I realized the folly of defining oneself by your past rather than your future.

"I had constructed a war machine comprised of tens of thousands of troops, brought into existence creatures and engines of destruction all for a purpose that abruptly ceased to exist one day. Pity feeds on itself Wren, just like hate. You convince yourself the universe owes you and eventually nothing is beyond justification. I had stripped myself of humanity, renounced the sun, and drank the blood of dragons to give myself the strength to vanquish my enemies. Imagine the fancy quandary that faced me when I reached my destination and realized I had no idea what to do once I arrived. When you're immortal, you have a very long time to reflect on your mistakes."

Gabriella ran her hand through Wren's hair. It made a tingle go down her spine. "Next time you feel the urge to complain about your past. Remember that if you lived through it, you can learn from it and grow stronger."

"Lords Gabriella, the philosophy is getting thick in here," Loric said walking over behind the woman. He gave the Dragon queen a kiss on the cheek.

She smiled at him. "I was merely suggesting to Wren, that if she thinks she has it bad, she could trade childhoods with me."

Loric frowned and stroked his mustache. "Some friend you are, you'll give her nightmares."

"I am her friend. The best I can do for her is to advise her not to fall in the traps of hubris I fell into myself."

The lord raised an eyebrow. He glanced at Wren. "Are you all right?"

Wren nodded. She still felt a little shock. It was easy to forget how old some of these people were. Even harder to discern from their appearance was the horrific lives some of them must have lead. "It's okay. I deserved it. I snapped at her. So she gave me an earful so I'd feel like a petty idiot."

Loric glanced at Gabriella. "I don't think she told you that to compare scars, Wren. I think what she's implying is that she understands, perhaps too well, what it's like to lead an unfortunate life."

The elder woman raised an eyebrow. "Thinking of unfortunates, have you seen my protégé. She's been making herself scarce today. "

"Haven't seen her since last night," Loric admitted. "Why, what has she done now?"

The Dragon queen frowned. "Same as always, nothing--yet." She looked at Everia who had remained silent through the whole exchange. "Are you all right? I hope I didn't bore you with my tales of misspent youth."

Everia shook her head. "I was thinking about how good I really do have it; an intact body and mind, a loving family, clothes, a warm bed and all the books I can read."

Wren sighed. "A regular paradise, Everia ." She shook her head. "A regular paradise."

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Our relationship got off to a rocky start, but as time went on I grew to have a great deal of respect for the girl. One thing's for certain she keeps life around the Citadel interesting...
--Cassandra Kel'Ishtauri Felspar

Preparations for the hunt continued. Wren never heard any details of what was being done, only the names of the people playing. Most of the players she never heard of. She knew Beia would be playing, and that the other Myrmigyne she met, Damrosil would also participate. The three house Matriarchs were all playing, and a considerable amount of coin was being wagered on margins, the number of points scored and such. She found it interesting that Desiray's two sons, Caldorian and Sebenreth, were the ones organizing and fronting all the bet taking. She wondered if they'd cut their mother in on the action. She was still the Guildmistress, and everything she'd seen in this house indicated to her that normal parlance remained enforce. You didn't do business in guild territory without cutting the mistress in for a slice. Wren didn't think the penalties for failure to comply would be quite as strict as in the city, but she bet Desiray could lay down a fairly mean strapping, even on her adult sons.

She did hear another familiar name; Arabella. She couldn't be sure if it was the Arabella of the Corwin royal court. Arabella was distinguished as the personal bard to the King. She was also carried the reputation of being the only woman to have been hung by court decree and still be alive to tell of it.

More days went by, she didn't see Dorian again during any time of it. She had disappeared like the D'klace twins. Vera continued to demand excruciating performance from her in the mornings. Vera also started demonstrating with weapons. Some of them were odd and unfamiliar. One looked similar to a druid's hand-sickle, only the blade on the end of the short haft was straight instead of curved. A long chain weighted at the further end with a small steel ball was hooked to the bottom of the haft. The chain and blade were worked windmill fashion. The dance that Vera performed with them was mesmerizing in its speed and intensity.

A full tenday came and went, it had been more than four scoredays since the twins took her deal 'under advisement'. Recently, they'd disappeared altogether. She saw Dorian briefly one night, but didn't get a chance to speak with her. She felt antsy; she hoped the mage wouldn't renege on her promise.

After breakfast that morning, she went up to her room and found a note on the bed. In beautiful cursive script the note informed her that all the preparations to 'keep the promise' had been fulfilled, and that to proceed a few pieces of her hair and couple drops of blood would be necessary. It went on to explain how they were to be stored and where to place them so that they could be picked up.

Feeling uneasy, but knowing it was the only way to accomplish her plan, Wren followed the instructions. She took a mirror and pricked her finger so that at least ten drops fell on the glass. The hair needed to be uprooted from where it was thickest in her scalp, with particular care to pull out the root. She didn't know why this was important, but the mage's instructions were explicit.

At a designated time, she went to a spot in the house and placed the mirror and hair together on a shelf and waited. In a matter of moments, the items shimmered and faded out.

"What are you doing?"

Wren jumped and spun around. She found herself staring at Cassandra. The gold mage stared down at her. She wore the same orange robe that Wren saw her wear that first night she met her at the tower.

"I was just wandering is all," Wren answered.

Jewelry jingled as the mage pushed long brown hair back from her face. She narrowed her solid black eyes and looked past Wren to the empty shelf. "You know, you've been here for several scoredays and I don't believe we spoken for more than a few moments in the whole time."

"Perhaps there hasn't been much to say. You wanted to keep me here against my wishes. You ended up getting your way. At least so far."

"Has your time here been so bad?"

"No, Lady, it hasn't. There are times I've outright enjoyed myself. The food is fabulous, and the comfort of a bed... well, that is a sin in itself. I have had little complain about, and much more to be thankful for. Lady Dorian's counsel was a tremendous boon."

Cassandra sighed. "A boon. Yes..." She drew the word out. "I suppose it could be." She gestured to the hall behind her. "Walk with me?"

Wren didn't want the powerful mage looking at that spot any longer than necessary. She couldn't be sure there wasn't some way for Cassandra to discern what had been sitting on that shelf moments ago.

Together they walked a short distance in silence. The gold woman seemed to be collecting her thoughts. "So, what is it that you and Dorian spoke of during these counseling sessions?"

She frowned. She didn't know that any of it was Cassandra's business. Still, there was no point in raising suspicion by refusing to tell her anything. "We spoke of a great number of things. Mostly about feelings, a great deal about guilt and blame."

Cassandra nodded. "She has a gift in that realm I must admit. She is able to get you to let go of the feelings that are hurting you."

"Yes, she is. She had me angry to tears a couple times. I just wanted to hit something. She actually let me hit her."

The mage raised an eyebrow. They paused at an intersection between two large hallways. Two youngsters Wren had never seen, a blonde girl of about seven, and dark-haired boy of eight or nine ran up and hugged Cassandra. The woman knelt and returned their hug.

"Aunt it's so good to see you!" the girl said in an exuberant voice, blue eyes huge in her round face. "Ukko's blessing!"

Cassandra nodded. "Ukko's blessing, Jahnny, it is good to see you as well." Cassandra looked to the boy. "Ukko's blessing, Kahless."

Kahless bowed with a flourish, obviously imitating his father or some other nobleman. "Blessings, aunt." He took her hand and kissed it. "May fire be in your eyes, and a song on your lips."

Cassandra grinned, obviously delighted. "Well said, Kahless." She ran a hand through his hair. "I take it you're here with your father?"

"Aye. He came to speak with uncle Loric. He needs to get a battle blade approved for use in the hunt."

"Ah, very good." She smiled. "Jahnny, Kahless," she gestured to Wren. "This is Wren, she's been a guest here for a while. Wren, these are two of my godchildren, Jahnny and Kahless."

Jahnny picked up the edges of her blue dress and curtseyed. Kahless bowed with the same flourish that he gave Cassandra.

"Greetings," Wren said to the children. What she would have given to have the childhood that these two beautiful youngsters must have.

"Go to the kitchen and tell Vera that I said you could have your pick from the treats cabinet. Then go give your father a hug for me."

Jahnny's eyes got even bigger. "Yes! Thank you auntie!"

She and Kahless both gave the gold woman a hug and rushed off to get a sample of Vera's confections.

"Cute kids," Wren said. "Polite. Going to grow up like the rest of the beautiful people around here."

"Oh, no doubt. They can't help but be cute, their father is a paladin."

Wren drew a breath. "A paladin? You mean a justicar?"

Cassandra shook her head. "Not a justicar, the justicar; Bertram Tarrantil, the hand of Ukko. Thinking of it, you may owe him your life."

"Oh, how so?" She couldn't think of owing a justicar anything. They were the bane of a guilder's existence, dogged and merciless exhorters of the law. They were charged with the authority to be both judge and, if necessary, executioner.

"Oh, about fifteen summers ago, Bertram was in Corwin with the High Blades. He organized the raid on Hecate's temple there. He killed Lociep, the high priestess in charge of Hecate's--" Her voice dropped. "Recruiting program. When they over-ran the temple, I guess that's when you escaped into the streets."

"Well, small universe I guess. Suppose if I'd been really lucky, I'd be a paladin's adopted daughter."

"You don't know how close to the truth you are. Bertram's family has more orphans in it than blood of the line. At last count, he had thirty children."

"Wonderful, he's bringing up his very own army of paladins. At least they'll have one thing going for them. They'll have good manners."

"Neither you or Desiray care much for paladins, do you?"

"Have one chase you around for a year. You'll find out why."

Cassandra nodded. "Can't say I'd want one chasing me." She drew a breath. "Sorry, veered a bit off course. We were speaking of Dorian, weren't we?"

"Well, I think you were trying to find out if she's been using her mind bending tricks on me."

The gold woman blinked and folded her arms. "Am I that obvious?"

Wren pressed her lips to a line. "No, it's probably that I'm starting to get the hang of the way people think around here. Dorian happens to be suspected of everything. Yesterday, I think someone was blaming her for the sky being blue."

Cassandra laughed. The sound was so loud it surprised Wren. The mage rarely did more than smile or grin. "Oh my! That's priceless--simply priceless. Yes, Wren, you have the right of it! Of course, you're too sharp to not know by now what a schemer she is."

Wren nodded. "She has big ambitions, and she's not unwilling to cut a few corners to see them happen."

The gold mage's smile faded. "What do you know of her ambitions, Wren? Has she shared them with you?"

She shook her head. "Only in the most peripheral fashion. I know that she wants to live in paradise, and she wants that paradise for her children. Everything she does is stepping stones toward that."

Cassandra became very still, and Wren could feel the woman's entire focus on her. "Did she say this to you?"

"No. We've talked a lot. She always asks questions. Did you ever notice Cassandra, she listens to the answers."

"Of course she does. What's the point of asking a question if you don't intend to hear the answer?"

"Not that way. She listens to the answers. She doesn't hear what she wants to hear. I admit, I've come to have my doubts about her, but I do know that she listens. Sometimes you can learn a lot about a person from the questions they ask. She asked me a lot about the dreams I had for myself. She has dreams, big ones. When we fought the avatar's creatures, she came into my mind. In the excitement, I didn't understand right then what I felt from her. She was realizing a dream. She saw a means to something she wanted. Little blonde me, she wants me to be her short cut to paradise."

The mage stared at Wren. "Are you going to allow her to manipulate you?"

Wren frowned. She folded her arms. "Do I have a choice? I've been reading about Dorian. She manipulates elders. She's the reason Gabriella is here. Gabriella! The Dragon queen--after I heard a little story at breakfast," Wren shuddered. "I did some reading on her too. She's not someone you toy with. Even gods don't push her around." Wren sniffed. "You know, paradise doesn't sound like such a bad place."

"You would be best off to avoid her intrigues," Cassandra said in a cold voice.

"Yeah? I'd've been best off not being born a savant, but I can't change what is. Dorian may have ulterior motives in much of what she says, but she's fond of truths. If she's taught me anything, it's that you don't change what is. You work with it. No matter what, someone is going to try to control me. If it's not Dorian, it will be Sindra and Drucilla, if not them, perhaps you, or Loric, or Gabriella. Since it's inevitable, I have to think of myself. The fact that people want what I can offer gives me some power over them. It's a game of predators and prey, for now I avoid the claws. Later, I'll have claws of my own."

The gold woman pursed her lips. "That's what worries me."

Wren left Cassandra, still nervous over having almost been caught giving Dorian her blood and hair. She was risking a great deal. Everyone had said over and over that the auburn-haired mage wasn't to be trusted.

It was ironic, that in spite of everything said, she sensed that the duplicitous woman really didn't wish her any harm. She knew one thing about Dorian, she was thoroughly rational and calculating. She risked alienating Wren for the offsetting benefit of their learning what they could do together. They discovered wondrous power. Wren shuddered, thinking of the biophase rushing through her body. She wanted to feel that again. The troubling thing was she knew the mage's every action was calculated. The woman was no fool. She knew she'd be found out. The biophase was a tasty treat to lure the spooked horse back into the corral.

Even knowing it was a lure didn't make a difference. Wren wanted to feel that again. For a brief moment, she had felt something of what it was like to be one with Eternity. She knew she was being stupid, but she'd still risk much to have that feeling back.

She'd risk even more to get her family back. Of everyone she'd met, the auburn-haired mage had the guile and resources to help her find them. Sindra and Drucilla were more powerful but couldn't be counted on to even keep promises. Cassandra might help, but it would all be in her time and her way. She sensed that Loric too would assist, but like Cassandra, the elder did things in his own time. It might be seasons before either decided to do anything. She couldn't bare the thought of her family suffering in Mishaka's hands.

Dorian was already constructing what would become one half of what would become her freedom. Now, she needed to come up with the other part. Compared to the first obstacle, it would be easy.

At least she hoped so.

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We live in the present, not in the past. Here in the Citadel we judge by a person's actions and not by their history. Some legacies are more checkered than others--those we give leave to do penance and make right the wrongs...
--Loric Felspar

Wren sat at the breakfast table, feeling, as Desiray called it, stomped on by a Rhinotaur. It had been eleven scoredays. Two hundred and twenty days of harrowing workouts and exhaustion. She was determined not to give up. When they first starting training together, Wren thought that Vera's lack of apparent fatigue was an act, and was the woman's not-so-subtle way of mocking Wren's weakness. As they grew to know one another, she realized that Vera mocked no-one. She didn't act tired because she really wasn't. Wren still didn't know how that was possible. They sparred hard, worked hard, and Vera was only now starting to show one or two beads of sweat at the end of their three bell long sessions. What did it take?

Besides sweating, she'd spent the last five days biting her nails and building up her nerve. She'd spent much of her other time in library reading. She never would have thought to find herself becoming a book-sort. She had researched the procedure she needed to complete her plan. The problem was it required the cooperation of a skilled mage and a rather large and costly gem. She needed a mage to enchant the gem with the t'a'kaas, the spell of spirit attraction. The next part was to put the spirit where she wanted it. That required the t'a'fugit, the spirit binder.

She didn't want Dorian to know her plans. She also felt that Cassandra would oppose her scheme. She couldn't trust Sindra and Drucilla, and because of them, Cassin and Annawen weren't available either. Loric would tell her that such tampering 'would be best left until she was older'.

There were children here at the house who could probably work the magic. She'd seen youngsters half her age working powerful spells under Cassandra's guidance. Her employing one of the children would get discovered too quickly in addition to being frowned on.

Elimination left her with an uncomfortable choice for an ally. Gabriella scared her. The woman was frightening in her mysteriousness, in her power, and in her intensity. The only thing that gave Wren any hope was that the elder seemed to like her.

That scared her too. Gabriella's touch was--intimate--and the woman made uncomfortable allusions to 'little girls'. This elder might live among upstanding people, but she was a creature with an ugly history and un-pure appetites.

As she watched Vera whip around the kitchen, she decided that the delays would end today. Time to take her courage in hand and approach the woman. After the lecture about 'whining' and the Gabriella's horribly vivid tale of her own childhood Wren had wanted to keep her distance.

Options and time were growing fewer by the day. Soon the hunt would happen. After that distraction was over, Dorian would be free to concentrate her persuasive efforts on Wren. With five days to think about it, she decided it would be best if she'd found an exit by then. Cassandra's brusque and cold forcefulness she could resist with little effort. Dorian--she liked--despite her every effort to the contrary. The auburn-haired mage simply knew all the right things to say and do. Inside of a few seasons, Wren would find herself following the mage around like a pet.

That would crush any possibilities of rejoining her family. She had to put herself into the scheming mage's mindset. If Dorian wanted to have a modicum of influence over Wren, she had to keep competing authority figures at a distance. Wren's evidence of that thinking at work was the struggle between Dorian and Desiray. The Guildmistress had unexpectedly changed her demeanor and started acting in the grandmotherly role Wren idolized as child.

Even though she was objective enough to see her own reactions, she still couldn't step outside of herself when she felt herself being influenced. Few people want to hate another person. For a while, Desiray made it easy with her cold biting aloofness. The fact that Wren looked up to the woman as a youth, simply added disillusionment to the already explosive mix.

A little at a time, Desiray revealed herself to be less of the callous witch than Wren thought. In fact, the woman was shielding her from Dorian's machinations. Something Wren knew had to be complicating the mage's plans. When Dorian found a way around Desiray, Wren was certain the woman would find some way to bind her. Then her plans for family and home would likely be over.

She looked up and realized she was the last one at the table. Vera was wiping down the counter. The dusky girl came and stopped in front of Wren.

"Wren friend all right?" She asked. "I not hurt you?"

Wren drew a breath. "No, no, you haven't hurt me. I keep hurting myself. I don't know, maybe I'm not good enough to learn from you."

"Ayeee," a pained expression came over Vera's dark face. "You do fine. Vera like working with Wren-friend. We learn together."

"Or burn together," Wren said. She rose and walked around the table to stand by Vera. "You know what you've done to me?" She put her thumbs in her breeches and pulled them out from her waist. "These don't fit anymore. Even with all that good food you've been making me eat I've lost a least a stone!"

"That cause Wren practice two more bells in her room at night."

She frowned at Vera. "How do you know that?"

The cook smiled at her. "Vera do laundry. Know what clothes you wear. Clothes not get smelly from reading."

"Hmph," Wren grumped. Nothing was private in this place.

Vera raised an eyebrow. "Vera lost her honor, not her wits." She tapped her temple. "Vera not say before, but Wren play dangerous games with lady Dorian."

She felt a shock run through her. What could Vera possibly know? Of course, with the way she moved, Vera could potentially be listening around any corner. "What game, Vera?"

The girl looked at the floor then looked up. She put a hand on Wren's shoulder. "Lady Dorian, she is--" She paused, brow furrowing obviously searching for words. "She is a--tempter. She take you. Your mind become hers. You become like her."

Wren felt a tremble shiver through her. "Is that bad Vera?"

The woman's dark eyes narrowed. "Wren be happy, but Wren not be Wren anymore. Wren not follow Wren's destiny."

Leave it to the cook to put it so succinctly.

"It's good advice, Vera," she said. "Advice I'll take to heart. As far as the workouts... don't worry about me. For what I've got in my future, I need to be in the best condition you can get me in."

"Vera do." She gave Wren a hug, pressing her hard little body against hers in firm display of affection. "We dance again tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," Wren agreed. She looked to the door leading into the area behind the citadel. She'd put off this scary chore long enough. Steeling herself, she walked out the north exit of the dining area and through the portal onto the grounds. She followed the path around the building to the raised patio area that faced the rising sun. This isolated platform was a lesser used structure that apparently fell into disuse after the North wing of the citadel was added. Back in a corner, and walled off from the interior of the structure, one had to know where it was to even see the narrow wooden stairway that led up to this hideaway. On her many walks around the extensive grounds, Wren had seen Gabriella walking up to her private refuge. She'd never seen anyone else with the woman though.

It occurred to Wren as she put her foot to the steps, that there was probably a reason she never saw anyone go up here with Gabriella. Could it be that people went to private refuges for--privacy? She sighed, what she wanted to discuss needed to be between them alone.

The twelve steps to the top were long ones, approaching this elder when she'd gone to the trouble of isolating herself wasn't wise. If anyone saw her arranging a meeting with the lady, suspicions would be aroused though.

She reached the top and looked around. The area was clean, with all the wood sanded and refinished. Nothing occupied the area save an oversized leather sun lounge and a low table to make refreshments convenient. She noted the folded clothing near the lounge and realized she hadn't even considered one of the most common reasons people sought isolated spots in the sun.

Seeing Gabriella in the nude was not the reason she came up here. She froze at the edge of the landing, approaching the elder while so exposed would be very unwise.

The woman was lying prone in the sun, dark hair loose and spilling across her pale flesh like rivers of shadow. Her arm was covering her eyes and she was humming some unfamiliar tune.

Wren didn't know what to do now. In this situation, discretion was definitely the most survivable option. She'd already experienced what this woman could do when she was merely annoyed. She wanted no part of actually angering her.

She turned to leave.

"Wren?"

She froze. She looked back to see the elder had lifted her arm and was looking over at her.

"What are you doing up here?"

"Uh, I--" she was losing her nerve. She'd rather face an avatar than this woman. "It can wait, you're obviously exposed--" She gritted her teeth. "Indisposed. Perhaps some time when you're not busy..."

The elder's blue eyes narrowed. "It's too late, you've already disturbed me. Are you going to waste my time as well?"

Wren sucked a breath. "No ma'am. I thought--"

"Stop thinking," the woman interrupted. "You obviously thought it important or you wouldn't be here. Is it?"

She swallowed and nodded. "To me anyway."

The elder pursed her lips. She reached over on the far side of the lounge and picked up a towel. She pulled it across herself and lay back. "Come tell me about it."

That sounded like an order.

She came over by the lounge, not certain what the elder expected her to do.

Gabriella pulled one of the cushions from behind her head and dropped it on the deck near her. "Sit," she said indicating the padded square.

Heart starting to speed, she did as directed.

The woman rolled her neck side-to-side. "You needn't act so tense. I don't generally welcome visitors, but I don't mind your company."

Wren relaxed a little. "I apologize for the intrusion. I--"

Gabriella interrupted her again. "Child, dispense with inanities. I'll let you know when I require toadying."

She swallowed again. The lady wasn't going to give her room to ease into it. "Well, it's two matters. One concerns Dorian, the other is more of a business proposition."

The Dragon queen lifted her arm to peer at Wren. "A business proposition? This should be interesting." She settled back again. "All right. We'll start with Dorian."

Wren pressed her hands together.

"I'm not sure why I think this, but I have a feeling that you know her better than anyone else here. You must know a lot about her or you wouldn't have her as your apprentice."

Gabriella sighed. She brushed a few strands of hair away from her face and adjusted herself for comfort. "Much as there is to know about that one. I know."

"Can I trust her?"

"She keeps her promises, and adheres to her bargains. You probably already know that she fancies the truth."

"What she fancies are questions to keep from having to tell the truth."

Gabriella chuckled. "Child, you'll go far some day. It took Cassandra half a decade to figure that out."

"She probably wasn't deviled with it the way I was."

"Everyone has been deviled with it," she leaned up on one elbow and took a sip of something dark from mug sitting on the table next to her. "So, I suppose she's trying to get you to work magic for her."

"She makes it sound very attractive. She also went out of her way to make it feel even more attractive."

The dark concoction stopped on its second trip to Gabriella's lips. She finished her sip. She turned her head with a raised eyebrow. "In what way? Did she offer a 'sensory' enticement?"

"When we were linked, she used my power to pull in all the biophase I could take without passing out."

Gabriella straightened. "That little minx. Have you told anyone else this?"

"No. I didn't feel it was their business. It's between me, her, and perhaps yourself. I don't know what rules you have for your students."

The woman shook her head. "Well, nothing regarding misbehavior of that sort." She rubbed her face and settled back. "From the way you're telling me this, it doesn't sound like you wish me to do anything about it."

"I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself."

"Perhaps you hadn't noticed. She's a bigger girl, and she's been doing it five times as long."

"In a marathon, she'll beat me. I plan to make this a sprint."

"Ah." The woman ran a tongue across her lips. "Tell me. This wouldn't be related to that secret project she's been hiding from me recently."

"It might."

"Interesting." The woman paused. She sniffed. "You didn't give her any of your blood did you?"

Wren felt a flash of heat shoot through her stomach. How had the woman jumped to that?

"Why do you ask?"

Gabriella covered her face with her hands. "Wren, answer the question. Did you give her your blood?"

She felt that cold fear creep into her again. She could tell the elder was getting angry. "Yes."

The woman let her hands fall away. She fixed Wren with blue eyes. "Why? I told you not to share it with Sindra and Drucilla. There is too much power in your blood to let people loose with it. That includes Dorian."

"I had a personal use for it."

"So you gave it to Dorian to facilitate that use?"

"Yes."

"You probably didn't make her promise not use any leftovers."

Wren shook her head.

Gabriella's voice turned cold. "I'm disappointed by that piece of negotiation."

"For what I want to do, if she feels she's taken advantage, it's all the better for me."

Gabriella's eyes flashed. "Is that so? It better be damn well worth it. You don't know the kinds of headaches that blood can cause."

"Perhaps you'll tell me."

The Dragon queen sat up and wrapped the towel around her breasts. "It can temporarily give someone your powers. It's bad enough in the hands of amateur mage who must spend time figuring out how they work. Dorian has been in your mind, she has experienced how those powers work."

"It's only temporary though."

"Let me borrow your knife for a quarter bell. How many people do you think I can make regret my temporary ownership of that weapon?"

"Understood, but Dorian isn't like that. Wouldn't you say she's more likely to keep it as a secret defense? That seems to be how her mind works."

The Dragon queen rubbed her throat. "You're right in that. Such tools in the hands of babes makes me nervous."

"I must make you nervous then."

"You? No. You have sense enough to know your limitations. That girl has no fear and boundless confidence. It's a dangerous combination."

"But you're teaching her!"

"Talent like hers is rare. That coupled with that cockiness make for a practically perfect magical student."

"Guess everyone takes risks to get what they want."

The woman snorted. She rolled over onto her stomach. "This foolishness with the blood irritates me. I hope your business is more to my liking."

"Perhaps." Wren started to launch into the explanation of what she wanted, and then thought better of it. "Before I go into that can I ask you something unrelated?"

Head cradled in her arms, Gabriella nodded. "Speak."

"The other day when you told me about what it was like in your youth. Loric said that it was your way of saying that you understood what I've been through. That wasn't the point at all, was it?"

"Man's entitled to his opinion. His estate. His interpretation."

"Now, it's just you and me."

"It's a story Wren, sometimes I like to hear myself talk. You bring out the pontificator in me."

"I was of the mind you told me that because you know how strong the hate for the avatars can be. If not for Kali, you might not be who you are today."

"Yes. Heathenish bitch that I am."

"It sounded like you were saying that the spite and revenge are a path I should avoid, because of what I might become."

"The universe already has me, no need for another Dragon Queen." She paused and Wren heard a smile come into her voice. "I hate competition."

Wren felt there was considerably more to it, but the woman didn't seem inclined to reveal it at this time.

"Enough side trips," Gabriella said. "To business."

"Business," Wren echoed.

"I take that back," the woman said, shifting her arms and turning her face so she could look at Wren. "One last side trip."

Wren waited.

"My understanding is that you are as good as Desiray in the rogue arts; picking locks, scaling walls and the like."

Wren blinked. Where was the elder going with this? She simply had to follow Gabriella's whims. "I'm not as skilled as she is, but I'm pretty good."

"Ah," the woman nodded. She closed her eyes and snuggled her face into the pillow of her arms. "So, you'd say you picked a few locks and climbed a building or two."

"Thousands."

"Very good," Gabriella murmured. "A good lock picker needs extremely sensitive fingers, do they not?"

Wren still didn't understand what this line of questions was leading up to. "It's helpful."

"To be adept at wall climbing, you must strengthen the grip in your hands a great deal, correct?"

"There are some exercises, but the strength comes over time." She sighed, having no clue as to what the woman was after.

"Thousands of walls and locks. Fifteen summers of getting your hands properly conditioned for exceptional strength and sensitivity. Yes, that is an appealing combination."

Wren felt an icy hand grip her insides. The word 'appealing' had dangerous connotations.

"I digress. To our business." She sighed. "You know after being interrupted and irritated by this dealing with Dorian, I don't know how receptive I'm going to be to this business of yours."

"Lady?"

"Well, if I'm in the correct frame of mind, I'm much more likely to listen to your proposal."

There it was. Now what did she do?

"You know it's been almost a millennia since I had a good back massage. With such capable hands, I bet you could do a marvelous job. Have you any experience in such things?"

She did. When she lived in the harlot house she used to rub down some of the new girls at Jahnna's request, to help them relax. "Yes," she answered.

"Better and better. I'm certain that a competently applied massage would be wonderfully persuasive, and put me a permissive frame of mind." She paused and opened one eye. "Of course, at your discretion, we can forego such amenities and simply get down to business."

Wren could see where Dorian had learned some of her manipulative skills. Somehow, Gabriella sensed that she had no-where else to turn for this favor, and was taking advantage.

If all the woman wanted was a back-rub, Wren had no problems with it. What concerned her is if Gabriella tried to make it more. It concerned her that she might be entering into a situation that might invite to elder to go further. She had no evidence that the lady was attracted to women, but she didn't have contradictory proof either.

She needed that favor. The risk was necessary.

"If you'll accept a massage in lieu of an apology for 'irritating' you over the blood, then tell me what to do."

"Outstanding. There are oils and ointments there." She gestured to the little table. A half dozen clear flasks and small clay containers shimmered into being. "Start with the shoulders. I've been carrying the weight of ten kingdoms on them for three centuries."

Wren looked at the woman's pale white back. She wondered idly whether she meant literally or figuratively.

She rose and walked around the lounge to the side with the table. She opened the flasks and smelled them in turn. She recognized the sweet bite of starflower that she was fond of.

Wren doled out a portion into her palms, rubbed them together, and knelt by Gabriella's side.

"Begin?"

"Permission granted. This will be marvelous."

Wren hoped so.

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It is the most loathsome feeling imaginable. A sensation so indescribably potent that it makes you forget taboos--forget yourself--forget everything save that paralyzing ecstasy. I say loathsome, but that is simply because I shudder to think what I might have been made to do...
--Wren

Wren had been in and witnessed several strange scenes in this last season. A magical dagger had made intimate advances. To keep from being discovered she'd been forced to kiss Desiray to prevent her crying out. Women married to women, women married to two men, two men married to one woman, this place certainly wasn't shy of taboos. Given all that, she still wouldn't have imagined herself giving a back-rub to a vampire.

The Dragon Queen. Since they first met, she'd wondered how a sobriquet like 'Dragon Queen' settled with being a vampire. Not exactly a question you broached with a woman like Gabriella. Wren recalled during the woman's recounting of her early past, her saying something about drinking the blood of dragons. As her hands pushed down the woman's feverishly warm skin, she felt subtle impressions that no doubt gave the Dragon Queen her name.

Scales. Camouflaged in that pale white skin were ridges that could be nothing other than scales. It occurred to Wren then, that Gabriella wasn't a vampire who lived on human blood.

Gabriella had drained the blood of dragons.

If a person would do anything to achieve power, the arrangement was a logical one. Vampires that fed on humans could become extremely powerful as they gluttonously absorbed the life-force of the living. Any one human was individually weak, contributing little to the undead creature's power. What if the vampire's pray was ten thousand times as powerful? Imagine if the creatures she fed on were dragons?

The concept was nothing short of harrowing. She was rubbing the back of a creature that consumed the essence of dragons. It helped her to relax knowing she wasn't a meal item on the Dragon Queen's menu.

She paused and rubbed more of the starflower scented oil into her palms. She crossed her thumbs over Gabriella's neck, gripping and kneading the bunched muscles above her shoulder blades.

"Ahhh," Gabriella sighed. "Good. Your hands have every bit of the talent advertised. Humph, oooh, more to the left--yes, right there."

"Your skin isn't like I expected."

"What were you thinking? That'd I be cold meat? Augh. Ummm. Harder. Uh hmmm."

Wren pressed down along the woman's spine. Her flesh was something like Desiray's in that it felt soft to the touch on the surface but grew more resilient as she pressed in. Even with a sharp knife she doubted she could cut the woman.

"Guess it's just my ignorance. The stories say you're a vampire, and you do have fangs and white skin. I didn't think the undead were warm."

"Vampires aren't undead, silly girl. Ghouls, wights, wraiths, those creatures are undead, they must enter the afterlife in order to become what they are. Vampirism is a magic that is either born into the body or bestowed by a master vampire. There have been undead vampires, but that's the exception rather than--oooh, lower--the rule."

"Ummm, maybe I shouldn't ask this... Do you still... you know..."

"Drink blood?" Gabriella asked.

"Uh--yes."

"Lost my taste for it about the time I started enjoying the sunlight. It always irked me that all someone had to do to kill me was drag me into the daylight. The whole thing with native soil and feeding--they were a large bother. You know how I am with irritation."

"Yes, ma'am. I didn't think once you became a vampire there was any going back though."

"One of the benefits of immortality. Lots of time to solve thorny problems." She rocked her head side-to-side in the cradle of her arms. "Oooh, I am enjoying this immensely. Lower down, yes, right there."

Wren applied some more oil and kneaded the hard flesh with her knuckles. "So, you're not really a vampire anymore then."

"I couldn't completely dismiss all the affects of six millennia of living in the darkness, but I think I did a fair job don't you think?"

Wren drew her breath. "Nobody will hear about it from this masseuse."

"Good girl. I wasn't pleased with the scales, but if it kept me from getting terminal sun-burn it was a reasonable sacrifice."

"You have to be as close as I am to notice them. They actually feel nice on my hands."

"Really? Never heard that mentioned before. Of course, not many get to touch me." She sighed. "I am much pleased. Tell me, what is this thing you wish to ask me?"

Wren let out a breath of relief. "Well, what I need is someone to create a way for me to cast the t'a'kaas and the t'a'fugit."

"Hmmm." Gabriella rolled her shoulders. "You don't want them cast for you. You want a way to perform them yourself."

"One time," Wren added.

"Those are dangerous spells reserved to the ranks of arch-magi. You could find yourself imprisoned in a soul trap. Do you have the gem necessary to affect the transfer?"

"Not yet. I didn't need it unless I could cast the spells."

Gabriella sighed. She stretched her arms out to either side and a ripple went through the muscles of her back. "Child you have miraculous hands." She sniffed. "Let me see if I have this figured out. Dorian has your donated blood, and is working on a private project for you. My surmise is she's making a body. You want to work the t'a'kaas and the t'a'fugit. So the logical assumption is you have someone trapped that you wish to return to the flesh."

Damn this woman was smart. It had only taken her an instant to discern her plan. "Will you help me?"

"I don't believe I have enough information. While I am rather infatuated with what you are doing back there, it's hardly compensation for what you're asking. Simply casting the spells is something many mages could be hired to do. The arch-magi capable of embedding the spells in an item so you can cast them safely is a far rarer individual. The process requires significant time and effort on my part."

Now was when the negotiation came into play. "I have something that more than offsets the cost of your time."

"Really?" Gabriella drew a breath. "I suspect you will try to surprise me now. What is this so-valuable thing?"

"A question. Do you have in your possession a First-one key that hasn't opened its cache?"

Gabriella turned her head, and Wren caught a glimpse of her blue eye. "Yes, as a matter of fact I do. Been trying to find the phoenix for over a decade."

Wren moved her hands up to Gabriella's neck and massaged her shoulders. She brought her lips close to the woman's ear. "Besides being able to decode the key, I can--" she paused.

She felt the tension in the Dragon Queen's shoulders. Abrupt excitement that went trembling through her flesh like ripples on a pond. "You can--?" Gabriella prompted.

"I know how to find the phoenixes," she whispered.

Gabriella gripped the sides of the lounge. "You wouldn't--" She paused. "No, you know better than that."

"The location and entry into a cache belonging to the First-ones in return for your services."

The Dragon Queen went quiet. Wren could feel the muscles tensing under her hands. She maintained the pressure, rolling the flesh, relaxing the stiffened tissue.

"Very good," Gabriella breathed. "You surprised me that time. Is anyone else aware of your knowledge of the phoenixes?"

"Unfortunately, yes. In a pique over being duped into giving Sindra and Drucilla the images for their key, I rubbed it in that if they hadn't cheated me, they might have learned the location of the phoenix guarding the doorway to their key. I said I would do that service for them in return for some information concerning Mishaka and a way to kill her."

Gabriella made a growling sound. "Did they accept?"

"They said they would 'take it under consideration'."

"How long ago has this been?"

"Getting on to four scoredays now."

The Dragon Queen shook her head. "I am amazed at your ability to be both brilliant and foolish at the same time. That's too long, they're probably already prepared to make a move. If you were observed coming up here to me, it may push them to act. You're in danger now."

"Yes."

"So, part of your plan must be that you think I'll protect you."

"I figure you'd want to defend your potential assets."

The woman laughed, it made her whole body shake. "Oh my. How exciting. Did you intend on becoming my asset?"

"It seemed like an equitable business arrangement, heavily weighted in your favor actually."

"Oh no, Child. Tangling with Sindra and Drucilla is a serious undertaking. Their family can ravage worlds."

"You're not without a reputation of your own."

Gabriella shook her head. She pushed herself up on the lounge and rolled over abruptly. Wren didn't have time to retreat before the woman's intense blue eyes froze her. Her arms and legs refused to move.

Like the other time Gabriella paralyzed her she found she could speak. "W-what... Why did you...?" The gleam in the elder's eyes made the words dry in her mouth. A cold dread washed through her. Her heart started beating wildly as Gabriella reached out, and lifted Wren's hand, sniffed the fingers, then rubbed Wren's knuckles against her face.

"Tsk tsk, Child, I know you're hiding something from me. You're sweet, and you have marvelous hands, but that's not quite enough to stake my life on." Gabriella turned her head to one side, blue eyes searching Wren's face. She leaned close and sniffed Wren's neck. "I do love the way you smell. I make it a point of transacting business only with people I trust. You can never be too careful." She nuzzled Wren's neck, breath making her skin perspire. "There's only one way to really be sure you're trustworthy."

"No!" Wren let out. "Please, don't!" Damn, she couldn't move. She couldn't even blink.

"Wren, don't beg, it's beneath a woman of your station. I desire your cooperation and darling--" She pushed her hands through Wren's hair, fingers gently caressing her scalp. "I get what I want."

"Lady, lady... I promise! Honest!"

"Hush dear. Histrionics will do neither of us any good. The bargain is already set. It is simply a matter of sealing the deal."

Her heart felt ready to explode. "Please. No. No...!"

"Shhh." Gabriella hushed, palms cupping Wren's jaw, fingers like feathers on her cheeks, thumbs pressing her lips. "Shhh."

The woman pushed her dark hair back from her face, and closed her eyes. "So frightened, so cold, you don't know what to expect. It won't be so bad."

"No." She wanted to run, to fight, but there was nothing to fight with. She couldn't move. She could barely think. "Gabriella!"

"Uhhm, I love it when they cry my name." The woman's eyelids fluttered. She bowed over Wren's neck, and she felt the woman's hot breath warming her skin again.

"No. No! NO!"

Gabriella sighed. "Oh yes, my dear. Yes."

She felt teeth against her skin.

"PLEASE!"

There was a sharp sting as the Dragon Queen's fangs sunk into her throat. Terror gripped her mind, but only for an instant because then the Dragon Queen was in her veins. Her blood felt as though it turned to fire. She felt the blood leaving her, but at the same time experienced the charge of super-mortal life forces tingling their way through her body. It was as if her blood and Gabriella's were intertwining. For a horrible instant she didn't want it to stop. Then it did.

Gabriella groaned and drew away. She wiped the blood from her lips and shuddered. "Your blood is stronger than a dragon's. So sweet. Pity you aren't mine to sip from every day." She brushed the hair back from Wren's forehead. "All that fretting, it wasn't so bad--was it? I wouldn't hurt someone that gives me such delight."

Wren could barely speak, caught up in the dizziness of fear, confusion, and the inexplicable rapture of the commingling of their blood.

"W-what did you do?"

"Blood magic my sweet. Only the magic of a god can brace a mind against the bloodsong. If you were charmed, or controlled in any way hostile to me--I would know--the rapture makes it so. Now, if anyone tries to control you with magic in the future--or threatens you in any way, I will know through the bond of the blood." The woman drew a breath and slithered closer, brushing her naked torso against Wren. "So, what secrets have you been keeping from me, hmmm?" Her fingers played down Wren's arms and down her sides.

"Gabriella, please. Don't you have what you want? Let me go!"

"Child, hush. I'll release you when I'm ready."

The woman's nails traced the collar of Wren's blouse. Her finger hooked the chain of the phoenix amulet. She pulled it from its hiding place between Wren's breasts. "My my, this has been amazingly well disguised; a phoenix--intriguing." She turned it over. "Liandra. Hmmm. Composed of Shael Dal." She sniffed the metal. "A tao. A powerful one." The woman closed her eyes and grinned. "My my, you are quite the schemer aren't you? T'a'kaas from here to the gem. Then a t'a'fugit into the body Dorian is making. A template of a savant's body to hold a tao that would rip a normal mortal shell to pieces. So, my dear, speak to me. Who is it? Who are you planning to bring out of retirement that you don't want anyone to know about?"

Wren couldn't swallow. Her body felt like ice. "Please, let go."

"Child, don't waste my time. Tell me."

She couldn't fight it. The vampire's bite had taken her will to resist. Her stomach twisted. "Damay," she let out. "It's Damay."

Gabriella leaned back and breathed out through pursed lips. "The Ice Falcon's old sparring partner?" The woman frowned. "One of the most powerful savants in history. How did you expect to control her?"

"I didn't."

Eyes wide, the Dragon Queen gripped the sides of Wren's head. "Child, what were you thinking? You don't know this creature! She was near to invincible. What did you plan on doing if she wasn't quite what you expected?"

"I--I don't know."

"If you don't, Dear, who does?"

"I--I've felt her. She's a good person--a compassionate person."

The Dragon Queen grinned, showing her red tinged fangs. "So am I." She sighed and rubbed her face. "You have my warning. If you let the djinni from the bottle and she turns out to be a nightmare, I won't help put her back in. Truth is, you have something I desire, and as long as someone else cannot use you against me, I'm content. Our agreement is set. For the location of the phoenix, I will provide you with certain services. In specific, the t'a'kaas and t'a'fugit in a form that are controllable by you." She knelt on the lounge, fingers laced in front of her mouth, staring into Wren's eyes. "I don't know why I find you beautiful, but I do. I think I shall have one more thing of you to complete our deal."

"What--?"

"Silly girl, always asking questions." She reached behind Wren's neck and pulled her wooden body forward.

Wren gasped as she tilted, unable to stop herself from falling. Gabriella caught her so that their bodies pressed together. She massaged Wren's shoulder-blades with her hands. Wren felt a tingling sensation go through her skin. Her arms moved, but not the way she willed them--now she couldn't stop them from moving. Wren's hands slid up and around the elder's neck.

"Yes," Gabriella murmured. Her blue eyes glowed.

Wren started to say something and stopped as the Dragon Queen kissed her. Her immediate reaction was to be repulsed. This woman had ensorcelled her, bitten her, and was now forcing herself on her.

A tremendous rush of energy blazed into Wren's body drowning out her initial repulsion to the kiss. The feeling of Desiray's energy and the near ecstasy of the biophase were small compared to the exhilaration she experienced as Gabriella's magic swept into her.

The sensation was so intense that even when she realized she could move again, she only wanted to hold on. The Dragon Queen was a mean, self serving, woman lover, but caught in the tidal-wave of magically induced gratification she was just as paralyzed as she had been by the holding magic.

"Gabriella?" Dorian's voice startled both of them.

Wren gasped and dropped to her knees forced to grab hold of Gabriella's leg to keep from falling face down.

Dressed in her red surcoat, gold sash, and black riding boots, Dorian had frozen at the top step in complete surprise.

Wren found herself hanging onto Gabriella simply for support. Her bones felt as if they'd turned to water. Her hands trembled like she'd been hit by lightning. Her heart thumped against her ribs like a blacksmith's hammer. Colored stars danced around the edges of her vision. How could anything feel like that?

The elder stiffened like a rogue caught with his hand in the money coffer.

Dorian brushed back her auburn hair, and stepped onto the platform. The normally unflappable woman looked completely aghast. "What in Isis' name...?" she let out.

Gabriella looked down at Wren who was still too dazed to speak much less move. The Dragon Queen marshaled her initial surprise. "Dorian, good, this saves me the trouble of hunting you down. Come here."

"What?"

"Come." She pointed to a spot in front of her. "Here."

Dorian took a step forward and stopped. She slammed her ever-present staff on the deck hard enough to make the whole structure shiver. Her voice had a sharp disappointed edge. "What are you doing with her?!"

The elder drew a breath. Her nostrils flared. "Dorian... come here--now."

The younger mage stumbled three steps forward as though dragged forward by a rope, but seemed to dig in her heels. Her face turned crimson. "Gabriella..." Dorian forced out. "You..."

The Dragon Queen's voice dropped to a rasp that made Wren's skin turn to ice. "Dorian--if I repeat myself again you will rue the day you were conceived. Fix yourself on that spot--nnnooowww!"

The mage shuffled forward to the spot indicated. She walked as though steel rod had been strapped to her back.

"The savant's blood," Gabriella growled. "The remainders. I want them."

Dorian's eyes widened like a person suddenly faced with a charging Rhinotaur. "But--"

"Ahhht." Gabriella thrust a finger Dorian's direction. "Best still your tongue." She turned her hand over palm up. "Give."

Wren was stable enough to balance against the lounge. She blinked to get the colors out of her sight. She still felt too dizzy to stand. However degrading the experience had been, she would remember that sensation for as long as she lived; the kiss of the Dragon Queen. The legend said she could kill with a kiss--she had assumed that the story had meant by the vampire's bite--not--like that.

The mage was glaring at Gabriella.

"If that hand isn't moving toward that pocket in a heartbeat," the woman hissed. "You are going to see me get extremely cross."

Dorian growled, reached into the pocket, and picked out a phial a little larger than Wren's finger. The whole container appeared full. She put the crystal in the Dragon Queen's hand.

The woman held it down to Wren's eye level. "Do you see now? Hmmm?"

Wren looked up at her, feeling her face flush in embarrassment, in shame, and more emotions than she could name.

"Never. Ever. Do this again. If blood ever comes out of you again it best be natural. Blood is alive. It can be replicated from the smallest sample, the same way cattle is grown." She closed her hand around the vial. There was a sizzling sound, then a burst of smoke trailed up from the woman's fingers.

Dorian gasped, eyes wide, watching the smoke drift away.

"If there is more. It had best be in my possession by nightfall." She looked at Wren again. Her fingers brushed the top of her hair.

She started to shift toward the woman's fingers, caught herself and moved away. She would never be a woman's woman, not even for a feeling like that. That fact that she even considered it made her stomach knot.

"I'm disappointed in you Dorian. If I had not caught her, this little girl would have had a meal of you while you were hoarding your snack."

The younger mage scowled, brow furrowing.

"I won't explain it. You missed something. Had the fortunes played themselves only a hair differently..." She pointed at Dorian. "At the completion of your agreement. I forbid any further business with her."

"Matra!" Dorian burst out.

Gabriella let out a hiss that made Wren's bones quail and her skin turn to ice. For an instant, it had sounded as if a dragon had been standing next to her.

Dorian reeled back a step, and bowed her head.

"My patience is done. The farce with the avatar was annoying enough. Now, you are balking at my every command." She drew a breath, voice dropping to a growl. "If you are still mine, Dorian, come and submit."

The woman looked like a blackhorn caught in a hunter's lantern, the color left her cheeks. She swallowed obviously knowing what was expected of her. She moved forward woodenly, coming around the lounge to where Wren knelt.

Going to her knees, she placed the staff in front of her and removed the high collared surcoat. She freed her hair from its tight binding and brushed it all to one side. Closing her eyes she pressed both hands to her collarbone and turned her head to expose her neck...

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There are moments I wonder if I will ever be intimate with another person ever again...
--Wren

Wren stumbled out of the back yard, up the steps, and into the kitchen. Mind whirling with everything that she'd experienced, she was lucky to find her way much less watch where she was going. Her knees still felt weak, and it took all her will to keep them under her. She could still smell the starpetal oil that had clung to Gabriella. Echoes of the kiss of Dragon Queen still resonated through her body.

The last image in her mind was of Gabriella bowing over Dorian and the expression on the younger mage's face as the rapture of the blood-song stiffened her body. Dorian looked much paler by the time the elder finished. She leaned against the lounge, head bowed in supplication.

The elder had looked up from her student and fixed gleaming blue eyes on Wren. "Dorian and I have other matters to discuss. You will have your request shortly." She made a shooing gesture. "Dismissed."

She felt so confused. She thought she had her feelings and plans sorted out. In less than a bell, Gabriella had scrambled everything. Bitten by a vampire, kissed by an elder, Damay, Dorian, the savant's blood... Her brain felt ready to come apart!

Preoccupied and dazed, she staggered head-on with someone coming the other way. The person she hit might as well have been a tree for all the affect she had. Her knees were still so weak that to keep from falling she wrapped her arms around the other person.

Face buried in the other person's torso and hanging on, she locked her legs straight. "Sorry--sorry..." she apologized.

She started to move around the person but they held on. "Wren?"

She blinked realizing it was Desiray. The woman looked down at the thin silk blouse she was wearing and the wetness where Wren's face had touched the fabric. The woman brushed back her white hair and looked at her with a concerned expression. She took hold of Wren's shoulders.

"You're dripping on me again. What's wrong now? I'm going to pound Dorian for this!"

Wren blinked. She hadn't realized she'd been crying. Damn. "No, no," she demurred. "Not--Dorian." She'd already been pounded anyway.

"Lords Wren, you're shaking." The woman's emerald eyes narrowed. "What happened?"

She shook her head. "Nothing. I'm okay, really. Just did--something--really--stupid."

"Girl, you look like you just had breakfast with Asmodeus!" The woman brushed Wren's hair back, searching her face. "Are you hurt...?"

"Desiray...please... I'm all right..."

The white-haired woman ignored her protest, continuing to look at her. She leaned to one side and froze. Her hand moved the hair back from Wren's neck. Wren flinched away. She couldn't look the Guildmistress in the eye.

"That..." Desray's face turned red. Her voice dropped to forcefully restrained whisper. "Bitch!" Wren heard metal shriek. "I'll cut her shredded fangs off!"

Desiray started to push past Wren, bared dagger in hand.

The thought of the Guildmistress confronting the Dragon Queen shocked Wren out of her daze. She gripped Desiray's arm. "No! Please. Don't." Damn. Now, she was yelling 'please' to someone else.

The older woman frowned at her. "Wren..." She growled. "The old witch forced herself on you. No way will I let that go."

Wren shuddered. She balled her hands into fists. "My fault."

The Guildmistress shook her head sharply to get the hair from her eyes. Wren could feel the heat of the woman's anger. She was ready to kill. "What, you just slipped and impaled your neck on her fangs!?"

"I made a bargain. Didn't know... She... The bloodsong was to make sure I wasn't charmed..."

Desiray snorted. "Lecherous biddy. She didn't have to do that. Scare the skin off you, and put you through that..." She moved closer, fingers gently brushing the wound. Her anger seemed to have cooled. Her eyes narrowed. She slid the dagger back into its sheath. "Wren, what else did she do?"

She shook her head.

The older woman sighed. She moved her hand, letting her knuckles brush Wren's jaw. Desiray closed her eyes, moving it down Wren's neck. Abruptly, she sucked a breath rising to her toes and snatching her hand back. "Shhhredds!" She shuddered, shaking her shoulders and arms as though stung. "Ow." The woman scowled. "Lords, come on. I thought I overdid it sometimes." She dragged on Wren's arm, pulling her toward the stairs leading up.

Following in a daze, Wren said, "what?"

"Girl, I don't know what's holding you together. Must be your resistance to magic. You've got enough charge in you to lay out a rhinotaur. Insane bitch..."

They started up the stairs. When Wren stumbled, the woman put an arm around her waist and helped her up the steps.

"Please, don't say that. Charge? You mean like what you did to me?"

The woman whistled. "Whew, ten or twelve steps past that. Back on the estate I gave you a friendly charge. It felt good, didn't it?"

Wren nodded.

"Well, obviously more feels better. Sensations that intense can affect people. Make them do things if you catch my drift."

How well Wren knew. She felt the heat in her cheeks. She nodded.

Desiray helped her down the hall. They turned a corner and passed Cassandra.

"Desiray?" The woman turned to look after them.

"No time," Desiray waved her off. "I'll be back in a moment." They entered Wren's room and went straight into the bathing area. The woman sat her at the edge of the tub. "Take off your clothes."

Wren froze. "What?"

Desiray put hands on hips. "Stop it. Not everybody wants to jump you. Do you often bathe with your clothes on?"

She shook her head. The whole experience had made her loopy and jumpy. She complied.

The Guildmistress turned the spigots open and let water run into the huge basin. "I Swear girl, you were less trouble when we were trying to kill each other."

Wren flushed. "Sorry."

"Oh damn, don't apologize, it's us not you. One big twisted bunch of hedonistic grab-happy extroverts is what we are. Got a straight tail, they love to put a curl in it." She looked back. "Get them all off. Hurry up. Last thing I want is you moping around in withdrawal."

"Huh?"

"Do as I say. Trust me, this you don't want to learn the hard way." She leaned close to Wren, nose touching hers. "Put this image in your head. Wren so desperate, she's on hands and knees crawling back to the vampire lady to get a refill on what she got this morning. Clear enough?"

Wren's stomach twisted, she swallowed and finished undressing.

"Thought so." The woman turned back to the bath. "Lived around this kind of magic for a long time. It's a game. Do it to each other all the time. Thing is, it isn't so playful to outsiders unused to it. Oh sure, it feels incredible, but it's like a piece of Vera's dessert cake. If you can't have the whole piece, you're better off not taking that first bite. Being denied the remainder is torment." She made a pained expression. "Yep, no fun at all." She stopped the water and pointed. "In."

Wren slipped into the tub. Feeling the warm water swell around her body.

"Stretch out. Relax as best you can. I trust Loric, and he says the water helps your body dissipate the energy. There's some stuff I have to go get. If I'm not back in a little while, stay, in there. You need to be in it at least a bell for it to help. Okay?"

Wren nodded.

Desiray pointed. "Stay."

"Yes, ma'am."

The woman nodded, and left.

Wren lay her head back against the cool marble. Desiray's fretting had distracted her from the funk threatening to swallow her up. She didn't know what to think of the change that had come over the woman. She'd gone from wanting to put a sword in Wren, to being ready knife other people that threatened her. Desiray was definitely a lady of startling contrasts.

The thing that worried Wren was that Desiray spoke whereof she knew. She had said with some certainty that Gabriella had intentionally magicked her in a way that would force her to return. The thought of being demeaned in that fashion made her want to chew rocks. Didn't she do enough? She didn't know how. She would find a way to get even for that. Perhaps some strategically placed minced garlic...

There was knock on the casement to the bathing area. Wren looked up and saw Cassandra.

Wren sighed. What did she want?

Hands behind her back Cassandra stepped in. She was dressed casually in a blue-gray smock and soft walking moccasins. The mage sat on the dressing bench. Elbows perched on the tops of her knees, she laced her fingers, chin atop them. Her solid ebony eyes fixed on Wren.

"Desiray had to go and asked that I look in on you. Are you okay?"

Wren pushed some ripples through the water. "I'll live."

Cassandra's voice was low and measured. "We never finished our conversation. We don't talk enough."

"Never was much on talking to the warden. Did it ever occur to you that you've been the author of most of my recent woes? You sent me in to get slaughtered by Hethanon. If I'd never used Corona, I might not have lost Jharon. Then there's this thing with your charming houseguests. You know--assassins, vampires, great elders... That would be bad enough with a warning--that is if I'd gotten one. Cassandra, I don't know what it's like for your enemies, but I imagine they give up pretty fast."

The gold woman winced. "I was going to ask if there was still hard feelings." She drew a breath. "I'll take that as a 'yes'."

Wren nodded. "Don't get me wrong, I appreciate being all in one piece. The food, the clothing, the amenities... gads, all this has been like a dream. Right up to those sour notes... being unable to leave, friends dying, having mages do things to me."

Cassandra straightened. "Do things?"

"Desiray put her knuckles against my cheek and said something about a charge. That's why I'm in the water."

The gold woman rose. Now, her face had a look of concern. "A charge?"

Wren nodded.

"Please, I should make sure it's not serious."

She shrugged. If what Desiray said was true. She had no intention of leaving the water.

Cassandra knelt at the edge of the tub. "Your hand please."

She extended her arm to the gold mage. Cassandra took the back of Wren's hand in her palm and placed the other hand across her wrist. She closed her eyes.

Abruptly, Cassandra stiffened taking a long inhale of breath. "Ai. Ai. Ai!" She fell back on her haunches. "My--lord." She shook her head like someone had caught her with a surprise punch. The mage dropped onto all fours and scrambled around to look at Wren more directly. "Oh my, are you--I--" She paused and frowned. "How in... Are you in any pain--dizziness?"

Wren drew a breath. "No pain, but it was really hard to walk. On healer Desiray's orders, I'm here in the water getting soggy."

"Walk? You were... walking. Damn." She put up both hands. "Stay in the water." She straightened like someone had shot her out of a crossbow.

"Staying," Wren echoed.

"Oh my," Cassandra murmured. "I will be back directly." Shaking her head and mumbling to herself, the woman hurried out of the room.

What was that all about? Desiray had seemed concerned, Cassandra was almost frantic.

Actually, with the water lapping around her body and keeping her warm, she didn't feel bad at all. If she could give off light she'd probably be glowing. Now that some of the initial shock of what Gabriella did was wearing off, she could let the echoes of the pleasure ping back and forth in her body. Lost in the sensations, time slipped away.

"Wren? Wren?"

She startled and looked up at to see a concerned Cassandra standing in the doorway wringing her hands. "Yes...?"

The gold woman let out a sigh. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you. Wren, I was really concerned so I brought someone to examine you."

"Cassandra, I'm okay, I don't feel bad at all."

"Wren, in matters of heterotrophic energy, chances should not be taken."

She frowned at the woman. "What's it going to cost me? I still owe you for the last healing I received."

The mage looked back into Wren's sitting area to somebody. Her cheeks colored. She glanced back at Wren. "It's all right, I'll cover this one."

Wren nodded.

Cassandra gestured and another woman stepped forward. Her skin was also gold like Cassandra's, she was stockier and looked slightly overweight. Her hair except for a few streaks of silver was so black it seemed to absorb the light. Dressed in button down green tunic, brown leggings and boots, she reminded Wren of Damay for some reason. Her slightly seamed face was round and open, her cheek-bones pronounced over broad mouth. The sparkles in her night-colored eyes were particularly bright.

Cassandra looked to the woman and then to her. "Wren, this is my Grandmother, Dame Techstar." The dame smiled. "Domna, this our guest Wren Idundaughter."

"Your grandmother?"

Cassandra nodded. "She's an expert on this sort of thing. I've never seen someone get hit this hard and not need resuscitation."

"Resusa-what?"

"Nevermind. Wren, if you would, please cooperate with her."

She looked at the woman; Cassandra's grandmother? "I guess."

Silent, the dame swept around the tub. For the first, few moments she only looked at her. Wren felt a tingling in her chest and stomach as the lady studied her without speaking.

The woman spoke to Cassandra in a clicking, musical language. Though Wren had never heard the words or sounds before, something in the back of her head knew the meaning. "No, this has never happened to me before."

Both of the gold women looked at her with raised eyebrows. "Don't ask me how I do it," she said. "Crazy, First-one blood..."

The Dame pursed her lips. She narrowed black-black eyes and pulled at one ear. "Sara--Wren is it?" The older woman asked. At her nod she went on. "Sara Wren, requesting please your cooperation by standing."

She blinked. It took a moment to understand what she'd said. It took a little effort but she could stand with the help of the water.

"Thanking your compliance. Your feet, requesting if you have sensation?"

"I can feel my toes if that's what you mean. I can move them."

The woman nodded. "Sara Wren, query your vision experiencing impairment?"

"A little fuzzy at the edges. There's a tiny bit of a halo around objects, if you know what I mean."

"Recognition. Desiring compliance, sara Wren, extension of right arm to front."

Wren looked at this odd woman who spoke so strangely. Though the words were oddly arranged, she definitely sensed the keen mind behind those dark eyes. Wren held out her arm.

"Approval. Sara, desiring motility test of fingers."

She opened and closed her hand and few times. The older gold woman studied her with great intensity.

"Approval." She looked to Cassandra. "Checha, compliance requesting your assistance in aiding the sara from the water."

Cassandra stepped around and lent a hand to Wren in leaving the tub. The gold mage handed her a towel.

Wren took it and dried herself a bit, then looked to the Dame.

"Expressing courtesy, requiring permission for physical contact."

She drew a breath. Though this person was strange, she felt as if she could trust her more than most. She nodded.

The dame stepped forward. "Notification, requesting forbearance of uncommon sensation."

She held still as the woman reached up to Wren's face. Her fingertips brushed Wren's skin like feathers. She experienced a tingling in the back of her skull as when she was climbing. Her hands started glowing.

Dame Techstar looked down. "Acknowledge, querying if such behavior is within nominal parameters?"

Wren looked at her hands that continued to gleam brightly. "I've done this before, but I don't normally do it."

"Assessment, moderate threat condition--" She paused. "Sara's mutation defenses providing. Conclusion, heterotrophic tissue saturation requires reduction. Water provides minimal assistance. Advisement, employing services of active heterotrophic to plateau thresholds. Cautioning, withdrawal causing great distress if failing to comply." She looked to Cassandra. "Requesting pardon, Checha, perceiving tardiness in presence at critical assemblage. Departure imperative, daughter threatening lifetaking if absent from hearing." She stepped over and kissed Cassandra on the cheek. The woman turned to Wren and bowed. "Sara. Approval your introduction, contemplating future intersection. Requesting take care."

She vanished in a flash of blue colors.

"Wow," Wren said.

"Get back in the water," Cassandra said. "It's the only protection you've got until I can do something else about your condition."

"I was following what she was saying up until the last part." Wren handed the towel back to the mage and stepped back into the water. She did feel better with the liquid swirling around her. "What did she mean?"

"She was saying that someone has to stage you down from being so charged up."

"Which means?"

"It means that you need to keep getting gradually lesser charges so you're not just abruptly without. If that happens she thinks you'll go into shock."

Wren blinked. "Wait. You're saying I have to get this done to me again?"

"I'm guessing five or six more times actually."

She rocked her head back and let out a breath. "The fun just never stops around here, does it?"

Return to Contents

A sip of savant blood can be so inspiring...
--Gabriella Sarn Ariok

Wren spent the rest of the day in the bath, fretted over by Cassandra, and after she returned, Desiray. They showed more concern about this "over-charged" condition than they did her state after fighting Mishaka. Wren could only assume that, as always, there was something she didn't know.

Loric stopped in. Keeping a gentlemanly distance and asking as to her health from the doorway. She could only reply that she felt all right, but was uncomfortable with the furor that had arisen as a result of her situation.

Late in the day, when she was beginning to feel as if she would shrivel up and run down the drain, Dorian appeared at the doorway. The woman must have snuck in, because she doubted that Desiray would have let her anywhere near these quarters.

The auburn-haired mage looked pale. She leaned against the doorway, green eyes wide. "How are you?"

Wren frowned at her. "Waterlogged. How are you--? You don't look so good."

"Gabriella was--upset."

"That makes two of us. I'd be more angry at you, but she punished you better than I ever could."

Dorian frowned. "We both could have been saved a great deal of upset if you'd confided in me instead of going to her."

"Confiding in you wouldn't have helped with my problem. Cheating me was what got you in trouble. My guess is if you'd been less of a sneak, you'd have saved yourself a lot of trouble."

The woman sighed and nodded. "Granted. I suppose another apology is due you."

"I noticed how easily apologies come for you. Now, I know why."

She smiled. "I suppose. It's difficult to get to the best the universe has to offer without treading on a toe or two. You have to try, otherwise you'll be perpetually walking in the same circle."

Wren splashed water at the woman. "You don't have to explain to me. I've stomped on a foot or two to keep from starving. Of course, I never stole to provide myself with a luxury." Wren sniffed. "And never from someone I considered a friend."

Dorian swiped at the wet spot on her blouse. "Technically, it wasn't stealing. You were in no way harmed by it."

"You're right, Dorian," Wren said scowling. "The only things harmed were my feelings and what little trust I had in you. You chose greed over our friendship. It was short-sighted and selfish. If anything, I think that disappointed Gabriella as much as anything. Of course, she made the same mistake. The only difference was when she wanted something she didn't hide her desire, she simply took it. I suppose the student's mistakes are those of the master."

Dorian folded her arms. "So, you're saying you won't accept my apology."

"No, I'm saying it won't make a difference. I was probably the only person in this house stupid enough to trust you. You burned me at the first opportunity. I forgave you once. Then you did it again. That kind of friend I don't need." Wren sighed. "Now, go away."

"But..."

"Go--away!" she yelled.

"Wren--"

"Dorian, you heard her." It was Desiray's voice from the other room. "Leave."

Dorian whirled in surprise. Her eyes widened. Wren's surmise was correct. The mage had snuck in.

"Desiray, it was--"

"Dorian, close your mouth. 'Leave' means your legs move, and your bottom exits the room." She stepped to the doorway and took her arm. "Go."

The mage stared into Desiray's eyes. The Guildmistress brushed back white hair and glared back. Apparently, Dorian had already experienced her fill of confrontations because she sighed in resignation and left.

Desiray stood in the doorway, hands on hips, watching the woman walk off.

"Thanks," Wren said.

The Guildmistress frowned. "For someone so brilliant, sometimes she's not very smart."

"I think we all make those kinds of mistakes from time to time."

The white-haired woman nodded. "Unfortunately, true." She folded her arms and turned to Wren. "You surprised her. She didn't get a third chance like she was expecting."

"I didn't feel like being the fool again. She obviously works under the premise that it's easier to be forgiven than to ask for permission."

Desiray raised an eyebrow. "Don't we all?"

"Hmph. She gives it a whole new meaning." She rocked her head back against the marble. "Can I get out of here yet? I swear I may never take another bath again."

"I don't know, let me see." She sauntered over and sat on the edge of the tub. "Give me your hand." Wren did. Desiray placed two fingers across Wren's wrist and closed her eyes. She shuddered and winced. "Ack. It's still really bad, but better than before."

"What are you feeling?"

"Probably what you felt when you first received the charge."

Wren blinked. "Pardon?"

The Guildmistress frowned. "Bear with me, I'm not as good at explaining things as Everia. Imagine this, when you first start running long distance--it hurts. Your body aches--it's plain uncomfortable. If you do it often enough, it stops hurting because you get used to it. It still hurts, but you're accustomed to the hurting. A charge is like that. When you first received the charge, it probably felt--well, excuse my saying it--mighty fine."

She took a breath, grimaced and nodded.

"Actually, you still feel as you did then. The difference is, the parts of you that provide feeling get overloaded, and stop sending the message. I've heard the mage types call it 'trauma' or 'shock'. So, when I pick a sensitive spot, and do what Cassandra calls 'tapping', I'm hooking into what your body is trying to tell your head."

"Does it hurt you? You act like it hurts."

"Pain and pleasure are so close to one another. Some things can feel so good they're painful. What's been done to you--whew. I still don't know how you withstood it, are still handling it."

"Dame Techstar said my 'mutation' was protecting me."

"Mutation? What's that?"

Wren shrugged. "I guessed she meant my savant talent. She speaks in the oddest fashion."

"And with really big words," Desiray added. "I can't figure out half of what she's saying. I usually have to get Cassandra to translate. Thinking of translation... You didn't mention to me that Gabriella took something from you. The way you said it to Dorian, it didn't sound like she took your lunch money."

"Desiray, please, let's drop it. I don't want to dwell on it. I did something stupid, all right?"

"Wren, I don't care if you did something stupid. Gabriella, is a guest here. It doesn't shredding matter if you're the biggest idiot in the universe. Loric's rules protect you. She's an elder. You're a youngster. Your blunders don't make it okay for her to take advantage of you. If you attacked her it'd be different, but I know you aren't that stupid."

She shook her head.

Desiray gave her a stern look. "Now, what did she do?"

"Well, I wanted a favor, something only she could do, and I had something to bargain with. I found her up on the deck--sun bathing. I tried to back out then, but she wanted to hear me out--right then."

The corner of Guildmistress' mouth twitched. "She was nude I take it."

Wren swallowed and nodded. "We spoke and we discussed some things. She was upset about a deal that I made with Dorian. I was desperate. She told me that she'd be more easily persuaded if I--"

"Gave her a back rub--right?" Desiray interrupted.

Wren's eyes widened. "How did you--?"

Desiray dismissed the question with a wave of her hand. "Girl, that is--Oh, my--It's...it's..." She sighed. "It's not your fault. I guess you haven't been around enough to recognize such a classic come on. I think I know what happens next. Go on."

Wren felt leery now, feeling even more foolish than she had before. "Well, I asked for the favor and told her what I'd pay her with. She bit me to make sure there wasn't some 'duplicity' on my part. When she was done with that, she kept me frozen. Then she kissed me."

"She kissed you?" Desiray echoed. "That's all?"

"It was enough. Trust me."

The woman shook her head. "Gabriella did this to you with a kiss? Damn." The woman gave Wren a wry grin obviously trying to lighten the mood. "Does she kiss better than me?"

Wren ran a hand through her hair. "Let's just say that I found both experiences rather harrowing."

"I understand why Dorian was so surprised that you'd been so incapacitated. Gabriella's mean, but I can't see her hitting you that hard intentionally. Of course, I don't see how that couldn't be intentional."

"Whichever it was, I know I'm not going to be alone with her again unless I can't help it."

"Probably wise," Desiray said. She rose, went to a bench and fetched a towel. "Might as well come on out, can't see the water doing you much more good. I don't know what we're going to do to step down your charge. That is such an intimate thing. It's not something you want a stranger to do."

Wren rose from the water feeling rubbery. She took the towel and wrapped it around herself. "I don't know either. How long before I start feeling this withdrawal that everyone was talking about?"

"From a charge like that? Damn, it might be a few days simply for the magic to dissipate." She sighed. "I put your robe on your bed. Rest tonight, and take it easy. I'll get your dinner brought up."

"You don't need to do that you know," Wren said. "I'm not fragile all of a sudden."

The white-haired woman pushed a hand through her hair and folded her arms. "Wren, I've found I can be only one of two ways with you, either a bitch from Hades, or your mother. You pick."

"Thanks, Momsa. I really appreciate it."

Desiray nodded. "Better." She patted Wren on the shoulder. "After your dinner--lock the door. Okay? She's a vampire. Don't invite her in."

Wren scowled. "Desiray... You don't think I..."

The woman took Wren's shoulders in both hands. "I'll say it slower this time. She--is--a--vampire. I don't care if she sun-bathes, eats garlic, and can see her reflection. She's still a blood-sucker despite whatever makeovers she's gone through. She bit you once. Let's not make it too easy for her to catch a little midnight snack. Doesn't that seem like a wise precaution?"

Wren shuddered. It sounded wise. She only hoped that Desiray wasn't right.

Her sleep came in broken fragments that night, several times odd sensations brought her awake from a deep sleep. Each time she awoke she was covered in perspiration and her pillow felt damp. She sensed each time that she'd been dreaming, but couldn't remember what about. Her body felt oddly tight as if she'd grown too large to fit in her skin.

She came awake for what must have been the eighth time that night. This time, she jerked to consciousness, fear sending her heart racing. She couldn't move. This time it wasn't magic. Something gripped her arms. Wren realized abruptly, something dressed in black was leaning over her. Her skin tingled strangely as though bugs were crawling all over her. She heard heavy breathing. Metal glinted in what would be the face area of the person leaning over her. Silhouetted against the lighter color of the canopy over her bed, she made out what must be the shape of a helmet. As she glanced around frantically for some evidence of what was going on, she saw two more figures sliding forward from the balcony.

Wren started to cry out, and a heavy gauntlet clamped over her mouth. She kicked and twisted, her heel finding solid focus on something metallic on the attacker's exposed body. The grunt of surprise definitely belonged to a male.

The man yanked her off the bed as his accomplices approached. She saw what looked like manacles glint in the gauntleted hands of the one nearest. Energized with fear, heart racing, she lifted a knee into his groin with all her strength and focus. She struck true, the force lifting him from the floor. Unfortunately, something hard blunted the attack, some form of rigid body-armor. Just the same, it must have hurt because his grunt came with an edge of anger and surprise. The grip on her arm clamped down painfully, she twisted and yanked, but his strength was like trying to pull free of a vice.

Wren saw a shadow flick through the room behind the attackers. Then she heard a rasping hiss that sounded like an angered snake. The two approaching to help Wren's captor froze, bodies pivoting to orient toward the sound.

Chain clanked followed by a hiss, and the shriek of metal on metal. One of the intruders jerked backward, toppled into the wall, and fell to the floor. A shadow hissed forward over the body of the fallen intruder. The other man swung at the figure. It blocked the attack and countered with a whirlwind of blows. The room filled with a clangor as several punches and kicks rained home in the space of a heartbeat, driving the accomplice back.

The man holding Wren pulled something from his belt and brought it around to take aim as the shadow spun to orient on them. Wren kicked his arm, knocking it up as something trilled, filling the darkened room with a blaze of light. A red beam exploded into the ceiling, bringing down a rain of stone.

In the brief flash, Wren saw that the figures were all masculine in appearance, lean bodies sheathed in metal carapaces. They wore featureless silver masks that left only narrow slits filled with dark crystal for the eyes. The one attacking them was small, dressed in dark close-fitting robes, face and head hidden beneath a hood and wraps of cloth.

He yelped as the robed figure spun and slammed a kick into his sternum driving him backward over the bed. Free of his grip, Wren ducked as one of the other intruders tried to capture her in his arms. She slammed an elbow in his stomach and regretted it as her bone whacked hard metal plating. The impact was sufficient to knock him back a step, and that gave her ally enough room to leap, driving home a sidekick that sent him crashing to the floor.

They couldn't defeat these opponents without weapons. Wren heard chain snap and saw another intruder rise from the floor.

"Intruders!" Wren screamed, she charged for the door yelling at the top of her lungs. "We need help!" The man who'd been knocked over the bed tackled her into the wall. She hit the rock with a painful jolt that made a glow spring up around her skin. She yelled again. Someone had to hear.

He clamped a hand over her mouth and started dragging her toward the balcony. Her banging elbows and kicking feet simply couldn't harm him through the armor. Wren's ally leaped in front of him making a sound like a hissing snake.

The other two intruders converged on the defender. In the darkness, the robed figure moved so fast as to become invisible. Their attacks closed on empty air. Wren only heard the whipping sound of robes and caught a glimpse of something ricocheting off the wall. There were two more high-pitched reports. Light sliced through the darkness exploding sections of wall behind the figure.

Flipping and spinning, the defender dodged three more blasts and hammered both opponents at the same time by leaping between them, driving a kick into one and a punch into the other. As they staggered, the person plunged past Wren and hit the room door with a tremendous crash.

The thick portal shattered under the impact, broken pieces scattering into the hall. The kidnappers jerked at the sound. The man holding Wren charged for the balcony, dragging her with him.

Arms pinned by his grip, her legs were all she could use. Wren levered her body up and wrapped her knees around one of the bed posters as they passed. She focused her climbing talent, feeling the buzz in the back of her head become a snarl as both their weights slammed against her locked knees. Pain flashed down her spine as her suddenly becoming anchored jerked him backward off balance.

The kidnapper let out a yell of surprise muffled by his mask. He flailed to get himself upright again. The delay had been enough. The hooded figure came hissing back into the fray, coming down with both feet on his sprawled body.

The shock broke his grip on Wren. Heart pounding, she scrambled on hands and knees for the door. The light weapons trilled again, flashing the room in red, and spitting glowing trails granite fragments across the room. Robes whistled. Wren heard something thump behind her. She lurched to an abrupt stop as a gauntleted hand clamped on her ankle.

"No!" She yelled. "Let go!" She kicked at the glinting in the darkness that had to be his armored head. Her bare heel clanked off metal.

Her kicks had no affect as he slowly reeled her back in, getting both hands on her leg.

A loud cry rang through the room and a flare of blue light illuminated the robed person as it drove a gleaming fist into the chest plate of a kidnapper. The armored intruder didn't fly backwards this time. He only screamed as the punch tore through the metal to the flesh underneath.

As the room went dark again, the floor shuddered as something heavy dropped. Wren threw her arms around the bedpost and held on, summoning her power to grip the wood and keep herself immobile. She didn't know where these creatures wanted to spirit her off to, but knew it wasn't any place she wanted to go.

Her assailant growled in frustration, heaving on Wren, causing her and a half-ton of seasoned scale-bark to scrape across the floor. If she went, he'd have to take her and the bed.

Three more red bursts went off. Cloth whistled in the darkness. Bodies collided. Blows were exchanged in rapid succession.

The kidnapper clawed his way up Wren's body and raised his fist. She focused the buzz in her head outward to the armored gauntlet swinging toward her. The impact cracked against her skull with flat thud that made dots explode in her vision. The force drove her into the floor.

The power must have protected her, or the attack would have made her unconscious. As it was, she felt and tasted blood.

"You bastard!" She yelled. She slammed her palm against his faceplate, knocking his head back.

A body cracked through the air, and a blow hit the kidnapper so hard it tore him off her and sent him careening into the furniture.

Hands, small this time, but strong, gripped Wren and propelled her toward the door. She dove and rolled down the short hall into the main corridor. One of the attackers belly-flopped in an attempt to tackle her. She raced into the corridor and ran face first into another person coming the other way. This one wasn't made of metal, and was far too well-endowed to be male. Big arms caught her up in a hug.

She felt a tingling rush across her skin. More red flashes illuminated the room. A body crashed against the wall. Wren saw a huge form brush by them and into the room. The person she'd collided with was Drucilla! The D'klace was dressed in a filmy almost transparent negligee, and her waist-length hair was tied back as though for sleeping.

She looked around and noticed no-one else coming down the hall. Where was everybody? Sindra and Drucilla's rooms were half again the distance it was to the East wing, Loric should have beat them here easily. She looked up at the big woman. The tingling on her skin redoubled, becoming a harsh buzz--it didn't hurt, but it did feel strange. Drucilla's brow furrowed.

A blaze of light erupted in her room. Something metallic crunched. She saw the small robed figure rush out of the room toward her.

At the same time, a blue glow flickered behind Drucilla. The woman started to look around and gasped. She lurched forward as though she'd been jabbed from behind.

A growl echoed in the hall. It sounded like snarl of a dragon. "Get your hands off her," rasped a cutting female voice. It was Gabriella!

Drucilla's eyes widened and she lifted her arms away from Wren as if she'd abruptly become burning hot.

"Move." Gabriella shoved Drucilla to the opposite side of the corridor. As the huge woman shifted, Wren saw the Dragon Queen dressed as the fearsome legend. Dark blue leather completely sheathed her body, enameled runes and patterns were scrollworked in gold down her arms and down the left side of her cuirass. Her dark hair was tied back and pinned with long silver spikes. She had a glowing red scepter in her hand that she used to urge Drucilla forward. Wren saw the woman's fierce grin. "A little too charged up to knock out was she?" She said to Drucilla. "Wonder how that happened?"

Charge? Was that the buzz she'd been feeling?

The person in black robes bounced to a stop in the corridor, poised in a low fighting crouch, fists clenched and ready to do battle. Rips and burned sections in the defender's black uniform revealed the dusky skin underneath. Now, in the brighter light of the hall, the stance was all Wren needed to see. The one fighting those kidnappers single-handed had been Vera!

Sindra sauntered out into the hallway. She wore practically nothing, like her sister. They did appear as though they'd recently awakened and rushed to see what was the matter. "No need to worry, they're..." The elder froze, gaze going to Gabriella who was holding a scepter pointed at Drucilla. "Oh--hel-l-lo Gabriella, my you got--here--fast. Nice clothes, been at a party?"

"Yes, I did get here fast." The woman grinned showing her fangs. "Not as fast as you though, and I was expecting trouble."

Vera let out a sound that would have done credit to one of Gabriella's dragon hisses. She slid a few steps toward Wren. Wren saw the glint in the cook's eyes as she glanced at her. They were Vera's eyes, but now the expression in them was cold, hard--vicious. Her hand came up toward Wren's scalp and stopped a hands-breadth away. Vera turned her head as though scrutinizing something.

"That is a nasty bump you've got there," Sindra said, starting to step forward. "Someone should probably--"

Making that rasping sound, Vera whipped around, leg hooking around into a defensive stance, hands opened to talons.

The elder froze. She obviously didn't know what to make of this aggressive little person. Wren didn't either. She knew it must be Vera, but this creature acted more like an animal than the timid cook of the house.

"Sindra," Gabriella said in a cool voice. "I wouldn't go near her if I were you. A trained G'yaki assassin can put their hand through thousand-fold steel. Magic has little affect on them."

"A G'yaki?" Sindra repeated, voice sounding wispy. "Since when do we have a G'yaki among us?"

Wren frowned. Couldn't the woman tell it was Vera? It seemed so obvious to her. This was all so strange. She felt dizzy. Her skin continued to tingle with that odd buzzing. Her heart was starting to slow. Where was the rest of the family? The hall should have been swarming with them by now.

"Since long before we had D'klace among us," Gabriella answered. "Sindra back up. Drucilla, you get over there with her."

Silent as always, Drucilla stepped over by her twin.

"Gabriella, Darling," Sindra put a hand to her chest. "I hope you don't think we had anything to do with this!" She backed up as ordered, however.

The elder's blue eyes flashed. "Sindra, Darling, that's exactly what I think. Where are Cassin and Annawen?"

"Asleep," Sindra replied. "Our reunion after being away so long was quite--pitched. Afraid we wore the poor dears out."

The Dragon queen's eyes narrowed. "So, how is it, you arrived here so quickly?"

Sindra shrugged. "You know our appetite as well as anyone, Dear. We were just coming up from getting a snack in the kitchen when we heard the noise. Do we look like we're dressed for some kind of covert operation?"

"You look like you're dressed for a cover story," the Dragon Queen growled. She nodded to the room. "What did you do in there?"

Sindra's eyes widened. "I dispatched the last of attackers." She gestured to Vera. "Ask your G'yaki."

Gabriella looked to Vera. There was only an imperceptible nod of the little woman's hooded head.

"Wren," Gabriella said. "Go look. Are the attackers still in there?"

Wren felt a twisting in her stomach. She moved toward the doorway. Vera shadowed her in complete silence, gliding over the floor as though not even touching it. Wren turned up the only undamaged lamp. The room looked like a hurricane had blown through it, furniture smashed, walls scarred by whatever magic they'd been using.

The intruders were gone.

Vera growled and held up a hand as though to examine it. She smacked her fist into her palm. She leaped to the spot where the one kidnapper's had fallen and crouched face to the floor. Wren heard her sniffing. The woman snapped upright. She shook her head.

Did Sindra do that in the brief moment she was in the room alone? The elder's magic was easily powerful enough.

Wren moved back to the corridor. The rest of the family still hadn't arrived. Something was wrong. Vera moved ahead of her across the threshold, turning to scan both ways and gesturing Wren out.

"They're gone," Wren said to Gabriella. "Not even a drop of blood."

"Especially a drop of blood," Gabriella growled. The blue-eyed woman sighed. "Blood tells. How convenient that there's no evidence to indicate the origin of the attackers. Strange, weren't you the last one out of the room Sindra?"

The D'klace blinked and shrugged. "A coincidence only, Gabriella, I assure you."

The Dragon Queen frowned. "Woman, I wouldn't believe you if you told me the sky was blue."

Wren looked around. "Gabriella, where is everybody?"

"There's a shield around us," the elder replied. "Like the one used to hold you and Dorian. Loric's probably still trying to knock it down without ripping up half his castle."

Sindra pursed her lips, she focused dark eyes on Wren. "You should ask yourself. Who's the likely author of this?" She indicated Gabriella with a nod of her head. "She's the one ready for battle. It's obvious that Drucilla and I weren't expecting trouble. We're dressed for bed. Besides this G'yaki, she's the only other one inside this 'shield' she mentions."

Gabriella sniffed. "Blood tells, Wren knows I didn't do this."

As she stared at the Dragon Queen, she realized, she did know--felt certain. Wren blinked. "You knew? You charged me up to protect me?"

Gabriella frowned. "Using those energies is an effective means of rendering someone unconscious. It causes no physical damage, and makes the subject--tractable. I know what you're worth--alive. Think I'd risk alienating you, and jeopardize your health for no reason? I'm no fool. Dorian was punished for your sake, not mine. I told you that coming to me would force their hand. They didn't want me taking you up on your offer before them."

Perhaps the master was different from the student.

Sindra tensed and Gabriella aimed the scepter at her. The gems down its length sparked and glowed. "Don't. You two might be able to take me--but it would be messy. You couldn't explain it away. The girl made you an offer. A simple 'no' would have sufficed if you're too spineless to go against Hecate."

Both sisters stiffened. "You should have stayed out of this," Sindra growled.

"But I didn't," Gabriella replied, smiling. "You only live twice, right? Wren made you an offer. In exchange for the whereabouts of the phoenix tied to your key, she wants Mishaka's whereabouts, and she wants the way to kill her. Do you have a deal or not?"

Sindra slapped her thighs in frustration. "We can't do that!" She started to take a step forward.

Vera snarled and lunged a step, fists threatening to strike.

The D'klace held up her hands and stepped back again. "Damn. No need to be so touchy."

"The G'yaki does not trust you," Gabriella said. "It's a sentiment I share. What you can or refuse to do is irrelevant. The price was set. You have two choices; accept or decline."

Sindra gritted her teeth.

"It can't be such a hard choice can it, Dear? You've had a couple scoredays to 'take it under consideration'. Unless of course, you've been planning a double-cross all along."

The D'klace sucked a breath, hands clenching and unclenching. She met her sister's eyes.

"This is your last opportunity," Gabriella said in her cool voice. "Security around Wren will never again be this lax. Honor says we cannot renege on a bargain fairly offered. The offer shan't be repeated. So, if you plan to make good, say so now. She has my help, and I don't need you to find Mishaka. Decide."

Wren looked at the Gabriella. So many mixed feelings roiled through her. She couldn't sort out whether this woman was someone to be trusted or not. She kept getting flipped around. Right when she thought someone was her enemy, they turned out to be an ally. Desiray went from foe to friend. Dorian went from friend... to whatever she was now.

Gabriella's acts had painted her as a selfish hedonist willing to take what she wanted at Wren's expense. The blood magic had done as the woman promised, binding them so that she knew when Wren was threatened. The charge from their kiss, despite what it seemed, had apparently protected her. She didn't know what to think anymore.

"I'll take your silence as a 'no'," Gabriella said.

"Damn it, we can't risk it right now. Not so soon after Beia stirred things up. The magistrix is still fuming over that! We lost a great deal!"

"Sindra, I don't care. Either the risk is worth it or not. Personally, I'd rather Wren not have to honor the bargain."

The D'klace scowled, hands clenching. "All right, damn you, but she can't move against Mishaka until we've retrieved our cache."

Gabriella shook her head. "Sindra, I think you misunderstood me. There were no other conditions. It's an 'as-is' deal."

Wren shook her head. Gabriella certainly knew how to negotiate.

Sindra's face turned red. "Come on! Give us that much!"

Gabriella snorted. "Why, because you're such upstanding citizens? Okay, I'll trade that concession for you owning up to the kidnap attempt."

The D'klace stepped back and folded her arms. "Oh, you'd like that. We were not involved, Gabriella. You can't prove it."

"Fine. Deal's off then. I don't need proof. It's my word and the G'yaki's against yours. You know whom Loric will believe. Come on Wren, let's go find the edge of this shield and help them bring it down. It's taking even longer than I expected."

"Wait." Sindra clenched her teeth. "All right. Deal as described. But no mention of this to Loric."

The Dragon Queen put hands on hips. "No mention? What tore out those walls--pixies?"

"Don't be dense. We weren't here."

"You're pretty visible to me. Do you see them, Wren?"

"Plain as day."

"The G'yaki smells you I'm certain. You wear far too much of that power potion number nine."

Sindra growled. "What do you want, Gabriella?"

"Insurance, like any one else does. I want your key."

The D'klace's eyes widened. "You are out of your mind."

"And you are out on a limb." Gabriella looked down the hall. "They are going to break through barrier any moment now. When they do, they will see you two here and there will be a thousand questions."

"No way. If you can find the phoenix, you'll empty our cache."

"It's for safe keeping only. Cross us though and it's forfeit." Gabriella looked to Wren. "You have our word--right?"

Wren folded her arms. Her head hurt, but it felt good to see those two squirm. She gave a brief nod.

Gabriella looked to Sindra. "Deal?"

The D'klace woman grimaced. "There will be a time when you'll wish you never did this, Gabriella."

"Oh please, I have always known I would burn in Hades. Hand it over."