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Copyright ©2001 Will Greenway

Other books in the Chronicles of the Ring Realms

Reality's Plaything Series—Tales following the adventures of Bannor Starfist.

Reality's Plaything

'Neath Odin's Eye

Gaea's Legacy

Savant's Blood Series—Tales following the adventures of Wren Kergatha.

Savant's Blood

Aesir's Blood

Gaea's Blood

Shaladen Chronicles Series—Tales following the adventures of Corim Vale.

Shaladen Chronicles: A Knot In Time

Shaladen Chronicles: Anvil of Sorrow

Shaladen Chronicles: Who Mourns the Creator

Shaladen Chronicles extends an invitation to both Science Fiction and Fantasy readers, as well as any mainstream readers willing to put aside what they know to enjoy a trip through time and space. This book was written by a lover of both genres, but was never intended to cater to the purists of either camp. Still, like all good science fiction, the Shaladen universe generally plays by the rules of physics as we know and speculate about them. Additionally, like in good fantasy, magic exists—it has rules and most importantly a cost.

An attempt has been made here to form as seamless amalgam of the two genres as possible. As with any blending, certain sacrifices were made that will no doubt displease the purists. I ask our disgruntled purists to put aside their flyswatters and other implements of authorial torture and concentrate on the story and the characters.

In the Shaladen universe we have heroes and super-heroes, villains, and super villains ... we have the full gamut of emotions and situations: love, unrequited love, humor, hate, and people driven by revenge. It is a place where a mortal man can shake hands with an immortal, and the boundaries of time-space can be broken with a thought. Whatever you favor in your reading, I promise it will all make sense even if some of it is unfamiliar. Prime your imagination pump, sit back with your favorite beverage, take book in hand, and prepare for a ride that won't disappoint...

—Will Greenway

For ten thousand millennia the Kriar worshipped the light and feared the dark. Ironicly, it was the light that eventually abandoned us, and the dark that became the cradle of our continuance. Now, the void is our home, and the light of the stars is our guide rather than our god.

—Supreme Counsel Vatraena Marna Solaris

Dulcere Val'Saedra Starbinder phased back into real-time in a blaze of analogue energies. The discharge of diffracting chronal power rasped and crackled around her anomaly compensation field. Her twin hearts thundered, and she drew air with lungs that had been filled with nothing but vacuum for far too long. She sniffed the acrid odor of dry vegetation, and a breeze blew cool on her face. Night insects chirped rhythmically. Cliffs rose ahead like a battered wall against a larger backdrop of purplish mountain crags. In the twilight, a moon loomed large, framed by russet mesas that stood like sentinels guarding a patchwork of scrub trees, rocks, and shallow valleys.

She dropped to her knees in exhaustion, rips and tears in her silver flight suit exposing gold skin turned pale by the icy dark. She blinked to clear the protective membrane from her eyes, revealing black orbs that resembled pieces of a starry sky. Rubbing at her face with trembling fingers she touched the red matrix jewel embedded in her forehead. She examined its two companion stones, one faceted into her sternum and the other slightly below her waist. Clawing her way from the tween-realm had drained the reserves of her already-damaged foci. She felt lucky to have any protection at all. Maybe she deserved to be ripped from existence for what she had allowed to happen. Pride had cost her. To the end, she had clung to hope, thinking she could prevent it. How many lives? Dulcere shuddered, remembering the psychic wails of a billion billion minds as the timeline diffracted out of existence. If she did not go on, who would put things right? Could damage this far-reaching even be repaired?

Dulcere shook herself. Focus. She had punched through the fabric of reality where it was weakest. Where did she wind up?

She rose slowly, looking around the shadowy desert terrain. Far off, an animal keened. The wind gusted then calmed as though the world were breathing a sigh after a long day of work. This might be any of a thousand planets, scattered across millions of grid references. Still, this place possessed a familiar and uncomfortable feel. Why?

Her hearts jumped as a blue-white flare radiated from a single point in the sky. Rings of ultra-violet spread out from the center. She felt the air shudder, then the ground, as a destructive force reached down through the ionosphere.

Dulcere's skin prickled. After having seen it once, no warrior ever mistook the sight of star-drive gone critical. Flashes like reflections off a thousand mirrors winked in the sky—the results of debris burning up in the atmosphere.

The realization gripped her chest like an icy hand. “Oh, dark. I rebounded all the way back to where this torture began!”

She tossed her head, and clenched her fists in frustration. Trapped. She didn't have the power to jaunt a twenty-thousand gigarevs through the turbulence riddled chronology.

Dulcere raised her head to stare at the red and white blossom of burning gases and ionized plasma spreading its petals to embrace the heavens. At the heart of that burning mass, the gutted remains of the warship Tiraka toppled outward to spiral down to a fiery death. Her hearts beat faster. At this instant, she and the Eternal clashed and fought amid the wreckage. It was a losing fight. She did it only to buy her crew time. Nothing stopped a Protectorate Guardian. It might be turned aside, given pause, but not defeated ... not even with experimental Phalanx armor and the sophisticated weaponry put at her disposal. In the length of a few long breaths, she would witness her own death.

Something flashed on the surface a short distance away. Her matrixes chimed in her mind, warning of an incoming chronal flux. She sought cover in some rocks and damped her energy signature.

Light shined from a pinprick in the air that unfolded into the shimmering reflective surface of a gate. Weapon poised, a Kriar woman floated out. She scanned the landscape, matrix jewels encrusting the left side of her face winking in the radiance. After hovering a moment, she settled to the ground, planting her feet, she aimed back through the portal.

Quasar Diliaysus? What was the rogue commander of special forces doing here? Dulcere glanced up as more flashes of burning debris ignited in the sky. Quasar raised her head to look as well. Her attention went back to the opening as the edges of the gateway flickered and the air filled with a static hum. Another body flashed through the opening.

<Close it!> Dulcere heard the other Kriar cry telepathically.

Quasar slapped at a device on her wrist, and the gate snapped shut with a sizzling sound. Wiping at his narrow face, the shear metallic cloth plastered to his muscular frame with a combination of wounds and sweat, the newcomer stared into the space where the time door had been. The big Kriar frowned. The light from his iridescent blue eyes grew dim as if he had done something that troubled him. The crimson glow of a plasma blade withdrew into his clenched fist with a clap of imploding air. He staggered a step and dropped to his knees.

Quasar let out a breath. <Damn you. What were you doing!> She holstered her weapon and took his face into her hands. As the Kriar female raised his head, a curved silver tattoo flashed on his cheek.

Dulcere drew a breath in wonder—Eclipse Shargris, one of Homeworld's most decorated heroes. Both of the renowned soldiers had been rumored dead. What were they doing here? Their energy signatures told Dulcere they'd come quite some distance back-time.

<Dark,> Quasar cursed, her thought sounding concerned but acidic. <You only needed to hold them a moment, not take on the whole platoon! We could have handled them together on this side if necessary.> She pulled a rod-shaped wound sealer from a medical kit on her side, and began treating the largest of the male's cuts.

Dulcere looked down to her own wounds. These two possessed what she needed to get healthy enough to time-dive again. In fact, without their help she wouldn't be leaving this time at all.

<Had to,> he gritted. <The fools almost destroyed the timeline trying to come through the gate unprotected.>

The ground shuddered, and both Kriar looked up. Secondary explosions lit the sky and streaks of fire sliced overhead.

<By the light,> Eclipse thought. <It's already begun. How long?>

Quazar touched one of the many gems gleaming on her arm. <Only a few hectarevs now.>

The male shook his head. <I can feel the battle. The phase-charge is strong. Can you believe she took on an Eternal by herself?>

<Of course I can.> Quasar stared into the sky, the eruptions making rosy reflections on the shiny gold skin of her face. <Look who her mother is. She's pureblood. They wouldn't entrust the Phalanx armor to one of Commander Khirah's gimps.>

Dulcere's stomach tightened. They were discussing her. Then these two knew what would soon happen. Why had they let Meridian take her captive? Surely, they must have known the threat the madman posed to everything in existence. What could they be after that was more important than that?

<We best take cover,> Eclipse remarked. He took a few a few steps and staggered.

Quasar caught and supported him on her shoulder. The Kriar female sighed. <Eclipse, you know you are crazier than I am. You are half dead from taking on all those Daergoni.>

The Kriar male put his head on her shoulder. <Love the sun, and you are bound to get a few burns.>

<Oh hush—fool.> Quasar dragged him to some rocks as a roar filled the night.

A lance of fire angled across the curve of sky. Dulcere clenched her fists. Her insides felt as though she'd been hollowed out.

She gritted her teeth. This is how it is to watch yourself die.

Dulcere felt the heat and shock as the missile of flesh shielded by concentrated matrix energies shrieked past their position to impact the cliff with a roar.

The detonation illuminated the plateau, flashing grotesque shadows from the twisted trees. Molten detritus splattered outward as the speeding form cut into the landscape.

The hills went silent except for the sound of crackling wood. Clouds of smoke rose, backlit by a glow that cast amber shadows on the rocks.

Dulcere blinked. Her mind was numb with remembrances of the fear and pain of that moment. She had survived when no Kriar should have. She had survived a direct confrontation with a creature that had destroyed dozens of her brethren. Ironic that she would awaken from stasis to be taken captive by that living canker, Meridian.

She swallowed the anger that flashed through her. She thought that the diffracted timeline was bad enough. These two Kriar being present at her planetfall put yet another spin on the situation.

Looking at one another, the two commanders approached the impact area. Keeping to the shadows, Dulcere followed. The breeze dispersed the vapor, revealing a blackened crater of glassy stone. At the center lay a cocoon of pulsating colors that gradually grew dimmer.

A murmuring came from the crater.

Eclipse gripped Quasar's arm. <She survived.>

Dulcere shivered, if one could call the mangled mess of a body that lay naked to the night something alive.

Quasar let out a growl. <By Hellion's light,> her thought snapped. <She's not wearing the armor! All the risks and energy wasted. She ditched it before planetfall. Dark damned drone—didn't break protocol to even save her own damn life!>

They were after the armor. Why? They'd come back to this point in time, but surely in the millennia that had passed, the Kriar would have developed technologies more advanced than the prototypes she'd been field testing.

Eclipse growled, his thought hard and ringing. <Do not demean the girl for being a good soldier, simply because it inconveniences you. Look at her.> The male clenched his fists. <She is what Daergon Surr's arrogance bought us. Dead and suffering soldiers. Don't seek to emulate his poor example.>

Quasar was obviously taken aback by his intensity. She put a hand on Eclipse's shoulder. <My apologies, you are right, we would both do well to remember the ranks we rose through. We are so close, though, I can taste the Genemar. That armor is the key and—> She stopped. <Eclipse are you hearing me?>

<She's moving,> Eclipse's thought was quiet. <She's even managed to arm a distress marker. Wonder why she was never recovered.>

<Eclipse, we need to focus here.>

The Kriar male turned, expression tight. <Have you no feelings, Quasar!? Can you not feel her pain?>

The rogue commander looked into the crater, glowing green eyes flashing. <She's a tough one—admirably so. What would you have me do, Eclipse? Cry? We're twenty thousand gigarevs in the past, we can't change what already is.>

The males blue eyes brightened. <We can find out why our Belkirin was not recovered. Perhaps she will tell you where the armor is.>

Quasar stared down into the crater, tugging at strands of her waist-length dark hair. <You want to rescue the girl. I want the armor. Those goals need not be at odds. I am curious as to what happens.>

She gets scared, Dulcere thought to herself. Concerned that the Eternal would come down here and finish what he started. She panicked and tried to use damaged matrix stones before they fully healed. She got herself into a universe of more trouble than she ever imagined.

Dulcere swallowed, watching as a maimed female clawed her way out of the crater, pasty white blood oozing from a dozen wounds. She relived the pain of each agonizing reach and pull. Survive. Even after all those gigarevs of life, she did not wish to die; not alone on some uncharted rock ten thousand light-millennia from home.

<She's making for that cliff,> Eclipse remarked.

<That same cliff was collapsed when we examined it a megarev ago. Strange, didn't we see signs of recent excavation?>

<We did,> Eclipse remarked. <Someone must have dug her out, or our scans would have found her.>

Dulcere's jaw tightened. Meridian found her, curse the creature. These two must have come back-time prior to her diffracting the chronology. For whatever reason, Eclipse must never have gotten an opportunity to exercise his desire to free her. She warred with the idea of revealing herself to these two. Instinct said there was sinister purpose to their being here despite Eclipse's noble-seeming sentiments. Quazar wanted something called the Genemar. The rogue was by far one of the most dangerous Kriar alive; with her power and viciousness there was little she could not accomplish.

Once Dulcere was back to her origin reference and set things right, she could turn her attention to worrying about what these two were after. There was still a chance that Corim and Beia had survived. What a tangle this all was. There was so much to answer for, so many things she regretted.

Quazar growled. <Right now, I want to find her. Let's go. Eclipse, we don't need to stand here and watch this child get crushed. Unless you really want to watch the girl die.>

Eclipse studied Dulcere's crawling form for a moment, his head tilting up to see the cliff that would soon be collapsed on her by a combination of poor luck, bad planning, and desperation.

<No,> he finally determined. <I want to see her back with Marna. I'd like to see the Solaris motivated to do something besides sit.>

<Is that what this is about?> Quazar responded with a raised eyebrow. <You still have feelings for our lady?>

Eclipse frowned at the female. <I never stopped. She simply never would have understood us. That is all.>

Quazar shook her head. <That makes two. I fail to understand us, myself. Some cycle I will have to figure out how you got me to love you.> She looked around. <Let's find a good spot to transition out of here. There's an unusual amount of chronal turbulence.>

The male's brow furrowed. <Yes. Something is definitely amiss in the continuum. We should check it out.>

<Eclipse ... Eclipse. Let the Eternals clean up their own messes. We warned them there was a rogue timediver. Remember, I even offered to track for them. They turned me down.> Quazar thumped Eclipse on the shoulder and pointed down the plateau. <Looks like a soft spot there.> She moved toward the location indicated.

Eclipse took a last look at Dulcere as she crawled toward the cliff. He followed his companion.

Dulcere glanced at the timeshadow of herself. The memories of those last moments of fear and pain pushed through her body with icy fingers. She straightened. She needed to be ready. When the two elder Kriar gated out, she needed to ride their draft. She concentrated, listening for the signatures in their matrixes. With their guard relaxed, they didn't have all their usual shielding in place. She filed away their track identification, so if she needed to find them again she could.

<You wanted compensation,> Eclipse was telling Quasar. <That's why the Protectorate turned you down.>

Quazar shrugged. <It is not as if I asked much. For the best time tracker living, my price was cheap. They passed. Their loss.> She paused, eyes narrowing. <Feels like that snarl is getting worse.>

<This is bad,> Eclipse said, brow furrowing. <Really bad.>

<Damn it,> Quasar grumbled. She punched some of the gems on her arm. A pinhole of light shined in front of her, then widened. <I hate working for free.>

Dulcere crouched down, tensing to make her move.

Both commanders activated their analogue generators, and the sheen of phase variances surrounded their bodies. Quasar leaped into the gate. Eclipse paused, looking around as though he sensed something, then he too leaped for the portal.

Dulcere sprang up as the Kriar swung his body forward. She launched herself at the chronal threshold and a chance to put everything she'd destroyed back to rights. As she crossed the barrier into tween-space her first thoughts were for the boy Corim who had tried to rescue her. She remembered the look in his dark eyes as Meridian forced her to warp him into the void... Knowledge is the sword wielded by books in their war on ignorance. —Cassandra Kel'Ishtari Felspar

From the corner of his eye Corim saw the half-ogre glaring at him from down the steps and across the dirt fighting yard. He focused back on his book, trying to ignore the hairy mound of muscle.

Bestial face set, the ogre booted a rock across the courtyard. The bouncing chunk of granite kicked up wisps of the chalk lines used to mark the battle zones. It clacked against the base of the marble rise that led to where Corim sat on the bench.

Only Ishtar could guess what he wanted. Corim knew better than to acknowledge the creature. It would simply encourage an altercation. He knew that the half-human ogres, or ogs as they called them, had short attention spans. He'd either come up and pick a fight or lose interest.

Corim needed to conserve energy. He had to be his sharpest in the upcoming match with Talorin Falor, the top fighter on Titaan. If he did well, Corim would earn a position as a master, and the right to teach seventh circle students. It was a position he hoped would get him the opportunity to learn from the most skilled warriors in the land.

He looked up, letting the morning rays warm the smooth skin of his face that had never felt the touch of a razor. At tournament parties, women from five kingdoms fawned over his fighter's physique. That was until they discovered he possessed no property or titles. Corim flicked a few strands of dark hair out of his eyes. Those gold-diggers had no use for an unlanded lord, nor he for hollow-headed fluffs whose only cares were mirrors and clothing.

Such a fine day to sit in the fighting school's walled practice yard and read a treatise on magic. The air smelled fresh, purged by the spring storm that rolled through Ivaneth during the evening. The sun sparkled in the cloud-dappled sky, glinting on the bodies of gulls that whirled and cried overhead. The sound of breakers slamming the south shoal surged over the calls of hawkers and merchants on the main avenue outside the wall.

Why did imbeciles have to try to ruin it?

The og still stood there, cobblestone-sized hands clenching and loosening. Light reflected on ringmail armor as its shoulders rose with each loud intake of breath.

Damn. Wish he would just find something else to do.

Straightening his blue silk tunic and pulling at his doeskin breeches, Corim stretched out on the bench and reread the last paragraph. He found the text fascinating. It detailed the principles behind life-prolonging magicks. Before the end of a tenday, he would be filing a summating treatise with the Scholar's Guild to keep his membership active.

The academicians nicknamed Corim the ‘fighting sage'. He fought in tournaments to fund his research expeditions. The month-long jaunts into Titaan's outlands had brought back enough treasure and artifacts to make Corim known in Ivaneth's outlying districts, where he taught basic subjects and told stories in return for food and lodging.

The og's bristly face set in a scowl, his flat eyes becoming slits beneath a jutting brow ridge. Another man dressed in a red jerkin stepped out of the nearby barracks and crossed the yard to the warrior og.

Keep reading, maybe he'll be distracted. Corim turned the page. One of the most coveted means of prolonging life is the soulname talisman...

With a snort, the og stormed across the yard and up to where Corim reclined on the bench. The man in the red jerkins pulled at the giant's arm, trying to stop him with no success.

“Get up, pretty boy. Gundar is tired of watching you sit all day. You never train in classes, never spar or do chores—don't do nothing!”

“Gundar, leave him alone.” The man in red dragged at the og again. Corim recognized the bony man with the spidery birthmark on his cheek as one of the junior tournament competitors.

“No.” The og stuck out his lower lip. “Gundar want to know why he get best room, food, and we have to call him ‘sir'. Not even see him fight yet!”

Corim flipped a page. “You want to see a fight, go to the south compound. Master Jorge is doing sparring practice.”

Gundar's snort polluted the air with the smell of spoiled goat's-milk. “Want to see you fight!”

Corim glanced at the man in red, recalling his name. “Rafe, I have to study. Why don't you take Gundar and buy him a drink or something.” Removing a gold Royal from his pouch, he flipped it to him.

“Don't want drink. Show us why you're so special.”

Marking his page, Corim sat up. “I'm not here to entertain trainees. I'm done working out and sparring before you've even risen in the morning. I'll ask you once to stop bothering me.”

“Gundar...” Rafe thumped on the og's arm.

Concern. The sensation made Corim blink. Where did that come from? He felt Rafe's worry; a justified feeling. The og was spoiling for a fight.

“Pretty boy talk tough. Gundar think him scared.”

Corim forgot the curious perception. “You want to play schoolyard games? Go to the west compound with the other children. I don't have time for this.”

“You call Gundar a child?” He reached for Corim.

“Don't!” Rafe yelled, as the og's fingers clamped on Corim's shoulder.

He grabbed the half-ogre's thumb and twisted. The og howled and dropped, grunting and wincing as Corim applied a joint-lock. “Gundar, I've passed every gauntlet to attain my rank. Be smart, wait until you've made it to the fourth circle before you threaten me again.” He pushed him away. “Now, why don't you let Rafe buy you that drink?”

Breaths hissing through jagged yellow teeth, the og glared at him.

The man with the birthmark locked eyes with Corim. He nodded, reading the gratitude on Rafe's face. For some reason the man had chosen to watch out for the childlike og. Perhaps there was more to Gundar than the belligerent oaf kneeling on the steps. In any case, Corim didn't pound people simply to make a point.

“Come on, Gundar,” Rafe punched the ogre in the shoulder. “Master Vale here is too busy to give us a lesson.”

Grumbling, the ogre stood and shambled away.

Corim watched them until they disappeared through the east gate. He forgot the incident. He needed every spare moment to complete this assignment and still be prepared for the grueling match ahead.

It took superior fighting skill and knowledge to survive in the monster-infested dark lands where the richest treasures lay. If he worked hard enough he'd learn the secrets of the great treasure hunters. He yearned for the magic and knowledge to travel the planes and explore the worlds described in his books. To enjoy the thrill of uncovering new lore and traveling to alien landscapes. Someday he'd form a school like this one. One designed to educate not only warriors, but aspiring academicians. A school that would train anyone that cared to learn.

He would become a true teacher, not some stodgy sage doling out knowledge to the pupils who best tickled his ego.

The sages found his goals of educating the masses blasphemous and dangerous. They thought him foolish enough to try to spread the first powers through the populace. Not everyone needed magic or the great secrets, but they all should have the power to read and write.

His father and mother had both suffered because of illiteracy. They lost their farmland from not being able to read the deeds and know that they needed to renew the land-grants. He and his mother were separated from his father because they signed a contract. They were told the contract would return the property, but instead it bound them as hand servants. After that, he vowed to never again let himself be a prisoner of ignorance.

Corim's only tools were his exceptional agility and the strength he had built up from years as a cart-wright's apprentice. The most profitable use of those attributes was show-fighting. He shoveled garrison stalls to get lessons from the militia, squired for knights, and spied on training schools to learn the rudimentary fighting skills that won him his first prize money.

That started his life as a fighting scholar. Tournament winnings funded his education, both in warrior-skills and general learning. Later, as he traveled the competition circuit, he taught others who wanted to learn.

Corim knew that if he stayed dedicated, he'd acquire the skills to make finding that one great treasure possible. Then he would have the money and notoriety to do things the way they should be done. Step by bruising step, he could see his dream that much closer to being true.

Right now, his aim was simply to survive his first match with Master Falor. A growing ache in his stomach told him it would be no easy task.

Talorin Falor sat on the edge of the balcony overlooking the inner courtyard of his school. His office had recently been tidied up and the pungent smell of the wood-oil used on the paneling still lingered in the air. The light streaming in through the curtains made the freshly polished floors glow. Every chart, map and tapestry in the circular room looked spotless.

He stretched, feeling the warmth of the sun. A year of uninterrupted peace. It had lasted longer than he had predicted. Now, time anomalies were cropping up, with the Protectorate unable to find the perpetrator. Rumors on Kriar Homeworld said one of their elite soldiers, presumed dead, was actually alive and running amuck.

Scary, one loony Belkirin could annihilate a timeline. Since he had joined the Protectorate twenty summers ago, life seemed nothing but one long battle. Tal loved fighting, but occasionally it was too much even for him.

He took responsibility for the ugly tasks that sometimes needed doing to set matters right. It was a position that sapped his strength until it forced him to take time out and recover.

At a young age, he learned the need to be as brutal as the enemy. The memories still left him cold. His elven wife lay bloody and lifeless in his arms. Around them the slashed husks of her kinsmen lay staked out and left to rot in the sun. A thousand deaths because he'd withheld a killing stroke and showed mercy to an enemy commander. While Tal fought on another front, the embarrassed officer had exacted his revenge.

Even now, when his sword took the life of murderers willing to slay thousands, Tal would still flash on the impaled bodies of innocent elves. He'd re-experience the gut-wrenching loss and despair. He'd loved his wife, the elves and their ways. They died simply to salve one man's injured pride. Those visions gave Tal the will to execute such killers to prevent similar events from ever transpiring again.

He undid the strap holding the shoulder-sheath and leaned the sword against the wall. He was big man who felt cramped in doorways, that is, the ones he didn't arbitrarily widen with a few strokes of the huge hammer that rode on his hip. His opponents called him the petrified warrior: fists of rock, eyes of ice, and a jaw of iron.

Today, Tal would test a new prospect. He'd set up the school to find candidates for his vigilante army, the Scarlet Talons. Ceraph, told him that the new member showed great promise.

He and Beia Targallae had been waging a war against Meridian Arcturan. Tal formed the regiment to destroy the evil mage's arenas. So far, they'd only forced the operation underground; the slavery, gladiatorial combat, and human sacrifice continued. Meridian's troops were formidable opponents. Soldiers capable of beating them on their own turf were hard to find.

Meridian's brutality was sadism for personal gain. For that alone he deserved to be punished. After Beia showed Tal the atrocities of the Death Spectacles, he knew Meridian's organization must be destroyed. To allow the Arcturan and his twisted followers to shatter more lives was criminal.

Glancing back into his office, he saw his elven talent scout, Ceraph, still patiently waited behind him to make her report. She stood, hands clasped together, indigo blouse and skirt clinging to her slim body. Tal always chided the birdlike woman to eat more. The elves were slight already, and fussy eaters could look skeletal.

Down in the courtyard, he saw a dark-haired man in a blue tunic and black leggings. “That our candidate?”

Ceraph approached and rose on tiptoes to look out. Tal watched the elf's amber eyes flash as she spied the man reclining on the bench below. The woman's delicate features brightened. “Yes, Master, that is he.”

Tal noted the change in the elf's normally impassive expression. Though Ceraph was not his best fighter, her six centuries of experience made the lady an excellent judge of character and skills.

He patted her shoulder. His blocky fingers each looked thicker than her wrist. “Raph—let's cut the formal stuff.”

Ceraph blushed, ivory cheeks reddening. “Yes—Tal.” Her eyes flashed and she grinned. “Or would you prefer—Tiger?”

He chuckled. “I wouldn't suggest using that around my wife. I think my big kitty, Terra, could even get jealous of you, little bird.”

She nodded.

He focused again on the broad-shouldered man in the courtyard. Usually, the pretty-boys didn't go in for the heavy fighting. It messed up their good looks.

“All right, Raph, give me the poop.”

The elf raised an eyebrow. “'Poop'? What does that mean?”

“You know—the scoop, dope, lowdown, sly, sneaksee—the facts.”

She pursed her lips. “Perhaps Mistress Beia is correct, you've stayed a few days too long on those strange worlds.”

He grinned. “Could be.” He studied the young man's intensity, as if nothing else existed save the book in front of him. “Go ahead.”

Ceraph cleared her throat. “His name is Corim Vale. Tournament weight is thirteen stone, height is nineteen hands; hales from the kingdom of Ironwood. He's lowborn, parents were farmers pressed into service.”

“King Iggerd's big land sham?”

“Yes.”

“Lot of bitter kids came from that. What's he do, besides fighting?”

“He's a scholar. Does a lot of treasure hunting.”

“Kid's a book snoot? He's good, or you wouldn't have called me.”

“Yes, he—”

Tal held up a hand. “Wait.” Below he heard yelling. A man struggled with an og heading toward Corim. “This could be interesting.”

Shrugging the leather vest loose on his massive shoulders Tal pulled a rock-nut from a pocket and rolled it around in his hand. He crunched the shell between his thumb and forefinger with a loud crack, then popped the meat into his mouth. He chewed slowly, relishing the tangy flavor.

Ceraph leaned close to see. Tal cracked another and offered it to her. She hesitated, then took it from him.

Crunching and eating rock-nuts, he watched the exchange to its conclusion. He nodded as Gundar and Rafe headed out the east gate.

“Kid's got restraint. I like that; shows class.” He smirked. “I probably would have broken the slob's head.” He opened another nut and held it out.

Ceraph smiled and took the offering.

He glanced back to Corim. The man had focused again on the book. Tal could tell nothing else existed for him. “How do you rate this kid?”

“Excellent.”

Tal looked at her. The elf wore a solemn expression. It took a lot to impress Ceraph. The best rating in the last five years had been ‘very good'. “Excellent? You getting soft on me?”

“Overall winner in three events in the Blackstar tournament of ‘94. Top honors four years running in the Western challenge jousts. 211 victories, thirty-one ties, and twelve losses since he entered circuit. He has been undefeated in the last eighty-one bouts.”

Tal raised an eyebrow. “Damn, and he still looks like a pretty-boy. Must do some fancy dodging.” He rubbed his chin. “How's he done since being here?”

The elf smiled. “He swept all the sixth circle masters by challenge.”

He rubbed his chin. “You're rooting for him.”

Flushing, she studied the floor. “He is quite the gentleman.”

“Raph—fraternizing with a prospect—you?” He laughed.

Ceraph turned a little redder. “He wants to be a seventh circle master. He approached me to arrange the master challenges. I found him refreshingly persuasive.”

Tal grinned. “After all this time a man has finally turned your head? He's a human at that. Kid deserves a fair shake just for doing that. How'd he do?”

“Five of seven, two ties.”

“Decisive victories or points.”

“Points. He plays for the win, not for blood.”

Tal cracked his knuckles. “One of those civilized fighters you're so fond of. So, blow me over, Raph. Has the kid got grand master potential?”

Ceraph bit her lip, tiny hands wringing together. “Yes. His skills have only developed in proportion to his challenges. He has reached a plateau. He needs to be pushed to make the breakthrough.”

“And you think we can use him in the Talons?”

“Definitely. He's very interested in taking part in off-world expeditions.”

Tal noticed how quickly she'd answered that. He guessed Ceraph saw liaison opportunities in Corim's becoming a part of the school's faculty. He had nothing against that.

He pulled the last shell out of his pocket and began tossing it up and down. “All right, your boy gets his shot.” Tal fixed on her amber eyes. “You'll be responsible for him if he passes. There's a big deal going down and the Shael Dal will need me. I won't have time to baby sit.”

“I'll keep him out of trouble.”

“Good.” He looked down to Corim. “So, the kid needs a push? That can be arranged.” The rock-nut crushed between his fingers. Death is fleeting. Dishonor is forever... —Rakaar Hespian Steelsheen

Meridian Arcturus stumbled into his research lab, mind still fuzzy from lack of sleep. The large room crowded with books and apparatus smelled of parchment, leather, and decade-old dust. The disk-shaped warp platform lay at the back of the room with Dulcere, their captured Kriar chained atop it. She had not looked up as he entered. She usually had some sharp telepathic remark to spare him when he made a foray into this room when sleep would not come. Tonight, she did not even move.

He thumped down at his desk. The tension was getting to him. He feared at any moment, the Protectorate would break into Daladar and foil his attempt before everything was ready. His ultimate weapon was proving to be everything he hoped. Unfortunately, she was every bit as dangerous as Rakaar promised. Though he would admit it to no one, the Kriar was beginning to scare him. More and more, she seemed less affected by the inhibitor, even as he researched ways to strengthen its power. It was too late to have second thoughts; the plan had already gone into affect. They'd already done too much to turn back.

Eight ten-days—had it really only been that long? They'd already accomplished so much since acquiring Dulcere. He thought back to the day it had started, when he went to Rakaar's lab to get the Baronian's assistance.

Meridian stepped off the last step and looked around the alien's temporal studies lab. Rakaar, his enslaved Baronian war-mage, was the latest weapon in the arsenal that Meridian had controlled over the centuries. The lab hummed with energy, the atmosphere heavy with the scent of electrified air. The giant creature hunched over a drawing desk, quill in hand. Dressed in a mottled brown, sleeveless tunic, he blended with the array of bookshelves, counters, and workbenches that were organized with efficient precision. As Meridian looked around at the stasis cylinders arrayed on the wall, and the glowing blue power jewels laid in their cradles for inspection, he admitted to himself that this creature was every bit as brilliant as he was strong.

He started to speak, but the Baronian interrupted him. The war-mage's voice rumbled with the power to rattle bones. “What is it, Human? Have you come to bore me with more excuses?”

Meridian swallowed his anger. The war-mage took pleasure in goading him. This creature hated every instant of its compelled indenturing. It was chance luck that he had found Rakaar adrift in the transition realm, unconscious from dueling some unknown foe. Around the creature's neck, where in another situation it would have been impossible to take, was its spirit amulet. Like demons, the Baronian mages kept their life essence in a specially magicked prison to keep them from being vulnerable to certain kinds of spell attack. That defense mechanism proved to be Rakaar's bane, and a turn in Meridian's fortunes. He used the spirit cage to control the creature. Meridian had tied his own essence to it so that if he died, so, too, would the Baronian.

For decades, Meridian had been plotting to undo his enemies in the Protectorate, but the capabilities and knowledge to make it happen had never been at hand. This Baronian, with its powerful magic and monstrous combat capabilities, gave him the means to recover several of his top operatives, who were imprisoned in various institutions throughout the known worlds. They were possessed of brilliant minds, and now owed him a debt of freedom and service. Since that time, they had been hard at work formulating a means to end the threat of the Protectorate forever. Great strides toward the creation of such a weapon had been taken. They lacked only one thing—

A source of power.

“No more excuses, Rakaar,” Meridian growled. “I knew it was only a matter of time. I have located what we seek.”

“What you seek, Human,” Rakaar said, rising.

It seemed to take far too long for him to reach his full height. Rakaar towered another third as tall as most men, his arms and legs knotted with muscles that could grind rock to powder. Slit gray eyes burned beneath a brow that seemed perpetually furrowed in a frown. His sharp features and dark skin made him look like a bust cast from copper.

Rakaar placed the pen in its well with a care that belied his massive size. He turned to Meridian, eyes flashing. “What I seek,” he snarled. “Is an end to this nonsense. Show me this prize, if indeed you have found it.”

Meridian drew a breath. Inside he quailed, so far he had barely kept this creature in check. He had to trust his magic and the compulsions that he had put in place.

On the outside, he kept himself steady. “This way.”

He led the way back up the steps. The Baronian thumped up the passage behind him. He emerged into the dusty common chambers.

“Psihtath, Seglar, Jund!” he called. “We have a job to do.”

Willowy Psihtath, pale Seglar, and the ponderous Jund came at his call. Arms shoved into the sleeves of his green robes, Psihtath stepped into the room. The lean, hawk-faced man had been the hardest mage to acquire, but he was also the most brilliant. Psihtath was an alchemist of extraordinary skill, and one of magic lore's best versed in the crafting of wards and magical defenses. A dark hood pulled over his features, white-haired and pink-eyed Seglar stepped out of an antechamber. He was a ghost for hire who spoke in whispers, whose sword and ring-she were reputed to be the best that could be bought. Dim-witted Jund stomped after him. The massive creature was a melding of man and magic, a golem as broad as two men, with skin of stone and the strength of fifty warriors.

Rakaar loomed at Meridian's back. “Will these underlings be necessary, Human?” he asked in a rasp.

“They will unless you plan to move a mountain by yourself. All of you, come with me to the teleport circle, I have a find of great importance you must help uncover...”

The strands of the teleport incantation unraveled from around them. The magick dissipated like wisps of smoke into dry desert air. The rugged plateau with its sparse population of twisted trees and scraggly bushes looked inhospitable at best. The ground underfoot felt hard and glassy, and a deep depression was gouged into the landscape. A short distance away, the land rose to meet a giant tumble of boulders and rubble from which a section of the headland had sheared off.

Seglar pulled his hood further around his features. Jund stared up at the sun. Psihtath looked around, bent and picked up a piece of the glassy rock and examined it.

Rakaar, scanned the area with narrowed gray eyes and went immediately to the depression. He stood at the bottom for a few moments, then looked back to Meridian.

The Baronian grunted. “So?”

Meridian looked at Psihtath. The other mage raised a wispy eyebrow.

“So,” he answered, and pointed to the pile of rocks with his staff.

The Baronian frowned and stomped in that direction. The rest of them followed. The war-mage climbed part way up the rocks and stopped. He cocked his head as though listening to something. Slowly, he spread his hands and turned. He paused, turned a little, and nodded.

“You are right, Human. What you seek is here. It is deep, though.” He grabbed a hunk of rock that Meridian guessed weighed no less than a ton, and heaved it out of the way. Rakaar pointed to Jund. “You, broad one, assist.”

Slow-witted Jund looked to Seglar, and the ghost-like warrior nodded. With ponderous steps, Jund clumped up the pile of rocks and began heaving boulders aside. Seglar followed him to assist. Meridian gestured to Psihtath, and the two of them added their magic to the task.

Three bells into the excavation Rakaar stopped and brought a chunk of rock back to Meridian. “Human, do you know of there being anything special about this place?”

Meridian rubbed at the back of his neck. “No, why?”

“See this rock?”

It looked like a cube-shaped chunk of stone to him. “So?”

The Baronian narrowed his eyes. “This granite has been cut. Many of the larger stones have notches in them as if to make them easier to move.”

“To my knowledge, we were the first ones to disturb this place,” he answered, feeling some concern. “My magic tells me our prize is there. Would it make sense for someone to uncover this spot, and then put the stones back?”

“It does not seem logical, no,” Rakaar mused, rubbing his chin. He watched Jund lever a massive rock out of position and heave it aside with a crash. His brow furrowed. “I still find it odd.”

Meridian shook his head. “I cannot account for it.”

Rakaar turned back to the excavation work with a shrug. “That does not surprise me.”

Meridian frowned at the creature's back. He hated the alien's superior posturing and attitude. He put his mind back to the arduous task of moving stones.

Even with the terrific muscle power of the three warriors added to his and Psihtath's magic, by the end of a day they had only moved half the stone. They broke for the night, rested and returned on the following day to finish the task. Six bells of heavy magic and toting later, Meridian sensed that they were finally close to the prize he sought.

They cleared the rocks away from a particularly large slab. Meridian felt sure this would be the last they needed to move, but it was also the largest.

“My concerns grow with Rakaar's,” Psihtath said in his wheezing voice. “Examine the stones there. Note that the notches appear to be melted into the granite. Here on this largest slab, look at the grooves.”

“Jund hope not work all this time for nothing,” the golem grunted in rumbling voice.

“I mirror the slow one's concern,” Rakaar growled. “This had better not have been some titanic waste of effort.”

Though his stomach tightened, Meridian kept a straight face. “It's there. I know it is.”

“We shall find out,” Rakaar put his fingers to the largest stone, and Jund added his strength. With grunts and gasps, together the two juggernauts slowly pried up the several ton fragment of the cliff.

Tension humming through his body, Meridian watched as the slab groaned out of the hole.

Next to him Psihtath sucked a breath. Seglar's pink eyes widened. A cylindrical section of the stone had been melted away. The first thing they saw was a pair of gold feet.

“A female,” Seglar said in his whisper.

“A Kriar,” Psihtath breathed.

“Our prize,” Meridian corrected.

With gritted teeth and yells of effort, Rakaar and Jund shoved the massive rock aside.

Jund scratched its bald head, staring down at the gold-skinned female lying in the depression. “Why she not crushed?”

“Perhaps a half million cycles ago, she was,” Rakaar said. “Those glowing stones on her chest and waist created a cavity, then healed her.” To Meridian he said, “Get the restraints.”

Meridian stepped down out of the rocks to the pack that they brought along with them, and pulled out the energy shackles.

“I understand these creatures can move themselves through teleportation, why didn't she wake up and leave?” Psihtath asked.

“Most likely a malfunction of the brainstone. It failed to terminate the hibernation stasis after the healing was complete.”

Seglar bent down near the slender female's body. “Perhaps it is just me, but this is Meridian's new weapon? She doesn't look like much.”

“I suggest you not stand so close,” Rakaar said. “You might trigger a defensive response.”

Toting the heavy shackles, Meridian clambered to the top and handed them to Rakaar.

Seglar pushed a hand through his snowy-white hair. He touched the female's gold skin, obviously examining its metallic-appearing texture. “Defensive? You just said she's been asleep for millennia. What's she going to—hurrrgh!”

In an eye-blink, the female's hand was gripping the warrior's throat. The man thrashed and beat at her arm with little success, as she started to rise.

Jund grunted and snared the Kriar's free arm with a stubby-fingered hand and jerked her up.

The female hurled Seglar away, sending him skittering across the hillside for more than twenty paces. Membranes slid back from her eyes, revealing solid black orbs that sparked and flashed. She brought a fist crashing home against the golem's chest that sounded like the whack of a woodcutter's axe on a tree. Jund snarled in response and clamped another hand on her.

The gems on her brow and chest flashed. A voice snarled in his mind, and everyone else's from the way they jerked. <Let—go!> Hand sparking, she hammered a fist into the golem's abdomen, slamming him down the hill.

Red light flickered around her arm, then sizzled into a pace-long corona of crackling energy. Meridian's heart seized as she lunged toward him.

Rakaar reacted in a blaze of speed, grappling her from behind, and pinning her arm. The humming blade of light paused within a finger-length of Meridian's neck. Before she could thrash, he clamped one shackle around her arm. The Kriar gasped as sparks rasped around her body and siphoned into the dead-black glow of the shackle. The golden female dropped to her knees and fainted.

Meridian let out a breath, heart thundering. He rubbed his throat. One heartbeat slower, and he had no doubt that the blade would have sheared the head from his shoulders.

“I trust we've had enough of a demonstration?” the Baronian growled.

Seglar picked himself up, and stood over the Kriar rubbing his throat. Pink eyes narrow, he shook his head. “If that is how this creature is when it is weak, how will you control it when it is strong?”

At the bottom of the rock pile, Jund lumbered back to its feet. “Her stronger than look.”

“Don't just stand there, human!” Rakaar snapped. “Get us back to the laboratory. She must be fitted with an inhibitor immediately!”

Shocked, Meridian tapped his staff and started the complicated cadences of a teleport spell. Even as he was nearing the end of the casting, he saw that the golden female was beginning to stir in Rakaar's hands. The song of the portal engulfed his mind, and he focused on the familiar image of the teleport circle at Daladar, then released the transport energies in a surge of tingling.

Without a noticeable passage of time, the enchantment jerked them off into blackness and deposited them in the place he envisioned. Even as the wisps of the teleport energy receded from around them, Rakaar moved fast. He shoved the Kriar into Seglar's hands and sprinted to a work bench thirty paces away.

The mercenary gasped. “Damn, she's heavy.” The body squirmed. “She's also moving!” He took her around the neck as the Kriar began to shift with more and more vigor. The shackles on her arms glowed, and smoke curled around them. “This is not good.”

Rakaar pounded back with what looked like a large collar in his hands. “Do not worry, Human.” He snapped the device around her neck with a heavy metallic click, and she went lax again. He turned to Meridian. “You may have done your job too well. This Belkirin may be too much to handle.”

“Belkirin?” Meridian asked. “What is that?”

“Do I look like a library, Human? Don't suffer me with stupid questions. I will tell you this much. The inhibitor may not hold her overlong. It would be advisable to create a stronger one.” He looked back to Seglar, who held the limp body in his arms. “'Ware what you hold, fighter. She is heavy because Kriar body tissue is three times as dense as human flesh, with commensurate strength and resistance to injury. They do not have veins or capillaries as a mammal, but a porous circulatory dermis beneath the skin. Blood loss is only an inconvenience. Circulation is primarily to cool the catalytic reaction of their cells.”

“A monster,” Psihtath breathed.

“She is a warrior,” Rakaar growled. “From what I saw, with a warrior's instinct. However much this creature looks like a human, even shackled and inhibited she is dangerous. Her weapons—like that plasma blade—are integrated into her body, along with the mechanisms that allow her to move in time. For her to be of use, they cannot be removed or disabled. The first careless person will end up slain.”

“She's marvelous,” Meridian said, moving closer. He touched the hairless skin of her face. It felt smooth as baby skin with no variations in the golden color. “Deadly and beautiful all at once.”

The female stiffened and her eyes opened. Dark black orbs sparkled and flashed like pieces of a starry night sky. The siphon shackles gleamed and smoked around her arms.

Seglar's eyes widened. “Meridian...!”

Meridian reached up to the chain on the inhibitor, and wrapped his fingers around it. “No,” he said. “Cease all efforts to free yourself.”

The Kriar thrashed side-to-side with gritted teeth.

“Cease now,” he ordered again.

Panting, she stopped and glared up at him. Her telepathic voice rang in his head. <What do you want with me, Creature? You are not the Protectorate.>

Meridian saw Psihtath fold his arms, after the initial tension that the inhibitor might not be enough to control her. The willowy mage raised an eyebrow.

“No, I am not the Protectorate,” he answered. “I want you to work for me. I want your time-diving skills.”

<Want all you like,> she growled the thought. <Free me, or you will regret it.>

“No, no, no,” Meridian shook his head. “You have it wrong. Do as I say or you will regret it.”

<You are a fool.> She thrashed in Seglar's grip. <I will do nothing you ask. The Kriar are not slaves.>

He looked into her eyes. “This one is—now..."

A voice echoed in Meridian's mind. <Sometime soon, you will regret that decision.>

He startled out of his muse. Dulcere was staring at him. The creature had been reading his mind. Damn, it was like Rakaar said, they had to be constantly vigilant. “Such threats are meaningless without the power to back them up.”

Dulcere pursed her lips. The chain on her wrist jingled as she smoothed her hair. <It only takes one mistake. Remember, Meridian, I have time, all the time in the universe.> Passion is a weapon as sharp as any sword. Like a sword it is often double edged. Focused correctly, love of life, of your mate, and of beautiful things can make a juggernaut of an ordinary man. Unbridled passion creates strength without tempering. It is when that untempered emotion snaps under pressure that good men die a fool's death... —Talorin “Tal” Falor

Kneeling before a small crystal totem hanging in his chambers, Corim finished the last of his prayer to Ishtar.

My will, body, and sword shall be one beneath your glory—tameth. He touched his forehead, then his heart in salute.

Standing, Corim looked around the single-room quarters. A pair of tables framed his neatly made pallet. Arranged on one side was the meager assortment of memorabilia he carried with him on journeys abroad. A small but elegant bust of his mother carved from dragonbone by his grandfather sat by a tattered handcopy of Mataya's Word, the lore-knight's code of ethics given to Corim by his first master. The medallioned goldpiece earned from the first cart he ever built lay atop a worn but usable sharpening stone; a gift from a grateful student.

He picked up the yellowing statue and held it in his palm. Corim's fingers knew every line and plane of his mother's delicate face, captured from his grandfather's loving memory and engraved in painstaking detail in the durable material.

I made King Iggerd and his ministers pay, but they'd already drained the life from you. You were so pale and gray. They robbed you of your beauty. You couldn't even smile when you saw me force them to return what was ours. He shuddered. All the gold on Titaan couldn't buy what they stole. That's all their kind know how to do—take, take, take—but they never give anything in return. I will always be at war with the takers.

Corim pressed the image to his forehead and set it back on the stand. Over the seasons he'd repeated the words so many times, they'd become a liturgy as sacred as his prayers to Ishtar.

He grabbed his knapsack and leather equipment tote and put them on the bed. Getting his sword sheath from the corner he pulled the blade. The metal rang with rich musical peel. Sitting down, he took an oiling rag and lovingly stroked the metal. He performed the ritual before every important fight. So far it hadn't failed to see him through.

He remembered every strike of the hammer and each compression of the bellows that went into the weapon's forging. Smelted from father's plough-shear and the family's last hunk of wheel strapping, the blade embodied his life before King Iggerd shattered it forever. Zortach he called it, which in the old-tongue meant memory.

It took the winnings from three dozen tournament victories to raise enough gold to put a magic edge on this sword. After the mage Xandar enchanted it, the blade had been like a charm; eighty-one victories in row.

He swallowed. Let it be lucky enough to get me through this fight with Master Falor.

A rapping on his door startled him. He set the blade down, stepped to the door and opened it. “Milady Ceraph!” He bowed.

The elf stood in the entry, dressed in a lavender silk blouse and skirt. Her satiny gold hair was plaited and held with combs. He noticed she came armed with a sword and dagger. Smiling, she studied him with expressive amber eyes. “Master Vale.”

“Please enter.” He gestured her inside. “I was preparing to leave.”

Ceraph stepped across the threshold and looked around.

Corim left the door open and went to the bed. “I would offer you refreshments, but I have none. My apologies.”

“None needed.” Corim saw her sizing up his austere surroundings. “From a lord of your merit, I expected—more.”

He shrugged. “Never put much stock in possessions. It gives the nobles something to take from you. I move around too much in any case. I own what I can put in a pack and saddlebags.” He checked the contents of his tote. “So what brings Lord Falor's second to my door?”

“I came to tell you that things are arranged.”

Corim looked around. “They weren't arranged before?”

“The test, yes, but I wished to have the Master review you.”

“For the teaching position?”

“That too, but also for membership in the Scarlet Talons.”

He felt his gut tighten. “Lord Falor's honor guard? The one he sends off-world?”

Ceraph grinned. “The very ones.”

“I am overwhelmed. I never considered the possibility. You're probably aware of my interest in visiting other worlds.”

She looked up at him. “It crossed my mind, yes.”

He found the elf's smile enchanting. There was little about her he didn't find attractive. “I am grateful for this chance. Can I ask why you extend this privilege to me?”

Ceraph folded her arms. “After living with fighting men most of my life, I've learned to appreciate someone who has manners.”

“Manners?”

“It's been a long time since we've had an applicant with even a dram of refinement.”

He pulled at his collar. “I'll take your word for it, Milady. I never considered myself refined—civilized perhaps.”

She nodded, her gaze fixed on Corim's collection of items. Stepping over to the table, she trailed a hand across the worn cover of the handbook. “Mataya's word? You don't call that refined?”

“I think of it more as enlightenment.”

The elf's eyes narrowed. “Either you are the smoothest actor I've ever met, or you are truly as you appear.”

“Lady Ceraph, could you explain where you're heading with this?”

The elf caressed the book. “Where indeed, Lord Vale, where indeed?”

Corim slowed his normally brisk walk to accommodate Ceraph's shorter steps as they crossed the grounds toward the main building for his meeting with Master Falor. The architecture, with its sweeping buttresses, peculiar symmetries and textures, gave the school an otherworldly appearance when compared to the city outside.

Ceraph looked like a delicate flesh-and-blood doll, wide amber eyes aglow. The elf wore quick-draw sheaths for her weapons, positioned in Danee style for two-handed fighting. Corim guessed that anyone estimating Ceraph purely by size would be badly stung. It took years of tireless dedication to master the fluid Caan Danee, a technique that relied solely on speed, not strength.

“Caan Danee,” he murmured.

Ceraph looked up. “You've heard of it? What made it occur to you?”

“I saw the sheaths and I considered how the style suits someone of your stature.”

She nodded. “It has evened the scales once or twice. Have you thought about how you will fight Master Falor?”

He let out a breath. “That has been troubling me. I have never met him, much less seen him fight.”

Ceraph frowned. “Occasionally he fights Caan Danee, but he prefers the Dan Sadad.”

“The circle of power?” Corim's stomach tightened. No other style had caused him more pain. “He's a strong man, I take it.”

Her tiny hand touched his. “Very.”

He looked at her. “For a fair test, you shouldn't tell me these things.”

The elf paused. “If I described his technique intimately, you would still be in for your greatest challenge. Never let down your defenses.”

“Of course, all masters try to catch students off guard.”

“It is more than that.”

“I don't understand.”

Ceraph let out a breath. “Master Falor doesn't give quarter—ever.” Corim walked through the vaulted weapons hall in silence. Dozens of coats of arms decorated the blue-gray walls, the teakwood rafters inlaid with precious metals and jewels. Sconces fashioned in the muscular images of the war-gods, held burning torches up in salute.

Ceraph moved whisper-quiet beside him, face set and body taut.

Of the twelve losses he'd experienced as a tournament fighter, three of them had been against initiates of the Dan Sadad. In each instance, he faced a whirling tornado of steel that struck so hard and fast that he couldn't counter. Those losses gave him insight into a viable offense should he confront them again. Would it be effective against a master of the style?

Corim had long since abandoned a single form. He drew from all the techniques he had ever encountered, merging them into a homogeneous mixture of speed and flexibility principles coupled with power and focus disciplines. He didn't have a name for it. It simply worked.

But will it work well enough?

“Are you all right, Corim? You look pale.”

He shook his head. “Any style but the Dan Sadad—any technique.”

Ceraph frowned. “You aren't giving up?”

He clenched a fist. “Of course not. I guess it's fitting that I have to confront my nemesis in its purest form.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ceraph, I've been beaten every time I met someone using the circle of power. That's difficult to forget; it makes this test that much harder.”

She squeezed his hand. “You'll do your best.” She paused. “There is something you should be ready for. The master has an odd way of speaking.”

“How so?”

Rounding a corner they headed down into the vaulted dueling hall. “People think he's possessed because he talks in tongues. Don't let his words distract you. He's simply fascinated with the slang of otherworld cultures. I also think he likes the perplexed looks people give him.”

Corim nodded and looked around. Expensive Sylissian glow-globes floated near the frescoed ceiling, casting pale yellow light across the many scenes of triumph and war. At the bottom of the stairwell Ceraph led him across the dirt floor to the tiered audience benches. Two other large entryways barred with ironbound oak entered the arena at floor level.

She took his bag and broke it open. “Limber up, I'll ready your tack.”

He touched her arm as she leaned over. Ceraph looked at him. “I don't have many close friends. I hope we can visit even if I fail.”

Ceraph beamed. “I'd like that very much.” She turned serious. “You won't fail.” Her tone made it sound like an order.

So much to learn about this woman. He found the elf's curious combination of passivity and strength fascinating.

Corim worked through his rigorous warm-up ritual, stretching every muscle and tendon to ensure maximum flexibility and quickness. When he first fought, he surprised his opponents with bursts of speed. After years on the circuit, he learned of foods, exercises, and balms that improved his natural capabilities. Since he'd mastered those skills, none had beaten him.

Speed could overcome power if the opposition was marginally slower. He pressed his hands together, making the sinuous movements that tensed arms and wrists. Ceraph said that Falor sometimes used the Caan Danee. That meant the Master possessed great speed. That left only flexibility, as users of the Dan Sadad were more like rocks than whip-trees.

Desire. The emotion struck through him like a lit torch thrust into a darkened room. His only focus had been strategy, now he felt this curiously powerful itch.

Corim turned. His eyes met Ceraph's. She'd obviously been studying him. “Milady, is something wrong?”

“No, I was—admiring you, that's all.” She blushed and looked away.

Embarassment. Corim felt heat rush in his cheeks. He'd never been self-conscious before. In fact he wasn't now, yet his ears burned as if ... He saw the redness in Ceraph's face. This was like the incident with Rafe; experiencing the man's concern over the og. This time it was stronger.

He dispelled the sensation from his mind by imagining blackness. I've felt I could read someone's thoughts before, but nothing like this! Corim took a breath. Can't worry about it now. Stay focused on the fight.

“I'm flattered that you saw something that appealed to you.”

The elf smiled timidly, as if surprised by her own emotions.

The scalewood door on the far side of the chamber unbolted and swung open. A dark-haired man dressed in a vest and leggings strode in with a large duffle over one shoulder.

“We ready to go?” he boomed.

The swarthy Master Falor was a head taller than Corim and built as though he lifted horses for a living. A tear-drop shaped sapphire dangled from a platinum braid around the man's corded neck. If any fat existed on the man's frame, Corim couldn't see it.

He dropped the duffle next to Corim's. It hit with a thud that made the floor shake.

“So you're the new kid, eh?” He held out a thick hand.

Corim looked at Falor's extended arm. After a moment he realized Tal expected him to clasp hands. An odd custom, wonder where it comes from. The master shook his hand, the naked force radiating from him electrified the air. His grip was just hard enough to be painful. Corim met his dark eyes, responding with a firm pressure of his own.

“Call me Tal. I don't cater to the master crap. I like things informal. Just mind the chain of command, and there won't be any problems.”

This is a man who is rarely told ‘no'. “Yes, Sir.”

Tal looked at Ceraph. “So, you gonna be the kid's corner girl?”

The elf's brow furrowed. “What—”

“Never mind.” Tal pulled a massive sword from the duffle and set it down with a clank. Dumping out a heavy dueling glove, a thick leather back-belt and shoulder harness, he put them on.

He looked over at Corim's equipment and whistled. Picking up Corim's sword, Tal examined it. “Shakiran Warwand isn't it? A month's tournament winnings if it's a copper.”

Corim nodded. “Worth it, too.”

“Nice balance, strong, good flex.” He returned it. “Hate to say it, Kid, but it's only a fancy gadget. You'll break five before I replace this one.” He hefted his own weapon that looked as thick and wide as a man's hand.

“What is it? An anvil pounded into the shape of a sword?”

Tal chuckled. “Only half an anvil. Suit up, and let's get to it.”

Eying the Master's huge weapon, Corim let Ceraph help him don his carapace and grieves. He picked up his heavy mask and looked at Tal who hadn't moved to put on any protective armor.

“Aren't you going to wear anything?”

Tal raised an eyebrow. “You think you're going to hit me?”

Corim paused. “That is the idea.”

“Kid, if you can cut me with that toy. I'll give you the school.”

Corim studied Tal, trying to determine if he was serious. Corim might not be the best fighter on Titaan, but he wasn't that feeble.

He's the master. He put the mask on and tightened the strap. Scars on his body he could handle, but not his face. He stayed wide of Tal, shifting toward the center, all the while keeping an eye on the big man.

Tal rolled his shoulders, and moved his head side-to-side to limber up his neck. He spun the heavy sword as if it were made of wood.

Ishtar, he's strong.

“Come on, Kid, I'm not here to dance.” He tossed the sword to his left hand and whirled it with equal dexterity as the right.

He's a switch fighter, too. This keeps getting harder. Corim focused, feeling the rush of power as he willed himself into battlemind.

Tal stood flat-footed at the center of the ring, moving the sword from hand to hand. Corim struck between exchanges, driving in to knock the huge weapon out of reach.

Corim hit nothing as Tal spun clear. He dived and heard steel hiss over his back. Corim hit the dirt rolling and reversed his direction with a kickoff. Another blow smashed the turf, missing him by a hair. He handsprung to his feet in time to block.

The weapons impacted with a burst of metallic thunder. Corim felt the blow through every bone. He leaped over a shot, ducked another, and evaded a lunge. Tal kept on, as relentless as a tempest.

“Missed your calling, Kid. Should have been a dancer.”

Damn. He glimpsed Ceraph, fingers laced and held close to her mouth. He concentrated his power, bringing his sword under Tal's and driving it overhead. He whirled and hacked at the Master's ribs.

Tal flashed inside the swing and slammed Corim's forearm to a stop with a hard elbow. Corim let out a grunt of pain but flexed his wrist to allow the momentum of the sword to carry it forward. It slapped home. He felt a shock of elation; a weak touch, but still a score.

“Point!” He retreated, trying to ignore the throbbing.

Tal felt his ribs. “What kind of wimp hit was that? Bugs bite harder!”

“A legal point,” Ceraph put in.

Tal looked between them. “Ain't a point in a real fight. Come on!”

The clash buzzed in Corim's head as they whirled around one another. Corim ducked only to have a knee hammer into his face guard. The force flipped him onto his back with a stunning crack.

Tal grunted. “Point—a real point.”

The world spun. Without the mask, his face would be ruined. Taking a breath, he gathered his feet. Three points determined the victor.

Another point like that, and he won't need a third to win. Corim's back and arms ached and his lungs burned.

“Shake it off, Kid. I didn't hit you that hard.”

He's every bit as fast as me and three times as strong. Have to get a real point or this pain will be for nothing.

They clashed, Corim narrowly evading telling points. Stopping Tal's sword grew harder with each bone-rattling parry. Dodge, feint, lunge—Tal slipped the sword and passed Corim in a blur, a spinning sweep knocked him hard onto his back. A hard elbow crashed down on his stomach.

Corim let out a war yell to keep from being winded.

“Point,” Tal rumbled. No emotion sparked in the man's dark eyes, no indication of judgment or assessment. He helped Corim up. Corim bent at the waist, hands on knees.

“One more.”

Corim stared at him, eyes hard. “Two.”

Tal grinned. “Yeah, Kid, show me.”

Corim picked up his sword. Have to do it. He took King Iggerd's sneering image and superimposed it over Tal's grim countenance. He let his mother's desolate face swim in his mind, broken by the humiliation and torment. The molten anger flared in the pit of his stomach. The drive to see that ugly head on a pole where it belonged.

Charging, he put all his of power into every strike. A fierce grin on his face, Tal met him halfway, responding with powerful sallies of his own. Pain gnawed at Corim's arms, but he refused to give ground.

Do or die. Corim dove at Tal's feet and rolled. As he rose he brought an elbow up to crack hard against the master's chin. It felt like hitting a column of marble. The blow rocked the Master's head back. Tal snarled, eyes blazing and teeth bared. Corim backed off.

“Tal, No!” Ceraph yelled. Corim saw fear in her eyes.

The big man snapped out of it and scowled at her. “Yeah, a point.” He rubbed his chin, eyes burning into Corim. “Pretty good hit.”

Would have kept a normal man down for hours. It didn't even redden his skin. Corim shivered and rubbed his bruised elbow. He'd taken two points from this juggernaut. Did he dare try for the victory? If I win, he has to let me have the position.

They clashed again in an instant. Tal took the battle more seriously, and the strength of his hits increased with every attack. Agony surged through Corim's arms with each exchange. He dodged to stay clear of the flickering viper of Tal's sword.

Can't stay with it. Have to gamble. Tacking left to right, he reversed and leaped over a low thrust. Corim kicked downward on Tal's hand. As the blade dug in the dirt with a shriek he struck for the neck.

Despite the swiftness of the assault, Tal still jammed the strike with a forearm block, robbing the swing of momentum. Determined, Corim twisted so the blade hooked around and glanced off Tal's corded neck.

“Point!” Ceraph yelled.

A shock of elation ran through Corim. Waves of torment rolled through his shoulders and back, but he ignored it.

Glowering, Tal rubbed his neck. He looked at Ceraph, then to Corim. He slammed the point of his sword into the ground so it quivered.

“That's no point—this is a point.” Tal struck.

A burst of agony, a whistle of air, and Corim slammed into the wall. His helmet rang as he thudded against the stone, the armor's backplate made a grating rasp as he slid to his knees. Gasping for air, Corim fell to all fours, dots whirling in his vision. Ceraph yelled.

Tal jerked the mask off Corim's head. “If you work for me, Kid, you'll have to learn what's playing and what's war.” He grabbed Corim's breastplate and lifted him off the ground. Tal drew his fist back, dark eyes narrow. “This will be your first lesson.”

Corim's arms felt like lead posts. His legs dangled like deadwood beneath his waist. Tal's huge knuckles were aimed to crush his face, and he couldn't do anything but swallow.

“Talorin, No!” Ceraph tugged at Tal's arm.

A strident female voice called out. “Tal, you mark that boy's face, and I'll break your head.”

The Master's eyes widened as he looked around. “Terra?”

Her voice dropped, but stayed firm. “Put him down. It was a cheap win, but nothing to get pulped for.”

Tal let Corim slide down. “All right, Kid, class dismissed.”

He stepped back, and Corim could see the exotic-looking woman. Her lithe, predatory body was sheathed in close-fitting ebony mail, thigh-length riding boots, and stylized gloves. Everything about her brought to mind the word ‘feline'. Her movements were as strong and sure as a jungle saberclaw. Golden eyes gleamed in a heart-shaped face, mahogony-colored hair formed a ruff around her head like the mane of a great cat.

Ceraph put a hand on Corim's shoulder. “Are you all right?”

He nodded and stood with her help. Flames burned in his chest. A dent the shape of Tal's knuckles marred the metallic breastplate.

Terra put her arms around Tal and kissed him. “Take it easy on the plebe, Tiger,” she purred. “I'm certain he gets the idea. Besides, rearranging that beautiful face would be a crime.” She kissed him again.

The stiffness left Tal's shoulders and back. His hands unclenched. Terra definitely knew how to handle the Master.

Corim undid the straps of his breastplate and let it drop to the floor. It would take weeks to recuperate from this contest. Every part of his body ached. A costly battle if ever there was one. He took a breath and groaned. His lungs felt as if they'd grown too large for their confines.

He staggered over and sat on a bench. He'd never seen such strength without the aid of magic. It had taken all his skill to win points from Tal. Only one hit could be deemed a worthy blow, no doubt a miserable showing in the master's mind.

“Should I get a healer?” Ceraph asked.

Corim shook his head. “Let me rest. Be damned if I'll be carried out.”

Terra broke away from Tal. The master frowned and started tending his weapons and repacking his duffle. He didn't look at Corim.

I've failed completely. He'd have beaten me to a pulp in a real fight.

Terra swayed over and sat next to Corim. She glanced at Ceraph and nodded, then looked at Corim. “Tal takes the game a little too seriously sometimes.” She leaned over. “I'm Terra, and you are—?”

Corim tried to keep his voice even. The burning in his chest was growing. “Corim Vale, milady,” he wheezed. “You'll pardon my manners, the fight took a lot out of me.”

Terra smiled, showing elongated incisors. “You did well, although it may not feel like it.” Her gold eyes narrowed. “Take off your tunic.”

“Pardon?”

“Don't argue with her,” Tal snapped.

Corim flinched, and so did Ceraph. Tal had appeared completely absorbed in the process of packing.

With effort, Corim removed the garment. A circle of purple flesh had already formed. A line of egg-sized circular scars interconnected by a fine web of discolored skin ran from his right shoulder down to a point a little below the growing bruise.

Ceraph gasped. Terra whistled and ran a long curved fingernail down the line of wounds. “Green dragon bite if I'm not mistaken, big one, too. From the scarring you didn't have a priest-healer around at the time.”

Corim nodded. “It was misadventure, yes.”

Ceraph put a hand on Corim's shoulder. Terra continued her examination. “Cracked the sternum and some ribs.” She rubbed her fingers together, and a light emanated from her hand.

Corim squirmed away. Terra grabbed his arm. “Sit still!”

He gritted his teeth. Magic was for studying, not experiencing. Terra placed her hand on the wound. The glow surged out of her palm and into his flesh with a hot tingling. His skin rippled in circles like waves of water radiating outward from the impact of a stone. Gradually the purple turned to bronze, and the pain receded.

“Better?”

He rubbed his chest. It felt completely free of injury. Even the season-old bite scars looked faded. “I am indebted, Milady. How can I—?”

Terra put a finger on his lips, then ran one of her long fingernails down his cheek. “You can repay me by simply being underfoot once in a while.” She ran a tongue over her teeth.

Tal stepped over and put a hand on Terra's shoulder. She rubbed her cheek against his knuckles.

“Is he gonna live?”

She raised an eyebrow. “No thanks to your temper.”

Tal shrugged. “Hey, I've never lost control like that before, something snapped.” He looked Corim in the eye. “I was outta line punching you like that. No hard feelings?” He held out his hand.

I bet that's as close to an apology as this man gets. Corim nodded and shook hands.

Tal frowned. “Don't understand it. Never lost my temper like that for no reason.”

Seems a lot of people have behaved oddly around me recently; the wallopers in the tavern last week, the guard a night ago, the og. He frowned. Perhaps Ceraph as well. Is it coincidence, or is it tied to these strange new sensations?

The chamber door swung open, and another woman entered completely armed for battle. She had the sinuous grace of a dragon ready to strike, the body of a war-goddess, and a stony face that looked to have never worn a smile. A large, star-shaped scar marked the dusky skin of her left cheek, and a black lightning bolt on the other. From the way she wore the huge bow and spear, and the brevity of her dark blue garments, Corim guessed her to be a junglelands Myrmigyne.

“As I live and breathe,” Tal boomed. “If it isn't the bow-babe herself. What's up Beia, planning to take out a city?”

Beia stopped a few paces away. She nodded to Terra and Ceraph, not acknowledging Corim's presence. “I don't like being called ‘babe', Tal.”

“Oooh, in a bad mood.” Tal chuckled. “'Babe’ is a high compliment to the females on a world I visited recently.”

She snorted. “Are either you or Terra free to help me on a mission?”

Tal looked to Terra. “We're on call. The Protectorate is going crazy trying to track down the source of a rash of time anomalies. I have to be available do a briefing this evening.”

“Aarlen told me about that. I have a line on something big going down at Daladar—” She stopped and pointed at Corim. “Who's he? Should we be talking in front of him?”

Tal locked eyes with Corim, then turned to Beia. “Newest member of the Talon's. Sharp kid, well educated, good technical asset to the team.”

Corim felt a shock. Did he say newest member?!

“Him?” Beia frowned. “He should be posing in shop windows or dancing in one of those women's nightclubs you told me about.”

Corim felt his hackles rise. She said it as if he wasn't fit to live. Something about her, I've heard this woman's voice before.

Beia assessed him with cold emerald eyes. “What's your name, Boy?”

Corim bit back a coarse retort. “Corim Vale, Milady.”

The corner of Beia's mouth quirked. Some of the icy bite dropped out of her voice. “Winner at the 94’ Blackstar tourney? The one with the mask.” She looked at Tal. “He's good, but he wouldn't last to the third elimination in an unlimited tournament.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind Corim put together tournament, Myrmigyne, the name Beia, the star-shaped scar, and Daladar. His anger overwhelmed the voice of reason screaming for him to shut up. Corim stood. “Milady, I've never slighted you. I am a person and I have a name!”

“Cool it, Kid.” Tal put a hand on his shoulder.

“Sir, whatever her rank, even a fourth circle student deserves a little courtesy!”

Beia narrowed her eyes. “Really? Tell me what you've done, besides beat up fops, that deserves my respect? Did you fight in the border wars, kill a dragon, battle with the dwarves at Blackstar?”

“Listen you two,” Tal interrupted. “We—”

Beia growled. “No—I want to hear his answer.”

“It is not what I have done. It is what I do. I am a teacher. Killing is counter-productive except as last resort. An educated man knows that. I enlighten my students, teach them civility and self esteem. Sometimes order must be maintained through the strength of arms, but it is learning and knowledge that makes us free.”

Beia's jaw tightened. Corim saw he'd struck a nerve, and it felt good. “I recognize that Lore-knight prattle.” The Myrmigyne glared at the Master. “He's a bloody Matayan, Tal! He's going to have all the other Talons spouting that ‘civility’ drivel inside of a season!”

“Matayan.” Tal turned to Ceraph. “You didn't mention that.”

Ceraph reddened. “Excuse me, I didn't think you'd feel it was relevant.”

Terra smoothed her mane. “Ceraph, wasn't your father a Matayan?”

The elf nodded.

Beia's eyes flashed. “Hades! Ceraph's tried to soften the Talon's for five winters only she's never had a candidate with blood thick enough to—”

Still ignoring the voice screaming danger, Corim cut her off. “I am not here to soften anything! I am as hard as any of these Talon's.”

The Myrmigyne folded her arms. “You are, eh? Tough on the outside doesn't count, Boy. Anyone can take a pounding. We're talking about blood. About crimes that would make you dump your guts. It's righting real wrongs, not this softhearted peace-through-learning drivel.”

Corim gritted his teeth. “It's not drivel! If a cause is just, I'm not afraid to put my strength behind it.”

“Oh, it's just all right.” Beia's smile lacked all warmth. “We'll make a bet. If you can grit through a mission with me without turning three shades of white and screaming for your mama, I won't fight your joining the Talons. To make it worthwhile, I'll get you a membership in the Loremaster's Foundation.”

His heart jumped. The Loremasters were an elite group of academicians who had access to vast stores of information spanning all the planes. Best of all, some of them believed in spreading knowledge like he did. “You can do that?”

“Ivaneth's resident elder, Cassandra Kel'Ishtauri, is my sister. She likes book-sweet little Matayans like you.”

Corim wouldn't let Beia's barbs dig any deeper. What she offered was ample incentive. What horror could be so outrageous that it would make him shrink away and give up? “What if I lose?”

Her voice rang hard. “You leave the city and teach somewhere else.”

Tal frowned. “You're in, Corim. Beia won't change my decision.”

Corim folded his arms. “She'd make my stay miserable, I'm certain.” He met Beia's eyes. “Respect runs both ways. I'll show my mettle, if she'll show me hers. I accept the challenge.”

Terra stood and walked over to stare down at Beia. “You make sure he has the right equipment and briefing.”

The two women stared at one another for a long time.

Beia let out a breath. “I'll see to it now.” She looked at Corim. “Meet me in two bells in the central courtyard.”

Corim nodded. “Done.”

“Wait.” Ceraph stepped next to Tal. “I wish to go.”

Corim turned in surprise. “Ceraph?”

“No,” Tal said. His fingers went to the teardrop around his neck. There was passion in his voice. “No way.”

Beia put hands on hips and looked from Ceraph to Tal.

Ceraph made a sweeping gesture encompassing Beia and Corim. “Talorin, I am more experienced than either of them. If I'm working at odds with you as Beia says, then I should see it for myself.”

Tal stared at Ceraph and growled. “I'd have to put you in a cell to make you stay.” Ceraph's chin came up. “It's against my judgment.” He focused on Corim. “Keep your guard up.”

“Fine,” Beia said. “Ceraph, get your boy ready. We're going to Daladar. You know the preparations.” She turned to leave.

“Beia.” Corim put an edge in his voice. The Myrmigyne turned and looked at him. “When this mission is over, you won't call me a ‘boy’ again.” Should this record survive me, let it be known that my crew all fought with bravery. I take weapon in hand now to save those surviving so that no more lives are lost. Let me go on record as saying that this whole war is a mistake, and every violent clash is another blunder that worsens our crime. The Protectorate are defending territory they have every right to fight for. To my mother and friends, though all of you frowned on my choice to be a part of the forces—I have no regrets—it has been a service with both honour and purpose. I want you all to know that I loved you even when you judged me. I go now to fight Garn Ellon of the Protectorate, I fight him not for honour, glory, or for the Kriar nation. I meet him because of my oath and pledge to protect the crew under my command. Farewell... —Dulcere Val'Saedra Starbinder

(log recovery from Starvessel Tiraka)

“Why are you gray?” Meridian mumbled to himself.

Dulcere watched impassively as Meridian, dressed in a dark tunic and pants, paced back and forth in front of her, smoothing his mustache. She focused most of her attention on the huge brass valves of the lab only fifty nano-light-revs away. Stuffed with books, tables and apparatus, the dusty room felt as confining as any cell one-twentieth its size. If it had been the size of a galaxy she would have felt no different as long as she remained confined within a perimeter.

Meridian put one hand behind his back and deftly spun the wooden staff he carried. Still dressed in the same silver rags they had found her in, Dulcere lay chained on top of a beveled circular disk about seven arm-spans across. Multicolored power crystals protruded from the plane of the bevel. They magnified and distributed her time energies so that she could carry large groups of people and equipment.

So far, Meridian had forced her to power the warp interface and to create several small temporal disruptions. These repairable anomalies were decoys to keep the Protectorate busy so that Meridian could pull off what he called his ‘big show'. Only she knew how narrowly they'd evaded the Protectorate enforcers during their excursions.

One Protectorate guardian came close enough that Dulcere could have reached out and touched the odd-looking woman, a white-haired giantess with silver eyes who wore an odd amalgam of star-fairing and pre-industrial clothing.

It appeared many changes had occurred during her long hibernation. The Protectorate Elite now appeared to be using human avatars to do their enforcing. If able, she would have let time-agent catch them. Unfortunately, Meridian's magic forced Dulcere to use her abilities to their fullest. The white-haired time-diver possessed formidable skills and tracked them relentlessly. It took exceptional effort to escape.

Dulcere had hoped Meridian would continue gambling on her ability to evade capture. With one or two more chances, the white-haired woman would catch them, and then Meridian's plans for temporal disruption would be over. Dulcere did not want to be captured by the Protectorate, but it would prevent her from being a murderer on galactic scale.

Meridian stopped and gave Dulcere a cold stare. Dark circles ringed the man's eyes. His rugged face looked drawn from many nights spent without sleep. “What might be wrong with you? Did I miss something in my research?”

Dulcere grinned at him. She knew it made the mage nervous. He spoke and acted as though supremely confident. Her empathic abilities told her otherwise. Dulcere rested easier knowing that Meridian tossed in the sheets wondering what she was smiling about.

After spending several megarevs with the human, she'd gone from hating the ursine mage to pitying the creature. As any competent soldier would, she studied the enemy and his psychology to discover what ticks she might leverage to make an escape.

Little separated Meridian from insanity. Decades of conflict, constant defeat, brushes with death, and scores of wounds had all whittled away at him from the inside.

Dulcere knew his nemesis, heard him mutter their names. Beia Targallae and Talorin Falor—Meridian Arcturan's own personal demons. She learned that his organization had once spanned hundreds of worlds. By dint of will, these two determined warriors had crushed his outposts one planet at a time until only a dozen remained.

With nothing but escape and the nearest piece of masonry to contemplate, Dulcere learned what she could about these two enemies. If anyone stopped Meridian, it would be one of them.

To build her knowledge, she drew upon fragments of conversation, stray thoughts, and what she could decipher of Meridian's journals through the covers when they sat on the shelf. If it hadn't been tactically unwise, she would have let Meridian know she could see through porous materials like leather and wood simply because it would rob him of yet more sleep. Her current position gave her visual access to most of the books on the nearby shelves. While it took exceptional concentration to extrapolate, translate, and comprehend the contents of the texts, it gave her something worthwhile and productive to do.

Dulcere came to know Beia Targallae, the ‘blonde bitch’ as Meridian called her. Even he, who held little in esteem, admitted to a grudging respect for the woman.

Beia had been captured by Merdian's ‘recruiters’ as a child and raised to fight in the arena. Of four family members enslaved, only she and a sister survived their imprisonment. When Dulcere learned more about the spectacles and the horrors experienced by female pit fighters, she understood the woman's hatred. If Meridian had known the monster that would result, he would have drowned the girl before her twelfth cycle.

By reading the minds of Meridian's guards, Dulcere learned of Beia's legendary skill. In an eleven cycle span, Beia fought 613 events, and lost only fourteen times. Whole dynasties crashed covering bets involving some of the woman's battles. Every warrior in Meridian's employ knew Beia's name. Most paled at the prospect of meeting her in battle.

Nobody knew how Tal Falor became involved with Beia. If Meridian respected Beia, he feared Tal. Falor earned a reputation by crushing some of Meridian's top operatives and overcoming whole platoons of men. He trained a private army specifically to infiltrate and destroy Meridian's outposts. On top of it all, Tal had recently joined the Protectorate and gained access to their vast power and resources. He married a woman named Terra who was quickly becoming the third demon on Meridian's list of foes.

If anything, Dulcere's probing into the identities of these worthy opponents gave her interesting material to needle Meridian with. Normally, she wouldn't indulge in such pettiness, but words were the only weapon she still possessed that could wound this evil creature.

Meridian put his hands behind his back. This time he spoke to her rather than himself. “Why are you gray? You're supposed to be gold. Are you sick?”

Dulcere didn't grace that with an answer. She only smiled. Cell depletion caused the gray skin tone. A minor ailment she could rectify by willing her matrixes to purge the fatigue poisons from her blood. She knew another fact about Meridian. He hated unpredicted circumstances. She spent considerable thought on coming up with ways to make life as unpredictable as possible.

The mage turned and walked to the doorway of the laboratory.

“Psihtath, come here!”

After a few moments, Psihtath appeared at the door, putting his stick-like arms into the sleeves of his bright green robes. “Yes, Milord,” the willowy man wheezed.

“Take a look at her.” He pointed at Dulcere.

Psihtath came in and examined Dulcere from a short distance away. The mage's peppered mustache twitched and his brows became a solid line across his forehead. “She's gray.”

Meridian growled. “Thank you for that astute observation. Any clue as to why? We need her healthy for the final backtime assault.”

Psihtath cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable. “She's dirty?”

The ursine man gritted his teeth. “That's not funny, Psihtath.”

He shrugged. “Biology is not my specialty, and if it was, it wouldn't apply to her. She's more vegetable than mammal. Perhaps you need to fertilize her or something. I don't know.”

Even in her dire circumstances, Dulcere barely repressed a laugh. How ironic that these bumbling humans could capture and control something they didn't understand.

Meridian stared at Dulcere. “Look at that grinning bitch laughing at us. I hate it.”

Psihtath shrugged again. “Ask Rakaar, or that slave-woman with him. When we found her, he spared us precious little information aside from how dangerous she is. I've heard him boast of killing Kriar, perhaps now he can be persuaded to share more information.”

Dulcere focused on them. A murderer of Kriar?

Meridian growled. “I hate asking that bastard for council. It's enough to keep him working on the paradox generator. I don't trust the slave-woman. She'd tell me it's night when it's day. I know a runner when I see one. The witch would escape if she thought she could get away.”

Psihtath showed complete disinterest. “Anything else? I have a great deal of work to left to complete to stay on schedule.”

Meridian grunted. “Go. Oh and tell—” he stopped. “Ask Rakaar to come see me.”

The mage raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. He left.

Dulcere stared at Meridian's back. <You mean there's someone else you respect besides Targallae and Falor?>

He turned and folded his arms. “Typical, you only find your voice when you wish to irritate me.”

<I have little else for entertainment, unless you wish to remove this.> She jingled the chain attached to the metal collar around her neck.

“Is this ailment serious?”

Dulcere scraped a fingernail down her skin. The flesh came off in long curl like shavings from wood. <Dreadfully so. Didn't you know that Kriar were physiologically allergic to imprisonment?> She rolled the dead tissue into a ball and flicked it. The wad arced out and scored a direct hit between Meridian's eyes.

The mage flinched and grabbed at his face. He turned crimson as Dulcere grinned at him. “Bitch.”

<I hardly think that inferior mammalian reference applies. Even one with your minuscule intellect should know that.>

She could see the control wand in his vest. That was the key to her freedom. With it, Meridian could will her to do his bidding. If she could break it, the inhibitor manacles would no longer function. So far she hadn't managed to bring him close enough with her taunts to relieve him of it. She took no joy in injuring other creatures. Meridian had tortured her enough that she would gladly strangle him until his eyes bulged from their sockets.

“Arrogant alien, I should—”

He was close. <Get down on your knees and hope I am forgiving if I am ever loose from this chain. I am a patient creature, but my chances of leniency dwindle by the chronon.>

Meridian's hands balled into fists. “I'll show you forgiveness—”

Dulcere's hearts raced in anticipation. Each move and contingency rehearsed to perfection.

That's it human, a little nearer. Show me how emotions rule you.

A voice boomed from the doorway. “Don't let her bait you. One step closer and you will be dead before I can reach you.”

Meridian snapped out of it and turned to face the newcomer.

Dark. So close. Coldness swept through Dulcere's stomach. Only micro-revs from being free.

Rakaar ducked to come through the tall doorway. His broad shoulders brushed the sides of the frame. The alien radiated physical power, strength enough to rend alloy and powder bone. Everything about him spoke of design, from the perfect symmetry of his mammoth body, to the sophisticated psychic shields and advanced cellular evolution visible to her matrix scans. If Dulcere sat down to the genetic drawing board she could have scarcely conceived a more perfect soldier, right down to the imprinted serial signature she sensed throbbing in the heart of his cell helixes. What race had designed such a marauder, and for what purpose? His designation indicated that Rakaar was but one of many millions.

In large enough numbers, such creatures could overcome the Kriar. The thought made her quail inside. Had these creatures devastated homeworld while she hibernated? She focused on Meridian. Rakaar would require restraints as powerful as her own to control, yet she saw none in evidence. The alien clearly found Meridian contemptible and would slay the human if given the choice.

Rakaar's angular face stayed stony. “If it wouldn't have killed me as well, I would have let her have you.”

Meridian frowned. “Why is the Kriar gray?”

The Baronian studied Dulcere for perhaps a rev. The corner of his broad mouth twitched. “Perhaps she has not been washed recently.”

Meridian turned red again. “I've already heard that once.”

Rakaar sighed and walked across the room until he stood close enough to touch Dulcere. “Maeba sojda Belkirin dasta Karanganoi.”

<Your Kriar is poor, so do not try. I am not of the Karanganoi dasta.>

Rakaar raised an eyebrow. “A Fabrista?” He looked at Meridian. “The human does not know what a Belkirin is. I have not deigned to inform him of what that means.”

<Tell him. I like robbing him of sleep.>

Rakaar chuckled. “I respect your fire, Belkirin. Your Karanganoi kindred were weak. Their spirits were easily broken.”

Dulcere probed Rakaar's heart, breathing, and blood pressure. The Baronian spoke the truth. She shivered. <You are not nearly old enough to have come from homeworld Karanganoi. That vessel was six unidiameters away it would take—>

The Baronian smiled. On the face of this killing machine it was cold. “Then you have slept a long time, Belkirin. Karanganoi is only two diameters distant now. I would guess that to be at least a half million Kriar cycles.”

Five hundred thousand cycles, by the Mother, what could have happened to them?

“I ask again, Rakaar, why is she gray? Is it serious?”

The smile on the Baronian's face vanished. “Did you raise your squeaky voice, Human?”

“I asked—”

Rakaar grimaced. “Ask nicer, Human.” The word ‘human’ was a curse.

“Listen, you arrogant bastard...”

Rakaar interrupted him by knotting a fist in his tunic. “I do not take orders from craven. Your threats are nothing. You want something, Meridian?” He bared his teeth. “Say ‘please, Sir', and I will consider it.”

The mage's eyes narrowed. “I have your soul, Baronian.”

“I have your life, Fool.” His hand tightened in the dark cloth, the fabric audibly protesting. “I am willing to die.” His eyes were slits. “Then who will make your precious nulltime generator?”

Meridian let out a breath, eyes flinty. “Please, Sir.”

“Better,” Rakaar let go. “The gray tone will weaken her if not treated. She could fix it with those matrixes, but I doubt you could force her.” He nudged Meridian with his fist. “She is a plant, fool. Any idiot knows they need water and sunlight. Take her to the fighting grounds during the daytime. It should restore her health.”

Dulcere frowned. <Free me, Rakaar, we are not yet at odds. Release me and I shall make sure Meridian never coerces anyone again.>

“Oh no, Belkirin,” Rakaar grinned. “Killing Meridian will be my pleasure alone.” He scowled at the mage. “Get my soulstone from this human, and I will gladly free you. Until then, this pathetic creature stays alive. He tied my stone to his life. Unless the enchantment is dispelled, when he dies, I die also.”

Dulcere narrowed her eyes. <His mind is empty of the knowledge. If I discover its whereabouts, I will tell you. I have sources. Perhaps you will know its location soon.>

Meridian glared at her. “Shut up.”

Rakaar ignored him. “You have my word, Belkirin, that knowledge in return for your freedom.”

Dulcere stared hard at Meridian. <Soon, Rakaar, very soon.>

“Shut up. There is no way you can learn its location!”

<We'll see, Human.> Dulcere smiled to herself. She didn't see much sleep in Meridian's future. It's tough enough to have one of the greatest mages of the known worlds for a mother, but to have one of the most powerful Elders alive for a stepfather too..? Between them they cast a large shadow that's rather like an eclipse. I have to shine like a sun just to see where I'm going... —Annawen Kel'Ishtauri Felspar

By the time Corim bathed, returned to his room and donned his traveling leathers, the anger he'd kept in check while in the presence of Ceraph and the other's came back in a scalding haze. It wasn't from Beia's words, but for losing control, for not listening to his instincts. He stormed around his cramped quarters, making preparations for the journey.

He slammed the tinderbox closed, shoved it into his pack, and yanked the drawstrings tight. Corim spoke in a mocking female voice. “'...a book-sweet little Matayan like you...'” Growling, he grabbed Zortach's sword-sheath off the bed, pulled the blade, checked it, and rammed it closed.

Pulling the sword-belt around his waist, he snatched it tight. He dragged his saddlebags out from under the bed and threw them down on the mattress.

He shook his head. “'Screaming for my mama...’ Ishtar, I wanted to break her teeth. I'd have enjoyed it right until she split me in half with that magic spear.” He fought the knots binding the covers. “Brilliant! Act self-righteous, think with your ego. Do I yell at just anyone? Oh no, I pick a bloody legend—Queen Targallae, survivor of the Death Spectacles. The bitterest woman to hold a weapon in the last century—just wonderful!” Giving up on the knot he flung the pack against the wall and threw himself on the bed. “Idiot!” He shrouded his face in his arms. “She'll get me neck-deep in pit guardians, and laugh while I get chopped into stew meat.”

Three raps came at the door. “Corim?” It was Ceraph's voice.

He sighed. “Yes, come in.”

Corim heard her step inside, but kept his face covered.

“Are you all right?”

“I'm fine,” he mumbled. “My head needs examining, though. I can't believe I was arguing with Queen Targallae. Stupid. Plain stupid.”

“It's all right to feel strongly about Mataya's Word.”

Corim uncovered his face and looked at Ceraph. The Elf wore a dark gray cuirass, leggings and boots. A mithril steel web covered her body, and a platinum chain with a teardrop shaped star-sapphire similar to Tal's hung around her neck. She'd looped and braided her golden hair in the traditional style of the elven battle-maid. She carried a worn traveling pack, and cradled an ancient war helmet shaped into a stylized griffin's head.

“I wouldn't feel so bad if my passion were solely in defense of Mataya's code.” He sat up. “She stung my pride...” Corim stopped. “You're exquisite in that war-net. That necklace is especially nice.”

Ceraph smiled. “Thank you. A gift from my son-in-law.”

She has children? Had he been interpreting Ceraph all wrong? “You have a daughter?”

Ceraph winced. “A husband too, yes.” She frowned. “They—The war in the south-realm was cruel to my family.” Ceraph barely paused. “If you know who Queen Beia is, then you've guessed at the mission's nature.”

He felt a pang. He knew not to bring that subject up again. The takers made everyone suffer. He changed the subject. “Daladar. One of the first seats of the Arcturan Death Spectacle. It was overrun ten winters ago. The details were sketchy. The bards who recorded it were certain that Beia was responsible. Accounts from otherworlds tend to be vague.”

Ceraph set the helmet on the table by Corim's memorabilia and folded her arms. “Corim, you must live with a book in your hand.”

“I'll take that as a compliment. Yes, I do. Otherworlds are my passion. I study the people prominent in cross-world legends. For instance, I knew that getting an introduction to Cassandra Kel'Ishtauri would be worth a great deal. Cassandra is the renowned mage and bard who wrote the Chronicles of the Planes. The definitive cross-world reference that academicians study for their guild residency. Sages will pay fortunes simply for an opportunity to speak with her.”

Ceraph sighed and sat on the bed by him. “Shouldn't you be worried about how you'll win the bet?”

He grimaced. “I've been berating myself for getting into this. Beia must be going back because they've reactivated the arena.”

“I thought so, too. She and Tal usually take a squad with them: a mage, cleric, and someone with thieving skills. I don't know what she plans to do with only us as assistants.”

Corim closed his eyes. “Ceraph, I wish you wouldn't go.”

“Why? Is it because I am female, or that I am not big like Terra or Beia? I fought in three wars a century before you were born.”

Opening his eyes, he lowered his voice. “Your gender, size, or skills aren't my concern. Beia may be planning to get me killed. I don't want anything to happen to you.”

“You do not know me well enough to be that concerned.”

His chest felt tight. “I want to.”

She blushed. “Look, I know Beia. Despite appearances, she's a good person. She hates men, but she does not kill without provocation. If either of us die, it will be our misstep, not her design.” Ceraph patted Corim on the shoulder. “She's unlikely to take Tal's talent scout on a death walk. If anything, Beia will behave because I am along.”

Corim never thought he could dissuade Ceraph, but he felt better for having tried. “After reading Beia's history, ‘a good person’ isn't how I'd describe her, more like ‘vengeance incarnate'. She is pure bane, and I pity anyone that obstructs her retribution on Arcturan.”

“We will not be getting in her way.” Ceraph went around the bed, and picked up his bags. “I have not been on a real quest in a century, and this will be your first off-world journey. Let's take our chances.” She laid the bags down and undid the knots with two swift tugs. “Let's see what magic you have.”

Corim frowned. “How did you know—?”

The Elf's amber eyes sparkled. “Tal did not hire me as a decoration.” She pulled out a pair of heavy gold bracers. “Nice, these make your skin like armor do they not?”

Nodding, he took the bands from her. Clamping them around his wrists, he felt his skin stiffen.

“Protection as good as chainmail?”

“A mage told me it was better than platemail armor.”

Ceraph raised an eyebrow. Pulling out a wooden box, she opened it so that Corim could get the contents. Inside were his two magic rings. One was made of platinum, the other formed of a glassy material.

“Let me guess. The white-gold enhances the bracers, correct?” When he nodded, she continued. “The other ... glassy ... something that other things don't stick to ... protection from holding magics and bindings?”

“Right twice. Certain you aren't a mage?”

She grinned. “I cannot recall denying I was.” Ceraph pulled out the last item and made an appreciative sound. “Corim, this is beautiful.” She held the thick necklace -Corim's favorite item—in her fingers. Constructed from space-black metal mottled with blue and grey veins, each link of the chain was a trapezoid the size of a large coin. “What does it do?”

Taking the necklace from her, he shook his head. “Don't know. This and that glass ring were the only pieces of magic in that green dragon's treasure.” He rubbed his chest. “I spit blood for a month to get a ring and a necklace no one can identify.” He pulled it around his neck and fastened the catch. A prickly sensation danced down his spine, the only indication that the item did anything. “I think of it as my good luck charm. The mage's were certain it did something benevolent. For all I know, it keeps me from getting warts.”

Ceraph ran a finger across one of the links. “When an item resists identification, it usually means it is powerful.” She smiled at him and held up a ring with a blood-red jewel in it. “Sometime I'll have to tell you the story of what I went through to find out what this does.”

“So—what does it do?”

“Maybe another time,” she evaded. “As for your necklace, Beia might know what this is. She knows several Loremages and has toured the unlimited circuit extensively.”

It annoyed him that she'd pricked his curiosity and then dropped it. It was a little of that faerie mischief that the elves were known for. He'd double it back by not chasing after her bait. “What is this unlimited tournament?”

Ceraph didn't seem to notice. “An elite cross-world event. I recruit most of the Talons from there. In unlimited play, magical enhancements are allowed. A win is five of nine points by blood. The only games that are rougher are the Death Spectacles.”

He found the concept staggering; competitors from across the planes sporting their best magic in tournament. “If you had warriors like that to choose from, why me? Because I'm a follower of Mataya? I heard Terra ask about your father.”

“There is more to it than the most powerful magical warrior; there is heart, smarts, and honesty.” She touched his face. “You have what it takes to be a top, unlimited competitor. I liked your fighting.” She hesitated as if battling with herself. “I like you.”

“That's fortunate. I like you, too.”

Ceraph searched his face. She reached part way to him and stopped. Her hands trembled as if she were trying to resist something. She continued the motion, looping her arms around his neck. “From the first time I saw you. Magic. You were a stranger, yet I wanted you.” She pulled him down, lips approaching his, sweet breath making his cheek moist. “I had given up on finding someone new.”

Corim experienced her passion; tingling with the longing of someone who had not felt a tender embrace for decades.

“You brought back that spark. It is incredible to feel warmth where it has been cold for so long.”

Contact. Ceraph's mouth met his hungrily. The Elf's fervor surprised him. No other woman had gripped him with such intensity. He imagined feeling the heat through her armor. Her mind swam in his; a rapturous exchange of energy, aloofness into ardor.

He seemed out of control, as if some other creature were thinking and acting for him. Somehow, they'd been joined. He drowned in emotion, pulled into a swirling vortex of need. Such a lonely woman, so distant, rejected for her associations with humans. Lives stolen from her. Her body turned to ice by unwanted hands pressing, touching—taking—decades later, wanting to reach out, but afraid.

The hurt and insecurity filled him with outrage. He would always war with the takers. Another part of him rejoiced, salving her wounded spirit. He felt her pain drawn out, sensed old aches being transformed into new joys.

He hugged Ceraph tight. All of his energy seemed to flow into her. His chest hurt as though he'd run a marathon.

The Elf panted, amber eyes wide. Her body gave off a soft golden light. After a few tries, she managed words. “What was that?”

“I ... don't ... know. I couldn't stop it.” He paused, catching his breath. “Lately, I've been sensing other people's emotions. This time it was much stronger, like I was a part of you.” He stopped as a wave of dizziness swept over him.

Ceraph hopped up. “Whatever it was, I feel marvelous!” Her smile faded. “Are you feeling ill?”

He winced. “Tired, I'll be okay.”

“You never experienced this before?” When he shook his head, she continued. “Must be a form of empathy. Seems late in life for it to develop.” She touched his face. “Young psis commonly go through what mind-benders call hot-flashes. It goes away during emergence, when the power comes under control.”

“You sound as if you know something about it.”

“I researched some prospects who possessed wilder abilities.” Ceraph kissed him and sighed. She tasted salty-sweet. “My guess is that this experience was an emergence. Hopefully, that will be that last of your problems.”

Stronger now, he stood and looked into her eyes. “I hope so.” He paused. “Do you still think I'm a gentleman? That was too intimate for a proper first tryst.”

Ceraph beamed. “Not to worry, Corim. I shan't tell.”

They spent the remaining bell discussing what they knew about the arenas that were the home to the Arcturan Death Spectacles. Corim's knowledge came entirely from his reading. Ceraph had listened to many stories from the different Talon warriors, and had visited the ruins of a few of the arenas.

Ceraph gave him a tour of her spacious quarters in Tal's tower. The rooms were replete with fine tapestries, artwork, and intricate woodcuts. Corim stood in the commons, amazed at how he could feel her in every furnishing and decoration. The quarters echoed with the essence that gave her identity. It was an eloquent skill as impressive as any magic. For Corim, chambers were for sleeping, not dwelling. Home and hearth had lost their meaning two decades ago when King Iggerd had ravaged his family's holdings.

Pooling their knowledge of Daladar, the climate, terrain, and other factors they gathered the special equipment they needed from Tal's stores. With everything packed, the two of them retired to the courtyard to await Beia.

They sat together on the same bench where he'd been reading earlier. Several of the school's warriors wore bemused expressions at seeing Corim and Ceraph shoulder-to-shoulder.

The subdued Elf that had Corim met in the morning had been transformed. The anticipation of adventure, Corim's emergence, and the future of their friendship had ignited Ceraph like a bonfire. Vibrating with excitement, face glowing like the sun, her hands fluttered as she spoke.

Corim wished he could be as enthusiastic. Essentially, the trip was a trial to see if he met Beia's standards. The Myrmigyne offered a worthy prize for weathering the ordeal, but failure meant losing his membership at the school. The prospect subdued most of his cheerful thoughts.

The doors to the main compound opened, and Tal and Terra stepped out arm-in-arm. Strolling down the steps and across the courtyard, they stopped where Ceraph and Corim waited.

“Where's Beia?” Tal asked.

Ceraph shook her head. “She must have had some administration for Aarlen to take care of.”

Tal snorted. “I still don't know how she can stand to be around that old witch.”

Terra poked him in the ribs. “Simply because she doesn't agree with your policies does not make Aarlen a witch.”

Corim looked at Terra. “Who is Aarlen?”

Tal nudged Terra. “Do the words Ice Falcon, the Crimson Death, or Brass Bitch mean anything?”

He felt a chill. He'd heard of the Ice Falcon, the most notorious immort to ever inhabit a page of history. The historians ran out of adjectives after detailing only a few of her more famous exploits.

“Look at him change color,” Terra teased. “Guess he's heard of her.”

“Kid, anyone ever ask you if you lived with a book in your hand?”

Corim smiled and glanced at Ceraph. “This morning.” His mind whirled. They spoke of something not in the legends. What had happened that the blood-soaked icon of the Ice Falcon might become involved with the embittered Myrmigyne Queen? Truly details to explore when the chance arose.

Tal shook his head. “The kid's a library with a sword attached.” He looked around the courtyard. “I wanted to say your fighting is real textbook stuff. For tournament play, your style is what I want taught here but—” he put emphasis on the word. “Against the heavy hitters, Kid, it won't work. It's weak; points don't stop pit guardians. It's cut ’em in half or nothing. Concentrate on your hard-form. On this jaunt, you'll get everything from strongbows to ring-she waved in your face. Strike to kill, or I'll be looking for another seventh circle teacher.”

Corim blinked. “Yes, Sir.”

“And you...” Tal disengaged from Terra and stared at Ceraph. He fingered the teardrop necklace that looked identical to the Elf's. “I don't want you to go.”

Ceraph smiled at him. “You are my master, Talorin Falor, and I will obey your orders. You're also my son-in-law. If your mother wishes to jaunt once a century, she should have well-wishes, not browbeating.”

Corim felt his jaw drop. He couldn't help it. Tal's mother-in-law... Obviously from a different marriage, but still ... It was easy to forget age in the apparent youthfulness of elves.

Tal frowned at Ceraph. The tips of his ears turned red. Corim felt certain that the last thing Tal wanted was to be scolded by his mother with witnesses nearby. He growled. “Beia better do this right.”

A hubbub by the main entrance cut off Tal. School warriors lined up on either side of the court entrance to watch an oddly-dressed woman jog down the cobbles toward them. Pulled into a tail, her dark hair waved like a banner. Round mirrors suspended in a silver metal frame hid her eyes and most of the woman's gold face. She wore a turquoise torso-stocking made of a metallic-looking fabric that hugged her body as though painted on. Black breeches of a similar material with a wide violet stripe down the sides met at the knee with rumpled gray stockings. Her stylized white shoes appeared to be made of leather and some other flexible material. A curved red swath that came to a point decorated both sides of the shoes.

The woman bounded straight into Tal's arms with a squeal, and he swung her around with a laugh. She kissed Tal passionately, and only stopped after Terra glared at her. The newcomer put hands on hips and looked at the cat-woman.

Ceraph laughed, and so did Tal. Terra scowled and folded her arms. Tal gave Terra a squeeze and kissed her. It seemed to mollify the big woman. Tal took the newcomer's shoulder and gestured to Corim. The gold-skinned woman nodded to Corim and smiled.

Corim couldn't understand it. They acted like mimes performing in silence. Had he lost his hearing?

Ceraph stopped smiling. “What's wrong, Corim?”

“I missed something.”

“Didn't you hear Annawen say, ‘hello'?”

“None of you said anything.”

Annawen stepped over and lowered the strange glasses on her nose. Corim backed up. Her eyes looked like polished pieces of the night sky.

Ceraph squeezed his arm. “Aren't her eyes beautiful?”

He took a breath. “Maybe after you get used to them.”

Annawen stared at him.

“Well,” Ceraph said. “Tell her.”

“Tell her what?”

The Elf looked bemused. “She asked you a question, Corim.”

“The only person I hear is you.”

Corim felt a sharp stab in his head. <Can you hear me now!?>

He staggered, knees suddenly weak. Annawen grabbed his arm to keep him from falling. His head rang as though she'd screamed in his ear.

<Sorry about that.> Annawen looked to Tal. <I almost thought he was telepathically deaf. He has latent mental defenses, strong ones. I punched a hole for him to hear through.> She ran her fingers through Corim's hair. Her hand felt exceptionally warm. <Are you hurt?>

He shook his head.

<I'm Annawen Kel'Ishtauri. Beia sent me to pick up you two. Hoist your gear, and we'll be on our way.> There's only one thing more annoying than being the daughter of a great mage and being barely passable at magic, and that's having a twin sister who can do everything you can't and makes it look easy... —Cassin Kel'Ishtauri Felspar

Hanging the jewel pouch around his neck, Corim shoved it down the front of his tunic as they wove their way through the congested streets of Ivaneth. Pickpockets commonly prowled here, and altercations would be less likely if no targets were in evidence.

Today the combined odors of rotting kelp, sea salt, horse dung, and ripening vegetables posed a bigger challenge than usual, and Corim needed to hold his breath several places along the way. Ceraph grimaced a few times, apparently having the same difficulty. Annawen showed no sign of being affected as she sauntered through the crowds.

A hodgepodge of gray, brown, and green buildings formed this section of the merchant's district. So numerous were Ivaneth's craftsmen that no one shop in a block remotely resembled its companions. Apparently, most of them didn't know how to ascertain true vertical, and the buildings appeared to be rushing toward the end of the block.

<I hear your passion is literature.> The din of yelling hawkers, the rattle of wagons, and horse hooves could not drown out Annawen's words. Each utterance remained clear and precise, as though spoken in the silent precincts of holy Ishtar.

“It is,” Corim responded. A braying mule drowned out his voice, but she nodded, somehow understanding.

<It's my mother's, too. She'd die of withdrawal if she didn't touch book leather at least once a bell.>

Withdrawal? He'd heard so many strange words recently. “I can empathize. So your mother is the Cassandra Kel'Ishtauri?”

Annawen grinned at him. Sunlight glinted off her mirrored lenses. <'The' Cassandra Kel'Ishtauri?> She chuckled. He thought it truly odd to hear someone laugh and not see her mouth move. <I enjoy the way people make such a fuss over her. To me, she's plain old Mother.>

“She is special indeed to have birthed so fascinating a daughter.”

Annawen stopped and stared at him. He could see the crests of her raised eyebrows over the top of her glasses. She turned to Ceraph. The Elf raised her chin. In that instant, it seemed as if a battle of wills went on. After a moment, the gold-skinned girl sighed. <Thank you.>

Why did he sense she'd been prepared to say something quite different? He looked at Ceraph. The Elf smiled up at him and gave his wrist a firm pressure.

“You still haven't told us where we're going.”

Annawen moved off again. <To my flat. I have to tell my sister Cassin where we're going. I would call her telepathically, but she's been working very hard on her fifth grimoire studies. If I disrupt one of her lessons, I'll get screamed at. My warping off planet without warning her could disrupt a crucial spell. Rather than get in an argument, I'll accede to my dear sister's wishes.”

They continued down muddy streets, moving swiftly toward the north section of town. Corim guessed that they were heading towards the noble's quarter.

“Can I ask you a question, Annawen?”

<The clothes, right?> The girl smiled. <'What In Ishtar's name am I wearing?'>

Corim laughed. “Well, not in exactly those words.”

Annawen nodded and sidestepped a knot of merchants haggling over a wagon filled with copper pipe. <The clothing is common exercise apparel on a world I visited with Tal. The colloquial for these glasses is ‘shades'. He got them for me so that I don't need to walk around town with a cloth wrapped around my eyes pretending I'm blind.>

“Pretending? Everyone is blind with a cloth over their eyes.”

<Humans, perhaps. Kriar eyes are different. We see in many—> she stopped. <The common tongue doesn't have an equivalent term. Light is one vibration. Sound is another. They are all levels of energy. We can perceive in any energy range we wish.>

“Elves call it kul ishanta mar, domains of power,” Ceraph offered.

Corim nodded. “I am familiar with the concept. The different colors seen when sunlight is shone through a prism. You answered my second question about your eyes being a birth trait common to a race I'm unfamiliar with. I am curious; it's well documented that Cassandra is human.”

Annawen nodded. <You are a book fanatic. Mother will like you. To be correct Corim, she was human. Mother is a changeling. She stumbled on some Kriar magic that transformed her into a Kriar.> She shrugged. <Her babies were born Kriar.>

“Fascinating.” He looked at Ceraph. She seemed more interested in the city sights. Undoubtedly, she'd already heard Annawen's story.

They skirted the high citadel walls and moved into the southern half of the noble's quarter. The street merchants thinned, and the buildings became more organized in plumb as well as placement. He'd never really been comfortable among the manicured estates with their tended yards and hanging gardens.

“So is your sister older?”

Annawen grinned. <She's only older by a fraction of a bell. The way Cassin treats me you'd think she was a century—> She stopped and frowned. Annawen looked into the sky as if she could see something there.

After the pause continued, Corim looked at Ceraph.

“She's probably telepathing with somebody,” she said.

“Is it my imagination, or are you not very fond of Annawen?”

Ceraph glanced at the Kriar. “I like her fine when she is not flirting.”

“You mean like, Tal—” he smiled. “And me.”

The Elf's lips pressed to a line. “Aye.”

Annawen sighed and looked at them. <That was Queen Targallae, she wanted to know why I haven't delivered you two yet. So we need to hurry.>

She set off at a jog. The gold woman moved rapidly, and it took effort to stay with her. Corim feared that Ceraph might have problems keeping up, but the slender Elf kept pace without signs of fatigue.

Annawen looked back. Seeing they were keeping stride, she increased her speed. Corim leaned into a sprint. Ceraph struggled at his side. Annawen barely appeared to breathe.

The woman's full curves disguised an incredible physique. Corim knew only a few men who could outdistance him. He saw from the gold woman's stride that she had considerable speed left. Tiny Ceraph impressed him more, weighed down by armor and a pack she still gamely kept stride. Her face stayed taut, eyes burning into Annawen's back.

They turned a few corners, dodging around some people walking down the street where they jumped a fence, leaped over a fountain and finally slid to a stop outside a large manor-house. The ponderous old structure appeared newly washed and ornamented. The thick marble columns over the front steps looked recently polished.

Annawen paused, smiling at Corim and Ceraph as they leaned over, catching their breaths. The gold woman looked unphased, not a hair disturbed by the run. <Did I mention, I love being Kriar?>

Inside, the manor appeared recently whitewashed. Flowers sat in vases, and hanging planters decorated the hall intersections. An occasional painting or tapestry broke up the monotony. Organized into extensive sets of chambers, Corim recognized the place as a noble's tenement.

They proceeded to the third story. Annawen took them down a hall, stopped at a door, took a key from a pouch and let them in.

Half of the quarters looked immaculate, the decorations temperate and pastoral. The other half was randomly tidy, dominated by a loosely organized riot of art, sculpture, and memorabilia. An old leather couch and conversation table sat directly astride the dividing line, obviously a neutral zone in the clash between two very different personalities.

A woman, who could have been Annawen's reflection except that she wore different clothes, sat on the couch. Her feet rested on the table, and a large book lay in her lap. The woman's clothing was more modest than Annawen's, but no less peculiar. She wore blue pants with pockets and buttons on them and a pink loosely knitted tunic with a puffy rolled up collar and sleeves. An odd black device rode on a belt at her hip.

She looked up from her book and the teardrop-shaped jewel on her brow flashed. “Hello. I know Ceraph, who's this?”

<Cassin, this is Corim. Corim, that's my sister Cassin.>

“Charmed, milady.” Corim nodded to her and turned his head to read the title. “Shae'a'tae da mada Mirafleg, ‘Secrets of Mirafleg's Rose’ still in the original Sylissian dialect. Very rare.”

<He's a lore-buff,> Annawen put in.

Cassin closed the book and nodded. Her eyes were coal-dark with stars dancing in them. Corim couldn't tell who she was looking at. Her face oriented on the Elf. “Good day, Ceraph.” When Ceraph nodded, she seemed to focus on him. “You read Sylissian?”

He shrugged. “I struggle through it. Many of their minds were twisted, but there is real genius in their theories and postulates.”

Cassin and Annawen looked at one another, grinning and obviously sharing a private joke.

“We should compare notes with you some time.” She turned to Annawen. “I take it you're off somewhere?”

<I'm have to drop them at Duran'Gravar. I'll be back to help you study.>

Cassin nodded. “Good meeting you, Corim. Kada maja, Ceraph.”

The Elf smiled. “Kada laera, Cassin.”

<Now that she's given me—> She made a face at Cassin. <...permission, we'll be off. I'd tell you to brace yourself, but we'll be there before you have time—>

The confines of the apartment vanished, and a purple sky and a sea of green foliage flickered into view.

<—To tense up. Your stomach may hurt a little though.>

Annawen caught their shoulders and hauled them back away from a railing. Ceraph gasped and grabbed Annawen's arm. Corim clutched a wooden projection. His stomach knotted first from the transition, and then from the realization of how close they stood to the edge of a two hundred pace fall.

Below, scores of people milled in a grassy clearing that was easily a league across. Huge wooden arches jutted up from the ground like the roots of a tree magnified a thousand times. The curved structures dwarfed the people standing under and around them. At this height, the details of the people's clothing became only colored smears. A sizeable river wound a twisting path around the periphery below before merging into the thick jungle foliage. In the distance, the jungle struck a wall of amber rock that described a jagged arc through half their view.

<Duran'Gravar,> Annawen gestured skyward. <Get a good look, Corim. The sages will be puzzling over this for millennia to come.>

Corim's gaze rose from the view below to the mammoth limbs spreading out to embrace the sky. By some magic more titanic than anything he'd ever read about, a single tree had grown a hundred times bigger than believable. The bole of this arboreal impossibility looked to be 90 paces across. Thousands of tons of wood swayed in a stiff breeze overhead. What fed it? How did it stay upright? What massive power made such a thing a reality?

The bark under his palm vibrated with power. When he drew his hand away, his skin tingled.

“You like it, too?” Ceraph asked. “I have been here several times, but it always impresses me all over again.”

“Incredible,” he breathed. “A chance to study this alone would be invaluable.”

<The dozens of druids and mages that live here agree with you, Corim.> She patted his shoulder. <I've told Beia we're here. Since I can tell you're dying to know, I'll give you a short geography lesson on the way. The valley is called Jhandris'Kul. They call the area beyond that high escarpment the Purple Planes. This tree is home to the Myrmigyne city of Gravar, followers of the goddess Nethra. Beia is the honored Matriarch, their Queen.>

Annawen gently pried Ceraph's grip off her wrist and headed down the railed walkway. Ceraph immediately latched onto Corim's arm. He glanced over the edge. The shaft of wood standing between him and a two hundred pace drop looked far too thin. He shifted as close to the bole of the tree as possible. The groan of the wood underfoot made him nervous.

The walkway ended and steps led down into a cavernous opening in Gravar's side. It would only have been a wood-cleft in a normal-sized tree. Descending the steps to a platform, Annawen took them through an iron bound door built into the back. A tunnel carved in the wood lay beyond. The odors of incense, wax, and oil hung in the air, and a haze of smoke from the lamps lingered near the ceiling where channels vented it outside.

It would have taken generations to carve, sand and seal the glossy surfaces of this passage. The quality of the woodwork surpassed anything he'd seen in the temples and states-buildings on Titaan.

After turning a few corners, they stopped at a door. Mother of pearl, jade, and other stones were set into a stylized tree crest on its surface.

Annawen knocked twice and entered. Soft blue lamps lit the chambers. They seemed far too basic to be the abode of a queen. The Spartan appearance fit the woman's personality, though.

Annawen let them in and closed the door behind Ceraph. She led them into a commons where Beia sat on the floor cleaning a huge war spear. Through an archway on the right, he saw a kitchen and dining area, to the left an office that adjoined other chambers, probably the bedrooms. Old weapons, battle tapestries, and paintings of regal-looking people that Corim felt sure he would find in history books decorated the glossy walls.

Beia ignored them at first. She went to a large shuttered window and cast back the sash, revealing the panorama of the jungle basin and the bluffs that bordered the valley of Jhandris'Kul.

She put the spear on a rack over the small hearth and turned to look at Corim and Ceraph. She stroked the long gold braid lying across her shoulder and flashed a smile at Annawen. “My thanks, Niece. If you will excuse us, we have business to discuss.” Her face returned to the stony expression he remembered from Tal's school.

<Niece?> Annawen frowned and glanced at Corim. <Is there something wrong, aunt Beia?>

Beia's jaw tightened. “Everything is as it should be.” She paused. “There was another reason I called you—yes, Aarlen left a skirt and halter here for you.” She pointed to her chambers. “I am not sure why she is giving you those.” Beia frowned. “Perhaps I do not want to know. Take them with you.”

Annawen removed the mirrored glasses and studied Beia for a few heartbeats. Whatever she saw, Corim guessed she decided not to pursue it. <Can I put them on before I leave?>

Beia made a dismissing gesture. “Yes, do not disturb us on your way out.”

Annawen stepped up and gave Beia a hug. <I am sorry you're in such a bad mood.>

The stern Myrmigyne appeared caught off guard. She held her hands in the air as if not knowing what to do with them. After a moment, she returned the hug. “I apologize if I sound—grouchy.” The dark look she shot him over the top of Annawen's head made Corim wonder if hearing her speak those words would get him pilloried.

Annawen broke away and vanished into the bedroom, closing the door behind her. Beia stared at the opening. Corim guessed that she waited until Annawen used that ‘warping’ transport to leave. She folded her arms, one hand gripping her braid. Beia shifted her gaze back to them. “Ceraph, my sister is waiting for you at the armory. I want you to pick out everything we might need for a nighttime raiding mission. Be thorough. You can take your choice of bow, and any arrows you like. Get any augmentations you wish for yourself and Corim.”

Ceraph still gripped his arm. “Now?”

The Myrmigyne scowled. “Now. I have things to discuss with Corim—in private.”

Corim swallowed. What could she want to discuss in private? His hand subconsciously shifted to the hilt of his sword.

Ceraph opened her mouth to protest, but Beia glared her to silence. She gave Corim's hand a squeeze, bowed to the queen and left.

He studied the door that Ceraph went through, wishing he'd gone with her. He had no desire to be alone with this stone-faced woman.

Corim turned back to find a yard of razor-edged steel pointing at his sternum. Beia poked him with the spear. Her eyes looked hard like flakes of emerald. Her voice turned to a whisper and as cold as an arctic wind. “I have questions. Answer wrong—you die.” Freedom is the beauty of a mind and body unshackled by the impositions of an unfair will. I would love nothing more than to taste it for myself. I shall owe my life and more to the one who frees me from captivity... —Senalloy Moirae Corresont

Dulcere lay on her back, the rigid metal of the warp interface cold against her spine. Closing her eyes, she tried to dismiss depressing thoughts of captivity. Even in semi-sleep, she gripped the chain linked to her collar. Darkness. The Solarians said that in death, Kriar who abandoned the ways of honor and mercy went to a lightless abyss. She found it difficult not to think of this trial as punishment for taking part in the war.

She shuddered at the thought of never feeling the warmth of the sun for the rest of eternity. How daunting space must have been to her ancestors; the great void stretching out infinitely in all directions. Yet, conquer it they did. Creating devices that cut the bonds between Kriar and the light.

Many felt it a mistake. They said at the time of the unbinding is when the Kriar began their journey away from the light. They maintained that the golden children traded their souls for the power to live in darkness. The lightlessness no longer meant death, but it stained their hearts instead. The age of innocence had ended.

Her hands knotted into fists. The Daergons put me here. The darkness take them. Even if I get out of here, who knows what I must face? Duty. I screamed it at mother like it would somehow explain father's dying. The ache came back, millenniums old. She blamed me. How could she believe I would have anything to do with killing father?

Dulcere diverted herself from crippling thoughts of a life eons gone. She filled herself with visions of landscapes and star fields, letting pleasant thoughts dance through her mind. She focused on an attractive image. The sun glowed like a hot coal casting vermilion streaks in the sapphire sky. Verdant hills lapped at the edges of purplish crags that reached upward to touch the first stars appearing in the heavens.

The acrid scent of spice-weeds and bloodwood made her feel lightheaded. The thick oxygen-rich air left a coppery-sweet taste in her mouth. Damp fronds brushed against her sensitive skin, making tingles travel up her spine. In the distance, she heard the hum of chime-rocks vibrating in the mountain winds.

The muffled clink of chains broke the reverie. Her hearts sped. Dulcere's eyes snapped open, taking in the lightless confines of Meridian's lab. The smell of dust and old book leather filled her senses. She focused. The sound came from near the huge brass valves.

She concentrated, looking for heat signatures. Cooler air shifted in through a crack. The door crept inward, moving a hairsbreadth at a time.

What is this? Who would want to sneak in here?

The intruder showed great patience, making sure the door opened in absolute silence. The energy traps that Meridian left for the unwary were foiled as well.

The heat image revealed a huge silhouette—Rakaar? After a moment, she decided not. It was too big to be any of Meridian's mages and too slender to be any of the pit-fighters.

The person bent near the hinges, lubricating them probably, then pushed the door closed. The intruder took so long to cross the room that Dulcere became impatient to learn what all this trouble was for. She determined that the person navigated the room by touch, orienting and moving along table edges and walls.

As the person drew closer, she decided it must be female. Dark, she's big, is it a female Baronian? A scan into her biological helixes verified it. No doubt the slave Meridian mentioned.

The Baronian stopped an arm-length from the warp interface. “Sahja honri ai domna belaj.”

Dulcere had tensed then went lax in surprise. She didn't use the guttural low chant as Rakaar had tried (and spoke poorly). The female communicated in perfect Kriar high speech, every musical sub-nuance in its place. She had used the warrior's greeting formula. ‘Light honors your mother's greatness.’ Only someone very close to the Kriar would know that. A warrior would never teach it to an enemy. How could she possibly know? It might only be a fluke.

She whispered using high speech. “Who is your teacher that you speak the high words?”

The woman sighed and answered in kind. “A Karanganoi taught me in return for helping him to escape. We should not talk aloud. Mindspeak me.”

Dulcere's hearts leaped. Could this be a chance to escape? <Will you help me to get away then?>

<If we come to an agreement. I am Senalloy. You are Dulcere, correct?>

She frowned. <Come closer.>

The female came to the edge of the interface. Dulcere pushed energy into her forehead matrix, casting a circle of dim radiance.

Looking pale and starved, the huge female wore a gauzy smock through which scores of whip-marks were visible. Her angular face looked like a mistreated work of art, marred by reddish scars and emaciation. Manacles linked her wrists to a metal belt. Fetter wounds ringed her ankles.

Dulcere's jaw tightened at the obvious signs of torture. This woman had been attractive once. Her face had been lashed to strip that from her. A thick mane of shiny silver hair was all that remained of Senalloy's beauty.

<Senalloy,> she repeated the name. <I am Dulcere. Name your price. I will not quibble. I know the value of my freedom.>

The Baronian stared at Dulcere as if weighing her decision. <I wish haven, food and clothing. A chance to start a life separate from a master.> She rubbed the scars on her face and touched her torso where her ribs showed beneath the skin like ridges. <I know the value of freedom as well.>

What would this woman do when free? Would she pose a threat like Rakaar? Dulcere judged not. Senalloy was dangerous the way any cornered animal was. Whatever problems she might cause would be worth getting out of this place.

<Done,> Dulcere agreed. <I will do whatever is in my power to honor our bargain.>

Senalloy nodded. She crawled up on the interface and looked at the mooring and the chain that bound Dulcere.

She gave the chain a sharp tug. <This is too strong for you?>

Dulcere shook her head. <I lose strength when I attempt it.>

The Baronian licked her lips. <When I was healthy, this would be easy. Now...> She took a breath. <I will try.>

She knelt and braced herself, locking her hands around the chain. The links went taut and the muscles stood out on the female's emaciated frame. Her face reddened and the metal groaned. Even starved, she possessed impressive strength.

Dulcere's stomach knotted. She willed the woman's success, listening for the snap of metal that would herald her freedom.

Senalloy stopped with a gasp. <I am not strong enough. Perhaps a lever of some kind?>

She felt a sting of disappointment. It was not Senalloy's fault. At least the female was trying. Dulcere scanned the room. <One of the table legs would serve.>

<Is there an empty table?>

Dulcere studied the darkness. <Yes, there is one nearly empty. The legs look strong enough.>

<Good, guide me to—> Senalloy stopped in mid-sentence. She turned an ear in the direction of the huge brass doors. <Somebody coming. I do not know when next I will have a chance. I will try.>

Dulcere scanned for vibrations. The Baronian possessed extraordinary hearing. The sound of footsteps came from far away.

Senalloy slipped off the interface and moved swiftly toward the doors. She must have memorized the safe route across the room because she moved without hesitation and stopped at the doors.

The woman slid into the corner and waited.

After a few moments, the door unlatched and swung inward, a shaft of flickering light shone in the room. Dulcere recognized the person by the hand and the color of robe. Her throat tightened.

Meridian.

Dark. Crossed up by own meanness, purposely troubling his sleep.

The mage moved into the room and lit a lamp from the candle he carried. Senalloy slipped between a pair of bookcases.

Can't let him catch her. <So,> she thought using the most nettling tone she could muster. <The human spends another sleepless night. Come to keep me company?>

The mage peered her direction and growled. “Don't you ever sleep?”

<Only inferior species require sleep.> Come on, move away from where you'll see her.

The mage sniffed. “Let us not forget who is the prisoner.” He lit another lamp.

Senalloy hunched down trying to make sure the light didn't reach her hiding spot.

Dulcere gritted her teeth. <You'd best hope you never become my prisoner. More mistakes, and I think you will be.>

That captured his attention. “Mistakes? I have made no mistakes.” He peered her direction, the dim lamplight inadequate to reach the rear quadrant of the room.

Dulcere weighed her alternatives. Revealing information balanced against Senalloy's assistance. She decided to go with the more tangible possibilities. <Twice we were nearly captured by a tall, white-haired woman. She is big, taller than many of your pit fighters, with silver eyes. Her time diving abilities were nearly as good as my own.>

“Aarlen?” He scowled, lit another lamp on his desk and walked until the pool of light touched Dulcere's features. “She carried a large metallic staff covered with gems?”

Good. Stay focused a little longer. Senalloy poised in the corner ready to move.

<That is her name? She is extremely accomplished—for a human.> She snorted, trying to drag him closer with the derision. <I almost slipped your compulsion and let her capture us. Almost. I may have succeeded in leaving a trail she could follow. We will see what comes of it.>

Meridian set the lamp down on the table.

Dulcere sucked a breath as his line of sight passed over Senalloy's hiding place. The Baronian ducked back. He didn't react.

“Why didn't Psihtath tell me of this?” The question seemed more directed at himself than her.

<They didn't see her. She never came closer than within a few revs of us. To a human, that might as well be a universe away.>

He pulled the control rod from his robe. His ursine features looked flush. He'd been using that smelly liquid narcotic to help him sleep. The one he said was made from fruit. “I tire of this tone of yours.”

She scowled at him. <That silly toy doesn't change anything. You are simply a dumb animal with a powerful weapon. The depth of one's immorality and the strength of your hardware doesn't alter the fact. Neither does shutting me up.>

“No, but it will please me.”

Dulcere cried out as excruciating pain knifed through her body. She straightened and kept herself still. Fists locked at her sides, she glared at Meridian.

Senalloy leaped from her hiding place using Dulcere's cries to cover the sound of her footsteps. She opened the door.

Dulcere growled at him low in her throat.

Meridian grinned. Inflicting pain obviously gave the man pleasure. “You are too strong-willed for your own good.”

The agony increased, and she cried out before getting it under control.

Senalloy hesitated, apparently weighing whether or not to stop Meridian.

Dulcere focused a thought for the Baronian's mind only. <Go!>

With a final pained look over her shoulder, the female vanished into the corridor.

“Go ahead, human,” she gritted. “Kill me.”

Meridian frowned. He dropped the rod, and the pain stopped. “You don't get out of this so easily.”

Dulcere's body went lax, but she kept her eyes on his. In her mind, she wished Senalloy well. She hoped her next opportunity would be soon. Another rev in this place of horrors was too long. <Easy or hard, I am getting out.>

Meridian ignored that. He turned away and went back to his desk. Dulcere glared at him for a few moments, the memory of the agony still reverberating through her body. She breathed deep, cleansing the pain from her mind.

Meridian looked toward the door. There were sounds of a struggle and a female voice raised in protest. In moments, the huge form of Rakaar blotted out the portal. He dragged Senalloy behind him, a huge fist tangled in her silver hair.

The female Baronian twisted and cried out. Half starved, her strength was perhaps a tenth of the massive male. Dulcere's lungs tightened in her chest. No, Senalloy, not so soon!

“Meridian, check the Kriar and look for anything missing. I caught this one trying to sneak back into her quarters.” He shoved Senalloy into the lab ahead of him. She fell to her knees in front of Meridian's desk. “She had already foiled my wards and was re-entering.”

Meridian stood in shock and looked to the door. “She foiled your wards? How?”

Rakaar growled when Meridian didn't move instantly. “Watch her.” He pointed at Senalloy then strode toward Dulcere. Pulling a sword out he stepped onto the interface and yanked Dulcere to her feet by the chain.

He examined the links obviously looking for evidence of their being weakened.

<Let go of me.> She growled.

“Or what?” he snarled. Pain shot through Dulcere's neck as Rakaar pulled her chain up until she looked him in the eye. Her feet dangled above the interface.

A human would have choked. Kriar didn't need to breathe. They only took air to keep cool. Rakaar knew it, or he wouldn't have done it. It wouldn't kill, but it hurt.

<Let go, now. You do not want me for an enemy, Rakaar. Set me down gently or you will wish you had never looked at me.>

Rakaar raised an eyebrow. He set her down a little roughly. “I believe you would try, even chained.”

She rubbed her neck, glaring at him.

“Any tampering?” Meridian asked coming around the desk to stand over Senalloy.

“I see some stressing of the chain,” Rakaar reported.

Meridian grabbed the thin smock that Senalloy wore. “Did you break into my lab?” He drew a knife to threaten her with it.

Before the mage could even get the weapon out the gaunt woman unwound like a spring. She backhanded the mage. The crack made Dulcere wince. The blow knocked him careening over the desk and slammed him into the wall.

Yes. Hit him again, please. Dulcere yearned to have been the one that struck him.

Meridian shook his head, wiping his bloodied face. “Cow!” His staff appeared in his hand with a flash. The black weapon glowed and crackled.

Senalloy dropped into a fighting crouch.

Rakaar's laughter boomed through the room.

The mage snarled. “She dies, Rakaar.”

The Baronian stopped laughing. “Attack her, and she will make you sorry, Human.”

“Tell him to stop, master,” Senalloy gritted. “I will kill you both.”

Rakaar tensed. Senalloy knew the tie between them.

Good thinking! Dulcere's respect for the female grew.

“Meridian, get away from my slave—now! That staff won't kill her.”

The mage didn't move. Senalloy's body tightened. Rakaar plunged across the room.

Meridian's staff flared. A burst of electricity rasped out, catching Senalloy in the midriff. She paused for only an instant before slamming Meridian into the wall and drawing back for a killing strike.

Do it!

Rakaar grabbed Senalloy's arm and sent her reeling away. The female caught her balance against a table. Rakaar stood between Senalloy and Merdian with his weapon readied. Dulcere saw the light go out of the Senalloy's eyes. She'd lost her chance.

They both had. The war was a tragedy all the more tragic because neither side wanted to fight it. Wrong thinking, arrogance, and misunderstandings prolonged a conflict that claimed many a noble soul. Though I came into the war late, I still feel responsible for the part I played, however small... —Ivral Techstar,

Shal'kar of Engineering, 12th Mitaka Legion

Cassin sat on the couch, gold hand upraised. Flames danced on her fingertips as she studied the grimoire in her lap. Everything in the room impinged on her consciousness, as if to distract her from the secret so near to being solved.

All of them demanded attention: the old hide couch, mother Desiray's murals of the family, the eight hanging planters, the unshuttered window looking out over noontime Ivaneth.

Super acute, she could hear, smell, and feel everything around her with the same gaze that studied the page of spidery runes. The motes of dust playing in the sunlight, a mouse nibbling inside the wall, and the birds chirping on the roof all vied for attention.

Damn.

Focusing tighter she blocked out the extra sensory information. Her other hand drifted to the matrix glowing warm and alive between her breasts. The temptation to tap its power and make the sorcery complete was strong.

Mustn't cheat. It's times like this I regret being Kriar.

She bore down, forming the filaments of the incantation in her mind, defining the bindings and the energies. It was a simple-seeming conjuration, child's-play as an illusion, and a masterwork as a creation. The rose was an evocation midway between phantasm and reality. For some reason, this drill had been eluding her capabilities, much to her chagrin, and the irritation of her teacher, Gabriella. It brought to mind the last lecture she'd received for her failures.

Tossing waist-length sable hair, Gabriella waved her hands in disgust and strode to the balcony overlooking the crystalline splendor of Cosmodarus. The great mage was a study in dangerous curves, her lissome body taut in the long smoke-gray gown.

Cassin could feel the woman's emotion, a painful turbulence made all the worse because of the closeness they shared. Feeling drained and stupid, magical backlash buzzing in her head like a hive of insects, she leaned against the conjuration table. Touching the matrix on her brow, she eased the throbbing in her skull.

“I'm sorry.”

Gabriella turned, blue eyes flashing, pale elfin features severe. “Don't be sorry, dammit. Stop trying to reduce my magic to a blasted mathematical equation! Magic isn't made with intellect, it's controlled by it.” She folded her arms. “The power is born from the heart, the soul. You emote it!”

Cassin took a shuddering breath. She'd heard the speech before. She let the words ring painfully in her ears until the Sorceress was done.

“I'm sorry,” she heard herself say again.

The woman let out a breath. “By Hecate, are my words falling on deaf ears?”

“No. It's—well, I've always been this way. I—”

“Cassin.” Gabriella strode toward her, face stern, and reached up to put hands on her shoulders. The elder's grip was warm and firm. “This duality you share with your sister Annawen is an illusion. You are your own person.”

Cassin felt a twinge of bitterness. “Tell her that.”

“I have.”

For all the good it's done. “I can barely keep us separate. Annawen doesn't want to be her own person, she wants to be me!” She clenched her fists. “The only clear definition between us is our aspects. Her emotion—”

“—and your intellect.” Gabriella finished. “You've told me before.” The mage sighed. “Annawen's incantations are the purest I've seen, but the control—” Her voice trailed off. “The two of you have to share your resources.”

Cassin closed her eyes. “It scares me. I'm always afraid one of these days we're going to merge, and I won't be me anymore. I'll be us.”

The mage rose to tiptoes and kissed Cassin above her forehead matrix. “I'd always questioned Cassandra's use of magic in your conception. Once I saw what beautiful babies she birthed.” She put her hands on Cassin's cheeks. “I knew you'd be special treasures even before I knew you'd be gold.” She smiled. “The first born-Kriar to inherit the art of magic.”

“It's a big responsibility.”

“So right, Child. Your mother is a Loremage, and her lover, and by Hecate's curse, so will you be, if you'd simply allow yourself to feel your emotions.”

How can I tell her that every time I do, I feel like Annawen is going to swallow me up?

Cassin gritted her teeth, here she was weeks later still battling that same formless menace—her own self. Allow yourself to feel your emotions. Why do I let Annawen scare me? I am my own person.

The flames turned blue and blossomed like tiny starbursts.

The door to the study swung open. <Cassin?>

The fire went out as though splashed with water.

She sat still for a moment, controlling the urge to yell, then slammed the book closed. She looked at her twin. Annawen stood in the doorway wearing a rose-colored halter that barely covered her full breasts, white skirt high on her thighs. She'd changed clothes since taking Corim and Ceraph to Duran'Gravar. That looked like one of the things Aarlen coaxed Annawen into wearing when she wanted her to persuade concessions from a client.

Cassin tried not to snarl, but did anyway. “What?”

Annawen ran a hand through dark brown hair. A smile lit up the soft curves of her golden face. <I'm back. Still having problems, Sis?>

“You mean besides being interrupted every hectarev?” She dropped the book on the table with a loud thud.

Annawen chuckled. <Are you still working Mirafleg's rose? It's—>

Cassin held up a finger. “I hear you say it's ‘simple’ one more time, and I'll throttle you. If I don't have it right by next week, Gabriella's going to make me start over on the fifth grimoire.”

A high-pitched ululation from the cyber on Cassin's belt cut off her words.

“Oh dark, now what?” She unhitched the device and punched a button. “Searga Kel'Ishtauri.”

The voice was male, one she didn't recognize. **Hergath Laerza for Eh'San Techstar. Search detail, coordinates—** a hurried mathematical series in vector-speak. **Scramble. White seal.**

Cassin frowned, stomach knotting. “Repeat, Hergath. Did you say white seal?”

**Affirmative. Cyber channels are to be closed at the end of this transmission until your intelligence is retrieved.**

She let out a breath and glanced at a wide-eyed Annawen. “Acknowledged Hergath, Searga Kel'Ishtauri off.” She shut down the comm-link and set the cyber back on her belt.

<What in Isis’ name do you think this is about?> Annawen flopped onto the couch beside her.

Cassin put an arm around her neck and pulled her close. “With my luck, it means I'm going back to the fifth grimoire.” She sighed and enjoyed the warmth of her other half for a moment. Annawen hugged her back, cheek pressed against hers.

<You know, a little mind touch and—>

“Not a chance. If Gabriella found out, I'd be back on the first grimoire and sweeping floors. We better suit up and arm. Isis knows, this could be a hot detail.”

Annawen grinned. <My sister the optimist.> She hugged Cassin and stood. Touching a blue band on her wrist, a nimbus of translucent colors whirled around her body like a tiny tornado. Sparks danced, grew bright, then dimmed. Now sheathed in the indigo body-stocking, she stretched like a cat, checked the bindings on her boots, the sidearm, cyber, signaler and tool pouches. <All here. I'm getting pretty good, huh?>

Cassin sucked in her cheeks. “Gabriella would be proud. All that flash for a simple transfiguration.”

Annawen frowned, hands on hips. <Can't you ever leave a compliment unadorned?>

“Sorry, pragmatism is in my nature.” Standing, she smiled and rubbed her hands together. Touching the blue wristband, analogue energies flickered, assembling the interdimensionally stored mass of her uniform and equipment.

<Some day I'll break you of it, too.>

That's what I'm afraid of. She gave her sister a kiss. “I wouldn't hold your breath.”

Annawen chuckled. Cassin sensed a dark streak in Annawen. The desire for oneness bordered on hunger. She pursued it much the same way she did potential lovers, with a single mindedness that frightened Cassin even after forty summers.

So very patient. You'll want it until the day we die.

Whatever had Cassandra been thinking when she decided to make twins of that uncooperative fetus? Two bodies and only one real soul between them.

She shivered away from the thought. “Let's go.”

Annawen looped her arm around her waist and squeezed. <Sorry, I make you nervous sometimes. I can't help but be what I am.>

Cassin forced a smile, and stared into the ebony eyes of her mirror image. She felt Annawen's love and drew reassurance from it. Annawen would never force the merger. She'd only wheedle and cajole, waiting for when Cassin felt weak. One day, if she slipped too far, there would only be Casawen.

“But could you be what you are a little less persistently?”

Annawen laughed. <Don't get me started. Go already!>

Cassin recalled the vector coordinates given to her by Laerga and dropped them into the grid, disseminating the math into the dozens of spatial formulas that pinpointed a single iota of matter in the firmament. Without concentrating, the solutions for the coefficients of power, digression, inertia, distortion and momentum whirled in her mind.

It frightened her sometimes to realize the machine-like efficiency of the Kriar synapse-array training, to do thousands of overlapping six fold integrations every second; allowing for all proper motion variables.

Those were only the major factors in the calculation. She had to allow for dozens of other factors. So many, that when first faced with the immensity of the task of single warp jump across a room she'd given it up as virtually impossible for any mind, much less Kriar.

How silly in retrospect. She'd conquered that hurdle at fourteen, the youngest creature to ever wield the Kriar warp science. It would be ten millennia before she would be considered a master of the art.

The gratification of it tempted her away from magic. The results were so immediate and visible; the ability to soar through time and space. It was a science with hard and fast rules. It was made for her, the way magic and its emotive nature were made for Annawen.

Cassin focused deep inside of her. The vector-language sparked through her mind. The flow and thrust of analogue forces churned in her body, as they unlocked the boundaries of time and space.

Letting the matrix energy surge, she felt the familiar rush of excitement, the tingle of power swelling through her limbs like the caress of a lover, the thunder of both her hearts. She picked a single chronon and willed the merger of time and space. The universe flickered. Without a sound or flash they simply existed elsewhere at the exact instant of her decision to be there.

The barren landscape sprung up around them. Stands of twisted needleleaf stippled a rise some distance away. The tingling odor of parched soil, sage, and alkali came to them on a chill breeze. A painted desert barely awake now with the glimmerings of a morning sun stretched around them on three sides. Russet mesas and bluffs jutted like sentinels against the stark orange and blue horizon.

They stood on the rim of a depression. Wind and erosion had softened what had once been jagged edges. She could still see signs of crystallization in the soil. What looked like a partially filled in trench traced an easterly line. It was too consistent to be a natural phenomenon.

Annawen took a breath, sensing they didn't need environment support. <Looks like a planetfall.>

“An old one.”

<Why would this be so secret? What's supposed to be here?>

Cassin shook her head, pulled out the cyber and punched up a standard sweep. “Ivral wouldn't issue a white-seal for no reason, there must be—” The alarm went off as she pointed down into the ancient crater. “An active signaler?”

Annawen leaped off the edge and landed catlike at the bottom. She walked over and knelt by the small device. <Gamma series signaler. Engineer's identification—> She read off a string of symbols.

Cassin punched the numbers into the cyber, then slid down the slope and walked over to her sister. She looked around the bush-dotted cone of rocky soil.

“Must have been a high grade blister shield to cause this much damage when it hit.”

<Armor quality matrix field? They only issue those to front line officers. No sign of the body, either predators carried it away or the person walked out.> Annawen leaned over to take the signaler, then snatched her hand back with a gasp. Tendrils of energy rasped around her fingers like snakes. She yelled, shaking off the power with a surge from her matrixes.

Cassin's heart leaped as Annawen pressed the hand to her stomach, doubled over and stamped her feet. <Damn, oh dark, ow—ow—ow—!>

“Let me see.” She grabbed her sister's arm and forced it into the open. The bone and sinew of Annawen's hand were exposed in a few places; molten pasty-white blood ran in runnels down her arm. “By Isis, Ann, when you grab a live one you don't fool around.”

Annawen gritted her teeth and shuddered. <Fix it, for light's sake!>

Cassin focused, feeling and seeing the outraged flesh of her sister's hand. With a mental twist, she pushed herself into the macroscape of Annawen's body. Shutting down capillaries and nerves, she set to work reconstructing the tissues, moving dislocated cells back into place and regenerating lost ones.

In moments, the wounds crawled closed.

Letting out a gasp of relief, Annawen fell against her. <Oh Isis—oh Isis—thanks.>

Annawen swallowed and hugged Cassin. She laid her head on Cassin's shoulder. She felt Annawen's fingers gently clenching and unclenching on the thin fabric, nails digging in.

Annawen's hands tightened to fists, and she pushed herself away with obvious effort. <I'm acting like a little girl again.> She growled and looked back to the signaler, eying it the way she would a poisonous serpent. <What in Hades was that?>

Cassin leaned down. Annawen sucked a breath as Cassin picked up the signaler. “Heavy chronal charge. Must have been pinched through a time distortion.”

<A distortion—here?> Annawen looked around, sucking on a finger. <There aren't any causal anomalies within a thousand light-cycles.>

Cassin nodded, letting out a breath. “You're right, Sis.” She opened the port on the signaler's side then slid the cyber's data-probe into it. Watching the information flow into resident memory, she punched up the specifics. “Dulcere Val'Saedra Starbinder, Shrike Legion Belkirin—this is interesting—under white clasp assignment.”

<Look at that,> Annawen pointed further down the data. <It only shows being active for one megarev. Something pinched it forward shortly after she activated it.>

“What happened to her, then?”

Annawen scanned the area. <Maybe she—> She stopped as her gaze took in the severed cliff face and pile of rock at its base lying only a stone's throw away.

They stood in the sterile office of Commander Ivral Techstar, the walls completely shrouded by star-charts and holos of classic Kriar spacecraft. Sitting behind her desk, intent on the terminal in front of her, the stiff Kriar woman touched the star-shaped gem on her forehead and looked up.

<Report.> There was a forced officialism to Ivral's thought, but Cassin could feel affection tingling in the background. Cassin and Annawen, by adoption were Ivral's granddaughters. In Cassin's mind, she tended to overcompensate for the tendency to be partial. Sometimes they received worse punishments than repeat offenders.

“Somehow the signaler was squeezed through a time rift. We found where she'd been buried. Someone uncovered her twelve megarevs ago. I can't account for the signaler discrepancy. The entire area has been picked clean by whoever took her captive.”

<Nothing else to report?> Ivral's angular features were tight. This assignment had been far more important than Cassin imagined.

“If we could get an authorization for a portal scan—”

<I'll take care of it, Searga. Clear your cyber. This is to remain a white seal affair. Understand?>

She nodded and so did Annawen. “Eh'San.”

<All right, you two are on leave until this affair is cleared up. Enjoy it. Take it easy, things on Homeworld are going to get turbulent. Be careful.> She sighed. <Dismissed.>

Cassin saluted.

Annawen stepped forward. <Eh'San?>

Ivral raised an eyebrow. <Searga?>

<You will be at our birthday party the megarev after next, won't you?>

The elder Kriar smiled. <Plan on it.> She frowned again. <Until then, stay out of trouble please.>

Annawen smiled back and looked at Cassin.

Cassin put her arm around her sister. <We were thinking about visiting aunt Beia for a while. She hasn't been in trouble for cycles.> War is the gift of violence given to men born to battle. Peace is the test of a warrior's ability to redefine himself. Are we not something beyond automations that conquer objectives and hold territory? The greatest bravery is the ability to lay down your weapon. Some day, I may know a peace where I might test myself thus... —Rakaar Hespian Steelsheen

Smiling grimly, Dulcere watched the four burly men straining to lift the warp interface. She noted with satisfaction they were having no success. She had not seen Senalloy since Rakaar had dragged her writhing from the room by the hair.

When Meridian regained consciousness, he was furious and insisted that Rakaar kill Senalloy. Rakaar refused, saying Meridian had been appropriately punished for being stupid. He wouldn't give up a skilled battle-nurse because the mage had pushed the female into a fight and failed to defend himself adequately.

Dulcere promised herself that if she did find a means of escape, she would bring Senalloy along. The female deserved that much.

Meridian's study lay empty, and dust hung in the stale air. Only Dulcere and the interface remained. Meridian had enlisted some pit fighters to move her to the meeting room. Knowing that these men weren't very smart, she hoped to trick them into freeing her.

Khelgar scratched his head. “I don't understand. Jorge and I moved this thing a month ago by ourselves.”

“'Spose the boss made it heavier or something?” This from simian-faced Laag.

“Naw. Not so we couldn't move it.”

Jorge, a long nosed male, scratched at his armpit. “Only thing different is her.”

Dulcere's smile grew.

“She can't be that heavy.” Khelgar looked around. “Make sure it ain't attached to the floor.”

They checked.

“I don't see anything,” Jorge reported.

“Me neither,” Laag added.

“Guess it is her.”

“Chain ain't long enough to get her off.”

“I can hold her,” Jorge said.

Dulcere's eyes sparkled.

“Gath, keep your bow on her.”

Jorge stepped onto the disk and began working at the chain around Dulcere's neck.

“Don't she ever talk?” Scar-faced Gath asked.

“I ain't heard her.”

“Why she smiling?”

“Search me.”

“Get away from her!” a voice boomed. The men froze as Rakaar strode into the room, focusing burning eyes on them. “Why isn't this device in the gathering chamber?”

Dulcere frowned.

“It's too heavy to move.”

Rakaar raised an eyebrow. He leaned over and lifted the edge of the disk without effort. “You were saying?” He looked angrily at Khelgar.

The fighter's eyes bulged. “Honest, we couldn't budge it!”

“Don't lie to me.” He looked at the others who shifted nervously. “Never remove the chain from her.”

He stepped onto the disk, snapped the chain from its mooring, and jerked Dulcere to her feet. Holding the chain like a leash he pushed her ahead. “You should have no further difficulties.”

With the device returned to its normal weight, the fighters filed out with it.

Rakaar rubbed his chin. “A puerile trick, and it nearly worked.”

<Simple tactics for simple minds.> She didn't let her disappointment show.

“Senalloy's attack taught that dolt Meridian nothing. All I heard were wails to ‘kill that bitch'. He doesn't understand that warriors will not give up trying to escape.” The Baronian pushed her forward with a steady pressure. Resisting was like trying to stop the advance of a glacier. The outer corridor smelled as it did after a thunderstorm. The scents of liquefied metal and burned cloth hung in the air.

Dulcere ran a hand along the wall, getting a sense of their thickness and the way magnetic force lines ran through them. Rakaar snatched her hand away and pulled her to the center of the corridor. He didn't rebuff the attempt to identify which direction they were moving. He only grinned. He appeared quite familiar with Kriar and their abilities.

<Meridian's foolishness is all the better for me. Is Senalloy all right?>

“Do not concern yourself with her.”

<Tell me. You laughed when she attacked Meridian.>

“Pitiful actually, not funny.” He made a fist. His knuckles cracked loudly. “To think I am following that weakling's orders.” He scowled. “Only fools let themselves get drubbed by a slave—and a female at that.”

<Did you punish her?>

He snorted. “I gave her an extra ration of food. Best entertainment I've had. If she tries it again, I will punish her.” He nudged Dulcere's shoulder to turn her down a side passage. The Baronian ducked to keep from hitting his head on an archway. Her skin itched. The air felt thicker as they headed this direction. She guessed it must be the effects of some kind of spatial distortion. The feel of it made her uneasy.

Rakaar did not seem totally unreasonable. <You know if Meridian gets you involved in altering time you will be committed. The Protectorate will treat you as one of his accomplices. You'll get punished as if the idea were your own. They have come close to catching us twice already.>

“This Aarlen woman that Meridian spoke of? The big female with the white hair and silver eyes?” He nodded, dark hair falling across his face. They speak of her on Karaganoi homeworld. She was seen with a combined team of humans and Kriar who penetrated the Karanganoi defenses. My compatriots were still trying to determine the purpose of that team's mission when I left.” He shook his head. “She is dangerous, there is no doubt.” He stared at Dulcere, a fire burning in his eyes. “As long as Meridian holds my soulstone, I am his accomplice.” Rakaar gritted his teeth. He obviously hated saying it.

<What about the Protectorate?>

“At the earliest time, I shall shed myself of this human.” He frowned. “I suspect that will be too late. If the Protectorate treats me as a fugitive, then so be it. They'll wish they never made an enemy of me if I'm forced to use the Genemar.”

<What is that?>

“It is bad, Belkirin. Creation run amok.” She heard awe in the Baronian's voice. This thing must be horrible indeed if Rakaar respected it. The Baronian bent to go under another arch. Dulcere saw disadvantages in being so big. “The makers did not intend it as a weapon,” he continued. “But that is all it is now.”

<Why do you have it?>

His dark eyes flashed. “My position no longer pleased me. I felt I had followed imbeciles long enough without my due. They did not know what they possessed—so I took it.”

She sniffed. <Is anyone smart according to you?>

Rakaar snorted. “I'm talking to you, aren't I? It shows the quality of conversation I've found in this hole. I am down to conversing with prisoners.”

Dulcere felt a draft of cool air hit her face from a stairwell that connected to the passage.

The outside!

An archway was coming up. She would never get this opportunity again. As Rakaar ducked to go under the arch, she acted.

Dulcere's heel crashed down on his instep.

Rakaar roared and straightened. A loud crack filled the corridor as his skull impacted stone. The sudden shock made him grip his head. She jammed an elbow deep into his soliplexus. He folded. She focused the remaining dregs of her matrix energy into her fist and hit him with all her strength between the eyes.

The behemoth fell like a tower with its foundations undermined. He twitched and writhed. The brightly glowing chain fell from his fingers. She saw the sword on his side. She thought to grab the weapon and finish him. The way he flailed about, it was possible he might latch onto her. She couldn't break that powerful grip, not in her present state.

Dulcere stumbled forward, forcing paralyzed limbs into motion. Gritting her teeth she fought the inhibitor's power, tears of pain streamed down her cheeks. Without a person directing the inhibitor to let her move freely, it immediately tried to rob her of mobility.

Falling to her knees after a few strides, she forced her way upright and struggled forward. She reached the stairs and clambered up. The stone felt gritty under her hands. The walls were sooty and dark. The cool air felt good. She could see sunlight coming in from above. Freedom.

The chain burned white hot, searing the skin of her neck. It didn't matter. She could feel the brilliant sunlight pouring into her. She concentrated on absorbing every precious ray. The resistance grew weaker the nearer she came to the surface.

For an instant, at the head of the stairs she thought she saw a flash of red like light glinting off a matrix jewel. Had that been an analogue shift she felt?

She didn't have time to determine whether she had imagined it. A hand tangled in her hair and spun her around. She screamed, hands knotting into fists.

Blood streamed down Rakaar's face. He must have been all but blind. The veins on his neck distended. He drew back a fist to strike.

Her hearts thundered. So close. She couldn't beat him. That had been her best strike. The inhibitor robbed her of too much strength. Narrowing her eyes, she met his glare. <We are both prisoners, Rakaar.>

He growled. “Don't test me, witch.”

<Remove this chain. Then you'll see a test.>

“I respect you, Kriar. Don't push me.” He wiped the blood off his face. “A good hit.” Rakaar stared at her as if considering whether he should punch her anyway. “There is no honor in striking a prisoner. Move.” Grabbing the chain again, he took her by the shoulder and guided her toward the gathering hall.

I will get free. Then we'll see how honorable you are.

By the time they reached the gathering chamber another level below ground, the bleeding of Rakaar's wounds had slowed. The Baronian spoke no further with her. She sensed his anger. Rakaar knew the inhibitor was the only reason he still lived. No doubt it bothered him.

That didn't displease her at all.

The location Meridian chose for the gathering place was a chamber about four times the size of the lab where he kept her. Crates and structural materials lay scattered through the room. A dozen pit fighters and robed humans worked purposefully at different tasks. At first glance, Dulcere thought the arrangement haphazard until she recognized that every obstacle was a facade camouflaging heavily reinforced barricades. They'd been arranged to set up an effective crossfire anywhere in the room.

A killing ground. Meridian obviously expected unwanted visitors. Her revealing that Aarlen had come close to discovering them had obviously disturbed the mage even more than she thought. It made her smile. Where agitation existed, the chance for mistakes increased.

A raised dais rested at the rear of the room. Dressed in purple robes, Meridian stood on the platform directing the pit-fighters to place the warp interface on top of it.

Rakaar pushed her toward the platform. They climbed a set of steps at the back.

Meridian's ursine face looked even more haggard than she remembered it. Dark circles ringed his eyes, and he looked pale. His hateful desire to see his enemies dead seemed to be all that kept him going.

The mage focused on Rakaar and raised an eyebrow. She could tell that the wound surprised him. He glanced at her hands. The blood still remained on her knuckles.

Meridian grinned. “You two having a lover's spat?”

Rakaar growled and loomed over the smaller male. “Shut up, human. I trust you can manage to hold onto her while I'm gone? This wound isn't healing.” He glared at Dulcere. “I'm going to get my nurse to look at it.”

She folded her arms. Eventually these creatures would learn that keeping a Kriar prisoner had its pitfalls.

“I have her, Rakaar.” Meridian took the leash. Dulcere saw the human struggling not to laugh. She hoped he would. Right now, that would set Rakaar off. There wouldn't be enough left of the mage to fill a pocket.

The hoped-for confrontation didn't occur. Rakaar turned on his heel and strode out of the room.

Dulcere watched the Baronian go. A present to you from me, Senalloy. She hoped whatever tinctures or antiseptics the female used on him hurt. From the little she knew of Senalloy, they probably would.

Meridian led her toward the warp interface. He seemed more gentle than usual. He snickered. “What I would have given to watch you clout that big bastard.”

She narrowed her eyes. <You may yet still have your chance.>

He snorted. “Leave it to you to spoil a moment.” He examined the broken link at the end of the chain, and then looked at the mooring on the interface. “Muscle-bound oaf.” He scanned the room. “Jund! Here.”

The reply that came back sounded more like a ground-quake than a voice. From behind one of the biggest barricades waddled what Dulcere guessed must be human genetic aberration. It looked as if someone had taken Rakaar and trapped him in a box so that he could only grow wider instead of taller. Briefly clad in leather, its massive arms and legs looked like bridge pilings hooked onto a squat torso rippling with muscles. Broad ridges jutted from its brow shadowing tiny slit eyes. Its bald head hunched between corded shoulders, making the creature appear as if it had no neck.

The platform groaned as it lumbered up. A glance into the creature's tissues revealed impossible cellular radicals. Her stomach churned. The thing appeared to be made of living stone.

“You want me?” Its voice sounded like rocks tumbling in a barrel.

“Yes. Reattach that link.” Meridian handed Jund the chain and pointed to the mooring.

Jund rubbed his bald head. It seemed to take him a while to process the command. He massaged the metal in his massive digits reshaping it properly. The hardened material might as well have been clay. He bent and pinched the link closed around the mooring. He worked the metal between his fingers until it grew hot and joined into a single piece.

Jund straightened and looked at Meridian. “Done.”

“Very good.” The mage said levelly. He spoke slowly. “Your new job will be to guard this female until we are ready to leave. Find Seglar and return with him. He will help you.”

Jund's eyes never seemed to blink. Dulcere could almost watch the words filter one at a time through that dull intellect. “Understood.” It lumbered off the stage and out the door.

Meridian watched the creature go. “They're called Hybrids. Not very bright, I admit, but extremely loyal. Impressive creation don't you think?”

<I suppose to you, a walking, talking wall is impressive. What would impress me is if you used it for anything besides killing.>

The mage smiled. “We all die a little, every instant of our lives. Entropy is simply the natural progression of things. Each death enriches the life of that which follows it. It is amazing how hard someone will struggle just to continue living a few more summers. That's why my spectacles are so profitable. I make the conflict more interesting—exciting. Those slaves would die eventually, anyway. Why not in the cause of enriching their fellow humans?”

<You are truly sick.>

Meridian's smile was cold. “The Protectorate and all my enemies will soon learn I am a sickness without a cure.”

Dulcere looked in the mage's wild eyes and wondered if he was right. I used to think that peace could only be found in the sanctity of ice and steel. Then while at one of the Death Spectacles I witnessed something special. I saw a spirit so strong that even I had to marvel—a single woman armed with my blade bested 3 rhinotaurs, ten top-ranked pit-fighter hidden by invisibility, and two mages armed with spellbows. A longshot bet on that day earned me a kingdom in gold. I was thoroughly pleased and amazed. Imagine my surprise when that same woman managed to work another miracle by causing me love her... —Supreme Magistrix Aarlen Frielos,

Minister of the 4th Alliance Territories

Corim stared at the spear aimed at his chest, its edges winking mirror bright. If Beia even sneezed, there would be a hand-length of blade buried in him. He struggled to control the pounding of his heart. He saw no mercy in the woman's icy stare.

Answers. She wanted answers. He didn't know the question.

Beia's skin looked pale, and the black lightning tattoo on her cheek stood out. The woman's arms shook. She stilled it, knuckles going bloodless as she tightened her grip on the spear.

“Eboneye, scan him.”

The spear hummed. A red glow surrounded the weapon.

Corim kept still. Even a back flip would result in his getting split down the middle like a roasted foul. What was wrong with her? His stomach knotted. She'd ordered everyone away.

The spear hummed again. A tinny, distinctively female, voice radiated from the blade. The metal vibrated to make the sounds. “No hostile magic or radiations.”

Corim's body tightened. A living weapon! He'd read about them, but never seen one. He only wished he weren't examining it from the wrong end.

“Oh, Nethra.” Beia growled. “He's got three pieces of magic on him that I can see. Scan again.”

The weapon repeated the process. “No change. Nothing detectable.”

She glared at him. “What are you doing to me?”

“Doing to you?” Corim scowled. “You're holding a spear to my chest and talking to it like I don't exist.”

Beia jabbed him with the spear. He flinched back from the pain. “Watch your tongue, Boy.”

“I'm not doing anything.”

Beia ignored that. She held a hand in the air over her head. “Snowfire.”

Sparkles danced around her fingers. Light traced out like the strands of a spider-web. The crackling paths formed into a curved shape. A loud rasping sound echoed through the room and a huge war bow solidified out of the glowing network. The weapon glistened and shimmered as if made out of quicksilver.

Corim heard a yawn, and a masculine voice growled words. “You called?”

“Eboneye is getting lazy. Examine the boy.”

“Am not.” Eboneye grumbled.

He was beginning to hate the word ‘boy'. She looked perhaps two seasons his senior.

“Checking...” The gruff voice announced. The bow shimmered and became a black long-hilted sword with scrollwork running down the blade. Beia pointed it at Corim.

He felt a tingling rush through him. It centered at his toes then rose through his body to the top of his head. He would have run if he didn't think that Beia would pin him to the door with the spear. Corim didn't want to contemplate the kind of powers these weapons possessed. He felt certain it would be more than enough to finish off one man.

“No hostile magics. Telepathic activity beneath minimum tolerances,” the raspy voice reported.

“See!” the spear declared.

“Hush.” Beia's eyes never left Corim's. “Snowfire, what do you mean—beneath minimum tolerances?”

“The Mindspeak emanations detected are too weak to compromise the psychic shielding you are currently utilizing.”

Corim tightened his fists. My talent. It's talking about my talent. That's what all this is about.

Beia tensed at even his subtle movement. “Stop what you're doing.”

“If I'm doing something, it is entirely unintentional. I learned today that I possess some kind of mind magic. I don't have any control over it.” He held up his hands. “If I'm causing you distress, I apologize.”

Beia locked eyes with him, obviously gauging whether he told the truth. She growled. Taking the spear, she shoved it back on the mantle.

“Hey!” Eboneye squeaked.

“Shut up,” Beia said. Snowfire shimmered and returned to the shape of a bow. She leaned it against the wall. Corim started to speak, and the Myrmigyne pointed at him. “Not a word.” She closed her eyes, the lids fluttering. Her skin looked the color of snow, and her hands trembled. She rubbed the black lightning tattoo on her cheek.

Beia appeared on the verge of running from the room. After regaling his bravery in front of Tal, he doubted this proud Myrmigyne would retreat under any circumstances. Her body swayed as if she fought a tug of war with herself.

Corim felt a buzz in the back of his head.

“Are you all right?” He touched her shoulder.

Beia's eyes snapped open, and she grabbed his wrist. “Don't—” He felt a hot spark sizzle through his mind. Her eyes widened. She gave out a frustrated yelp, shoved his hand away, and moved to the corner of the room with her back to him. “Stop it, damn you! Stop.”

He looked at his hand. The buzz in his head had become a hive of angry insects.

With Ceraph, his power had been taking her negative feelings and turning them around. The affect had been a tonic for her. She didn't respond violently like this.

Queen Targallae, survivor of the death spectacles. The bitterest woman to hold a weapon in the last century. His own thoughts came back to him. The pain this woman must have endured. How much of Beia was now defined by those years of torment? Vengance incarnate. She is pure bane, and I pity anyone that obstructs her retribution on Arcturan.

Here he came, his power arbitrarily turning everyone's emotions upside down. He caused stony Tal's anger to flare. Turned Ceraph's fear into desire. What might his power do to this woman's tortured psyche?

Make her crazy. How did he stop it before? Blackness. He thought of nothing. A balance. Shutting out the buzzing sensation, he concentrated on making himself a void absent of all emotion.

Expecting Beia to relax, she surprised him by spinning around. The woman's eyes seemed all whites and no color. She glided toward him. Her hands rose to grip his throat. Provided with a warning, he sidestepped to avoid her grasp.

Corim never saw her foot move before it swept his leg. He caught a glimpse of the elbow that slammed against his temple and only felt her knee slam into his midriff.

An instant later, he lay on the floor looking up into intense emerald eyes wishing he'd never met Queen Targallae. It had been a flawless demonstration of fighting technique. No doubt he'd have the rest of eternity to ponder how easily Beia had laid him out.

She straddled his chest, hands pinning his wrists. He should have been able to move her, but she bore down as though made of rock.

“All right,” she said in a whisper. “I want to know what you did. If you can turn it off, you can turn it back on.”

On?

“My ability reverses feelings,” he explained. “I have an idea of what you went through at the arenas—”

“You don't have an inkling, Boy. Not a bloody clue!”

Her emotion hit him like a slap in the face. The hate that boiled in those words made his head ache.

“I spent twenty years in Hades. I've spent another twenty trying to find some kind of balance, revenge, something that could salve these.” She held her arms up revealing deep scars that cut across her wrists. “You don't know—How in Nethra's name could you? The only things you understand are in a blasted book!” She held her wrists close to his eyes. “See these? That's pain, despair so bad that you'd rather die than face another day alive. That's what's real!” Sweat stung his eyes. She balled her hands into fists. “Then along comes the little magic Matayan. What, a few decades of nightmares? Here, let me rip them out of your head. Oh, sorry, it was an accident—forgive me.” She put her face right next to his. Her breath made his cheek hot. “I don't forgive or forget. You took away all the torment.” Her hands gripped his ears and hair. “Damn you, I couldn't even imagine what it was like without those memories. You—gave—them—back!” She banged his head against the floor with each word.

Looking into her icy green eyes he saw Beia's tragic beauty. She'd girded herself in a cold armor of hurt, driven by a desire to avenge a lifetime of agony. How could anything, even the destruction of Meridian's entire organization, make such a tortured spirit whole again? The ache in the back of his head became a throb.

“I'm sorry, sorry...” His words trailed off.

Contact.

The memories cascaded through him. Pushing, taking hands. Torchlight glared. A girl barely twelve summers old lay in the dirt with a knife wedged between her breasts. Screaming. Nethra, make the horrible sound go away. Leering men and women screamed for blood. Swords, knives, and spears drove deep in squirming bodies. Blood. Gripping hands held her down. Rigid members thrust hard inside her—cold, colder than steel. Filthy. Would she ever be clean? No place to hide. The knife glinted in the light; the only way to escape.

Corim screamed. The agony surfed through him.

Forever. The word echoed through him. I will chase him forever. He will not get the satisfaction of outliving me. Immortal. He will die once for every time I wanted to kill myself. He will know pain.

The images flickered faster. The trapped little girl. The molested young woman. The haunted adult. The sensations piled on him, crushing out his breath. He wrestled with the agony as if it was a malevolent serpent. He strained against the crushing coils. The pain would smash the life from him.

The tears rolled down his cheeks. Ishtar, make it stop hurting!

Howling, he flung her off. He didn't see what she did, didn't care. All that mattered was escaping that tortuous maelstrom. Leering faces, grasping hands, hard metal and flesh shoved into his body. Never to be clean again.

The quarters blurred in his vision. He tripped and slammed into a wall. He pounded his fists against the wood, not feeling the impacts, not caring about the blood. He couldn't shut it out. It was in him.

Despair.

The knife glinted in the light. The only way to escape. The images whirled through him. He didn't know where Beia ended, and he began. The nightmares wouldn't stop. No more screams. No more blood. No pain. Nethra, make it stop hurting!

Corim jerked the knife from the scabbard in his boot.

The only way to escape.

He raised the blade.

A hand gripped Corim's wrist and slammed it against the wall. The blade thunked into the floor. “No, that is not the answer. It was never the answer.” Emerald eyes bored into his.

“I'm dying.” It was the voice of a frightened young girl. “I can't get away. They won't let me go. I don't want to fight anymore. No more blood!”

He reached for the blade on the floor. The slap made his head ring. He recoiled. The pain didn't matter. He stretched again. The second blow knocked him back a step.

“No.” The word stood like a wall between him and an end.

The sobs poured out of Corim. “It hurts so much.”

“I know.” Beia's body felt hard, corded arms clutched him. She was beautiful, a queen free of her demons and full of the strength of understanding. The face that sought the curve of his neck was soft, supple and ageless. Immortal.

They dropped to their knees. Their tears mingled in knowing.

How long they held one another, he didn't know. He became aware that it no longer hurt except for a jagged rawness down deep inside. He didn't sense Beia's hurt anymore. Her emerald eyes were clear.

The woman's features hardened. She took his face in her hands. “Fool,” she growled. “You almost killed us both. I didn't want to share my past with anyone.” She shook him. “Anyone.” She kissed him hard on the lips and pushed him away. “Don't expect any thanks.” She swallowed. “You raped my mind in this curing. I didn't want your healing. I don't care how good you make it feel.” She stood and turned her back on him.

He felt numb, elated and sad. Happy that he had helped to heal Beia. Sad that anyone would be put through such torment and need healing. One inescapable thing burned within him.

Meridian.

This taker was far worse than King Iggerd. He took lives and souls and crushed them under his boot. Meridian profited from atrocities beyond anything Corim ever imagined.

He remembered them all as if it had been his own experience. Even the fleeting touch of the mage's name in Corim's mind made his hands ball into fists.

His anger against Iggerd was a small thing compared to this. A bonfire compared to a candle's flame. A searing hatred that could only be quenched by seeing an end to the man and his machinations.

Retribution.

Corim rose on shaky legs. The skin of his hands was ripped and bleeding. Blocking out the pain, he stepped to Beia and touched her shoulder. He half-expected her to jerk away. She didn't.

“You said I couldn't know about your cause,” he whispered. “I know now—as well as you do.” The images seared across his mind. He shuddered and shoved them down.

She turned and looked at him with a half-smile. “So?” She no longer spoke with that contemptuous tone.

“This monster Meridian and his allies.” He held up his bleeding hands in front of her. “I will give my blood to your quest to rid the universe of him.”

Her emerald eyes locked with his for what seemed an eternity. She held his wrists and delicately licked the blood off his knuckles. The savaged skin glowed and the wounds closed.

“Your blood is sweet, Matayan. You understand better than anyone, now.” She gripped his shoulder. “You are not the one I would have chosen. You are not hard like Tal.” She paused and held out her hands. “Your heart. Give it to me.”

Corim swallowed. His chest constricted. He pulled his sword from the scabbard, his family's honor. The worn hilt fit in his palm. The mirror blade winked in the torchlight. He laid the weapon across her palms.

“I have seen you fight lore-knight.” She said. “You are a warrior. I sense you will need this geas to survive as I did.” Her hands glowed. In one swift motion she brought the flat of the blade down against her knee.

He cried out as the sword rang like a bell and shattered into tiny shards at her feet. The magic that had once infused the metal sparked and died. His body convulsed. He felt weak as if someone had turned his bones to clay.

He stared down at the weapon made from wheel strapping and plough shears, the one he'd pounded into shape with his own hands. It had served him for dozens of missions. Now, it had been reduced to nothing but shiny fragments. The scars of the dragon bite across his chest burned. His life had been tied to that blade. It truly had been his heart, and a cherished link to his roots.

She pulled a pouch from her belt and emptied its contents to one side. Gathering up the sword fragments, she put them within the leather bag.

Beia gestured, and the war-bow leaning against the mantle flew into her hand. The weapon again assumed the form of a black scroll-worked blade. She held it between them and drew her thumb across the edge. Blood welled and she let droplets fall amidst the shards in the sack.

Beia held both Snowfire and the sack out towards Corim.

Heart thundering, he cut his thumb and let the blood fall on the broken metal. The droplets hissed and popped as though dropped in a cookfire.

Beia pulled the drawstrings closed and put his hands around the sack. “What you were is gone. You are mine now. Our quest has become one. When we slay Meridian, together we will take what is destroyed and reforge it.”

Corim felt a great emptiness inside, but he also experienced a strange elation, a strength he'd never felt before. He clutched the pouch tightly. Without hesitation, she had shattered his life to see a deed done. He felt that same drive bubbling in him now. The end justified the means.

They would end Meridian's atrocities at any cost. Only then would they remake what had been fragmented.

He took a gulp of air. “Let it be,” he whispered. How quickly things had changed. He came into the room simply fighting to keep his position as a teacher. Now, he would leave it as a man gripped by the strands of a family geas; a pact of vengeance. It made his head spin.

Beia put a hand on top of the sack. “So, this is what it is like to have a brother.” She sniffed and shook her head. “Aarlen will be pleased with this.”

Aarlen? He'd forgotten the mention of her name in the school courtyard. “Is Aarlenn your mate?” He knew Myrmigyne's took female life-mates.

Beia nodded. “Best to keep that kiss between us. She gets rather jealous. If she finds out.” The Myrmigyne licked her lips expressively. “Corim stew.” There are few ways quicker to judge a man or woman than by how they smell. I can tell where they have been, their personal habits and addictions, and what their mood is. I can especially recognize fear. I can smell it at fifty paces...—Supreme Magistrix Aarlen Frielos,

Minister of the 4th Alliance Territories

Aarlen Frielos straightened her dark blue weskit, tossed her flowing white hair, picked up a briefcase, and ducked low to go through the doorway. Hand on the hilt of an openly displayed sword, polished black boots flashing, she strode across the crowded boardroom past two dozen chair backs to the head of the hardwood meeting table.

No one spoke to her. A glance out the giant windows showed a vehicle and building-filled panorama stretched out a hundred stories below. Hints of carpet cleaner, smoke, and yesterday's brew hung in the air, insidious irritants that burned her sensitive nose.

I know I ordered this room cleaned.

The thump of her boots became louder. The noise cut sentences short and made eyes widen. The members of her staff knew when the Ice Falcon was in a bad mood.

That pure air at Duran'Gravar has me spoiled. No—more like Beia has me spoiled. Nothing has satisfied me lately.

She reached the end of the table and slammed the briefcase down. A few of the stockholders twitched. As a unit, gazes focused on her.

Leaning over the chair, palms flat on the desk, Aarlen scanned two columns of taut bodies and faces. They represented a broad spectrum of humanity, from the pucker-faced accountant from Traveil on her left, to the ebony-skinned woman from Nagaroth at the table's end. All of them were rich, but subservient to the needs of the Frielos Trade Empire.

Hecate's breath, hope I can push this through, get out of here and take a quiet dip in the river with Beia. There were far more important things to take care of than this. Koass had been riding her to finally catch that group of brigands that kept disrupting time. She'd come close enough to touch them twice, but they kept slipping away. Except for Eternals and Kriar, few surpassed her in time diving ability. Could it be a rogue Kriar? Aarlen pushed it from her mind. She would handle each thing in its own time. She had an empire to run and bills to pay.

Aarlen's gaze fell on an empty chair half way down the table. She took another breath of tainted air, and her lip curled.

Her voice echoed. “Where is the representative from Gamath? I said everyone would attend, no exceptions or excuses.”

A chorus of denials and shrugs came from the other board members. Men loosened their collars, and women adjusted dresses.

Two aides previously positioned against the walls like statues went scurrying from the room.

She frowned and scanned the dozens of charts arrayed on the wall opposite the glass. She reached out and grabbed the gavel from its holder. The heavy brass sphere felt cold and hard in her palm.

They can never know the Ice Falcon isn't quite as hard as she used to be.

Tossing and catching the metal orb she locked eyes with each person down the table. Many of them blanched. Some looked away. From centuries of studying people's reactions, she knew that they didn't flinch because of her appearance. Her face and body were the finest marvels that science and magic could shape.

They said that the eyes were windows to the soul. Despite the purifications and mental makeovers of the Eternals, looking into the silver eyes of the Ice Falcon could still make brave men quail.

“Trade.” She brought the gavel down so that it cracked explosively on the top of the table. This time the entire assemblage jumped. “Just as that woke you up, ladies and gentlemen, so should our organization awake. It should be no surprise to you that the Empire has new neighbors. The Kriar have started bidding in the common market for goods distribution.”

She pulled the chair back and stepped in front of it, again tossing the heavy globe. Many eyes stayed riveted on the polished brass as it rose and fell.

“It is time we streamlined our operations, cut out all the slack so that our established base can compete with the superior automation of our gold competitors.” She settled into the chair and leaned back, the gavel resting on her chest beneath steepled fingers. “Discussion?”

She listened while members bandied concepts back and forth. These self-indulgent eccentrics would never consider the necessary action toward the common goal without prodding. Let them vent their ideas and have those shot down.

One of the aides hurried back into the room and stopped a short distance from her. He was a young man wearing an immaculate blue suit, auburn topknot shoved into the collar of his shirt, gold flashing on his wrist.

She gestured him over.

The boy came over and knelt by her chair. She gave him a cursory examination. Hungry blue eyes, strong jaw, and a prow-like nose combined to form an appealing combination. She sniffed at the pleasing delicate musk that must be cologne.

Have to ask where Gabriella keeps finding these delectable young men.

She put a hand on his shoulder and smiled. “Did you find him?”

He shivered at her touch. “Representative Witherwood is in the lobby and on his way.”

Witherwood? I've heard that name before.

She nodded and turned her attention back to the discussion. When he didn't move, she made a shooing gesture. He stood and retreated to his original position.

The representative didn't take long to make his appearance. The man ducked and turned sideways to step through the door.

Darthal Witherwood took his time striding across the room. He wore mirrored glasses on his bulldog face, his hulking body dressed in gray back-alley leather. He slouched into his chair, propped his elbows on the table, laced his fingers and acted as if he'd shown up early. He grinned in Aarlen's direction.

He's the rebel inheritor with Teritaani blood. We haven't butted heads yet. He'll learn a little muscle doesn't scare me.

The discussion stopped. No doubt everyone waited for her to take the sword and remove his head. In centuries past, that's exactly how she would have handled this situation. One quick swipe—problem solved.

Those acts of calculated violence lay behind her now. Years spent in the Eternal's rehabilitation program made thoughts of such mayhem sickening. She could only fight now to defend herself.

“Good of you to grace us with your presence, Mister Witherwood. We were discussing competing with the Kriar in the market place. How about your input on this matter.”

Witherwood pushed the glasses farther up on his nose and rubbed the stubble on his face. “Scrape the scabs off. There's only a hundred thousand Kriar? A skirmish line of three of four hundred heavy cruisers should smoke them. High tech or no.”

She sighed. “A brilliant example of the brute force mentality. Gentle people, the reason the Kriar have the edge against us is overhead. Their automation is self-sufficient, and only needs traders to negotiate and distribute the goods. Because of laws that I've helped pass, they cannot flood the market or lower their prices below our highest level of credit/product efficiency. So to be competitive we only need to cut our operating costs. There is a simple way to accomplish this that no one has bothered to mention.”

She leaned forward and started tossing the brass globe again. A silence gripped the room.

Now, the axe drops.

“I've analyzed the operating costs of our companies. In a majority of the cases, an average of twenty-five percent of the operating costs went to pay top executive salaries. The quickest way to affect a change is to curb our lavish appetites and take a forty percent cut in pay for ourselves and our regional staff.”

The gaping mouths, bulging eyes, and pale faces made a priceless image. Aarlen savored the momentary silence before the explosion of outrage that followed.

A single booming baritone cut through the torrent of mewing, complaining, and anger. “That's easy to say for a Lady who lives in a tree. What need does she have for money?” Witherwood stood now, meaty hands balled into fists.

A pall fell over the room. Several members ducked under the desk.

She growled, hand tightening on the gavel. “Sit down, Witherwood, your adolescent posturing doesn't impress me.”

His jaw tightened. “Listen, Bitch, I don't care if you really are 40,000 years old. Some iron-butt Teritaani witch living on a reputation isn't going to make me give up half my pay simply to make this crumbling pile of dung you call an empire look good.”

The brass sphere groaned as her knuckles whitened. Pucker-face sitting near her leaned away face ashen.

Aarlen gave Witherwood a cold grin. She tossed the gavel into his face. He snatched it out of the air with a sneer. The expression on his face melted as he realized the metal had been extruded into a ridged cylinder shaped like the inside of her hand.

She measured her voice, silver eyes intense. “That's Madame bitch to you, Boy.”

Hand on the hilt of her Shaladen sword, Aarlen stormed into the Protectorate briefing room, ignoring the startled looks the other members of the Shael Dal gave her.

The enormous meeting hall appeared to be carved out of one huge block of marble. She could see her distorted reflection in the polished black floor, veins of gold, silver and red running through it. Murals of Nebulae, galaxies, suns going nova, and other phenomena decorated the walls. The room smelled of leather, sword oil and the wine being consumed by the eight women and four men.

Tal Falor leaned back in the Commander's chair, his feet up on the conference table. He looked up at her as she stopped in front of him. He didn't blink, even under her glare. Aarlen felt a muscle in her jaw twitch. She hated having to take orders from youngsters, especially Falor who rubbed in his authority whenever he got the chance. His cat-eyed wife, Terra, at least had the sense to color a little.

“This better have been important, Tal.”

The big man smoothed his mustache. His voice stayed level, dark eyes locked on hers. “Protectorate business takes precedence over outside concerns. Koass ordered a general briefing—that includes all personnel, even bigshots like you.”

Aarlen tightened her grip on her briefcase. The leather and wood handle creaked under the pressure. “You didn't need me here,” she growled. “The Eternals have my report on those rogue time divers. I have to wait until my temporal static dissipates if I want to catch them next time.”

Tal shrugged. “Pretend I needed you to lighten the mood at my briefing. Call me a stickler for chain-of-command.” He frowned. “Sit down. Stop trying to loom over me.”

Her voice dropped. “Falor...”

He narrowed his eyes. “You don't like taking my orders, Whitey? Quit—hand me the sword, and you can be out of here in a heartbeat.”

“You'd like that wouldn't you?”

Tal's face kept its same flat expression. “You bet I would.”

Aarlen snorted. “Without me, the Shael Dal have a less than a century of time diving experience between them. I've forgotten more than any of you infants will ever know. What are you going to do if I walk?”

“We'll manage, Whitey, don't let that worry you. We could do without some posturing fifty thousand year old fossilized harpy.”

The handle of her briefcase crushed. She dropped it to the floor. The urge to strike this oaf was overwhelming. Tal purposely baited her in front of the others. He wanted a fight.

A spectacle.

The burly warrior wasn't stupid like Witherwood. All he needed was for her to step out of line. The head Eternal, Koass, still had her on probation. If she hammered Tal, as he so badly deserved, the repercussions would be swift and decisive. She would be out of the Protectorate.

The Protectorate was the only thing standing between her and imprisonment. The Eternals employed her as a time diver as a way to work off her debt to society. She'd been warned that if she caused problems they would put her back in purgatory.

Several of the Shael Dal had seen the carnage she'd caused before she went through the decade-long rehabilitation. Her mind and soul had been torn apart and reassembled. She'd suffered in ways that even now she couldn't look back on without quivering inside. They still saw her as a despot. Her crimes could never be requited in their eyes:

...especially Tal's.

Reining in her temper, she took a breath and held it. Aarlen stared at the big man. He met her gaze, no fear in his eyes. One of these days he'd regret his insolence. Not today perhaps, or tomorrow, she had time. Some day he'd no longer be able to use her membership as a shield. Then there would be a proper reckoning. It was a fight she looked forward to.

Grabbing her briefcase, Aarlen took her time and walked around the table and eased into her chair. Her eyes never left Tal. She leaned back and steepled her fingers over her chest. “All right, Commander, brief away.”

Tal snorted. He turned his attention to the group. The other men and women stiffened. “I've recently received my own briefing from Eternal Koass. We are all to remain on urgent status until these rogue time divers are caught. Staffing is low; most of the Eternals are on the outside now, doing their best to keep ahead of the damage.” He turned his dark eyes to Aarlen. “You've given your report to Koass, but told the rest of us nothing. You're the only one who's even caught a glimpse of these bastards. What are we up against?”

Aarlen sniffed. She used her coolest tone. “I thought you didn't need me.”

Terra and some of the others shifted uneasily in their chairs. She noticed blood-haired Elsbeth Crowninshield massaging her temples as if in pain. Aside from Terra, Elsbeth was the only other elder in the group. She wielded the Shaladen named Starwind. The red-haired mage could time dive, but not well.

Tal frowned. “Whether I need you or not, you are here. Talk to us. Don't spite the rest of them simply to devil me.” He paused. “Or are you that small?”

She stiffened. Falor was on a roll, scoring with every jab. She cleared her throat. “There are only a few of them. I'm certain they have only one time diver.”

“One diver is doing all this damage?” Terra asked, her golden eyes wide.

Aarlen nodded. “This diver is an elder, and powerful. They're using some form of enhancement, to allow this person to carry passengers.”

Tal rubbed his chin. “I heard the Kriar have reported a missing Belkirin warrior. Could it be the same person?”

She shrugged. Speculation did no good. “Could be. I doubt it, though. I wouldn't have been able to even get near a Kriar time master if they didn't want me to.”

At the end of the table, Elsbeth spoke up. “Is it possible somebody could enslave a Kriar? Force one to dive for them.”

The others turned to look at her, stiffening at the thought.

Tal spoke into the silence. “That would take a lot of doing.”

“It would take powerful magic,” Aarlen mused. “Prepared properly, I could do it. I'm certain there are other mages who could, too.” She paused. Something nagged at the back of her mind. The long chase, always just out of reach. She could even see the silhouettes of the divers, so close yet immeasurably distant. “You know, I did think it odd.”

“What?” Tal prompted.

Aarlen leaned over the desk. The others focused on her. “I had this strange sense the whole time that they could have easily outdistanced me. Yet, they never got more than a hair out of reach, as if their diver was purposely holding back.” She looked at Tal.

The big man thumped the table with his fist. “A diver who wanted to get caught,” he muttered. “We may very well have a captured Kriar to contend with.” He shook his head. “We have to plan for that contingency. Suggestions...”

Aarlen sighed. So much for a relaxing vacation with Beia.

Duty called. The true measure of a man comes down to luck. All the skill, training, and planning can come to naught in the face of bad luck. Ultimately, no creature is safe from the whims of fate...—Meridian Arcturan

Dulcere sat on a bench looking out through the ruined remains of Meridian's bowl shaped coliseum. The edifice was so large it would take at least a hectarev to sprint from one side to the other. Tiers of bleachers stair-stepped down from the outer walls several stories high.

The sun burned hot and bright, reflecting off her once again gold skin. The rush of energy made her hearts thunder. She felt dizzy. It had been thousands of cycles since her body had been charged to capacity.

She scanned the surroundings through the blindfold that Meridian had put on her. If he knew the wrap was no impediment whatsoever, she doubted he would get any sleep at all.

The faded marble and granite of the structure looked pitted and burned. From what she understood, the same people who had cut a huge half-moon shape out of the structure had also overrun this place. The damage appeared disturbingly like the way a piece of fruit looked when you took a bite from it.

The bench where she sat with Meridian and a half dozen of his sycophants stood on the edge of a raised platform covered with dirt. The area was girded by a deep pit that provided access to extensive catacombs where the mage kept her.

In the open, Meridian took no chances with Dulcere. He had Jund loop the chain around the granite bench and seal it. Apparently, he'd learned that in direct sunlight her strength would increase.

Jund's massive hand completely enveloped her left upper arm.

A white-haired pit fighter named Seglar held her other arm. Even in the heat, the male dressed in a full hood and cloak. Leather completely encased his arms and legs. She guessed he was allergic to the light because of his albescent skin and pink eyes.

The other pit fighters in Meridian's employ shied away from the male. Few would meet his eyes. He always spoke in a whisper. She'd heard it mumbled that Seglar was there to deal with Beia Targallae if the Myrmigyne should happen to show up. Apparently, he and the woman had squared off more than once. She'd overheard him speaking to Meridian about Beia. There had been no love lost between them.

Senalloy sat in the dirt a stone's throw away. The Baronian woman appeared ashen and sickly. All of her scars were stark in the bright light. Only her gleaming silver hair looked attractive.

Dulcere channeled a thought for Senalloy only. <I thought I would not see you again.>

The Baronian stared at the dirt. When she answered, Dulcere could feel her dejection. The female's lips moved to mouth the words silently. “Perhaps soon you won't. I am ashamed. I failed.”

<You did the best you could. There will be other opportunities.>

“Perhaps.” Dulcere didn't hear much hope in her thought. “You seem much healthier than last.”

<I am. Sunlight restores my strength. Why have they brought you up here?>

“To care for Rakaar's injuries should he be wounded during this mock battle. I guess after you attacked him, he is feeling out of practice.”

<Good. I only wished I could have hurt him more.>

Senalloy's smile was grim. “You did. Those energies you left in his flesh were very painful to remove.”

Meridian stepped over to Seglar. “There he is,” he pointed down the steps where Rakaar was approaching. “Now we get to see if this monster is the equal of his boasts.”

Seglar's voice was as pale as his skin. “You doubt? I do not. He is a grand master.”

The mage snorted. “He is an oversized bully. His defeat of a dozen common warriors is nothing extraordinary. You can do that, and without weapons.”

Seglar pressed his lips to a line. He pulled the hood closer around his face. “As you say.”

Rakaar topped the steps, followed by a line of fully armed and armored pit warriors. He wore only a pair of black breeches and a dark red sash. Straps of leather encased his arms. A thong tied in back kept his long, black hair out of his eyes.

Dulcere felt only confidence from the huge male. He stepped to the middle of the dirt play field, his hands empty. The sun glinted on swords and shields as the pit-warriors surrounded him at a distance of twenty paces.

Meridian folded his arms. “This Baronian is crazy. He can't think to take on twenty pit-fighters without weapons.”

Seglar shook his head. “You would do better to let Jund fight him.”

The mage rubbed his chin, not answering.

“Go!” Rakaar boomed.

The warriors whirled into motion. The center of the field became storm of flashing steel and hurtling bodies with Rakaar at its center. His hands and feet became hissing blurs that slapped away weapons and drove home with bone-crushing force. War cries and snapping steel punctuated the sounds of screaming men and collapsing metal. Weapons smashed into Rakaar's bare back and chest, bloodying his swarthy skin but never slowing his onslaught.

Dulcere's throat tightened. She now saw proof of her initial assessment of the Baronian. Here was a creature bred for one thing. War. It knew no surrender, and needed none. No doubt he could batter his way through barriers of flesh and stone that would stop armies of humans.

Men flew in all directions as Rakaar lashed out. As the man bellowed, shields crumpled and swords broke. In a few hectarevs, he remained the only one standing. Meridian's warriors lay scattered around him like broken dolls.

Frowning, Rakaar strode over and snapped his fingers at Meridian.

The mage narrowed his eyes, but grabbed the towel off the bench and tossed it to the Baronian. Rakaar caught the cloth, casually toweling the sweat from his angular face. He appeared unbothered by the fierce cuts and bruises.

His boom could he heard a hundred paces away. “You are going to have to find me better sparring partners. These are entirely too fragile.” He glanced at Dulcere. “She did more damage to me with your inhibitor around her neck.”

<Take this chain off, Rakaar. I will give you plenty of practice.>

“Of that I am certain, Belkirin.” Rakaar grinned. “You have taught me that there are Kriar warriors, and warriors who are Kriar. I think in another life we could have been brother and sister.”

Dulcere scowled. She felt certain it was supposed to be a compliment. She didn't take it that way. Being related to this creature in any way would be distasteful.

Dulcere directed a thought at Senalloy. <He can't really mean that, can he?>

The female sighed. “I guess it's love at first punch.”

They both laughed. Dulcere wished there was something more uplifting to be amused about. The revs were ticking by, and she was no closer to escape. Meridian and Rakaar would soon have their plan set to execute. The universe was nearing a holocaust, the likes of which had never been seen.

Rakaar looked at Jund. “What about you, broad one? You seem stout enough to take a few hits.”

The Hybrid grinned. It clenched a fist. “Good fight,” Jund rumbled. He looked to Meridian.

The mage nodded.

Jund's simian face lit up as if he'd been given a present.

The two juggernauts strode out to the center of the field, assisting the humans to safety and dragging others.

“Do you still think he is crazy?” Seglar asked Meridian.

The mage scowled. “I would not have believed it. Do you think Jund can handle him?”

“Speed will determine the victor, Jund uses the Dan Sadad, and Rakaar works a variant of it.”

The clash made the coliseum floor shake. The two titans traded blows. Jund scored the first telling blow: a forearm smash to the head that would have crushed a boulder. Rakaar came back with a rapid sally of kicks and punches to the torso. Of the two, Jund had far more mass. The Hybrid appeared to know how to use it.

The battle lasted longer this time. Rakaar hollered superlatives when Jund struck a good blow.

“He is just playing with him,” Seglar whispered. “Jund is not fast enough to land a finishing blow. The Baronian heals too quickly to wear him down.”

As if his words had been a foretelling, Rakaar gave out a single booming battle cry. There was a staccato report of flesh on flesh that made Dulcere cringe. The stony Hybrid toppled. The ground quaked when he hit.

Rakaar returned to Meridian and the towel. “Much better,” he growled, wiping his face.

Meridian's knuckles whitened on his staff. “Now that play is over.” He glanced at the huge Hybrid, only now starting to pick himself out of the dirt. “Let us talk of business. I have completed the control mechanism. Tell me, how fares the work on the paradox generator?”

Rakaar eyed the mage. His wounds were visibly sealing. “There are no difficulties. It will be ready on time.”

“I want it sooner, it appears there was truth to Dulcere's words. I believe we've been found out.”

Dulcere felt a shock of elation. Help was coming. She thought at Senalloy. <You hear that?>

The female nodded. Dulcere felt a bubble of hope rise to the surface in the downtrodden slave.

Rakaar snorted. “Human, it is your problem, not mine. The generator will be ready on schedule.” He poked Meridian in the shoulder. “You said this place would be secure.”

He scowled. “I was mistaken. Can you get it done, or not?”

“I execute as we agreed. Doing a rush job is not a part of that contract. You will owe me.”

“I owe you nothing, alien.”

“I'm not afraid of dying. If you invoke the soul biter, I will hunt you. Hades won't hold me long.”

Dulcere sensed the mage quailing. After Rakaar's fighting demonstration, the mage believed the Baronian could do it. “Enough of this. How long to complete the generator?”

Rakaar threw the towel down and rubbed his chin. “Three days.”

“The analogue interface works perfectly. So we are only waiting on you.”

Rakaar tightened his fist, his knuckles cracking as the skin whitened. “I will do it. Things had best go as you promised, otherwise you won't live to enjoy your new regime.”

“You're wasting time. I suspect it won't be long before our little haven has guests.”

“You mean before this stinking hole has intruders?” Rakaar laughed. “I hope your guards are better than those.” He gestured to the rank of fallen pit-fighters.

“We shall see.”

“Indeed we shall.” Rakaar turned and headed to the steps. He gathered Senalloy to him with a glance. The woman smiled at Dulcere before they disappeared.

Meridian glared after the Baronian. He turned his attention to the fighters.

“Clear the field, damn it, and somebody help him.” He pointed to Jund who staggered in a circle as if someone had spiked one of his feet to the ground.

Something glinting in the bleachers caught Dulcere's attention. She didn't want to turn her head suddenly to focus, not with the blindfold on. Gone. Had she seen something gold up there? Probably nothing, but hopeful imaginings were sparked by the mage's words. <Visitors, Meridian?> Dulcere asked. <Can I be on the welcoming council?>

The mage snorted. “In your dreams, Kriar.”

<Definitely. I shall dream good things for both of us, human. I suspect you will be having your share of nightmares. If you sleep at all that is.>

Meridian scowled at her. “Seglar, take her away. The sun makes her smile too much.”

Dulcere narrowed her eyes. The time was fast approaching when she'd do more than smile.

Striding down the blackened stone corridor, Meridian paused at the huge brass valves of his sanctum. Letting out a breath, he muttered a short incantation that released the wards guarding the door.

The portals swung open at his touch, allowing him into the large office laboratory. Within was stored the culmination of his finest plotting, years of research and experimentation.

He scanned briefly for enemies, observing the many layers of shelves newly crammed with his research materials. The long workbenches were scattered with paraphernalia, numerous alchemical tests still incomplete.

“I can't believe I let that grinning bitch get to me. I know what she is doing, damn it.” Shaking his head, he dropped into his cushioned chair and began working on his notes. If he succeeded, there was much that he needed to make allowance for, the resolving of inevitable paradoxes that were the theoretical hazard of the disruption of time.

Though he'd checked his calculations numerous times, he still felt uneasy. It was difficult to believe that one female's powers, however augmented, could prevent the geometric temporal disruption that would lead to a timequake.

A timequake occurred when probabilities altered. This backlash of settling along the length of a timeline usually eradicated the source of the change. Meridian depended on her power to protect them until they were within the confines of Rakaar's paradox generator. Its field would prevent the chronal disruption from destroying them during the settling.

A knocking came on the brass casement, and Meridian looked up to see the visitor.

“What is it, Psihtath?”

“That damn Baronian milord,” the willowy man wheezed. Slipping his arms into the sleeves of his robes, Psihtath stepped into the room.

Meridian chuckled. “So what else is new? You know Rakaar thrives on conflict. You let his barbs get to you?”

The man's peppered mustache twitched, and his brows became a solid line across his forehead. “He just told me we will be working all day and night now. Bad enough, having to spend eight bells a day with that—animal ... but thrice that? I shan't survive!”

“Buck-up. He says he can be finished in three days.”

Psihtath shuddered. “Someone else perhaps? Krellig, Vulg or even Ptahmig. The beast is difficult enough without rushing him.”

“Come now. You've contributed a lot to that project. Make sure it works; you know how much we're depending on it.”

“Aye.” Psihtath's pained expression was resigned. “I'm afraid of that bastard.”

“Don't argue. Just do it. We have to be done as soon as possible.”

Psihtath nodded sullenly. “I'll do it, but I expect a reward.”

“You'll get it. Now get to work.”

Shaking his head, the other mage turned and left.

Rubbing his bristly chin, Meridian watched Psihtath leave. He wondered if he could be trusted to complete his task. They couldn't afford to have key people quitting when the plan neared fruition. He returned to his notes.

The universe would be his, or there'd be no universe at all. If I learned anything in the death spectacles, it's that anything can be a weapon; even a yell used to shatter the eardrum of a warrior ready to best you. There is no room for fear in the pit fighter's psyche and less for doubt. Nine tenths of the battle has been already fought before you even step onto the field...—Regaura “Beia” Targallae

Corim knelt on a mat in front of Beia's mantle, his senses extra acute. He felt aware of the cloth and wood textures under his legs, and sniffed the pungency of wood and weapon oil. He contemplated the chattering of jungle birds, the distant buzz of conversation and the tart/sweet taste of a drink Beia gave him. He saw nothing; wanted to see nothing.

He'd taken on Beia's nightmares and experienced a woman's sense of violation and degradation. Intellectually, he would have said that understanding a savaged female's trauma was good. Not this way. If he had it to do again, he would run and hide. The horrors of the arenas kept replaying in his head. Meridian's face—he knew it well now—the sneering ursine visage that oversaw all the pain, whipped it gleefully into a frenzy.

Rage. The alien heat seared his mind. He burned for two, now. Meridian would suffer for his injustices. Corim couldn't separate his own anger from Beia's smoldering sense of being enslaved and tortured. The Myrmigyne's feelings blotted out his own. There could be no temperance. He wondered if the author of the Death Spectacles deserved any. Not in Beia's thinking, for certain.

He willed his mind tabula raza. Empty. He had tried to face the charging dragon of Beia's memories and failed. Each time, it shredded his self-control. The only answer now was to hide it away, to push it under a rock and deny it ever happened. The strange duality made it difficult to separate real experiences from adopted ones. The main difference lay in that the scars he wore marred only his mind.

Beia knelt next to him. Corim opened his eyes and looked at her. The Myrmigyne's face no longer looked glacial-hard. How long would that last? She put a hand on his shoulder. He put his on top of it. He knew the significance of her being able to touch a man without it being an angry punch or kick. He didn't want to understand.

“Getting through it?” she asked. Her voice sounded pleasant when there wasn't a raw edge on it.

Corim nodded. He glanced to the pouch of shards now enshrined on Beia's mantle. His family sword. The honor he had carried for so many years. “I don't know how you survived it.” He shuddered.

She gripped his shoulder. “How I survived it? How did you survive? All my miseries at once. I had time to heal between each, to grow—” Her jaw tightened. “Numb. I felt you experience it.”

With this chaos thundering inside him it was hard to concentrate. Corim thought he knew the answer. “In nature, animals tend to be immune to their own venom. Maybe in the same way, I'm resistant to the psychic poison I draw out of people. I think without your geas, I might have lost control. I'm barely managing now.”

Beia took the cup sitting next to his knee and put it in his hand. “Drink.”

He swallowed slowly. The sweet elixir made his stomach warm. It wasn't bitter like strong liquor, but it possessed the same kick. A few more cups of it, and he'd be numb too. It did settle his nerves. This experience had made him ready to jump in all directions, including out that window three hundred paces over the jungle.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

Her eyes flashed. “I am still angry with you. I don't care if it was unintentional. You invaded my mind.”

“But how are you feeling?” he persisted.

“How would you feel if someone lifted a mountain off your shoulders that you'd been carrying for three decades?”

He took another sip, ignoring the fact that she was evading his question. “Lighter, confused perhaps. I might be in shock.”

She frowned. “Maybe.” Beia stared at the floor for a moment, hands clenching and opening. “All right—I feel good. I feel... By Nethra, Aarlen is going to kill you.”

Aarlen, the great elder; The Ice Falcon. He still puzzled over Beia's involvement with the legendary woman. The books said Aarlen died over three decades ago. Of course, Aarlen had purportedly died dozens of times in her millenniums-long history, only to resurface again. The woman was a complete despot according to the books. She loved nothing and no one. Their relationship must only be platonic. Even that seemed far-fetched.

“Why would this Aarlen be angry?”

“She's been trying to treat my condition for a year now. She's jealous of everything about me.”

'Condition', that word had sounded mechanical on Beia's tongue. It amazed him that she could have cared for anybody loaded down with such a freight of hurt. Maybe that was why Aarlen would kill him.

“Is Aarlen going to know?”

“That white-haired witch knows what I'm thinking before I think it. Our love is more like hate turned inside out. The two things aren't precisely the same.”

“I don't understand.”

Beia let out a breath. “What are we talking about this for? We're supposed to be getting ready for a mission.” She looked at the door. “What's taking Ceraph so long?”

Corim rubbed his cheeks. “We're talking about this because it's important to you. The arena will wait. It always has. We're talking about your life outside of this vengeance against Meridian.”

Beia growled. “Aarlen and I needed one another. We were both dying, empty shells driven by violence. It had come to the point it wasn't enough for either of us. We gave each other what we needed to continue. I was old, Corim. The arena aged me faster than you know. I'd chased Meridian for a long time. He would never stand and fight. I learned how he used rejuvenation to keep himself young. To defeat me, all he needed to do was to stay a step ahead and outlive me. The realization that I would die old and bitter and unfulfilled, hit me hard.” She swallowed. “I gave up.”

“Then came Aarlen?”

She nodded. “She was sent to Duran'Gravar by the Protectorate as part of her punishment. We both had a death wish, then. Strangely, since we didn't manage to kill each other, it pulled us together.”

Aarlen—punished by the Protectorate; the Guardians of Balance only concerned themselves with criminals who offended on a tremendous scale. That was why she'd been reported dead; a reasonable assumption considering the woman's crimes.

Corim's stomach knotted. It seemed so absurd. He realized they weren't simply acquaintances. Beia's tone made it clear that it went deep. “The Ice Falcon, Beia?” he choked. “Your mate is the matriarch of clan Frielos, the brass bitch, the crimson death, the woman who could have run Hades itself but said the job didn't pay enough? She's your mate!?”

Beia's expression didn't change. “Aarlen is better now.”

“Better than what?” His voice cracked.

“Mind your tongue. She is my mate, and she will eat you for breakfast if I let her.”

Corim felt an icy tremor run down his back. “Aarlen Frielos is a nightmare used to scare children. The historians wished her legends were false. Ishtar, right now, I wish they were, too. How could you—”

“She was dying. The Protectorate purified Aarlen. They scoured the blackness out of her. It left her a husk worse than me. I told you, we needed each other. Old habits, especially ones millenniums old, are hard to break. That's why she's so jealous, she didn't even know what love was.”

Corim let out a breath. “Marvelous, and now I've interfered between you and her.” He'd gone from one odious position to another. Beia spoke of being old. She did not look old now. She could have looked younger than he did, if she wished it. Only an immortal like Aarlen could strip off years in the way Beia was young. He had sensed the power in the communion. What forsaken thing had Beia embraced in her loss?

The Myrmigyne didn't say anything. She pulled on her braid, emerald eyes cloudy. If he compared this Beia with the one he had met at Tal's school, he would have sworn they were different people. “I suppose that is the price of meddling,” she said. “There is nothing to be done for it now. We will deal with those other difficulties when we return. Ceraph already knows what I must tell you. Let us to it, no sense wasting time.”

He nodded, seeing the logic in that.

Beia stood and went to a chest in a corner of the room. She pulled out a pair of odd-looking weapons. Each was a cylindrical cage large enough to allow an arm inside. At the striking end of the cage, a cone shaped collar spread to the width of a hand span. On the lip of this extension eight triangular knife blades were hinged. The blades slanted inward to meet at a single sharp point. When used, the weapon would make gaping star-shaped holes in an opponent.

Corim grimaced. “I've only seen a few at tournaments, they're ring-she, correct?”

Beia nodded and slipped a hand inside one of the sinister looking instruments. A crosspiece in the collar allowed the weapon to be held securely in the fist. Holding the ring-she up, she snapped her wrist in a rotation. The eight-bladed cone clicked into a nasty-looking rosette. The blades now stood perpendicular to the collar. Inside, he could see her fist clenched around the grip.

“Ring-she,” Beia murmured, a cold light in her eyes. “If I tell you nothing else, this will be the most valuable. These are the pit-fighter's in-weapon. If you see anyone armed with these, don't let him inside your first circle. They'll put holes in you that'll take weeks to mend. Listen for the snap of the blades opening. If you do, they might have a pair that does this.” She swung her arm into line with the near wall. Triggering something inside the collar with her thumb, the weapon let out a loud snap.

The sound made him duck. Recovering, he glanced along the line indicated.

A circle of blades now jutted from the wood wall.

He swallowed. “Ouch.”

Beia studied him for an instant, then laughed. The sound surprised him. “Aye,” she gasped. “Definitely—ouch!” Corim felt warm, hearing her laugh. It didn't sound bitter or callous.

She removed the blades from the wall. Pulling an odd metallic disk from the chest, she inserted the tips of the blades into slots around its periphery. It took a while, involving slipping the daggers into guides on the weapon, and using a screw-like crank from the chest to ‘cock’ the weapon again.

“That's why you don't shoot them often.” She put her arm in the weapon and snapped the blades to the closed position.

He eyed the weapon on her arm. “Can danee.” He stood and moved in the fluid lunging style, pretending as if the cages encased his arms. “They were designed for that style.”

Beia smacked the cage against her open palm. “Remember the high-side, Corim, it is danee with a twist. Ever fought someone skilled in the Jacdaw style?”

He rubbed the top of his head. The pain of his creased skull came back in a flash. “Ishtar's eyes, yes, I beat him, but I couldn't laugh without giving myself a headache for more than a week.”

“Good, remember it, and save yourself some pain.” She put the weapons back in the chest.

A knock came at the door. Beia looked over. The brief flash in her eyes said that she feared it was Aarlen returning home early. Corim tensed, he could comfortably delay his meeting with the Ice Falcon indefinitely. It was bad enough to be in the room with a queen much less one of the universe's great elders.

The door opened. The woman who entered could have been Beia except she was taller and broader in the hips and bosom. Her angular features weren't as severe as Beia's. She wore her hair loose. A long, mirror-bright earring caught the light, fashioned into a circle of stars. She moved with a sureness that told Corim she was as much a warrior as Beia. She looked older, and seams had begun to erode her comely face.

“Kaola, sister.” She brought a heavy pack into the room and set it down. Ceraph came into the chamber behind her.

Beia relaxed. She rubbed the black lightning on her cheek. “Kaola.” She glanced at Corim and blew out a long slow breath. She gestured to the Myrmigyne. “Corim, this is my sister, Ess.”

Corim bowed. “Kaola, t'sann avin al danza, honri,” he greeted. ("Hunt ever in the light, honored.")

Ess raised an eyebrow. Corim could tell she was shocked and pleased at the same time. This woman did not hate men. She smiled, getting over her initial surprise. “Kaola vosta, thank you. You know our clan's tongue?”

“A smattering only.” He glanced at Beia. “I pick up a lot of things from my books.”

Ceraph stepped by Ess. She carried a beautiful war-bow taller than herself. The thing gleamed in the lamplight. The bow had to be a Myrmigyne ancestral weapon from the careful engraving up and down its length. Ceraph smiled for him.

“Books, is it?” Ess focused on him. She spoke with a twang common to the realms north of Ivaneth. She could even have learned it in his own kingdom of Ironwood. “I always tell Beia books are important. She holds no stock in it.”

Beia growled. “One Matayan in this family is enough. You two will be happy together, dosing yourselves with Cassandra's tomes until you're both spread in the butt and completely useless.”

Ess came and put her arms around the smaller sister. “What is wrong, Beia?”

“There is nothing the matter, that is what.”

Ess pushed Beia back a step, holding the smaller sister's shoulders. They must have shared a strong connection because Ess’ face brightened. She laughed and swung Beia around in a circle. “Sister, the darkness is gone!”

“Put me down!” Beia snapped.

Ess did so, but she continued to bubble, the glee apparent on her face. “Grand news, Sister. I had thought I would never see you free of the curse.”

Ceraph came to stand by Corim. She looked at him knowingly. She pointed to Beia, then to him and tapped her temple. He nodded. Yes, he had used his power on Beia. The Elf rolled her eyes. Obviously, she knew about Aarlen.

Beia glared at Ess. “You haven't yet, sister.” She walked to the mantle and grabbed the pouch with Corim's shattered sword inside. She tossed it to Ess.

The other Myrmigyne caught the bag and hefted the weight. Corim thought that she already understood because of the way her face grew even brighter. She glanced at him.

Beia told her, anyway. “This is Corim's geas. He is our brother until Meridian dies. So, whether I like it or not, you get your second Matayan in the family after all.”

“Estanda!” Ess let out. “He is a mage then? He lifted the curse from your mind?”

Beia pulled at her braid. “Of a sort. Ess, think of what Aarlen will say.”

Her words cut the smile from Ess’ face. She touched the earring. The silvery metal flashed as it jiggled. “No, no, not good. Aarlen will be very angry.”

Beia nodded. “Yes. So, we must keep Corim a secret. You must not tell her about him unless she asks. Offer nothing.”

Ess leveled a gaze at Beia. She began pulling at the earring. Corim feared she might tear her ear. What Beia asked could not be an easy thing; concealing a secret from an elder. “Then I should not know where you're going?”

“No.” The word was firm and stark.

Ess nodded.

These two sisters knew each other as they knew themselves. Corim felt sure of it. He could tell there would be no more words on it.

Ess put the geas sack on the mantle and looked at Corim. Her green eyes, twins of Beia's, were lively not icy. “Can I touch our new brother? You have asked me to face Aarlen for him, after all.”

“If he allows it.”

Corim saw Ceraph frown. He expected her to kick him in the ankle because he didn't deny Ess. She didn't, but the Elf did fix the bigger woman with a hard stare. She might as well have been invisible as far as Ess was concerned.

The Myrmigyne stepped over. Her eyes came only a tiny span below his own. Ess’ hand touched his cheek. Her nails brushed his neck, causing his flesh to prickle. They seemed long for a woman who fought all the time. She cupped his shoulder in her palm and ran it down his chest and belly. Corim's heart speeded, but he held himself still. Ess was only teasing him, he felt sure. Her gaze dropped further, but not her hand.

Corim became aware then of the tension in the air. Ceraph was bowstring taut next to him. Beia also focused intently.

His damnable power. It made them want to possess him like a piece of jewelry.

Ess licked her lips, her fingers again toying with the earring. “I could do much worse than to have a brother put together so well.” She looked at Beia. “Perhaps one of us should do our duty to the clan with him. He would make fine bundles, I am sure.”

Corim saw the mischievous twinkle in her eye. He smiled. This was not some empty-headed court lady, all titters and lace. He sensed Ess’ strength, but she did not try to impress him with it. He thought that if she had taken his hand, he might have gone with her.

Ess winked at him. “With this one I think I might suffer it more than once. I have clan sisters with rougher faces.”

Ceraph was almost vibrating next to him, trying to push Ess away by force of will alone.

Corim saw Beia smile. The queen folded her arms. He guessed she had seen Ess at such sport before. If he didn't like Ceraph so much, he would have enjoyed it more.

Ess bent in front of Ceraph and kissed her on the forehead. “Do not color so, little sister, it is easy to tell you have laid a claim on him. I am only teasing.”

Ceraph sniffed and folded her arms. “I do not think so.”

The Myrmigyne raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps not, but it is the proper thing to say. Do you share your good fortunes, Lady Ceraph?”

“Do not jest with me, Honored.”

“Joke? I think not.” Ess’ expression turned serious. “Too much Myrmigyne blood has been diluted by merchants and vagabonds. Corim's strengths,” he saw that twinkle in her eye again. “Stand for themselves, I'm certain.”

He felt the heat rise in his cheeks, then. Those books had taught Ess the word craft as well as any court lady.

Ceraph's lavender eyes flashed. “I do not own him. We have barely met.”

The earring flashed as Ess’ head turned. She looked Corim in the eye. Unabashed lust, Ess made no secret of it on her face. She would wait. “You chose your weapons well. Guard his back, as well, and my brother will return so that we may argue this when there is time.”

“Good,” Beia said. “Now that you are done with royal matters we can get on to business.”

They all sat on mats in the front of the mantle as Beia briefed Corim on the terrain, environment and what they might find once in the arena. The mission itself was only reconnaissance. They would penetrate the arena's defenses and determine the strength of their arms and guards. The arena had been shut down once, but now signs of activity hinted at it being reactivated. Beia said that she'd learned of it through Kriar contacts. She did not identify the arena, but Corim recalled its name was Daladar.

Ess added a few choice bits of knowledge that curbed Corim's taste for the ‘how's’ of things. Meridian Arcturus might have been depraved, but he still possessed real genius.

Beia explained that all arenas were identical inside, so Ess could aid in their discussion and still not know the location where they were going.

It took almost two bells to complete their short education. She described guards, weapons, and tactics all in complete detail. At the end of it, Beia looked edgy and she kept glancing at the door. Corim guessed that when she originally planned to go, she'd have only given him a terse summary and then let him sink or swim. Beia treated her brother differently.

Corim let out a breath. “This is all fine.” He glanced at the mantle where his sword lay in pieces now. “I have no weapon to take into battle.”

Beia stood and took the great war-spear off the wall. She held the glittering metal-hafted weapon out to him. “Until we are no longer of the blood. Eboneye—she is yours.” I find nothing better than the combination of a warm fire, a good spiced cider, and nice long book. If I had to give up fighting and competition, I would be sad but not heartbroken. If I could no longer pursue knowledge—it would most certainly destroy my spirit. I could not go on...—Corim Erik Vale

Beia's eyes flashed gem-hard. Corim's view of her chambers dwindled until all he could see was the Myrmigyne queen and the magnificent weapon in her hands. The first weapon he learned as a Matayan was the light lance; little difference between that and a spear.

“Say her name, Corim, and take her,” Beia told him. “Always say her name first. She will punish you if you don't.”

He swallowed. This weapon meant as much to Beia as his sword had to him. It could not have been easy for her to offer it. “Eboneye,” he said, taking the spear.

The metal was warm and vibrated in his grip like something alive.

“Good hands,” the tinkly voice in the weapon said. He could feel the weapon's powerful sentience. Eboneye was definitely feminine. She purred in his hand. She knew there would be fighting soon. An impression of being thrust deeply into soft human flesh impinged on Corim's mind. A heady sensation as warm lifeblood ran in great rivulets down runnels and haft.

Corim took a breath, startled by the intimacy of the excitement it felt. The weapon knew what it was for, and lived to serve that end. Despite the bloody images, he could not view the thing as evil. The spear's enthusiasm was not for the killing, but for the conflict.

He felt her power run molten through him. There were few creatures he could not defeat with this in his hand.

“We must leave now.” Beia looked at Ess. “Bring me the arrows from the chest in my room, all of them.”

Ess frowned, but moved to do as she asked.

Beia grabbed Snowfire from the wall. She spoke to Ceraph. “I trust you brought the best augmentations from the armory?”

Ceraph pointed to the pack. “I have. You think a talent scout who's worked the unlimited circuit as long as I have would pick poor ones?”

“It seemed unlikely,” Beia admitted. “Outfit him, quickly. I see you are ready.”

Ceraph went and pulled a broad black belt covered with glowing stones from the pack. He sensed its power before she even neared him with it.

“That's a strength belt.” His heart rushed in his chest. He wanted to go snatch it from Ceraph's hands. She held a treasure that the hunters searched decades to find. He watched as she looped it around his hips, feeling his blood pump harder. “I fear I missed something when I did not go to your armory.”

“Perhaps. I have scoured some niceties out of Meridian's arenas.”

Ceraph fastened down the buckle. Energy jolted through his body. He felt ponderous as if his arms and legs had become those of a titan.

“The clumsiness will pass,” Beia said. “My first time, I wounded three people before I got it under control.”

“Why aren't you wearing one now?” Corim still clutched the spear in his hands.

“Aarlen's youth magics provide everything I need.”

Ceraph shouldered the heavy pack easily. Though he didn't see it, she was obviously wearing a similar item.

Ess returned with a quiver as broad as Beia's back, and bristling with arrows. The fletchings of the arrows gleamed and shimmered in the lamplight. Corim doubted if even one of those shafts lacked a magical enchantment.

“Grata,” Beia said. She took the quiver from Ess, put it on and carefully adjusted its straps. She dipped and shifted side-to-side experimentally. The arrows did not rattle.

Beia smiled and hugged her sister. “You keep out of Aarlen's sight unless she sends for you.”

Ess nodded.

“So, how shall we get there?” Corim asked.

Beia came and stood by Corim. She had not changed her garb from when he had first seen her at Tal's school. Aarlen's magics must be impressive, indeed.

“We go like this, Corim.”

He felt certain he saw Beia grow. That seed of power he had sensed in her suddenly blossomed, and she glowed so brightly it forced him to look away. A gut-wrenching jerk snatched them off into darkness; a teleport. He refused to let the whirling depths distract him. He wanted to see Aarlen's seed. He wanted to understand the power that Beia had sacrificed her soul for.

They flashed into reality, elsewhere. His eyes fastened on her. He would learn what she hid.

As the waning light of the new world struck her face, he saw Beia transmogrified. Her blonde hair glittered like spun gold, her form miraculously enhanced in every aspect. A nimbus outlined her perfect body. She was bigger. Around her neck a silver chain and amulet gleamed with intense white light. As he focused on it, his vision blurred and he realized he was staring Beia in the eye.

The spectral form had vanished, but he knew what he saw. He had been reading about it in Tal's courtyard before the fight with the og. “A soulname. You've been through the forging.”

Beia narrowed her eyes. “Is there any privacy from your books, Brother?”

Corim looked away, not wanting to meet those flashing eyes. Ceraph put her hand in his. Together they listened to the still landscape. He drew a breath of cool thin air. An eerie stillness pervaded the surroundings, with only a faint whisper of a breeze. Turning, Corim searched the terrain for signs of life.

Nothing.

Hanging low on the horizon, the sun was a bloody ellipse burning beneath a veil of silvery clouds. Tinges of vermilion outlined rust-colored mesas and canyons. A few stars peeked out of an indigo sky.

My first glimpse of another world.

They stood in a shallow cleft below the edge of a steep cliff that jutted from the desert floor. A plateau rose ahead to become foothills stippled by twisted trees. The unmistakable silhouette of the arena hunched between three large hills.

Sections of the headland had been carved away to make room for the mammoth foundations. The edifice's most striking facet was a missing hemispherical chunk.

It gave the structure a disturbing similarity to a fruit someone had sampled and tossed aside after learning the flavor was unpalatable.

His gaze fastened on that serrated area of damage. “What in Hades did that?” He pointed.

Beia smiled wryly. “One of my friends, T'Gor. His idea of a joke. He wanted the Arcturan to know we'd—”

“Carellion!” Ceraph groaned. “You don't mean—”

“Yes,” Beia smiled. “Wanted them to know we'd put the bite on them.”

He shook his head. “You have some interesting friends.”

Beia nodded. “Actually, T'Gor is the warrior who helped me get out of the spectacles. He's one of a few who knows the arenas like we do.” She sighed. “That's a story for another time though.” She climbed the side of the crevice, staying low as she studied the terrain from the higher vantage. Corim extended the spear so she could grasp it, then shinnied up. With the new strength, it felt as if he'd become feather light.

On solid ground, it took him a little while to adjust his stride, but the coordination came quickly. This belt was nothing short of marvelous. It would quadruple the time it took him to fatigue. He half-hoped Beia would let him keep it when the mission ended.

The three of them bolted from shadow to shadow across the barren cliff top, moving surreptitiously through the broken rock outcroppings.

Two thirds of the way, he stopped, completing his tenth survey. Neither the arena's perimeter nor the outlying terrain showed signs of life.

“Shouldn't there be guards? There aren't any signs of sentries.”

“I see no hints, either,” Ceraph said.

“There should be. When we don't see them, it makes me uneasy. Give me Eboneye.”

Corim watched as she pointed it at the still distant arena.

“Seek,” she said softly. A dull red glow surrounded the weapon as she panned its tip across the terrain. “Nothing.”

“I'd hate to consider this a blessing,” Ceraph said.

“Don't,” Beia whispered. “When things aren't normal, it's time to worry.” She paused. “Don't talk from here in. See that big boulder?” She indicated a formation halfway to the structure. At both their nods she continued. “Head for that. If there are guards, they'll be shooting at us by then.”

She looked at him. “They'll be using bows like this.” She patted Snowfire. “So keep your head down.” She looked around. “I might mindspeak you, so don't jump out of your skin. I don't use telepathy often because it's louder than whispers to another telepath.”

<Telepathy is like this.> Her voice rolled into his mind, a gentle buzzing that rang somewhere beneath—or was it above?—his hearing. It felt similar to the way Annawen spoke, but Beia's had a different feel—cooler and more distant.

He jumped anyway. It was as if Beia talked directly in his ear, the volume of her thoughts quadruple those of a whisper.

She put a hand on his shoulder and held Eboneye out. Whispering the spear's name, he took it back. The weapon purred to him like a kitten. Too many females seemed to yearn for his touch. Beia unshouldered Snowfire, which gleamed in the dim light. Corim heard the bow's audible growl.

“Soon,” it hissed.

“Behave,” the Myrmigyne murmured. Beia gestured him ahead. Nodding, he focused on the destination. Another scan for sentries. None.

Beia rose and nocked an arrow, ready to provide cover should guards be concealed in the shadows.

He plunged across the broken terrain. His pulse echoed in his ears as he narrowly avoided loose stone and shallow cracks. The hem of cleared ground around the huge structure would be a long run.

Corim's foot snagged in a cleft. He balanced with the spear to keep from slamming into the unforgiving stone of the plateau. Catching himself with an outstretched hand, he lay for a moment, stomach knotted. Cursing, he waited for a sentry's arrow to strike.

Scrambling up, he continued his dash toward the rock. Somewhere in his mind, a weapon chuckled...

Corim came up hard against the rock. Gasping, he sank against it, shoulder stinging from the impact. Ceraph came after him, bounding across the rocks, easily avoiding all the cliff's obstacles. Elven eyes gave her an advantage in this twilight.

Shoulders touching, they knelt together and watched Beia's approach.

She wasted no time, hurdling across the rock like a blackhorn, leaping and dodging the cliff's many impediments with uncanny speed. Once, she tripped. Wheeling her arms, she kept her balance and managed to keep running.

Corim felt better, seeing that she wasn't perfect either.

Snowfire snickered as Beia slid to a stop next to the rock. She shook the bow fiercely.

Did her weapons always make fun of her mistakes? How would you accept criticism from a weapon?

Beia hauled him to his feet and pointed to the left side of the arena. Shouldering the bow, she held her palm out flat. With her finger she pointed to the arena, then made a circle on her palm. Indicating the curve of the left wall, she made passing motions, and pointed to a spot on her hand that corresponded roughly to a place three-quarters of the way to the farthest hill. Forming a ring with her thumb and index finger, she gestured through the loop. The fighter nodded that he understood. Ceraph nodded that she, too, understood.

Motioning them to follow, she took off. Ceraph fell in behind her, and Corim brought up the rear. The ground next to the building was more level than the raw rock of the cliff head, and no one experienced problems as they sprinted across.

The last of the sun's light guttered over the horizon, cloaking the front of the stonework monstrosity in darkness. The myriad arches of the arena's inner perimeter loomed around them as they stepped under the overhang of the huge structure.

Beia froze. Corim halted, his heart doing a double skip. Alert, he strained to perceive what she'd sensed.

She spun and pulled him and Ceraph savagely out into the open ground. Barely inside the cobbled cordon was a three-yard high boulder that had been partially bricked around. They fluttered behind her as Beia blazed for it. With a gut-and-arm-wrenching jerk, she leaped to the rock's summit, physically pulling them into the air behind her. From this vantage with a pat on his shoulder, she bounded several yards up and over to a ledge that ran along the corridor's periphery.

Corim saw her gesture. Ceraph didn't hesitate, but leaped like a cat. She landed on the projection as if she had been stepping off a curb. These strength belts were incredible. He felt unsure if he could duplicate the feat. Without the belt, it would be impossible.

With a prayer to Ishtar, he vaulted. He aimed high and far of his target. Underestimating the force necessary, he fell short. Beia and Ceraph caught his arms and towed him onto the ledge.

Crouching, Beia hurried along the narrow precipice. Ceraph followed. He hesitated, heart pounding and lungs laboring. Forcing control over his body, he steeled himself and trailed along.

The stonework shelf allowed guards to patrol the perimeter without having to risk confrontation from below. Niches spaced every thirty paces gave places for sentries to hide. Corim eyed those deeper shadows warily.

They moved for a few moments before he heard voices, and the tread of boots. It must have been what alerted Beia. How could she possibly have hearing that sharp?

<Mindspeak nit,> a voice vibrated in his hand. It startled him, and he realized that actual sound had not really disturbed the air. He'd felt the words. It seemed as if the spear's voice reverberated through his skeleton now, and he heard the echo in his skull.

<Three enemies,> Eboneye informed him.

He tapped Ceraph on the shoulder, and held up three fingers. She passed it on to Beia who acknowledged.

The figures approached, their voices loud in the cavernous hall.

“Not make sense,” an immensely deep voice said. It sounded like rocks grinding together. “Not secure.”

“It doesn't need to be secure,” said a voice in precise measures. Corim thought it must be a mage speaking. “No one knows we're here.” Corim sensed Beia smiling in the darkness.

“Find you, go very bad,” that barrel-drum voice remarked.

“Don't chastise Jund for doing his job,” a third voice said, so low he could barely hear it. “He is right, it will go bad if we are attacked in force.”

Corim sensed Beia frowning. That last voice troubled her for some reason.

The speaking and footfalls faded with distance as they moved toward where Beia and Corim had first entered the corridor.

Satisfied they were far enough away, she continued. After a while, she stopped and listened. She signed that they would be going down. Indicating him, Beia pointed at the spear and made climbing motions.

Corim nodded. He knelt and glanced to the runway below. Getting a solid grip on the spear, he waited until Beia had a firm hold, and then inched his body over the edge.

She lowered him, waited until the all-clear, then lowered Ceraph. Beia dropped quietly to the paves and led them into a deeper section of darkness.

Debris littered the ground around an area where it appeared that some great force had ruptured the wall. He ran a hand along the tattered stone. The buttress looked more than two yards thick.

Piercing that would take magic on a scale most sane people would prefer not to contemplate.

The Myrmigyne gestured Ceraph ahead. The Elf could see far better than either of them in the pitch black. Ceraph disappeared through the hole and into the darkness. Beia followed after. He stood for a moment, realizing the immensity of what he'd committed himself to. With a sigh, he determined he would either eternally regret his decision, or be forever thankful.

With a silent chuckle to himself, he remembered the trite liturgy his first fighting teacher had uttered a thousand times.

“Once more into the breach—” It took me forty centuries to learn it, but I finally discovered that the best salve for the spirit is a calm, warm place sharing the companionship of people you trust. I might have learned this lesson sooner if I'd ever kept counsel with people that went more {than} a bell at time without contemplating mayhem against me or someone else.—Supreme Magistrix Aarlen Frielos,

Minister of the 4th Alliance Territories

In a secluded hall deep within Duran'Gravar, a soft blue light grew in intensity. The quiescent air shivered as a tall figure appeared in the light, seeming to sprout as if from a glowing pod. The light winked out behind her.

Aarlen heard no fanfare, no click of boots signifying recognition of rank. Nothing. Sweet, blissful nothing.

She indulged herself for a moment, enjoying the tranquil silence. The transition from her high-tech rat race to the slow-moving but rarely boring medieval subsistence was a part of the day she looked forward to. She shrugged the weskit loose on her shoulders and shifted the briefcase to the other hand. It had been a rough day, spent dealing with hard people, organizing, coordinating.

The clack of her boots on the wood floor echoed. Coordinating; she hated the word. Semantically, it meant to balance, to adjust things into equality. Preferably, it meant to harmonize, to arrange matters so friction would be minimal.

Realistically, it meant pushing people in directions they didn't want to go. Sometimes it meant using a hammer to jam square pegs into round holes.

Today's dealings with the board consisted of hammering square, round, triangular, and hexagonal pegs into holes in which they all vehemently refused to fit. Pulling out her biggest hammer, she'd grimly gone to work. Tal had interrupted her in the process. The Protectorate briefing had accomplished little except to make her more tired and irritable.

Something told her tomorrow would be a repeat performance.

Aarlen sighed, resigned. She chose to wear these shoes a great while ago. Now, in this time of turmoil, it seemed cowardly to cast them off because they chafed.

It was the galling nature of the universe to love something so much that you ended up hating it. Even more ironic, to hate yourself because you loved it.

She went down the passage, feeling lighter now that she'd shed both the mantle of rulership and her Protectorate duties, at least for a little while. Here, she retreated from the insistent nagging of supplicants and the push and shove of her technological empire. She and Beia could relax in each other's company and unwind.

She could have sent any of those fifty accountants out that hundredth story window and felt no remorse, Tal right along with them.

<You wouldn't do it, though,> Foross's distorted voice echoed from the sword on her hip. The Shaladen, called Stellaraac, was a part of him, and he often communicated through it. <You love the money nearly as much as your Shaladen power.>

She gripped the sword's hilt as if she could suffocate him through the item. “Don't start,” she rasped.

The sword was silent as she approached the door. Making a few gestures, she uttered a word, and the oaken portal swung inward. A cerulean light spilled into the corridor.

Once across the threshold she relaxed, closing the door and putting her back to it in relief. The glow lamps had come on automatically. These were a convenience she'd insisted should replace torches and oil lamps.

Outlined in the blue light, Aarlen looked like a woman carved from ice; white hair, silver eyes, and pale skin.

Her head scraped the top of the doorframe as she lolled it against the wood. The pleated black skirt, dark blue vest and jeweled blouse contrasted with her pale features, making her hands and face seem as though suspended in shadows.

She shrugged off the waistcoat and tossed it over her shoulder as she strode through the apartments, noting that floors had been swept and waxed. The odor of cleaning spirits lingered, telling her Beia's many weapons had been recently serviced.

“Regaura luv?” Aarlen's voice echoed through the chambers.

Passing through the study, she found it tidy as well. A pile of parchment sheets lay neatly stacked in the out box. All of today's paperwork appeared complete. That rarely happened. Even the numerous figurines on the scattered shelving looked dusted.

Entering the bedroom, she glanced around. All of the clothing had been put away, and the blouse and skirt she had left for Annawen were gone. She stood in the center of the room, hands on hips. This didn't resemble the mess she had left this morning.

Pondering the unusual conditions, she went to her office. She tossed her briefcase into the open safe and slammed it shut.

Aarlen scanned the room's comfortable disarray with a smile. At least Beia knew better than to tidy up in here.

Despite the apartment's diminutive size and lack of technical artifices, she felt more comfortable here than she did in her most sumptuous mansion. Here, the titles and responsibilities no longer applied. She could hide from the complexities of her life and relax.

Millennia ago, she'd left the realms of dragons and sorcery to compete in worlds full of starships and political intrigue. Aarlen's mastery of magic had been an advantage that gave her access to incredible power and wealth. She'd never looked back. Recently, she had grown tired of it.

Unbuckling the holster, she hung the blaster on the peg behind her desk. She patted Stellaraac, a far more potent weapon that stayed constantly at her side. Pausing, finger on chin, she looked around as if the answer to the puzzle might be written on the wall.

Back in the bedroom, Aarlen looked for clues to Beia's absence. The Myrmigyne was a creature of habit and as chained to routine as herself. The organized surroundings meant Beia planned on going away.

Considering the possibilities, she undid Stellaraac's sheath belt and hung it on the bedpost.

An idea struck her and she went to the storage trunk and checked its contents.

The entire cache of newly made spell arrows was gone.

Beia left prepared for war.

Aarlen knew the potency of that last batch of metallic death. She rarely questioned why Beia requested certain arrows. She merely instructed her underlings to fill the order. Aarlen trusted Beia; she always paid her debts.

Aarlen recalled noting the power of Beia's most recent order for arrows and having wondered what she planned to do with them. At the time, she'd been preoccupied with the new changes in her empire and never pursued the matter.

She put the coat on a hanger, pausing to remove the dagger from its hidden pocket. She stuck the wicked implement in the knob of the bedpost. The ebony silk blouse came next. Its dark hue obscured the form-fitting impact vest she wore underneath. Releasing the straps, she pulled off the carapace with a sigh.

The device was a triumph of technical innovation, one that turned most physical attacks. Her only regret was the need for such a thing.

For the millionth time she reminded herself that she had to accept the bad along with the good. That was the price of acquiring true power. She had made enemies, some of who tried to assassinate her.

Undoing the garter sheath she removed another dagger and placed it with the other. Stepping out of her boots and skirt, she sat on the bed and relaxed. The brass-framed waterbed was one technical item she refused to give up. It was big and soft and wondrously comfortable.

Sighing, she lay back and let the covers caress her nude body.

<You keep acting like this,> the alien voice said, <and they'll think you're as human as everyone else. If only they could see the Ice Falcon now.>

“Oh, do shut up. After forty-five millennia, I'm entitled.”

<You're getting soft. Where are your claws now, old woman?>

“You're in a combative mood tonight.” She refused to be baited. She remembered when such words would have made her furious. Now, it merely piqued her interest. “What's the occasion?”

<Boredom.> A sigh emanated from the Shaladen causing a vibration in the bed. The sensation made her skin prickle.

“You?” She chuckled. “I thought Eternals couldn't get bored.”

<Call it unease.>

“I'll call it anything you like if it makes you shut up.”

<Skewered me, that time.> The sword went quiet.

She lay still, using ancient disciplines to relax her tired muscles. In the past, she would have derided the idea as being weak and silly. Never relax, never relent, to drop watchfulness was courting death. She'd lived on the brink for four hundred centuries, always looking over her shoulder.

She would say she ‘slept with one eye open', when she described her infrequent bouts of sleep. Life amongst assassins, star travel, and politics, they'd been exciting and complicated. Now, she'd come full circle, wanting simpler things, life, love, and a little peace.

Even the basics were becoming tangled; Beia's roaming, her membership in the Shael Dal and the ongoing conflict with Tal, her upcoming marriage to Beia. More pegs to hammer ... Aarlen startled. “What—!”

<I said, you must be concerned about Beia,> the sword repeated. <You also must have fallen asleep.>

“Tired.” She rubbed her eyes.

<Your mind seemed to dwell with her.>

She growled. “You should stay out of my dreams, dammit. Leave me my privacy.”

Stellaraac snickered, a hollow ringing that rattled the bedpost. <Strange, I've always found experiencing someone else's dreams rather inconvenient.>

“Don't tell me you can't block that out.” She sat up and rubbed her arms. The cool breeze blowing on her bare skin while she napped had made her skin prickle.

<We've discussed it before. You became one with my soul and power. I hear your thoughts because you are a part of me.>

“All-powerful Eternal, and you can't tune out my mind. Why do I find that hard to believe?”

She sensed a shrug through their telepathic rapport. <Your essence exists in an active part of my mind. I would find it, how shall I say it? Inconvenient—to simply turn it off. I'm fond of being able to think.>

Aarlen sighed. Foross had managed to pull her into his verbal fencing match. She fought down the urge to retort and turned her mind to the matter that troubled her sleep.

“Did anyone see Beia this morning?”

A pause. <She visited Eternity's Heart and spoke with some of the Protectorate. She did not appear to have an agenda at the time.>

Aarlen thought for a moment. Cassandra usually knew where Beia was. Marshaling her mental powers, she flung out a telepathic call.

<Cassandra?>

There was a pause, then a hasty acknowledgement; a signal like a hand held up to indicate recognition by a person immersed in something important.

Frowning, Aarlen waited. She folded her legs, and kept her mind tuned to the distant contact. A while passed before Cassandra answered.

<Yes, Aarlen?> Though still distant, Cassandra had warmed since they'd first become acquainted. <What can I do for you?>

In the diplomatic phrase, Aarlen read clearly that Cassandra had no intention of doing anything that disturbed her work.

<I need information only. I am trying to locate Beia.>

<I have not seen her. However, I have a message that says she is temporarily discontinuing my training.>

<Does it say for how long?>

<It says, ‘a period of not more than 5 days'. The writing is not Beia's. It is that of my aide.> Cassandra's thought showed a hint of concern.

<Unusual that she wouldn't tell you herself.>

<Exactly my thinking. She rarely fails to inform us of an extended leave-taking. She left no word with you?>

<None. A quiver of spell arrows is gone. The apartments are spotless. I—> She paused in mid-thought. Her mind flickered back to the moment she entered the chambers. <Hold.>

She rose and went into the commons. There she found what she initially disregarded. She went to the mantle and picked up the sack. She looked inside and examined the bloody shards of a broken sword.

What in Hecate's name was this? It must be another strange Myrmigyne ritual she wasn't familiar with.

<There is a clue. Why might this be here?> She gave Cassandra a picture of the sack and its shattered contents dappled with blood.

Cassandra took a moment before answering. <I don't know.>

<It's a man's sword. The residual aura is masculine.>

<It isn't the weapon of someone powerful enough to take Beia against her will is it?>

<No.> Still examining the weapon Aarlen went back to the bed and sat down. <I would guess an accomplice of some sort. Although I can't see Beia having much to do with a man besides killing him.>

<An accomplice in what?>

<I hoped you would have the answers. The only other clue I have is that she was talking with the Protectorate.>

<Why don't you call her?>

<I dislike prying. When she chooses not to tell me something, it usually means I will disapprove. I want her to feel I trust her judgment.>

<Beia should think you trust her even when you don't?> Aarlen felt Cassandra wrinkle her nose. <Shouldn't she know the truth?>

<Cassandra, I didn't call to discuss our relationship. My concern is legitimate. Beia has a penchant for danger. Though she always seems to get by, she allows too little margin for error for my taste.>

<Understood. I'll call Beia, then. That way you won't be checking on her. Wait.>

Aarlen thought to stop Cassandra, but relented. Beia's safety was more important than their arguments over freedom and prying into one another's business.

<She's shut down her link to outside telepathic calls,> Cassandra reported after a few moments. <She has also turned off her tracer link.>

She knotted her fingers in bed covers. <That child will be the death of me.>

<For some reason, I find that amusing.>

<I can imagine.> Aarlen frowned. <My thanks. I will have to pursue this in a different fashion.>

<I will complete my operations and look into things here. Good night, Aarlen.>

<Good night.>

The telepathic link broke, leaving Aarlen dissatisfied. She closed the sack and put it aside. Frowning, she walked to the cabinet, pulled out a green shift and put it on. Sitting down she reviewed the past week's conversations with Beia, looking for some hint as to what she might be planning. Nothing of note had been mentioned. Why the silence? She'd have to ask when they met.

On inspiration, Aarlen placed another telepathic call.

<Cassin?>

After a short pause, a lively response came back.

<Yes, Aarlen?> The thought was young and strident.

<Have you heard from Beia today?>

<Yes, Annawen delivered Tal's elven talent scout and a young man to her, around noon. From what Annawen said, I believe she was looking to pick a fight.>

<Do you have any idea who with? She took a whole quiver of spell arrows.>

<No, she dismissed Annawen quite perfunctorily. I'm certain she suspected we'd be questioned.>

<Aye, damn it. Who was the man?>

She felt Cassin smile. <A young Matayan. His name is Corim Vale. A tournament warrior of some note, I understand.>

Vale? She remembered that name only because it was attached to one of the few bets she had ever lost. The Blackstar tournament of ‘94. The boy won against Goran Vess at 4-to-1 odds. She remembered counting the gold into Beia's hand. The little minx had been very smug about it.

What in Hecate's name was she doing with him?

<All right, Cassin, you keep an ear open. She's gone to great pains to make it difficult to track her. If she contacts you again, I want to know.>

<Of course.> Cassin agreed. <In fact, aunt Ivral gave us some time off. We were hoping to come to the tree, relax, and soak up some sun among the sisters.>

<Come if you like, Cassin. I am not certain how relaxing it will be. Something tells me that before matters are done we will be anything but relaxed.> When a foe dies by our hands, is not the light of our spirit diminished? How many deaths does it take to extinguish that illumination and leave us in darkness forever? As the war presses on it is question that repeats in my mind before every skirmish and encounter...—Dulcere Val'Saedra Starbinder

Dulcere lay again on the bench on the edge of the dirt platform. Energy flowed fast and heady into her body until her skin gleamed. It had been megacycles since she had purposely stored energy in her tissues. She felt strong and vibrant, approaching the point where she felt she could overwhelm Meridian's inhibitor entirely. The metal of the collar and chain could channel only so much of her energy back on itself before the material itself disintegrated.

Senalloy sat with her. The female Baronian had a bucket, cleaning sponges, and scented soap. The female's eyes were wide with awe as she swabbed the dirt from Dulcere's metallic gold body. Arms folded, Rakaar stood behind them holding the chain. Dulcere sensed the male's tension.

Meridian gave the order that she be taken up to the playfield on the morning before their plan went into effect. Dulcere was told, and urged with the inhibitor, to saturate herself with energy. Something she would have readily done anyway. Meridian wanted her strong for the backtime assault. Dulcere would have to shield them from the timequake, so he wanted her in peak health.

Rakaar violently opposed the idea. He was right to do so. Letting her get a fill of sunlight was one thing. The inhibitor prevented her from amassing enough energy to use it offensively. Commanding her to saturate herself with power overrode the limitation.

The Baronian cursed that Meridian was a fool, which he was. She almost felt sorry for Rakaar, trapped by that self-destructive imbecile.

Almost.

Rakaar initially refused to cooperate, saying Meridian would kill them all. He tried to explain that the mage had no concept of how much energy a Kriar Belkirin could absorb and channel. Meridian insisted that the inhibitor could stop her, so he threatened to send someone in Rakaar's place.

The Baronian feared that even more. He made Meridian delay for a while to do something, then finally escorted her here. As an obvious offering of pacification, Rakaar brought Senalloy and supplies so that Dulcere could get clean.

A barbarian he might be, but not stupid. To feel clean again, she would put off escape for a short time.

“You are beautiful when you glow like this,” Senalloy told her.

Dulcere kept her hands gripping the marble of the bench as Rakaar had ordered. <Thank you, Senalloy. You have reverent hands. I have not been clean since they dug me out of hibernation. It is a great pleasure.>

The female nodded. “It is a pleasure to do it for someone who appreciates it.” She cast a dark look at Rakaar.

He grunted. “Don't bait me, woman. Have you not been drubbed enough?”

<I suspect you will regret ever hitting her, Rakaar,> Dulcere told him.

Rakaar shifted uneasily. He snorted. “I suppose every bad thing I've done will come back to me eventually. It will not be soon. I plan on seeing to it.”

Senalloy wanted clean water for Dulcere's hair. She got Rakaar's permission and went downstairs to fetch it.

“Whatever you two are planning will not work,” Rakaar said.

Dulcere decided to skew his statement with a question. <Tell me why you really had her wash me. Was it so you could see my skin unsullied?>

He frowned. “You are not so hard to look at.” He tried to sound non-committal, but she heard the hint of appreciation in his voice.

<I am your enemy, Rakaar. If you stand between me and escape, I will kill you.>

“Danger sometimes adds a glitter of its own to something.” He touched her hair. She flinched away. “I would dare that you have enough energy in you right now to raze this whole structure to the ground with it.”

<So if I do?>

“Power is beautiful, Dulcere, it is lethal. Because something can kill does not make it inherently good or bad. It is how it is used that identifies it. The use of you that Meridian plans is deemed evil. The Protectorate will kill you simply to keep Meridian from doing this thing.”

Her stomach tightened. <That is not such a bad thing to keep the blood of trillions off my hands.>

His knuckles whitened on the chain. “You do not want to die.”

<No.>

“I have a plan, Belkirin, it frees us both. We will both be fugitives from the Protectorate, but we will be free all the same.”

Dulcere stared at him. He stood very still. <Your plans have little to do with me, Rakaar.>

“Freedom, Dulcere.” It was the first time he had used her name. “You know the value of it.”

<I do. No doubt it is easy for one who keeps slaves to sell freedom at discount prices. I do not buy stolen merchandise.>

The male's jaw tightened. “Very poetic, Dulcere, I didn't know Kriar warriors were so maudlin.”

<We choose our crimes carefully, Rakaar. We have to live with them a long time. A very long time.>

Senalloy trudged up the steps with new bathing materials.

“Siderous Chronus, Dulcere, our answer is there. Without you, surviving means making the crime worse. Help me.” He looked at Senalloy and growled. “I will give her to you if that is what you wish.”

The marble flaked under her nails. Her strength was ten times normal now. Soon she would be able to absorb no more. <Help yourself, Rakaar. I want no part of this crime. I will not help you to escape punishment simply to avoid my own.>

Rakaar let out a frustrated yell. “By the lords, I swear everyone in this blasted universe is either stupid or insane!” He pounded his thigh with a fist and growled. He turned his back on Dulcere.

Senalloy smiled at her as if Rakaar's tirade were nothing unusual. It made Dulcere's throat tighten to see that marred face trying so hard to be beautiful. She could tell that the male's frustration pleased the slave greatly.

It did not please Dulcere so much. Rakaar was a despot, but he did not choose this crime. She could have broadened his options, perhaps given him a way to avoid the chaos. That meant soiling herself with the crime. What about the lives saved? What about her conscience? Choosing the lesser of two evils seemed the logical choice. Though she did not know his plan, she could guess at what its essence must be.

No, she must be against it all. She could not assist in anything to do with this madness. Anything she did, they would have to force her. Something inside her said she would regret the decision, but it was her decision just the same. She would not change it.

Senalloy gave Dulcere her choice of fragrance from four she brought. She wondered where the Baronian had gotten such things, and guessed that Rakaar let his nurse stay clean.

Dulcere chose one, and let Senalloy about her task. Dulcere felt her hair a very private thing, but the female worked very unobtrusively. It surprised her, considering the size of the woman.

Senalloy took her time cleaning Dulcere's hair, working carefully on each strand, it seemed. With so much attention, Dulcere thought it would shine as brightly as the Senalloy's own mirror-bright tresses.

She heard the female sigh.

<What is it?>

“Your hair, the feel of it is more like fur. It is enjoyable to care for. My pardon.” She seemed embarrassed and worked with more speed then.

<I am glad. When we are captive, we must find pleasure where we can.>

Rakaar glanced at her, his dark face stormy. He turned away again.

Senalloy finished. To Dulcere it ended too quickly. She missed the touch of another being who at least possessed some compassion. She felt a pang at her own selfishness.

Compassion.

What had she done to deserve it? Fight for the Daergons? Doing her dark cursed duty? She had lost her father and mother because of duty. It sickened her how the wrongs had heaped up. One evil had begotten another, until now she faced a damnation that would mark her family for all eternity.

Destroyer of time.

The power boiled in her. If Meridian could have fathomed, his black heart would have shriveled in his chest.

She touched Senalloy's shoulder. <Go.> The female's eyes widened.

Rakaar turned, still holding the leash. “You do not command her, Belkirin.”

Destroyer of time. The words drumming in her head, she acted.

He had erected some kind of barrier around himself. It kept him from dying instantly when she slammed a palm crackling with energy against his chest.

She saw Senalloy run.

Before he even hit the ground, Dulcere's force weapon had sprung from her hand and was driving toward his head. The inhibitor was a crimson glow of metal searing her skin. She didn't even notice the anchor-heavy bands that appeared around her arms.

In that last instant, she changed her mind. She did pity the monster.

The blade seared in the ground by his ear, nicking out a piece and drawing blood. All the strength went from her at once. The bands blockaded the energy in her so fast she dropped to her knees. He'd been ready in case she tried this very thing. Only he hadn't accounted for her speed and the time it would take to dampen that much power.

She gasped. <Your contingency was too slow, Baronian. You are dead. I gave you mercy; a female's mercy. Live long warrior.>

He screamed. It was a howl of pain. He hit her across the face, knocking her in the dirt.

“You had no call for that. I had nothing but my honor left!”

She wiped her mouth. <Your honor was a pale thing, Rakaar. Now, it is paler still.>

He grabbed her shoulder and jerked Dulcere to her feet. Glancing around he saw that Senalloy had vanished. “Damn you, I do not have time for this.”

<That was the idea.>

“Insane,” he growled. “All of you. Insane.” He kept muttering as he dragged Dulcere back into the catacombs. As she stepped off the dirt onto the marble steps she saw a flash of gold from the corner of her eye. She scanned the area intently.

Nothing.

This was the second time she'd glimpsed what might be a Kriar. It had to be the hopes of an overactive imagination. What Kriar would simply stand by and not help? She turned her mind from it and back to the steps where Rakaar led her.

Roughly shoving one of Meridian's mages out of the way, Rakaar dragged Dulcere onto the stage behind him. He shot a piercing glance at Meridian as he towed her to the center of the warp interface.

“Here.” Shoving her down, he forced the end chain-link closed over the mooring.

She smiled grimly at having struck the Baronian's confidence broadside. She took a moment to survey the changes in Meridian's killing ground. It looked much the same, except she now felt a static in the air that meant that the fabric of time/space had been pulled dangerously thin by Meridian's devices. It must be a trap for the Protectorate, and that Aarlen woman he feared.

“That's the last favor I do for you, Human.” Rakaar said to Meridian as he stepped off the interface.

“What?” Meridian looked around.

“If only you knew.”

“Speak your mind, Rakaar.”

“I gave you my advice concerning her. You chose to ignore it. It almost cost all of us.”

Meridian frowned, noticing the bands on her arms for the first time. “What are those things?”

Rakaar smacked him on the cheek. “Your life, fool. You would be wise not to remove them until absolutely necessary.”

“You're speaking in riddles.”

Rakaar looked around. “Is the safe zone I requested ready in case we need to fall back?”

The mage nodded. “They reported ready only a half bell ago.”

“Finally, you do something right. As soon as I find my slave, Psihtath and I will finish our preparations. It will take only a hour after that.”

“How did your bitch get away?”

The Baronian snarled and stalked off without answering.

Meridian frowned, watching the huge male stomp away. “Good,” he said after a moment. Meridian rubbed his bristly chin and looked at her. “He was angry. Why?”

Dulcere's smile was crooked. <I can't think of a single reason, human. Why do you suppose?>

Meridian was paralyzed by her stare. Lack of sleep and tension were getting to him. It wore him down a little at a time. Hands shaking, he tore his gaze away and walked off.

She smiled at her small triumph. She lay still, watching the humans busy themselves with the crates. At least it was more interesting than the empty, unpopulated room she'd stayed in previous. Time passed. The sun was down when she felt Senalloy's anguished thoughts. She heard the crack of a lash in her mind. The female had failed to elude Rakaar. She would wear another scar tonight.

For that, she wished she had not spared the male. At that last instant, she had found herself incapable of executing a person for a crime he was being forced to commit. Somehow she would find a way to make everything right.

She stiffened. One of her people! Nearby—maybe she had seen one of her own. She started to send a thought and paused. No, it wasn't Kriar. The feedback was so strong though.

She sat up on the disk and glanced around the room. No one else had sensed it. She reached out and gently touched the outermost edge of that alien mind.

Turmoil, tension, apprehension. Nearby, she detected anger and drive, a sense of revenge.

Meridian's visitors were on the way and already very close.

What was this newcomer? The sensations were primal, not at all refined like a Kriar. The empathic senses were highly evolved though. A wild talent? Likely. Interesting, a metapathic human; a flower growing in the offal.

She looked at Meridian giving orders across the room.

Freedom was closer than ever. She could taste it. The energy Meridian had forced her to gorge on would yet be his undoing. Even with the addition of Rakaar's inhibitors, she could push their summed limits. Right when Meridian least expected, things could go awry... Anyone who has spent any amount of time in the arenas of the death spectacles will tell you that the places have a unique feel to them. In the pits, there is a bloody stench that is a vile combination of bile, sweat, and fear. The air is charged with the crushing presence of suffering. Souls wander the halls, ghosts pale with hate and despair. Even ten years dead, these places still resonate with the pain of dying warriors. This is the legacy that Meridian Arcturan leaves with us...—Regaura “Beia” Targallae

Corim kept a grip on Beia's belt, letting himself be towed through the darkness. He sensed that, in turn, Beia let Ceraph lead because of her Elven night vision. He felt the immensity around them. The sounds of their movement guttered out with no answering reverb. The rank smells of old blood and animal feces pervaded the air. The barely detectable redolence of dried needleaf threaded through the malodor. It came from the numerous animal nests he destroyed while shuffling through the blackness.

Ceraph lead them on a steady course. Beia paused periodically to run a hand along a doorframe or wall to get a bearing. He felt the Myrmigyne's tension. She didn't like the darkness—neither did he.

Occasionally, the prattling of rodents broke the silence as the animals skittered from underfoot. At each noise, Corim tightened his grip on Eboneye until his hand shuddered under the pressure.

He felt Eboneye chuckle, a vibration in his sweaty palm. <I'll protect you,> it said. She used a tone like a mother speaking to a child.

Great, a condescending weapon.

They walked in a straight line for more than a hundred paces. Corim assumed they'd entered a main corridor because the reflected sounds stayed uniform. Cold drafts struck their backs, carrying the stink of carrion. Ceraph quickened their pace.

After a time, Corim realized their path described an arc. Twice, side corridors dimly cast with starlight showed the radius of the play-field. This indicated to him that the passage followed the periphery of the arena's hub.

Beia directed Ceraph to take a side passage. Thirty paces in, they found stairs leading deeper into the stygian darkness.

How had Beia planned on doing this without Ceraph? Would she have navigated through this maze by memory alone? Weighing the freight of torment in the back of his mind, Corim decided that if he let the pain drive him, the risk would have seemed small compared to the goal.

The air turned stale. It smelled like the animal displays of the menageries that occasionally visited Ivaneth. Corim's knuckles brushed sequences of metal bars. He guessed they must be cages. The reek of rotting straw, spoiled grain, and feces grew stronger.

They turned right and then left, obviously negotiating around pens made for larger creatures. Corim noted the bars on one enclosure were thicker than a man's leg.

The thought of being surrounded by metal made to entrap made Corim's stomach ache. His eyes hurt from the strain. The only reassurance he felt was that Ceraph could see to some degree. He and Beia might as well have been blind.

At Beia's direction, they descended another series of stairs. After they'd dropped a dozen yards, Beia pulled Ceraph up short and dragged Corim close.

“They may have guards stationed at the bottom,” she whispered. Her voice seemed loud in the dead silence. “Ceraph, you and Corim go ahead. I'll use Snowfire to keep anyone from giving an alarm.”

“Understood,” Ceraph said.

“Right,” he said.

Corim took hold of Ceraph's belt. Beia held his as they went. After a dozen more paces Corim saw a flickering light ahead.

Ceraph pulled Corim's head close. She whispered in his ear. “I think there are two. You take the one on the right.”

He gave her hand a squeeze.

They slipped down the stairs in silence. As he approached the circle of light, he saw the shoulders of the two men, one on each side of the doorway.

Beia pushed against his left shoulder reminding him she needed room for a shot in an emergency. She did the same with Ceraph.

On a silent count, Corim lunged at the same time Ceraph did. Eboneye plunged through the brain of the man on his side. It would have taken a tenth of the force he used. The spear's sharpness made it pass through flesh as a normal weapon passed through water.

The men died with quiet groans. Corim leaped into the corridor, withdrawing his weapon from the hairy hulk he'd killed. With an instant's warning, another guard had readied a pair of ring-she. He was a shorter man with weasel-like features.

Corim's first attack was hasty because he had to disentangle Eboneye from the corpse. The warrior hooked the spear with a snap of his arm, sending the strike wide. Instantly, the left ring-she came around, not straight—high side. Beia had warned him, but he'd rushed and not braced himself. For the second time in his career, Jacdaw made him suffer his mistake. He could only try to give with the blow as it crashed against his skull. He fell sprawling.

The sentry stepped back and started to call for help. An arrow transfixed his throat, and he disintegrated into a dirty rain.

Corim clutched his skull. Ceraph helped him up. There was nothing left of the guard or the arrow but a pile of dust. Beia stepped into the torchlight.

He goggled at the spot where the man had stood. The magic of the arrow had completely annihilated the man. His throat tightened. It had been a quick death, but nightmarish. He hoped never to have Beia as an enemy.

Beia glanced at him and brushed her fingers over the wound.

Corim's gaze went to the man he'd slain. Rivulets of crimson crept across the floor. He felt ready to vomit. So much blood. All his tournament fighting didn't prepare him for this. He'd killed before in self-defense. That wasn't the same. He had executed this man simply for being here in the service of the Arcturan.

Live with it. It'll get worse before it gets better.

He dragged his gaze away from the corpse. He rubbed the bloodied side of his head. “Stupid mistake,” he whispered. He wasn't sure whether he meant getting hit in the head, or coming here with Beia. Pain shrieked through his skull. The man had been strong. If he hadn't given with the blow, it would have taken his head off.

Beia shrugged. ‘I warned you,’ her expression said.

They stood in a torch-lit passage where it made a right turn. The walls were unadorned stone, carved from the rock with dwarven precision. Everything not in use was dark, it seemed. Torches gave them a straight line toward whatever was happening here.

They dragged the two bodies upstairs out of sight.

Once back in the corridor, Ceraph unshouldered the pack and pulled a small box from it. “Come here.” She examined his wound. Opening the box, she removed a vial of blue liquid from it. “Drink this.”

He recognized the healing potion. He was really beginning to regret not going with Ceraph to Beia's armory. He took the bottle eagerly and took a sip. The majority of the pain dimmed as the liquid's magic worked its way through his body.

“I brought some invisibility potion, too,” Ceraph said. “I think we should save it for getting out.”

Beia gave Ceraph a clenched fist high-sign. “I knew putting you on armory detail would work out.”

Ceraph smiled. She returned the vial box to the backpack and shouldered it.

She stopped. “You look a little green, Corim.”

“I don't like killing.” His whole body felt like a knot.

Ceraph touched his arm. The look in her eye said she didn't like it either.

“Hope you never get used to it like I did,” Beia said.

Corim wanted to ask about the magic that killed that man. Something in the pit of his stomach told him he didn't need to know. It was Aarlen's magic. A bow enchanted by a great elder could possess incredible powers. Magic on a scale sane people preferred not to contemplate.

With light to see by, the Myrmigyne jogged down the corridor to the left. She turned a corner after a short distance and stopped at an ironwood door to listen.

She looked back to them. “There should be more guards if they're going to restart this place,” she whispered. She studied the ceiling stroking the black lightning on her cheek. “The air feels charged though. There's some big magic at work here someplace.”

She went through the door. They moved cautiously toward a recessed entrance forty feet beyond. She listened at the portal, then glanced inside. It appeared to be a storage chamber. Racks and shelves were arranged around the periphery. Most had been pulled down into a clutter at the chamber's center. Beia closed the door and moved to the next, repeating the process.

She checked five more. “This section hasn't been renovated. They populate the seventh level first. It must be a new operation.”

“What are we after then?”

“We want the mages and their equipment. We might even run into Meridian himself.” She grinned, and Corim felt a cold shudder run through him. “Have I got a gift for him.” She shook Snowfire for emphasis. “Not that there's much chance of getting that lucky.”

Lucky?! As much as he'd like the chance to help Beia kill the man, he didn't think as a team they were ready for it yet.

They went right where the passage split. They'd come to another branch when footsteps snapped them to attention.

The mage barely had time to recognize intruders and raise his voice in panic. Thin and balding, dressed in gold trimmed black robes, he gestured with a jewel-encrusted staff.

Alarmed, Beia and Ceraph both pivoted and nocked. Of which was faster, the bow or the spell, there was no question. Both weapons twanged. One shaft hit his heart the other his throat before he uttered few syllables. Both shafts tore through his body, the arrows vibrating in the wall behind him as he collapsed.

Beia raced to the fallen mage, sliding to a stop with the bow poised to fire another volley.

“Strip him. Don't touch the staff.”

Corim and Ceraph worked hastily at the garments and jewelry. Beia looked in Ceraph's backpack as they worked.

“Did you bring a blood cloth, Ceraph?”

“Third sleeve from the top,” the elf answered. “Beia, if it was useful I took it.”

The Myrmigyne pulled out a shimmering black cloth. Rummaging deeper she pulled out a red fabric bag.

Beia nodded. “I can see why Tal lets you run things.”

She withdrew the arrow from the wall with the black cloth and wiped away all the blood with a single swipe. Taking some rags from the pack she stuffed them into the mage's wounds to stanch the bleeding. Using the red bag, she scooped up the staff without touching it, its six foot length disappeared into its depths.

A magical holding bag, Corim knew he had to go back and see that armory!

He and Ceraph finished stripping the mage, and dropped the booty into the bag. Beia dragged the corpse into the nearest chamber and buried it underneath the debris. A few strokes of the magical cloth removed all remaining evidence of the encounter.

“An excellent device,” Corim whispered in admiration.

“They are in high demand for operations like ours. Cassandra invented them with a whole different intention.” She rolled her eyes. “She'll spend a whole season creating a magic item just to get out of doing laundry.”

They wove their way up the passage. Beia checked more doors and found the chambers empty. A frown creased her features. Corim could guess the Myrmigyne's misgivings. Even a burgeoning operation would have spread this far. Maybe they were doing something entirely different.

As they came to the next junction, the hair on Corim's neck stiffened. A smell similar to the aftermath of a thunderstorm filled the corridor. It felt as if he were wading through a gel rather than air.

Eboneye vibrated in his palm. <Four enemies, approach from the right.>

Corim grabbed Beia and Ceraph, and dragged them down the left turning and into the cover of an alcove. As they slid to a stop, the footsteps from the right became audible.

“Golden witch,” a voice boomed. “If I hadn't prepared that contingency, she would have broken loose and killed everyone.”

“Did you tell the master that?” asked a brittle wheeze.

“To what use?” the deep voice rasped. “The imbecile cannot be reasoned with.”

The figure generating those reverberating tones hove into view. The ogre-sized man strode confidently down the corridor. His muscular body was clothed in tight, black breeches and a sleeveless tunic.

The other man dressed in bright green appeared like a twig compared to the giant. His long graying hair, mustache, and brows were tufts of smoke on hawkish emaciated features.

Behind them were two guards who occasionally shot uneasy glances at the dark man. Both sentries were big and capable looking, but only a fraction as imposing as that looming figure.

“Regrettably, I must agree,” the thin man said, as they entered the intersection.

“If I could get my soul stone from that fool. I'd end this farce before the whole Protectorate comes down on us.”

The conversation sounded very ominous. What were they doing that would concern the Protectorate? He noticed Ceraph had stiffened. The four disappeared down the hall from which they came.

“Shatta,” Beia hissed. “We have to get out of here.”

“Who was that?” Corim had sensed the power in that huge figure. “That wasn't Meridian.”

“Someone five times worse; a Baronian warmage. It'd take half my arrows to stop him.”

Corim estimated the power she'd already demonstrated with only two arrows and imagined something that could resist half that cache of magic. He shuddered.

Beia looked down the corridor as if she could still see the huge mage. She took sharp breaths like it hurt to inhale.

“We'll dump a few arrows into the works, and get the hades out of here.”

They headed in the direction that the four had come from. It opened into a chamber fifty paces square that was jammed to the ceiling with various apparatus all fervently at work. Books, scrolls and numerous alchemical devices lay strewn across several tables. Energy licked through the air above their heads, arcing between cylindrical towers of black material. This was the source of the oppressive feeling in the atmosphere.

Corim's every movement felt as if he was swimming against a current.

Beia glanced around. “Cassandra is going to kill me for this.” She shot an arrow into the far side of the room. Instead of exploding, the shaft stuck in the wall and began to glow. She repeated the process.

“We have a short time before those let go.” She rushed through the exit in the left wall. Ceraph frowned, glanced around once and ran after her.

Corim hesitated. He eyed the light from the arrows that steadily grew in intensity. He didn't want to be here when they unleashed their magic. He spied some scrolls on a table nearby. He snatched two that appeared to have some significant knowledge on them, stuffed them into his sack, then followed.

Beia and Ceraph stood still, examining the adjoining section. It looked the same, except for twelve clear cylindrical tubes mounted on a circular dais. The tubes were large enough to fit a human body inside. They reminded Corim of a fancy iron maiden.

“I've heard about something like this,” Beia said making a sweep of the room, obviously trying to remember something. After a moment, her eyes widened. “By Nethra, it's a Baronian warp interface! They used these on Karanganoi Homeworld to control Kriar.” She paused. “Shatta! The brigands the Protectorate has been chasing. They must have an enslaved Kriar doing their timediving. That's why Aarlen hasn't been able to catch them.” She fired two arrows into the dais that began to glow like others. “Come on.”

“What?” Corim looked at the device now glowing with Beia's arrows stuck in it. It gave him a cold shiver. He saw Ceraph's eyes were wide. She looked frightened. “I don't understand.”

Beia spoke slowly. “They must have control of a Kriar, Corim. The damage they can do is—” She swallowed. The look in her eyes told Corim all he needed to know. “Have to slow them down. If I scream for help telepathically they might run, though. Let's go. Fast.”

They moved down the corridor on the far side of the room. Now at run, it appeared Beia was determined to do the operation as much damage as she could.

They slid to a stop fifty paces farther. Beia paused to decide the proper direction to take. Eboneye screamed a warning as six guards sprinted down the corridor toward them.

The alarm had been sounded.

The men attacked before Beia and Ceraph could fire.

Heart pounding, Corim ducked under his opponent's sword thrust. He jabbed the spear into the man's sternum and ripped upward. The warrior went down in a splash of blood. It sickened him. He'd never get used to killing.

Snowfire transformed into a sword. Beia blocked the man's first swing, and plunged the blade into a man's groin. The man howled, she sliced upward to finish.

Corim caught sight of Ceraph. The Elf's twin shortswords were nothing but silvery blurs. She moved like a fan dancer, fending off one man while attacking the other. One guard fell with a dozen cuts before he landed one.

Lost in a battle haze, Corim sensed nothing but the bodies whirling around him. Dodge. A ring-she scored on his shoulder in a slash of pain. He lashed out with Eboneye in response. The spear shrieked and cleaved through the sentry's sword and sheared off his head.

Beia ducked a ring-she, cut, and sidestepped another stroke. Two slashes finished the man.

Clash, lunge, spin. Corim fended away the guard's ring-she and searched for an opening.

He heard the ring-she snap open. Sidestep, lunge, strike. The impact knocked the weapon wide as the blades fired. The hurtling circle struck the back of Ceraph's remaining opponent. Even as the man screamed and grabbed at his back, the Elf swept off his head.

Leap, spin. Corim ducked under the skull-creasing ridge cut and brought Eboneye home in the fighter's thigh. The man pitched over with a howl.

Corim withdrew the killing thrust. Wiping the spray of blood off his face, he shuddered.

“Good move,” Ceraph said flicking a few dots of perspiration from her brow. She looked untouched by the combat.

“Worked better than I intended.” Corim rubbed the cut on his shoulder. Eboneye was purring loudly now. No blood remained on the weapon anywhere. She was like a cat that had licked herself clean.

Beia looked at the spear and then to Corim. “She likes you.” The Myrmigyne headed the way the guards came. They turned more corners and down a long passage. Men rushed in from the opposite direction.

Beia unleashed an arrow that exploded into a rasp of lightning. The bolt shredded bodies and liquefied steel. Nothing but charred corpses and fused metal remained. Snowfire was living up to his expectations. Beia carried in her hands the power of a great elder.

Beia took the right hall. A gong sounded throughout the complex.

“Shouldn't we leave?” Corim panted.

“This is big, Corim. The ‘golden witch’ that the Baronian said almost killed everyone must be a Kriar. If they're worried about the Protectorate, they're using her to change time. We have to hit them before they move the prisoner.”

They burst out the end of the passage into a chamber filled with a hodgepodge of crates. A raised stage stood at the back of the vaulted, barn-sized room occupied by a low angle-sided disk several paces diameter. Around its periphery, multicolored gems flashed in a rainbow of colors.

On top of the device, arms and legs chained was a gold woman. Her gaze focused on them instantly, ebony eyes widening. Silver tatters clothed her lithe body and a chain hung from her neck. Corim had thought Annawen extremely attractive. The beauty of this older Kriar made his mind numb.

Near her stood a dark-haired man wearing violet robes. Corim immediately recognized the wizard's ursine face. The image was burned into his soul now.

Meridian.

The mage gestured with a black staff as he commanded five other robed men who stood at the base of the stage. Ten sentries stood along the periphery of the platform facing the entrance. They barked warnings as Beia and Corim entered.

The mage glared at them. “Sudrik, Damal!”

Two mages dropped the articles they were carrying and grabbed their staves. Thunder strokes identical to Beia's burst out at them.

The magic flared around her, forming a rasping bubble of light that collapsed into a gem on the side of Snowfire. Beia sniffed, and reached for her quiver of arrows. “Now, Meridian, is that any way to greet your best warrior?”

Meridian's mouth worked, and his shoulders stiffened.

“Targallae—”

“Your mages like playing with electricity.” She pulled a crackling shaft of light from her quiver.

“No!” Meridian yelled.

Too late.

A roaring force arced out. One mage parried the thrust. The energy rasped and licked around his staff before it vanished.

“How lucky.” Beia grimaced.

Corim saw the sweat on the man's face.

Beia didn't stop there. In rapid succession she fired five more arrows into the crates in the room. Explosions of fire, bursts of electricity, and white light shattered the barriers and the men waiting behind them.

Meridian had ducked, his eyes going wide at the carnage. Beia had recognized the trap.

“I swear, Targallae—”

“You swear what?” She took a bead on Meridian's heart. “I can level this whole plateau.” Snowfire glowed brightly. “Try me—please.” Her eyes were wild.

“Let's not be hasty,” Meridian glanced around.

Corim gestured to Ceraph. They spread out to protect Beia's flank.

“Destroy the machine, and let the Kriar go.”

A voice interrupted them. He spoke only in a whisper, but it was audible throughout the room. “He doesn't want to do that, Targallae.”

How had they gotten behind them so quickly without noise?

Corim ducked as a mace crashed down. A stunning burst of pain sent him sailing into the debris part way to the platform.

Head spinning, he lay still and feigned unconsciousness, hoping to prevent a follow-up blow. He kept his eyes slit to still see the battle.

“Corim!” Ceraph aimed at the huge creature. It chuckled, the sound of rocks rattling in an iron drum.

The humanoid attacker stood head and shoulders taller than Beia. Briefly clad in leather, it looked as if someone had trapped a giant in a box so it was forced to grow wider rather than taller. The creature's blunt features were lit up in a display of cruel glee.

“Move, and Jund turns your friend into paste.” The man who whispered stepped from behind the behemoth.

“Seglar!” Beia hissed. “What idiot raised you from the grave?”

The pale warrior frowned. He was an albino, his white hair, pink eyes and pallid skin making him look like a ghost. He wore a gold tunic and breeches that set off his snowy skin. His ring-she and notched belt marked him as an arena master.

“Perhaps Jund should kill him now?”

“Don't threaten me, you moron,” Beia snapped. “The hybrid kills Corim, I kill you. Then I kill him.”

Corim locked eyes with the Kriar. Her eyes were hard. She abhorred the creatures that had imprisoned her. He felt irresistibly dragged toward her.

Contact.

It happened faster than it ever had before. Instantly they coalesced. He gasped. It felt as if a part of him had come alive and had taken control.

Dulcere. He felt her name, knew their minds came together at her urging. He drowned in her emotions. He felt Dulcere's anger, the desire to destroy these childish cankers. There was sadness, too, that children could be so twisted. In a space of heartbeats, he rode her soaring highs and lows. Pain. The beauty. He shuddered, wanting to move, but riveted by the sharing. She drew on his strength until it felt as if he would be nothing but an empty shell.

It stopped.

<Apologies,> Dulcere thought. She seemed stronger now. <In stress, I forget myself.>

He forced himself to reply by forming thoughts in his head. <Can you get away?>

<Their inhibitors are strong. Perhaps with your energy as well, I can overcome them...>

<Whatever it takes. I'll help.>

It felt as if she kissed him on the forehead. <You must free yourself first.>

Meridian's voice. “Kill her, Seglar. Prove you're worth the gold I pay you.”

Beia glanced at Meridian. “Yeah, So-ugly, kill me. I've beaten you six times. What's another loss between old enemies?”

“Still the same mouthy bitch.” Seglar shoved his hand into his ring-she and slid a sword off his back. “I've improved.”

“You'll have to be twice as good to make me sweat.”

Meridian nodded to the fighters.

Ceraph's bow blurred. Arrows took three men in the chest before they could scream. “An honest fight, Pain-master!” she yelled.

“Honest?” Meridian frowned. A blast of lightning erupted from his staff. Ceraph yelped and dove to one side. She rolled and fired. The arrows thudded against something surrounding the mage.

I have to help them. Corim saw the huge creature Beia had called a Hybrid closing on Ceraph and Beia. The other fighters and mages Ceraph had not killed were taking positions in the debris.

“What's the matter, Meridian? Don't you think he can take me?” She kept her eyes on Seglar. “Going to make them rush me all at once?”

Meridian laughed coldly. “I've noted your penchant for beating the odds. There's too much at stake to be sporting.”

“Bastard.”

<Help me. I will help you.> Corim thought to Dulcere.

<I will try. If I cannot, you must get away. Tell the Protectorate—> He felt a buzzing in his head. Words, pictures and images flowed into his mind and stopped. <Tell them!>

<I will.> He focused on the combat and how to best help.

Seglar wheeled around Beia in a blur. The Myrmigyne held Snowfire like a staff, keeping it between them.

“Snowfire—if you please.”

The bow shimmered like a heat image, convulsing and straightening until it was a spear.

“Set's eyes!” Seglar stopped.

“Good idea.” She drew an arrow from her quiver and shattered it against the floor. A shimmering globe of colors whirled into being around them. The magic slammed the hybrid back and made the warriors nearby grab at their eyes.

“Damn!” Meridian cursed. “A prismatic sphere. Take it down!”

Ceraph took that opportunity. Three more arrows thrummed from the bow. One caught a warrior in the eye. Another clipped a mage. The last thudded into Jund.

For all the effect it had, she might as well have fired it into a rock wall.

“You are becoming too much of a bother, little Elf.” Meridian raised his staff.

Ceraph leaped, but the blast of energy caught her full on. She screamed.

The sound ripped a howl from Corim's throat. “No!” He leaped up. His eyes bored into Dulcere's. <If you're going to help, it has to be now.>

“Get Rakaar!” Meridian screamed at two remaining guards. The men ran.

Corim forgot the battle at the center of the room. He saw only one thing.

Meridian.

The chain around Dulcere's neck and the bands on her arms started glowing as Corim leaped onto the platform. Eyes clenched tight and jaw set, she strained against whatever magic was holding her.

Some guards charged to intercept Corim. They would be too late. This creature had tortured Beia, and now Ceraph had fallen to him. No one else would ever suffer again.

He readied himself to dodge the magical attack as he plunged across the short distance. Another blast of electricity rasped out. He wasn't fast enough. Corim threw up his hands to ward it away. He staggered back under the concussion, but never felt the charge enter his body.

“By Hecate's moon! Is everyone proof against magic except my minions!?”

Eboneye glowed brightly, and Corim heard her chuckle.

He kissed her haft and charged. The mage cowered away.

A brilliant flare of light blinded him. Dazzled, he blinked. The huge Baronian had appeared from nowhere. “You cannot have him, little human,” he thundered.

The huge man was already swinging a staff at Corim's head. Corim ducked and rolled. He came up and blocked another swing that made his skeleton rattle. The massive man's onslaught drove him back against the strange glowing disk where they held Dulcere captive.

A roar shook the complex, then another.

“My lab!” Rakaar staggered as detonations rocked the air.

Corim took advantage of the distraction.

Be free.

He brought Eboneye around in a dazzling arc. The chain holding Dulcere parted in a blaze. The Kriar came to her feet instantly. Corim felt gratitude wash through his mind.

“Lords!” Rakaar leaped and knocked Dulcere's hand aside as a bolt of power leaped out.

The attack missed Meridian by hairs, blackening the shoulder of his robes and vaporizing a hole in the wall by him. Rakaar wrestled Dulcere onto her back. She must have been amazingly strong.

Corim raised the spear to plunge it into the Baronian's back. The universe would be better off without this bastard in it.

“You've done enough!” Meridian yelled.

Force grabbed Corim and sent him spinning backward through the air. He could do nothing but curl into a ball to absorb the impact.

The floor rushed up in an explosion of colors and pain. He bounced twice and slammed into a crate. He lay still, eyes clenched against the pain.

Have to move.

He opened his eyes—

and looked into Ceraph's. It felt as if a knife twisted in his guts. No. She stared at him. The gleam of her lavender eyes had become flat and lusterless. Only a simple reconnaissance mission. Her creamy skin had turned ashen gray. I was the untried one.

She didn't move. Her swords would never flash again.

He refused to let his mind say the word. She'd survived three wars, walked the face of Titaan for six centuries she couldn't be...

The anguish closed in on him, cold and hard. Beia had lost much to Meridian. Now, he had, too. He wanted to curl up and join Ceraph. No, Meridian was a taker. He must take no more.

His whole body throbbed with the effort. His hand shook. Corim reached out and closed her lids—forever.

Dulcere's struggles were holding Meridian and Rakaar's attention. Both of the men held her arms, and seemed to be locked in a battle of wills to keep the woman confined. The mages and Jund were still pounding on the prismatic sphere Beia had erected around herself and Seglar.

Corim's hand tightened on Eboneye.

<Do you desire healing before rejoining the combat?> Eboneye asked. <You are heavily damaged.>

“Do it.”

Energy rushed through him, sweeping away the physical pain. Ceraph's still image pulsed hot in his brain. He stood. Meridian had his back to him.

The colored sphere vanished. Jund roared. Beia dove away from the hybrid's charge. Seglar's slashed corpse lay face down on the floor. The albino would not be getting another rematch.

Snowfire thrummed twice. The arrows each transfixed one of Meridian's mages. The men shimmered gray. Clothing and flesh became stone.

Corim charged in to help Beia with the juggernaut. She rolled to her feet and slipped on a patch of blood. Corim swung with all his strength. The spear screamed, cutting deep into the bunched muscles and tendons of the hybrid's shoulder. The blow knocked Jund's strike wide of Beia.

She scrambled and launched an arrow into Jund at close range. Lightning rasped around the creature. It roared in pain and kept on. Struggling, Beia fired again. The tremendous energy only seemed to anger the creature.

“Die, damn you!” Corim whirled Eboneye and caught the hybrid in the neck. The spear shrieked in triumph as Jund staggered back clutching the wound. Shaking his head, the creature flailed wildly.

The struggle on the stage had climaxed. Rakaar had Dulcere around the throat. Gold energy licked around him and the Kriar. Meridian held her shackled arm, sparkles whirling around his body. He grabbed a wand from his belt and aimed it at Jund. The colored gems on the disk where Dulcere lay began flashing.

Blood poured from Jund's throat as he turned on Corim and charged. Beia drew an arrow and let fly.

<No!> Corim felt Dulcere howl in his mind. <Look—>

Jund vanished from between them.

Beia's arrow passed through empty air. Hearing the hiss, Corim ducked. Burning pain sliced into his shoulder. Her arrow had gone all the way through him. The shock drove him to his knees.

He could only flinch as Jund's mace slammed Beia to the floor. She tried to regain her feet only to be sent skittering along the floor by another savage blow. She careened into the wall and lay still.

Blasted taker. He fought back to feet. Shoulder streaming blood he lunged at the hybrid.

“Move!” Meridian ordered.

Too late. Corim drove the spear home with his good arm. With a sound like an apple being cored, the Eboneye went into Jund's ear.

The hybrid pitched over.

It left Corim alone against Meridian and the Baronian.

“Admirable performance. Too bad I didn't make money on it.”

There was too much distance between them. He wouldn't throw Eboneye. It was his only protection against Meridian's magic. Dulcere continued to struggle against Rakaar. If not for the huge warmage, Corim was certain she would have been free. The Baronian was doing something to that collar she wore, controlling her somehow.

Beia lay a few paces away, her hand still on Snowfire. Corim didn't think she was dead, but she needed attention soon.

He focused on Snowfire. What power remained in that quiver? It certainly wouldn't do Meridian any good. If Snowfire didn't eat his arm. If he could pull it. The shock was setting in from Beia's arrow going through his shoulder.

He took a step toward Beia.

“Where do you think you're going?” the mage aimed the wand at him. “Upset me further, and I'll feed you to the Rhinotaurs instead of giving you a clean death.”

“You'll excuse me, sir, if neither sentiment appeals.” His voice dropped. He hoped Snowfire was the same as Eboneye. “Snowfire, you'd better not eat my arm.”

“What are you mumbling, fool? Put down the spear. It won't protect you long. Not enough to get you out of here.”

Dulcere's foot lashed out and kicked him in the side.

The mage yelped. “Hold her, Rakaar!”

Corim dove and snatched up Snowfire and one of Beia's arrows. Instantly, Snowfire was nocked and snarling in his hands. Pain shrieking through his shoulder he pulled the arrow to his ear. The shaft glowed. Corim felt the arrow's charge readied.

“The disintegration is ready,” the bow rasped. “Kill him, kill him, NOW!”

Meridian's jaw dropped. “Rakaar, do something!”

“Die,” Corim said.

The arrow hissed from the bow.

Meridian yelled and made a swatting motion as the shaft shrieked toward him. The arrow became a line of light that traversed the distance in an eye blink.

It missed.

The magical warhead detonated behind the mage, creating another gaping hole in the wall.

“Dulcere!” Meridian screamed, pointing his wand at the Kriar. “Space them! Space them now!”

<No!> she screamed. The bands around her arms lit up like stars.

Corim snatched another arrow from Beia's quiver, fitted it to the bow and aimed.

Rakaar snatched the wand from the mages hand and knotted his fist in Dulcere's hair. He held the wand against the collar. “Dulcere—” He boomed. “Space—them—NOW!”

Corim heard Dulcere's wail tail off as blackness engulfed him. They called her the Ice Falcon for a reason. I wonder if anyone ever thought about that before they decided to rehabilitate her. Actually, I had hoped that after I pulled some strings to get a Protectorate to investigate her affairs that we'd never see her again. Funny, how things worked out. Rehabilitated or not, she knew what I had done and hated me for it. I knew eventually she'd find a way to get even. That's when I came up with the idea of warming up the icy heart of that old witch. I wasn't sure whether or not it would work, but it was worth a try. What did I have to lose but my soul..?—Dorian Degaba Istarvariku

A frown etched on her pallid features, the brooding Ice Falcon completed the fiftieth circuit of the commons. Head down, hands clasped behind her back, she turned the thought over in her head for the thousandth time.

Where is she?

They set rules for one another; this explicitly broke them. They agreed to the telepathic tracers for safety. Aarlen's enemies attacked Beia on occasion. Fortunately, all attempts had failed because the attackers weren't prepared to fight Snowfire.

A predecessor to her own battlestaff Vralczarr, Aarlen had designed Snowfire so few things magical or technical could stand up to it.

She could excuse the mind silence. Beia was often involved in situations where it would be dangerous to have her concentration disturbed.

Aarlen could feel the bow's magics being tested even as she paced. The tracking would be difficult, but possible.

The irksome thing was that it bothered her at all.

I found it easier when I cared for nothing.

She stopped at the window and looked out at the jungle. What is this? Hecate's eyes, I must be insane to have emotions for a child.

Aarlen made another circuit, and she gazed at the sack of sword shards. What did it mean? She knew it had significance, because Beia never did anything without some reason behind it. That girl wasted no motion.

Something else about their quarters was different; no Ess. By now, Beia's Matayan-trained sister would have come sniffing for any new entries in the library Aarlen kept in her office. Why no Ess? Her scarcity would make sense if she were involved in this conspiracy somehow.

One way to find out.

<Ess,> she called telepathically. Aarlen didn't bother to identify herself. The Matayan would know who it was. The mental power Aarlen used would reach anywhere in the valley. Ess would have no excuse for not making a timely appearance. <Come to Beia's quarters at once. I wish to speak with you.>

She heard a deep sigh at the other end of the connection. <Yes, honored.>

Aarlen made a few more circuits of the commons before Ess knocked on the door. A taller, broader version of Beia dressed in green and gold stepped in. She carried a book under her arm. A single silver earring winked in the light. Ess tugged at it.

Guilty, Aarlen judged.

Ess came forward, moving with that distinct grace that set off a trained warrior from common people. Eight years Beia's junior and without the benefits of rejuvenation, Ess looked more mature. The younger sibling had something else that Beia lacked, a love of learning. Aarlen wished Beia could have shared that trait. The older Myrmigyne would learn, but it was a battle all the way.

“I come, honored.” Ess said in flat voice; a soldier's tone.

So, she's going to make me play twenty questions with her. Damn you, Beia. You put her up to this. I know it. I only want to make sure you're safe.

Twenty questions; she could play that game. First, a broadside to knock her off balance. What would do? The book piqued Aarlen's interest. It wasn't hers, and not from any medieval library; not with a binding like that.

“Let me see that book.”

The Myrmigyne's soldier face cracked. “Honored?”

“Bring it here.”

Ess stepped forward reluctantly and handed it to Aarlen. It was a hardbound book with a blue binding. Emblazoned in gold across the cover was: ‘Beginning Trigonometry'. She opened the cover and perused the typeset text. Someone had meticulously translated the original and printed this reproduction in the Myrmigyne language.

She shook her head. “Where did you get this?”

“Lady Cassandra.”

Aarlen rolled her eyes. Of course.

Ess eyed her warily.

She could smell Ess’ perspiration. She grabbed the sack off the mantle and tossed it to Myrmigyne. “Tell me what that is, and don't give me any of your literal evasions. I know it's a bag full of metal shards. What does it mean?”

Ess held the bag as if it was burning her fingers. Aarlen saw from the moment of shock that Beia hadn't meant for the bag to be found. A blunder. They must have rushed for some reason. Beia didn't know she would be home late.

The Myrmigyne swallowed. “It is a geas bag.”

Aarlen raised an eyebrow. “A material link to that boy, Vale? Why would Beia geas him?”

The Myrmigyne tried to conceal her surprise, but it was plain to Aarlen. Obviously, she wasn't supposed to know his identity.

Ess tugged at her earring again. “To tie him to her quest against the arenas.”

“Another convert against Meridian?” She instinctively knew there must be more to it than that. “She took every one of her spell arrows, Ess. There's enough magic in that quiver to flatten an arena. You want me to think she would take some untried, boy, into battle against Meridian? What am I missing here, Ess?”

“She said it was only a reconnaissance mission.”

Aarlen nodded. She went to a grouping of flowers set in a vase by the window and plucked one out. She sniffed it while regarding the younger Myrmigyne.

“Reconnaissance, eh?” She plucked one of the petals off the flower and chewed it slowly. The bitter taste suited her mood. “Where, Ess?”

“I don't know. She would not tell me.”

Aarlen scowled. Ess was telling the truth. “Damn you, Beia. Everything has to blasted well be your way.” She thrust the book back into Ess’ hands.

She still had ways of finding out where Beia had gone.

Aarlen could check with Dorian. Cassandra and Dorian, like sisters to Beia, often helped her out with magical problems.

<Greetings, Aarlen, business or pleasure?> Dorian responded in a cheery tone.

<Business,> Aarlen growled. The nicer Dorian was, the more it set her teeth on edge. A fact she was certain Dorian knew.

If Aarlen's irritation bothered the mage, it didn't show in her thoughts. <Business it is. What can I do for you?>

<You can stop that insipid beaming.>

Aarlen saw Dorian's pouting face in her mind. <Cold and mechanical if you prefer.>

<I prefer. Have you seen Beia recently?>

<Yes.>

<Would you care to elaborate?>

<No.>

<This is important,> she thought with a cutting tone.

<So is everything else. Is this a priority-one important or a priority-ten important?>

Standing in the quarters Aarlen pounded her thigh with a fist. <I'm going to come there and rip your eyebrows off and feed them to you a follicle at a time!>

<Ah.> Aarlen felt Dorian shudder. <Really important. I did some work on her spell arrows and quiver.>

<My arrows,> Aarlen corrected. <Who gave you permission to tinker with them?>

Dorian shrugged. <Didn't know I needed any.>

<You need permission to touch anything of mine. What did you do to them?>

<Take your high and mighty act, and go away. You can try to rip my eyebrows off, but I'm certain Isis would get irritated if we went at it in her court.>

<One of these days, child, you won't be able to invoke such creatures to your protection.>

<By that time, I won't need their protection. Are you going to be civil? What's Beia done to make you so grouchy?>

<I want to find out. You're slowing me down.>

Dorian sighed. <I changed the selection algorithm. Beia wanted faster recognition so she could carry more arrows. I worked a kernel of magic in between those toothy bindings of yours. I swear you must put piranhas in those arrows. The first binding nearly gnawed my hand off.>

<I'll look into that. It should have succeeded.>

<Thanks—> Dorian returned with a sarcastic snarl. <Anyway, these arrows transmit a signal that Snowfire can read. All she has to do is touch a notch to determine the arrow's charge.>

<Did it occur to you that she was dangerous enough already?>

<They're your enemies. It's for her protection.>

<I think your modifications made her confident enough to try to take on an arena by herself.>

<With those arrows she probably could. So, do you have reason to believe she's gone off to do that?>

<I have reason, but no evidence. She's kept everyone ignorant so they couldn't intervene. I guess I'll—> Aarlen stopped in mid-discourse. Snowfire's signal had abruptly ceased.

Before Aarlen could exclaim, Cassandra simply existed right next to her.

“Aarlen!” Cassandra burst out. “Eboneye—it just—”

“Stopped sending.” Aarlen held her chest, heart thudding. She was getting too old when children could surprise her like that.

Ess had leaped back and stood in a fighting crouch.

Cassandra looked at Ess. “Sorry. I was in a hurry.”

The half-Kriar was perfect, an older and more mature version of Cassin and Annawen. Her gold skin and chocolate hair gleamed. Stars sparkled in her obsidian-colored eyes. One would have expected such a paragon to be magnificent, but the lack of imperfection made her appear more like a piece of art than a beautiful person. If Cassandra was self-conscious about her alien appearance, it didn't show. Each patch of shiny gold skin was revealed to its best advantage in the blues and greens of an immodestly cut blouse and skirt.

“Aye,” Ess agreed breathing deeply to calm her surprise. “A big hurry, it seems.”

“Are you all right, Aarlen?”

“Nothing a warning wouldn't solve.” She slowed her own breathing.

<What's going on?> Dorian demanded in Aarlen's mind.

<We lost Beia's signal.> She cut the connection to Dorian.

“Snowfire isn't registering either?”

“Nothing—it's dead.”

“Don't say ‘dead',” Cassandra said. “Let's go while I can still trace.”

“A moment,” Aarlen stayed calm.

Ess stiffened. “Is Beia in trouble?”

She strode into her room, grabbed the sheath for Stellaraac and strapped it on. “Your sister is in more than mere trouble.”

In a hiss of disrupted air, Dorian flashed into being. Since their first meeting, Cassin and Annawen's stepmother had changed little. She'd put on some muscle, but was still voluptuous. The woman's broad hips and heavy breasts were all part of an expressive body that left men tongue-tied. Her mahogany locks were braided into a crown with a tail out the top. Dorian's face was timeless; her guileless green eyes weapons of deception few underestimated twice. Dressed in a tight red-and-gold surcoat, hips wedged into a pair of black breeches, she looked ready for battle.

Aarlen raised an eyebrow. “Very spiff.”

“New spell.” Dorian looked at Cassandra.

“Let's go.”

“Take me,” Ess insisted. “I know the arenas.”

Aarlen nodded to Cassandra. She reached out and touched Ess’ head. Her telepathic probe instantly revealed the whereabouts of the Myrmigyne's adventuring equipment. A gesture, and an instant of concentration, and Ess stood fully equipped.

Like Beia, Ess had undergone the rigors of the arena. The bow, sword, and ring-she were all well-worn implements.

Ess checked her items and nodded.

“Do the honors, Cassandra.”

“Sooner—” the surroundings were now those of a carnage-filled storage area. “—done than said.”

They looked around the silent, barn-sized chamber. The stone walls looked scored and blackened. Pooled blood not yet coagulated ran in rivulets across the uneven floor. The corpses of more than a dozen men were sprawled about, their bodies in varying degrees of dismemberment. A raised stage area at the back of the room stood empty. Two huge gouges marred the wall in different places.

“You frighten me, child,” Aarlen said to Cassandra. She assessed the corpses without emotion, wrinkling her nose at the smell of vomit and relaxing sphincters.

Dorian paled. “It looks like Beia's been here.”

“The trace on Eboneye is accurate?”

“Exact. It was right there.” Cassandra pointed to the wall. “When it winked out.”

Face stony, Ess moved to the area and bent down. “This is one of her arrows.”

Dorian came over and examined it. “That's one of the nippy little buggers, all right; chain lightning shaft. Strange, it wasn't fired.”

“What went on here?” Aarlen paced the perimeter of the room. “They didn't take the dead.”

Dorian pointed at the hybrid. “Must have been important.”

Cassandra frowned. She'd been studying the stage since they'd appeared in the area. “Time—”

Aarlen looked up. “What do you mean?”

“The time stream has been swept clean.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Surely, something—” Aarlen stretched her senses out. She pulled energy from Stellaraac, compressing the instants around them. She felt the air grow static as she tried to delve beyond where Cassandra's chronal sense stopped...

Aarlen gasped, snatching her intellect back from that void. “Hecate's eyes, reality has been—”

“Wiped away,” Cassandra finished calmly. “Beia stumbled on something big.” She stepped up onto the stage.

Ess gasped. “Ceraph!”

Aarlen turned to see Ess bend and pick up the slender body of an Elf woman, Tal's elven scout, Ceraph. From the ashen look of the Elf's skin and the burn on her side, Aarlen guessed that she had been killed by a lightning bolt.

The Myrmigyne threw her head back. “Nethra, no, just a reconnaissance! Beia promised!” A tear crept down the woman's cheek. “Little sister, I didn't mean it. Corim was yours. I was only teasing. Just teasing.”

Dorian went to her side quickly.

Cassandra bent and dabbed her hand on something. She picked up what appeared to be a short length of chain. The gold-skinned mage focused on Ess and Ceraph. She looked at the moisture on her fingers. Her eyes narrowed. “Kriar blood, Aarlen. It's hot, too, charged to the limit. Whoever it is, they're powered up to shake things in a big way.” She threw the chain to Aarlen. “Is that what I think it is?”

Aarlen caught the chain; mithril alloy. The metal still felt hot. “Domination magics,” she frowned. “At the Protectorate briefing, we discussed the possibility that a slaved Kriar might be the source of the problems. I'd hoped it wasn't true.” She rattled the chain. “This is the first proof.”

“A slaved Kriar,” Dorian repeated with an edge in her voice.

Aarlen gritted her teeth. “This must be their base. We can't afford to miss anything here.” She composed her mind and sent a telepathic thought to the Protectorate. <Who is left on call? I have priority data concerning the recent anomalies.>

<I am receiving you, Aarlen.> The thought was rich and calm.

In her mind's-eye Aarlen saw the image of Nethra lounging atop the massive gemstone that contained the Eternal's soulforce. The Eternal's green eyes glowed as she looked out across the twelve gemstones. The spheres stood equidistant around the large starburst pattern at the center of a black onyx floor.

Even through the telepathic link Aarlen felt the intense forces that ebbed and surged like the rhythm of some immense heart. The chronally impregnable fortress of Eternity's Heart looked barren. A rarity when there were twelve eternals, twelve Shael Dal, not to mention husbands, wives, and screaming children.

<Where is everyone, Nethra? This may be a full call-out.>

Aarlen felt the Eternal sigh. <Koass is meeting with the Time Guardians. The rest are out trying to fix those anomalies. Tal, Terra, and I are on call for an emergency.>

<It's an emergency. One of the casualties is Tal's mother. Get here fast.> She sent Nethra the telepathic coordinates.

She felt no hurry suggested in the Eternal's thoughts. <We will be there directly.>

She focused again on the carnage filled room. Dorian and Ess knelt over Ceraph, and Cassandra had come to join them.

Sighing, she went to examine the Elf closely. Seeing Ess with tears on her cheeks made her stomach tighten. Just because she looked like Beia, it made her want to mother the girl. Aarlen grumbled silently. She'd become so damned maudlin. No sense wasting a good Elf if there were something she could do. Non-humans were notoriously hard to revive, though.

The other three women eyed her as she knelt by Ceraph. “Nethra, Tal and Terra are on the way.” She put a hand against the Ceraph's cheek.

Ess’ eyes widened. Nethra the Eternal was also the god of the Myrmigynes. The way Aarlen communed with Nethra, speaking to her in conversational tones, had always disturbed Beia and Ess. Beia had eventually grown more accustomed to the godlike eternals. Ess still turned white at the prospect of seeing her goddess in the flesh.

Aarlen probed the Elf's neck. Her flesh felt cool, but not cold. Judging from the time of unconsciousness that wasn't exactly right. She'd killed enough people to recognize stone dead when she felt it.

Odd.

She examined the woman's necklaces and hands. She stopped on a ring set with a bloodstone. “I've seen one like this before.”

Ess growled. “What does a ring have to do with anything?”

“Possibly a lot,” Dorian said. “They're rare. I—”

The sound of imploding air cut off Dorian's words. Holding hands, bulky Tal and catlike Terra stood with their swords ready. Nethra the Eternal dwarfed them, seeming to fill the chamber. Her red hair blazed like fire and armor glistened on her body like a sheen of quicksilver.

The three of them took an instant to survey the room.

Tal's eyes widened when he saw whom they were leaning around. Obviously, Nethra had not told him what they would find.

“Raph!” He ran toward them.

For Aarlen, time stopped.

<<Got you!>>

The words went through her brain like fire. She didn't have an opportunity to do anything but flee the confines of the collapsing bubble of time.

The universe was ending. Unlike natural born Kriar, I'm not afraid of the dark. I saw that the other trainees really dreaded the darkness conditioning. To me, it was standing in an empty, lightless room for a few bells. It wasn't until I saw how much it shook some of the others that I realized how deep the racial fear of the darkness went. I don't like the dark, but it is not the terror for me that it was for them. I guess that's why ninety-nine in a hundred Kriar wash out of star forces academy simply because of all the void training. Personally, the ability to soar through space without a ship or suit is a thrill that little can match...—Cassin Kel'Ishtauri Felspar

The universe exploded in color, fragments of ice and stone, englobing Corim in a stringless mobile of tumbling detritus.

Space them—space them now! The words guttered out in his mind. He never loosed that final arrow.

The void.

Snowfire shrieked. Agony. Numbing cold drove into his bones like steel talons.

The void.

Blazing stars and nebulae gyrated in his vision. Icy fire burned his nerves. His indrawn breath was nothing but vacuum.

The void.

Limbs dead. Blood boiling. Snowfire jolted from his hand and attacked Beia. Consciousness slipped away. A burst of silver...

He found himself in an infinitely long corridor of blackness. Metal shod boots rang on stone. No sight, no smells, no other sounds save that metallic clash.

<Wake up!>

Now, he would join Ceraph in the blackness. He'd tried to stop the takers. He deserved to die for failing. It felt like a lead weight around his shoulders. So hard. Why did Ceraph have to die?

<Is he dead?>

Corim looked back. The darkness appeared to go on eternally except for a single point of light.

<Idiot doesn't know he's alive.>

Something is wrong. Why do I hear voices?

<He did suck vacuum.>

Why does my chest hurt so much? Do I even have a chest? I'm dead like Ceraph.

The raspy voice sounded amused. <His blood boiled too, puffed up like a blowfish.>

<You're mean.>

Meridian and Rakaar forced Dulcere to attack us. I must be dead.

<If you hadn't wasted your healing on him, we wouldn't be in this predicament.>

I can't be alive; there wasn't any air!

<That's right, blame me, it's always my fault. You never do anything wrong!>

What were they talking about? Who was ‘they'?

<No, I don't.> The tone sounded smug.

Corim wavered midway between light and darkness. He felt Ceraph tugging at him. She was alone and lost in the void. He wanted to hold her one last time and take away her pain; to make her smile.

Damned takers, they were a consuming maw that never gave anything back. They took his heritage, his family and childhood and left him with nothing but bad memories. It left him with nothing but rage and desire to see others vindicated from the takers.

Meridian, king Taker—he'd trapped Dulcere, stolen Beia's life and now Ceraph's, too. How many other lives had he ripped apart? How many more if Meridian wasn't stopped?

He remembered Dulcere's pain, and the horrible sense of what she would soon be forced to participate in. She had left him with that knowledge.

Meridian planned to destroy time.

The takers had to be stopped.

Hot knives pierced his heart as he left Ceraph in the darkness and surged toward the light. It was like swimming against a current, but he fought forward.

The female voice intruded again. <If you never make mistakes, why did you miss Meridian from ten paces away!>

<He's a bad shot.>

Corim felt a twinge of irritation. I am not. I took two trophies in the bow.

<Nobody is that bad a shot.>

Why did it miss?

<His shoulder must have given out.>

It did not.

<Sure, make excuses.> A satisfied tone.

<Hey! Who killed all of those mages?>

The light was closer.

<Who killed the hybrid?>

<Well, I got those fighters too!>

Almost there...

<I took the heads off mine.>

A step more; everything hurt.

<Not fair! You didn't turn yours to ashes, either!>

Push harder. A little more.

<Ashes are out; vorpuls are in.>

Light and pain flooded his senses.

<You're just jealous because I get the Protectorate powers and you don't!>

Fight.

<He's coming around.>

Corim forced his eyes open.

<It's about time.>

Stars and nebulae were splashes of color on black velvet backdrop. Corim's body felt numb, but no longer stricken by the cold. Beia's body was a shiny amorphous lump tumbling slowly a few paces away.

A dull red glow surrounded him. The necklace felt hot, and when he put his hand to it, he felt it throb like a heart. Eboneye floated a short distance away.

Corim said her name and reached out. He convulsed as blinding pain shrieked through his shoulder, causing him to tumble in the weightlessness. Gritting his teeth, he snatched the spear with his good arm.

<Welcome to the land of the living.>

“Why?” He spoke, but made no sound.

Eboneye understood. <Surmise, ‘why alive'. Snowfire thinks you're wearing a necklace of adaptation.>

He'd never heard of such a thing. No wonder he had never discovered what it did. He didn't make a habit of going places where he couldn't breathe.

“How long can I last?” Why am I asking the spear?

<Probably a week.>

That's why—it knew the answer. Magic weapons weren't supposed to be smarter than people.

“Is Beia—?”

<Still alive. Snowfire kept air around her. We need a solution, fast. She doesn't have much time.>

“How long?”

A pause. <A bell.>

He looked around at the starry heavens, gazing above, below, and at all points of the compass. Nothing but more void. Attempting movement was fruitless, and tumbling in place was non-productive. The nearest of those points of light lay an eternity away.

“There's no way to move.”

<We've been considering that.>

“Then why haven't you done it yet?”

<No hands. Snowfire cannot change shape and keep Beia's air inside.>

Corim tried to sigh, but there wasn't any air. “What's your idea?”

<Beia's arrows. Snowfire thinks he can push them out without losing her air. Their magic might get us out of this.>

“How will I know what the arrows do?”

<Touch Snowfire with an arrow. He'll tell you the charge.>

Corim still couldn't believe he was carrying on conversation with an intelligent weapon. Of course, he couldn't believe he'd survived being thrown into the void.

“Let's do it.”

The process of getting the arrows took an agonizingly long time. Snowfire refused to take any chances of endangering Beia. Like a snake wriggling out of its skin, the quiver pushed through the item's amorphous ‘skin'. Each fraction of it was painstakingly forced out as it contracted and expanded.

A score more arrows remained in the quiver. It gave Corim hope that their salvation might lie within.

He repeated the names told him by Snowfire. “Polymorph any object, Transmute rock to mud, Disintegrate, Delayed blast fireball, Chain lightning, Temporal stasis, Wall of force, Cone of cold—None of these things sound useful to me.”

<The stasis can buy time.>

“Really? How?”

<Without time passing, she doesn't breathe.>

Corim nodded. “How does a magic weapon know all this?”

<Several centuries ago I was a flesh and blood creature. Cassandra gave me life again. She gave this shell a perfect memory, to record things for her. I have watched all these arrows used.> A pause. <I read the rest.>

The concept of a living being inside the spear was troubling. He put it in the back of his mind. “Prismatic sphere, Cloudkill, Flesh to stone, Reverse gravity, Wall of iron, Vanish, Slow, Incendiary cloud—”

<Stop. Snowfire, what does ‘Vanish’ do?>

A pause. <It's new,> he grumbled. <She recently discovered the spell. She planned using it to disarm people.>

“How?”

<When the spell hits something, it ‘vanishes’ or teleports to where you send it.>

“Can it do that to people?” Corim asked.

<No.>

“Damn—no wait ... you talk!” He shook Eboneye.

<Of course I talk.>

“I can send you. You can tell them to come get us.”

<Who?>

“Cassin and Annawen, can teleport. I remember where their apartments are. I could send you there.”

<That would work.>

<One problem,> Snowfire said.

“What?”

<There's only one arrow, and you don't know how to focus the magic. Controlling the effect of an arrow is more complicated than simply shooting it.>

Corim refused to give up. “Can I practice the control on others?”

<Polymorph any object, Delayed Blast Fireball, Wall of Iron. You determine the shape in the polymorph, the time in the fireball, and the dimensions of the wall of iron.>

“Any clues how to do that?”

Snowfire snorted. <I channel magic. I don't work it.>

“You're a big help.”

<Try focusing on the arrow, as you would an opponent,> Eboneye suggested.

“Which should I try first?”

<The fireball.>

“The fireball! But—”

<There's no air to burn, nit.>

“Oh.” Of course. What a sage, he couldn't remember some of his own studies.

Corim pulled the arrow from the quiver, fingering the powerful item gingerly. He concentrated first on the throbbing of his shoulder, forcing the pain further back in his mind, glad the shaft had passed completely through. Otherwise the discomfort would be another magnitude larger.

He focused his will on the arrow. The metallic rod was a pace long, headed by a barbed phalanx point with razor edges. The bright red fletchings were fitted into long groves at the rear. Corim's experienced eye noted their abnormal size, and the heavy gluing. The arrow was designed to be fired from that awesome weapon, a bow that used the strength magic to hurl an arrow with unbelievable speed and power.

This particular arrow could explode in a blast of fire. Beia had used four of its brothers to decimate the Baronian's labs. Apparently, Beia insinuated her will into the arrow as she fired it. Something that was obviously easier imagined than done.

He gripped the arrow and envisioned an hourglass in his mind. The upper bulb of the glass had a ten count of grains left. He kept hardening and refining the image in his mind until the arrow started glowing.

He hurled the shaft away, counting to see if he'd controlled it correctly. A cold feeling clutched his guts when the arrow sailed through the void, well beyond his ten count.

“Damn.”

<You have more chances.>

“I guess. Which one now?”

<The wall. The polymorph is the hardest.>

Corim fished around and found it, one with bright blue fletchings. Beia probably used one like this to block a corridor.

Off to his left, the blackness filled with a bright flash. The arrow had gone off—finally.

Relaxing, he imagined a wall of made of iron, ten paces wide and ten high and two thick. He placed himself in the image to scale the object. He squeezed the arrow in his good fist. They were running out of time. He considered every aspect of his imaginary iron wall, its shape, texture, and mass, until it was real to him. The arrow glowed and he released it.

The magic shaft traveled a few feet before blossoming into a huge iron wall. His heart rushed. The floating metallic slab looked exactly as envisioned.

“Yes.”

<Good. Last practice. Use the polymorph to change the wall into something.>

Corim pulled out the arrow with multi-colored feathers, and concentrated once more. He was fortunate he'd read about these spells in the legends. It made envisioning what they did much easier.

He looked at the wall, imagining the metal surface bending and curving in upon itself like ripples in water. To form what? He hesitated, mind flickering over the limitless possibilities.

The metal became like polished silver, the immense mass collapsing inward into the smooth flowing lines of—

Dulcere.

The picture of the beautiful alien blossomed in his mind. Gold skin, ebony eyes and hair, all of those exotic aspects appealed to Corim. The memory of their telepathic contact burned in his consciousness. He remembered each detail of her elfin face, every curve and crease in the tattered clothing, each line of concentration on her jeweled brow. Like a sculptor, he imagined the flesh cast in steel, visualizing each glimmer and shadow of that exact metal replica.

It took a long time to form the image, it being so much more complex than the previous one. Eventually he completed the task.

The arrow glowed in his hand. He threw it at the floating wall and it impacted with a blue flash. A writhing nimbus leaped around the heavy block, transfiguring it until it looked exactly like a metal rendition of Corim's Kriar fantasy.

<Beautiful,> Snowfire remarked. <But is it art?>

“Is he always that way?”

<Most of the time. Especially when Beia is in a bad way.>

“I'd better stasis Beia. If this works, it might take a while.”

It took a moment to locate the stasis arrow.

<Once you do that, Snowfire can't help anymore. He'll be stasised, too.>

“I'd better get it right.” He held the stasis arrow tight, focusing until it glowed.

<Good night.>

“To you, too.” He tossed the arrow.

<At the worst, she's preserved forever.>

The fighter gazed at the blue glow around Beia's living prison. “I don't want to die out here.”

<Get me where I need to go. I'll bring help.>

“Teleport. Imagine you disappearing here and reappearing there. I have to visualize the destination.”

<I'm ready.>

“So am I. It's cold, I'm hurt, and Meridian is going to destroy everything if I don't get out of here.”

Each moment brought him closer to an exact recall of that place. He remembered the cluttered sitting room with its two totally different schemes. He visualized the plants and paintings that showed such diverse interests. Gold-skinned Cassin sat on the battered couch reading the Silissian grimoire. It seemed so far away.

Focus.

The arrow glowed, ready to discharge destiny. Live or die.

Letting go of the spear he let it drift in front of him. Gently, he released the arrow.

An instant of bright light, then both vanished from sight.

Corim closed his eyes briefly, wanting to fall back, but nothing solid to fall on. His shoulder was a throbbing torment, and despite the necklace's protection he felt the tendrils of cold gnawing toward the marrow of his bones. It might be days or weeks before they returned to their apartments.

Corim looked at his steel Dulcere. “Before I can rescue you from Meridian, someone's got to rescue me...”

In warp training they spend cycles drilling us on all the consequences of creating paradoxes, timequakes, and diffractions. It's all something we as Kriar timedivers roll our eyes at and memorize the material. After all, what creature would be insane enough to purposely create an abomination like a ‘permanent isolinear diffraction'?—Dulcere Val'Saedra Starbinder

Dulcere gave a last angry shake before giving up. All but mummified in shackles and chains, she relaxed against the warp interface. The metal felt like ice against her burning skin. Power enough to level a mountain surged through her body, but the only thing she could do was move her head. Her twin hearts thundered. The weight of failure burned in her gut. The boy, Corim, had cut her free. It sickened her. She had repaid his efforts and Beia's by warping them deep into the starless void; death for humans. It was one more thing Meridian and Rakaar would have to account for.

She came so dark cursed close, mere chronons from eliminating Meridian and Rakaar with a single stroke. Beia Targallae, Meridian's arch-adversary had been only paces away, and the human still managed to escape. It only strengthened her belief that the universe was a cold and unjust place.

Lightning crashed outside, and she felt the sprinkling of rain blown by gusts through a narrow barred window. The air smelled musty, and the caustic bite of what must have been some kind of cleaning solution lingered in the air. With Rakaar's help, Meridian had forced her to bring the remaining staff to this ‘safe’ regrouping area. She guessed this place was some form of primitive fortress, judging from the heavy construction and the spartan look of the interior.

Candles formed from animal fats burned on much of the horizontal surfaces, giving off a grayish smoke. The dim light gave everything a flickering, surreal appearance. A large table had been hastily set up in the middle of the empty chamber, and a black spherical device placed on its top. Large jewels similar in appearance to her matrix gems dotted the exterior of the object. Square, cylindrical, and hexagonal projections protruded from its surface.

Dulcere felt its power. In many ways, it was similar to the warp interface she'd been wedded to for these long megarevs. If she gathered correctly, its function was to generate a field of null-time. Anyone within its confines would be outside the boundaries of chronology, and thus immune to the harmful effects of any temporal disruptions.

She shuddered. If it worked, this device gave Meridian free rein to change time in any way he chose without fear of repercussions. It would render him completely immune to the devastation that would likely result from his changing time.

If she could only free herself. One slice with her force weapon, and she could still halt this atrocity. Meridian wouldn't alter time without the device, and he was running out of room to run. Much longer, and the Protectorate would have him.

She looked around for Rakaar. He still hadn't returned. He had mentioned something about setting a trap for the Protectorate. Dulcere's throat tightened. All of this was her fault. Showing mercy to Rakaar had been a mistake.

The Baronian had disappeared shortly after forcing her to bring them here. After fitting her with a newer—stronger - inhibitor he'd charged Meridian with making all the last instant preparations.

She glanced across the chamber to where Meridian conferred with Psihtath. Dulcere shook her head. The mage did not deserve the luck nature had given him. How could he continue to make error after error and still survive? With only the failings she'd seen, he seemed late for a fatality. In clear defiance of all laws of chance, she remained chained while that lunatic roamed free.

Meridian's voice intruded as he and Psihtath walked toward her. “I still can't believe it, Tath. We had three inhibitors on her—three! She still struggled like a rhinotaur.”

Willowy Psihtath's lean face tightened. “You will pardon me, milord, but master Rakaar has been telling us this since having seen her.”

The mage rubbed his bristly chin. “A ‘master’ is he now, Tath? When did he start taking on titles with you? I thought you didn't like him.”

Psihtath put his hands into the oversized sleeves of his robes and stopped in front of her. “Liking has nothing to do with respecting someone's power or knowledge.” Dulcere saw the man's eyes shift, indicating he meant more than Rakaar.

Meridian only grunted. He didn't acknowledge Psihtath's statement. He rubbed his dark rimmed eyes. “I respect only what I cannot control. Right now, she is being a difficult, dangerous bitch.”

<What did you expect, human, that I would pat you on the head and disrupt time at your whim? I will fight this until I am dead—> she burned her gaze into him. <Or you are.>

He shuddered, and then laughed to cover it up. “See what I am dealing with, Tath?”

Psihtath's brow furrowed. His gaze met Dulcere's. “What I see, milord, is a caged she-skellar. She has blood on her claws, murder in her mind, and a lethal sting.”

“Poetic. Regardless, we need her tractable for the backtime change. We don't have much time to figure it out. Rakaar could be back here any moment with a pack of Protectorate scourge on his heels.”

“We have been attempting to dominate her by magical and physical means. It is her mind that is so intractable. Before the raid, Rakaar and I discussed this. I believe I have a drug that might make her docile enough without robbing her of the necessary mental faculties to operate the interface.”

No! Her throat tightened. She glared at Psihtath.

The male backed up a step.

“She doesn't appear to like that idea,” Meridian said. Her stares didn't have as much affect on him as they used to. “However, I do. Dose her good, Tath, just make sure you don't kill her.”

Psihtath's eyes glinted, dark and cold. “I shan't.” He turned.

Dulcere watched the mage in green robes walk off into the darkness wishing she could simply ‘look’ him dead.

She formed her hands into fists. <Don't do this, human. You must stop before it is too late.>

“I must nothing.” Meridian moved and sat on the table next to Rakaar's null-time generator. “You will get me what I want.”

<The disruption of time is wrong. Simply because you don't get immediately destroyed by the conflagration does not mean the universe will survive. A permanent isolinear diffraction is theoretically unstable. Who knows what damage might result?>

Meridian's face lit up. His smile was cold. “Ah, when you finally see your cooperation is inevitable, then I get the benefit of your knowledge.” He narrowed his eyes. “What is this ‘isolinear diffraction'?”

<Human, time is not a toy. Simply because you know to wear gloves around fire does not mean you understand combustion. You intend to use that abomination to escape time's natural defenses. That defense is a called a diffraction. The probability sequence that constitutes the timeline itself does not change when you alter an event. The line simply ends at the point you change it. At the point the timeline terminates, it synchronizes with an existing probability sequence.>

His brow furrowed. “So?”

<So!> Dulcere gritted her teeth. <Imagine each line of probabilities is a river. Tell me, human, what happens when you divert one river into another?>

Meridian's eyes narrowed. Foolish this creature might be, but not stupid. Could it be that she was getting through to this miscreant? “The banks overflow.”

<Precisely. The analogy is loose. The overflow is felt only as tension. The initial stress of the diversion can cause rips in the ether. The real danger is the dry riverbed left empty. It becomes a vacuum. Adjacent timelines can diffract spontaneously trying to compensate for the loss in temporal balance. This causes more vacuums, more diffracting and instability. At a certain threshold, it becomes an unstoppable chain-reaction. Do you understand me?>

“Of course, all creation unravels. So what? Dead is dead. I won't be around to worry about it.”

<Trillions of lives, human, feel you nothing?!> Her thought was a shriek.

He shrugged again. “Dead men feel little guilt, Dulcere. You do not understand. Either this works, or I am dead anyway. I tire of being only a few steps ahead of my enemies.”

Meridian had truly gone insane. He really did not care that he risked taking an entire universe into the darkness with him.

Psihtath returned to the hall at the tail end of Meridian's words. From the look on his face, he may have heard more of the conversation from the cover of the numerous shadows. He wore a pinched expression.

Underneath his arm, he carried a sinister-looking black case. He set it down hard on the table next to the null-time generator. He snapped it open with a loud wooden clunk. His movements looked stiff to Dulcere; a person trying to contain their anger and doing a poor job.

Meridian noticed it too. “Something the matter, Tath.”

“Nothing, Milord,” Psihtath growled. “I will have this ready in a moment.”

Dulcere saw vials of various liquids in the case. She recognized what had to be a polymer syringe and a machined metal needle. They were artifices that belonged to an industrial culture.

<I hope you don't expect drugs that affect mammalian species to work the same on me.>

Meridian eyed her, and then glanced at the case. He stroked his chin. “What about that, Tath?”

“I have considered that, Milord.” His voice rang with a hard edge. “In our spectacles we use several species that have vegetable-related anatomy; treants for example. We needed drugs for sedating these creatures for transport. Because of their size, we needed to be able to persuade them to move themselves. Though she is a hybrid, the magical concoction I have here should adapt nicely.”

“There is something the matter. Tell me,” Meridian said.

Psihtath stuck the syringe in one of his bottles and siphoned out a large dose of the liquid. “Milord, I dislike your attitude about this thing we prepare to do. This Kriar is far more knowledgeable than any human timelord ever born. She has probably forgotten more than we will ever learn. I dislike the idea that we might do this thing and not have a universe to return to.”

Meridian nodded. “So you listened to our discussion. What she says makes sense.” He looked at Dulcere. “Remember, she is brilliant, and being an alarmist is to her benefit in order to scare us.”

The lean-faced mage scowled. “If we are risking the ultimate destruction of everything in existence, even if the odds are one-in-a-thousand we can't—”

Meridian interrupted him. “I'll take that risk, Tath. So will you. Your punishment for being involved in this plot will be no less severe than mine. If you back out now, you will suffer their wrath and mine. Dose her!”

Dulcere's hearts raced as Psihtath turned with the syringe in his hand. <Don't listen to him, Psihtath. If you help them, the Protectorate will be lenient. You know that. Stop him, before there's no universe left!>

He shook his head. “I am no longer irreplaceable. If I tried anything now, his lordship would simply kill me.” Psihtath moved forward cautiously. “I have worked for him long enough to know that my odds of beating him are probably slimmer than this universal calamity that might occur. I will take the better odds of survival.”

She felt a rush of anger over the fear. <Coward.> Dulcere struggled against the restraints, still unable to stir against them.

Cold metal stabbed into her arm.

<No! Dark take you. Don't do this!> She felt the solution entering her epidermal circulatory cavities. A numb sensation spread up her arm like the local anesthetics given in field triage.

Only moments remained before she might not think to guard herself. She plunged her mind in her brainstone matrix.

If I can program it right...

Her vision of the room began to blur. The medicine worked fast.

Have to make sure once I become of no more use to them... Her thoughts fragmented. Can use encephalonic wavelengths to plant a subliminal suggestion...

Her thoughts lost focus then hardened again.

...Coordinated self terminate ... siderous chronous...

The universe compressed. She hung on to the edges of a rapidly dwindling framework of logic.

Blackness. Light. Blackness.

Time jumped erratically. What had that last thought been? She distantly remembered it was imperative that she activate a program in her matrixes.

Program? When did she put a program..? What did it matter?

Words intruded on her muddled thoughts. “Dulcere, are you still with us? Speak to me.”

“Yes.” The word hurt her throat. Why was she so thirsty? She shouldn't need to drink. The thirst ached at her.

A surprised male voice said, “She speaks! Our language too!”

She blinked her eyes. Two humanoid males, one in dark violet, the other in green. Dulcere recalled their names, Meridian and Psihtath. They studied her intently like children with a new toy. A feeling said that she should be upset by this behavior. She couldn't recall the reason.

The one in violet nodded—Meridian. “I was certain she could. She simply didn't deign to. Probably learned the common-tongue by the second or third ten-day in the lab.”

Something said that this voice was something to loathe. It was another thought she couldn't find foundation for. So thirsty. It hurt to talk. Should she be using her vocal cords? It all seemed so jumbled. The program screamed at her to execute it. So confusing.

“Dulcere, are you all right?”

“I—I am fine.” Something tickled at the back of her mind. Her thoughts seemed to filter through a gel. Her throat felt scorched. She wanted to rub it but something pinned her arm. “Why am I shackled?”

“Would you like to be loose, Dulcere?”

“Yes, I would.” Execute. Execute. Execute... The fog seemed to be getting thicker. “I am very thirsty.”

“We'll get you some water, if you'll do a job for us.”

“A job?” A part of her down deep screamed ‘no!'. Why? “What kind of job?” She licked her lips. They felt dry and thick.

“We just want you to warp us to a place called Baltizaar.”

“Baltizaar?” Her addled faculties reached for meaning. “The master Kriar timegate?”

The man in violet grinned. Meridian was his name. He looked extremely happy. She liked making him smile.

“That is the one, Dulcere. Can you take us all there?”

“Coordinates:,” She told him the Kriar vector speak, pinpointing its proper universal motion vectors.

“No, I mean physically transport us there.”

“Why would you want to do that?” She felt uneasy. Her brow furrowed. Her throat hurt. So thirsty.

“It doesn't matter why, Dulcere. Can you do that?”

“Yes.”

“Will you?”

“Can I have a drink first?”

“Only if you promise. You have to promise to take us to Baltizaar. You need to offset your temporal arrival. Can you do that too?”

“Temporal offset? Do you need a relative or absolute displacement?”

The two men looked at one another in confusion. For some reason that made alarms ring in her head. Execute. Ready state. Execute?

That was her matrixes talking to her. They weren't telling her something. They were asking a question. To execute something?

The ringing became more insistent.

Execute? Execute what? A program, but she couldn't remember ... The ringing became painful. Execute? If it would stop that irritating clamor, yes, execute ... The ringing went silent. It seemed easier to concentrate. What were they saying? So hard to think. If only she had some water to drink.

“Dulcere, what is the most common temporal offset?”

Why didn't they know the answer? Any trainee knew that. “Absolute. I'm very thirsty. Can I have some water?”

“If you promise to take us to Baltizaar.”

“All right, Baltizaar, with a temporal offset, right?”

Psihtath leaned over something on the desk, scribbling something as though in a hurry. “An absolute temporal offset. Exactly nine point oh one one five four four gigarevs backward in time from right this moment.”

“Now?”

“Mark, Dulcere.”

“Marked,” she answered. “Is that all the accuracy you want? To the nearest rev?”

“That will be just fine.”

“Can I have that water now?”

“Tath, get her some water.”

A crack echoed through the room. A huge figure drew her attention.

A harsh voice boomed. “Meridian, is she ready? I sprung the trap on an Eternal and half dozen humans. I don't know how many were Protectorate. Some of them might get out, so we need to make haste.” He paused. “What's the matter with her?”

“I'm thirsty,” she told him. “Will you give me some water? I can take you to Baltizaar.”

The huge man looked at Meridian with a raised eyebrow. “You've done two things right in a row, Human,” he said softly. “Amazing.” In a louder voice he said, “Take us to Baltizaar, Belkirin, and you can have all the water you like...” For me there have always been options, even when facing what I felt certain would be my last instant alive. In that moment, I chose to confront death, and dared to try and go on. Some day I will face a situation that I cannot confront with either honor or bravery. It is a day I dread...—Regaura “Beia” Targallae

Floating, Corim huddled next to the warmth of Snowfire. The far away stars were little consolation in this lonely vigil. Eboneye's projections for his survival time were exaggerated. The cold would have him dead long before he suffocated or starved. Despite the necklace, the chill continued to claw deeper into his bones. There was no wind to burn or chaff, no driving snow or rain, only the gigantic blackness and the absolute absence of all warmth.

He'd become so numb that consciousness faded in and out. Corim knew that this was bad, that he should move so he would not get the crippling blueness in his limbs. Unfortunately, there wasn't a way to retain his body heat.

Segments of time vanished. Blood loss, the battle, and the savage thrust into space had all but killed him.

When a gold hand clutched his arm, he thought it simply another of the figments dancing through his head.

His head lolled as he strained to look at the gold woman as she placed her fingers to his throat.

She looked at home in this environment as she flitted gracefully around him, snatching the objects he'd allowed to drift away. Moments later he realized there were two. The other held a spear. She examined his steel sculpture. As they paused to look at the statue, Corim realized they were real—Cassin and Annawen!

Their chocolate hair danced wraithlike as they hovered nearby. Clothed in a skintight indigo, they appeared as voluptuous reflections of one another.

The one holding Eboneye, he didn't know who was which, dragged the statue near.

The one on his right nodded. The universe flickered. Blinding light, weight, pain—

He lay on his back. Fingers worked deftly on his arms. The air vibrated in a steady rhythm. Above, he saw a roof lost in shadows over a league up. His only reference was a single blue dome that looked out into a starscape. The chamber appeared to stretch into infinity; the edges of the vicinity marked by huge glowing jewels. The black marble floor had lines and runes etched into its surface, and he'd been put at the center of a starburst emblem.

“Check him for hypothermia,” said a breathy voice. “I'll see if I can get Beia out of stasis.”

He tried to focus on the young woman who dragged off his boots and rubbed his legs.

“Is Beia—?” he croaked.

<Shhh—> the one who must be Annawen hushed in his mind. <Cassin will take care of her. You lie still.>

She worked fast, fingers rubbing circulation into numbed limbs. After caring for his feet, she massaged his arms. <You have a nice body. It would be a shame to lose part of it to frostbite.>

“I—” Groaning, he tried to move.

Giving him a stern look, she put a hand over his mouth and pinioned his arm.

<Calm.>

Corim looked into starry black eyes and lay still. Her ministrations moved to his punctured shoulder.

<Looks like one of Beia's arrows hit you.> Her fingers probed the extents of the wound.

“Was.”

She wrinkled her nose. <Oooh, I bet that smarted.>

Corim nodded with clenched eyes. The numbness gave way to throbbing limbs and piercing agony.

<Let's see if we can fix you up.>

The woman took a slow breath, and then exhaled. Closing her eyes she placed a hand flat against the wound. She pushed down hard.

He experienced a deep, piercing pain in his shoulder that was rapidly replaced by waves of warmth. The irritated nerves calmed, and it felt like bubbles filtered through his flesh. In moments, the wound closed. Other parts of his body rippled as bruises and cuts faded. The pain fled, allowing him to draw an easier breath. It felt the same as when Tal's wife had healed his ribs.

<Better?>

Corim nodded. “Much.” His voice sounded clearer.

She smiled. <Good. Stay still while you warm up. I have to help Cassin with Beia.>

Corim obeyed, craning his neck to watch the Kriar girl.

“There.” That must have been Cassin's voice.

The silvery form of Snowfire withdrew from Beia, like a snake uncoiling from a mouse.

They started treatment. Corim watched with interest. They worked in unison. In a short time, Beia drew a deeper breath. They rose with satisfied expressions on their faces.

“Can you get through to mother?”

Annawen shook her head.

To Corim she said, “You can move now. You'll be sore, but it should pass.”

He levered himself up after a few tries. His shoulder and back hurt, but it was nothing he couldn't live with. The two approached.

“I was lucky Beia had the right kind of magic, and that you received my message.”

Cassin put a hand on his shoulder. “It was good thinking. You saved Beia's life.” She frowned. “Where's Ceraph?”

It felt as if a knife plunged into his stomach. “She's dead. Meridian killed her. You have to tell the Protectorate or whoever, Meridian has a captive Kriar and something Beia called a warp interface. I was in the Kriar's mind. He means to force her to create something she called a—” He struggled with the alien words. “A ‘permanent isolinear diffraction'.”

Cassin's jaw dropped. Annawen's eyes grew round.

“You're sure she—” Cassin shook her head. “Of course you're sure. Where is everybody! This is major!”

<I don't get any response from Aarlen.>

“Call Ivral, she'll get through to Mother. I'll see if Gabriella can raise Aarlen.”

After so calmly fishing him out of the void, this news panicked them. Beia groaned, and Corim rose and went to her.

“It's okay. We got out. People know about Meridian's plan.”

She moaned and put an arm across her forehead. “Sorry about the arrow,” she said in a weak voice.

“Good thing the spell didn't go off.”

She nodded and smiled faintly. “Did you get Meridian?”

“Almost. I shot one of your disintegrate arrows. Somehow it missed and tore out the wall instead.”

“Not your fault. Bastard has an item that deflects missiles. Snowfire can penetrate the shield, but you have to know how.” Struggling to sit up, she finally succeeded with his help. “What are we doing here?”

“We had a mishap at the end there.”

“Mishap?”

“After I missed, Rakaar forced Dulcere to put us in space.”

“Why didn't we—?” the perplexed expression melted. She tugged on the necklace. “I'd been meaning to ask you if you knew what that did.”

Corim smiled. “I meant to ask you, but a few things came up.”

She smiled back. “Guess I don't have to tell you now.”

He shook his head. “One less mystery. Can you stand?”

She nodded, and he helped her up. Beia wobbled, opening and closing one hand experimentally. She caught sight of the two Kriar, and her smile turned to a grin.

“I could get used to having a brother who saves my life.” She frowned. “Where's Ceraph?”

He swallowed. “Didn't you see?”

She understood from his tone. Beia's face hardened. “No—oh, Nethra, no.” Her hands balled into fists. She took a few shuddering breaths and visibly forced the emotion under control. “Nothing to be done for it now. That bastard.”

She walked toward the twins. Putting both hands on one of the girl's shoulders she gave her a squeeze.

The young woman responded by turning and hugging the Myrmigyne.

“Everyone's in an uproar, ‘auntie. Now, I think there's worse trouble.”

“What's wrong?”

“No response. It's like we're cut off.”

“How? Anyone can hear you from here.”

Cassin shook her head. “Not now, it seems.”

“Have you tried leaving?”

The Kriar took a breath. “What if we can't come back?”

“What?”

“Meridian has a Kriar and an analogue interface. Nethra, Tal, and Terra left here only hectarevs ago to join Mother and Aarlen who were searching for you. Now, everything goes silent. It might sound farfetched, but it's possible we're all that's left—!” Her sentence undulated into a scream.

Face contorted and body twitching, she fell into Beia's arms. Corim caught Annawen as she collapsed in a mirroring of Cassin's distress.

“What's going on?” he demanded.

“I don't know.” Beia clutched the quivering Cassin and lowered her to the floor. “They're having some kind of seizure!” She embraced the girl, fighting the spasms that wracked her body.

“Watch out, they're strong.”

He straddled the amazingly strong Annawen and tried to control her thrashing. Even wearing the strength-enhancing belt it wasn't easy.

“I noticed.” Corim fought to keep the girl pinned. Her ebony eyes glowed, and her resilient skin grew hot as muscles contracted under his straining fingers.

Corim and Beia struggled with the sisters for the length of a couple long breaths before their bodies stilled.

“Thank Nethra, I think I had less of workout fighting Seglar.” She wiped the sweat off her brow. “Are you okay, Corim?”

“I think so.” He still sat astride Annawen, examining the bruises on his arms.

Beia put her ear to Cassin's chest, and then listened again near her stomach. She looked up. “Check Annawen, make sure both hearts are beating. Sometimes they can get out of sync.”

“Both—?” Following Beia's example, he listened for a heartbeat near where a human heart would be and heard a steady thumping. The girl's skin was hot, feverish for a normal person. He couldn't assume that anything was normal about the girl. He listened to the midpoint of her torso. There was a secondary rhythm, stronger than the first.

“Two—hearts,” he breathed.

“You should see what they have for blood.”

“This may seem rhetorical question, but what is a Kriar?” He stood.

Beia glanced up. “You mean, besides the obvious?”

“Aye.”

“They're not related to humans at all, but a cross between plant and animal. The race is very old. Cassandra became a Kriar when she found some matrixes like these.” She indicated the gemstone on Cassin's brow. “She didn't realize what they would do when she put them on.” Beia paused. “They changed her. She became half human and half Kriar. Later, when she came in contact with some of their race, she became a full Kriar.”

“So their father..?”

Beia frowned. “We won't get into that now.”

Corim filed that for later. “What happened to them?”

“Some kind of shock. All of the Protectorate and most of Cassandra's family and allies are linked by mind-speak. These two are tied into that network of minds and into the Kriar gate system that monitors the chronology. Major disruptions affect them...” She trailed off. Beia suddenly got very still, her expression like she'd suddenly been knifed.

“What?”

“Nethra—something big hit them—something so bad it sent them into convulsions...”

“Beia?”

“We're in here outside of time. Oh no—Aarlen—she's gone!” Face stony, Beia rose. A tear crept out of her eye. “Everyone IS gone.” Her fists clenched.

“Beia?”

“Shut up, Corim.” She gritted her teeth. “They're dead. Gone.” Her face grew pale, and her hands shook.

Corim stepped close, seeing that she was losing coherence. Beia bowed her head, paced a few steps stiff-legged, and clapped her fist into an open hand. Closing her eyes, she beat her temples with her palms.

“That bastard, the device. Nethra's eyes...”

Corim took her by the shoulders.

Frightened emerald eyes met his. “He killed them, Corim.” Tears streamed down her face.

“How?”

“With a timequake.”

“What? You mean this diffraction the Kriar told me about?”

Beia nodded. “I can reach Aarlen anywhere. She's gone. Everyone's gone. It's as if they never were.”

Cassin groaned, and the Myrmigyne knelt next to her. “Are you hurt?”

“No. A quake hit the timeline!”

“It wiped out everything—” Beia murmured.

The girl pursed her lips and glanced at Annawen who stirred.

“No.” Cassin murmured.

<No.> Tears streamed down Annawen's face.

“Gone.” The word echoed from both their lips. A single tear glistened on Cassin's cheek. She clutched the sobbing Annawen, smothering the sibling in a fierce hug. Raising her voice over the muted cries, she went on in a forced voice.

“I've extended my senses to everyone in the family. No one responds anymore.”

The words Dulcere had thrust into his mind came echoing back: Meridian's warp interface, and another device that would create a sphere of null time. He planned to change the time stream ... diffract it. The sense of what that meant echoed in the words.

“Oh, Ishtar.” His mind went numb.

He could sense the crescendo of their loss. Everything gone?

“Dulcere knew ... She wanted me to warn the Protectorate. They're all out outside wherever this place is. Meridian must have done as Dulcere feared. He changed—time.”

Cassin nodded, rocking Annawen, who seemed in shock. “They must have had some sort of protection from the timequake. They've diffracted the timeline. Our present is nothing but an empty void.”

Beia snarled. “We have to find out what he changed.”

“We can't do anything until the diffraction stabilizes,” Cassin said. “We go out now, and we'll get swept away with the rest.”

Corim's stomach felt leaden. “So we're trapped.”

Beia shook, taking ragged breaths, her hands opening and clenching. “Nothing in time is immutable...”

“No, we could all die.” Cassin held Annawen as the girl went through a violent fit of sobs. “We're all that's left.”

Beia pounded her temples. “Nethra. I'm a warrior, damn it, not a blasted Time Guardian!”

“We have to wait.” Cassin hugged her sister's heaving body. “Maybe then something can be done.”

“Maybe...” Beia echoed. The theory of circular time is an interesting concept, but not one I ever fancy myself proving or disproving. Much as I love timediving, and as good as I am at it, I know my limitations. There are some parts of time and space where men and gods were not meant to tread. The beginnings and endings of the universal chronology are two...—Supreme Magistrix Aarlen Frielos,

Minister of the 4th Alliance Territories

Crates, weapons, materials and corpses spiraled into a ragged maw that roared with the intake of air. Only Aarlen's quick instincts and faster reactions allowed her to brace and phase shift. Ess screamed. Dorian and Cassandra shot off at angles. She didn't see what Tal, Terra or Nethra did. The fabric of space unraveled as she rushed up through the stone toward the surface.

Aarlen's headlong flight ended abruptly as the vacuous pull of the rift overwhelmed her inertia. The structure of the arena dissolved into a miasma of matter and energy tumbling down into the oblivion black of nil-space.

She didn't know where that rip in the ether would throw her if she fell into it. She had no intention of finding out.

Her heart drummed and blood rushed in her ears. Even as she fought the tow, she sensed she wasn't alone. Focused entirely on the fight to be free, she couldn't waste concentration on wondering who also might have survived.

A shaft of guilt hit her in the stomach. She hadn't even tried to take anyone else with her. The rational part of her said that if she had, she'd already be sucking void. Those poor youngsters, they never stood a chance. Ironic, the millenniums old Teritaani witch with nothing left to accomplish kept going, while they spun off into nothingness. The universe had a twisted sense of fairness.

She pulled Stellaraac from her belt. The glowing sword stretched and lengthened into a staff. Clasping the already hot metal, Aarlen drew on the Shaladen's raw power, using it to grip the ether and claw up the side of the gravity well away from the planet's surface. She concentrated. The strands of an incantation whipped through her mind. The spell blossomed into a whirling nimbus of thrust, building in power to vault her clear. Whoever these bastards were, they wouldn't catch the Ice Falcon. The worst and best in the universe had dogged her. She'd only been caught once.

Once was enough.

The maw yawned behind her. The ether parted like ebony silk tearing. Folds of space flayed back as the ends of the rift jagged outward, growing fast. Reality unraveled under her grip. She slipped toward the nothingness. Her heart seized. No time to build up more power. She triggered the magic.

The detonation drove her forward against the pull. Her body felt squeezed as though in a giant fist as magic and inertia combated the pull of gravity. She felt the rip bite into the fabric of transition space.

Hecate's eyes, what had these monsters done!?

Behind her, mountains and plateaus crumbled like mud statues caught in a flash flood. Matter caught in flux collapsed on itself and erupted. The flaring micro-stars vanished into the darkness. Oceans and continents pinched together as though focused through a looking glass backward.

The rift continued to grow.

The thrust wasn't enough. Her headway slowed ... slowed...

Her lungs tightened, and she threw all her will into pulling away. The ether continued to crumble under her grip. The planet itself folded inward. The crust and mantle spun into nothing like water down a drain.

She wasn't going to make it.

She refused to give up. Aarlen kept clawing for a purchase that would give her the leverage to pull out.

Something clamped around her arm and yanked her forward. She felt powerful energies dragging her away from the rift's pull. She caught a glimpse of gold skin and a masculine face. A brilliant red jewel gleamed on his forehead.

<On my mark, human, pull! Together—go!>

Aarlen didn't question. She threw everything into putting distance between her and the abomination gnashing at her heels.

Her whole body felt as though stretched like a piece of putty, growing thinner and thinner as they increased the distance.

The big Kriar's power matrixes gleamed like stars, and his face showed the strain. An ivory half-moon crescent glowed on his cheek. He flashed her a grin. Their velocity increased.

She felt the harmonies of her molecules beginning the rapid shift before the surge into transition space. Time stretched out around them like a billion-billion threads focusing into a pinpoint in the far distant past, and fanning out into infinite diversity at the event horizon where probabilities began collapsing toward the point of chronal loopback.

The anomaly had ripped its way into the transition realm. Matter from the all the co-existing planes corkscrewed into it. She felt the hard fabric of Siderous Chronus, the underpinnings of time starting to attenuate.

Her stomach felt as if it had fallen into that hole. The thing rift continued to grow.

<Hecate's eyes,> she telepathed to the Kriar. <We have to tell the Protectorate. That anomaly is out of control!>

<You're welcome,> he thought back. She saw a hint of a smile on his angular features.

She shook her head. <Sorry, it's—where are you taking me?>

The transition realm was flashing around them faster. They were accelerating toward the speed of a temporal shift.

A female thought impinged on her mind. <I told you not expect gratitude from these children, Eclipse. Even their elders have no appreciation for the value of their lives.>

Another Kriar pulled up next to them. Matrix jewels dotted the skin of her face, neck, and arm. Aarlen frowned. She'd met many Kriar. This female's extensive enhancements bespoke many years under a shadow clinic knife. It was the earmark of a rogue—a Kriar separated from all dastas and their laws.

<I wish you wouldn't take such risks, Eclipse,> the female continued. <Especially for an ungrateful human.>

<I am not ungrateful or human. I am Teritaani.> She noticed they continued to gather speed, but hadn't yet begun to begin the temporal phase shift. What need would there be to build up so much inertia? <Where are you taking me?>

The jeweled female grimaced. <Human—Teritaani, they all look alike and come from the same gene pool. We aren't taking you anywhere. We're giving you a push so you can get away.>

<Get away?>

The male scowled. <Scan what is behind us.>

She did. What she sensed gripped her insides like talons. A churning blackness crashed down the lines of probability behind them in a titanic wave of annihilation. <Hecate's breath. A diffraction! We're on the wrong side! We'll get—!>

<Listen. There isn't room to slip past the shock zone. Quasar and I have strength enough to skip cross-line out of the pull of the probability vacuum, but not towing you. This will be a permanent isolinear diffraction. The storm cannot be ridden out. Your existence will be erased along with the rest of the line unless you can beat out that shock wave.>

<The loop!> She thought with a shriek. <You want me to try the loop!?>

Their speed had become incredible. She'd never built up this much thrust before.

<We don't want you to try anything, Teritaani,> Quasar growled. <Fizzle out with the rest of the sheep if it pleases you. Perhaps we will be able to fix the timeline. Perhaps not. If you want a say in what happens I suggest you risk it. Best decide fast, we'll be peeling off cross-line and you won't have us to give you a boost.>

She could feel the tumbling mass of nullification closing in. In her mind's eye she saw people disintegrating into nothingness, shrieking as the temporal undertow pulled them into oblivion.

Aarlen's mind-ties linking her to Gravar ignited. The titanic tree glowed white hot as probabilities flickered and changed. Thousands of Myrmigynes howled and went silent as their existence frayed away. The crest rolled forward blotting out everything. Through her mental links to the worlds of her empire she heard their massed cries trail into silence.

Do or die. It seemed clear Quasar and Eclipse would not help her any other way.

The loop.

The theoretical passage through the eye of the needle at the end of all probability sequences. The elder races spoke of time as a circle. That time ended where it began. The stories said that once you reached the end of creation, one could leap through into the singularity of where time began. She had never envisioned herself as being one likely to quantify the theory.

No one had ever disproved it.

These two believed it. She also noticed they didn't plan on sharing the dubious honor with her.

Transition space was a whirling blur now. Temporal events flickered past so fast that she had no chance of plotting a lock down. How were these two doing this? Their time powers were immense.

Better to go down trying.

She summoned her own traveling energies. Ready to increase her speed with the boost they gave her. <I'm ready. Give me a count down.>

Eclipse nodded to her. <May the light shine on you. Vectoring off in five—four—three—two—ONE!>

Aarlen felt a tremendous shove as Quasar and Eclipse whipped hard cross-line. Pain seared through her body as she willed the temporal shift. She didn't bother to fix herself in the probability sequence. No one could have tracked at this incredible velocity.

Millenniums leaped past in the flicker of a chronon. Ten billion, twenty billion ... the eons flashed by. New stars blossomed, grew cold, and winked out. Galaxies spun outward and collided. The universal expansion slowed—slowed—stopped and reversed until it became a long collapse into nothingness.

Her heart became a steady thunder in her chest. She'd forgotten the last moment she drew a breath. Behind her, the timeline rumbled with destruction. The dragon of death gnashed at her back. It sucked at her heels the way the anomaly had. If she faltered, her existence would end like everything else in the time channel beyond the diffraction.

Here, the swath of compounded probabilities stretched out beyond comprehension, tenuous threads of reality more fragile than butterfly wings. The thunderous destruction continued behind her, devastating the delicately balanced networks of interlinked time.

The vibration of null-space closed on her.

She was slowing down. Ahead, a single point of light glimmered an infinity away. Could she reach it before the quake caught her?

Aarlen thought of Beia caught in this maelstrom. A shudder went through her. Everything she knew had already diffracted into nothingness. The only recognizable thing left in her reality was herself.

She sensed then why Quasar and Eclipse had chosen to go the other way. Nothing guaranteed their success anymore than hers. Someone had to get into backtime if there was any chance of repairing the damage.

Meridian had lured the Protectorate away from the temporally autonomous safety of Eternity's Heart to catch them in the timequake. Nethra, Tal, and Terra had been the last of a skeleton crew trying to resolve the numerous problems caused by one Kriar being controlled through a domination device.

The Ice Falcon laughed—harsh, mirthless humor. The sound never registered in the chronology whirling past. The universe was depending on her. Only Eternity could serve up such a hearty serving of irony. Did another creature exist who cared less about the billions who perished? The blood of creatures beyond number stained her hands. In forty millennia, she'd been responsible for more misery than any other creature in the fourth alliance.

Aarlen should have been in a grave decades ago.

The Eternal's programming in her mind rebelled, that stinking conscience stabbed deep in her stomach and twisted. She gritted her teeth. Life should not be thrown away and reviled. She had a job to do and honor to uphold. Pain grew in her body until she acquiesced.

Aarlen focused on one thing. Beia—she needed to find out what happened to Beia. She would do this thing for her. The rest could all go rot. She felt a twinge, but ignored it.

The rumbling gnawed at her back. She leaned into the momentum, willing every bit of speed she could. She fast ran out of cosmos. That pinpoint had grown considerably. It looked like a knot of timelines all focused into a single chronon.

The singularity. If the elders were right, she'd loop back to the beginning of time.

If not ... she'd find herself very short on reality.

What that meant, she didn't know.

The quake became a thrumming mass, seething at her back. Every instant she moved forward vanished forever behind her. No turning back or changing her mind now.

The time channel spiraled down into the singularity, growing narrower as it went. Probabilities grew fewer and fewer until there was one absolute certainty.

Annihilation.

One question remained. Were death and rebirth two sides of the same coin? Would the ashes of this universe be the body of the next? Did the cycle continue eternally without variation?

Pain blotted out all questions. Darkness swallowed vision.

Icy sweat covered her skin. Fear ran through her like live electricity. She'd come to the gateway between life and death. She could only sense being compressed smaller and smaller, as diversity grew less and less.

Her last sensation was one of being forced through the eye of needle while the funneled shock of a disintegrating chronology slammed home behind her.

Aarlen's time had run out. Being the daughter of Cassandra Kel'Ishtauri is often an annoying chore, not only do we live in her shadow but we are targets for her enemies as well. However, I cannot argue with the compensating benefits. The first being all the lavish comforts and the respect afforded our family. One of our greatest honors is knowing the Eternals, and being reserve members in the Protectorate. Simply getting the opportunity to visit Eternity's Heart is worth a lifetime of toil...—Cassin Kel'Ishtauri Felspar

The universe as they knew it was gone. Corim shook his head. Some things were hard to believe, even for him.

He gazed at the blue dome far above. The center of all existence. Beia talked as if it were ordinary. He edged around the ring of giant glowing stones. Each was twice his height with hundreds of facets. The power he felt pulsing around him made the Myrmigyne's statement more credible. The air vibrated, like waves crashing on an alien shore.

Investigation revealed no boundaries within a minute's jog. The vast chamber might be leagues across. The smooth black marble never varied wherever he walked.

What could make this?

He looked back to the distant glow of ‘Eternity's Heart'. The perspective of the dome overhead appeared the same. Ishtar only knew how high that roof was.

Sighing, he wandered back to the center. Cassin and Annawen lay at the circle's edge, the light from the gems casting multicolored shadows on their shiny gold skin. Intent on nothing, Beia prowled in circles nearby.

Lips pressed tight, he stared at one of the gems. Something tugged at his mind. Taking a breath, he touched the stone.

Corim's heart raced, and his muscles jerked taut as he felt the contact. Aurra. Like a butterfly pinned to a board, Corim froze. The presence vanished. Groaning, he staggered, head spinning and chest tight.

Corim closed his eyes, then opened them. His vision gradually stopped dancing. He just touched an Eternal!

Beia stopped. Her gaze flickered to him. She reached out and rubbed the stone nearby. Her expression didn't change.

He shuddered. It was time he did something, the women looked terrible. Annawen appeared catatonic. Cassin seemed oblivious to everything except Annawen. Beia paced like a caged animal.

A cold shiver went down his spine as he watched the Myrmigyne. He sat near Annawen and touched her hand.

Contact.

The staggering sense of loss struck him like a physical blow, causing him to fold over with pain. Mind burning, he jerked away. Either they'd gone insane, or the thing that Dulcere feared had actually come to pass.

A timequake. The concept sent cold shivers through his body. How did one repair time? What could they do? Beia said that the damage was reversible. He couldn't envision how Meridian had done it in the first place.

Corim's stomach hurt. The two Kriar were losing their grip on reality. To his knowledge, they were universe's only hope.

“You can't just sit here. We have to do something.”

Cassin focused on him, eyes flat and lifeless. The stars that normally sparkled in them had vanished. “Don't you understand? Reality is gone. Our timeline has been diffracted. Everyone, everything, never was.”

“I still can't believe, not really...”

“Corim, you're blind and deaf.” Cassin's jaw set and a tear ran down her cheek. “You couldn't feel them scream. I did.”

He took a breath and looked at Beia. The Myrmigyne leaned against one of the stones, face buried in her crossed arms.

“Shouldn't we at least try to do something?”

“Do what, Corim? Go out there and die?”

“Beia said it could be fixed.”

Cassin's expression did not change. “Beia could be wrong.”

Damn. His mind raced, searching for a way to turn her away from the jaws of despair.

You couldn't feel them scream. I did. His gut went icy.

Corim took her hand in both of his and summoned his courage. In the back of his mind, he felt something uncoil. That last jolt from Annawen seemed to have awakened something.

He put conviction in his voice. “Beia could be right.” He braced.

Contact.

This time, he didn't flinch away. He took the hurt into himself. An excruciating blast that Corim endured with gritted teeth.

Focus. Send the pain away. The only important thing was living, moving forward, restoring what Meridian took.

Moments passed. Blackness became light. The talent worked with more ease than it ever had.

Cassin blinked. The glazed look vanished. She smiled wearily and clutched him tight; no words, no emotion, simply surcease. Corim's mouth went dry, and his chest tightened. The victory over despair was more exhilarating than his greatest physical challenge.

He gazed at Annawen, at her closed eyes and the fluttering breaths she took. So still, so silent. He took her hand, feeling an electric thrill as the depression melted before the telepathic contact.

With each new joining, his control improved. These last two had been magnitudes easier. It was as if he worked on a new plateau of power far above the previous. What had caused the change? Dulcere? She'd been different from the others—she'd wanted the contact. His mind still felt heavy with the information she had placed there. He couldn't begin to understand it all. Maybe Cassin or Annawen could.

He looked toward Beia. The last time he joined with her, it almost killed him. Then again, was there any more damage her psyche could do to him?

He saw only one way to find out. He rose.

After he finished with Beia, he felt drained, feet dragging as if his legs had become to lead. His head hurt, and his shoulders turned rigid as rocks. They sat in a small circle near the huge gem he'd touched. It amazed Corim that Cassin and Annawen could sit with their backs touching the mammoth power source. Beia held Snowfire in her lap. She pulled her hair out of its tight braids and was now redoing the plaits in a different style.

He tried to help by learning more about the time problem. “Tell me again what this diffraction is.”

Cassin took a piece of chalk and drew six parallel lines on the floor.

“Imagine each of these is a continuity—a timeline. They each represent a unique sequence of events. From the beginning of time, to the end, there is one line for each possible sequence of events. A diffraction is when you alter a continuity. It becomes non-unique beyond that chronon, and then matches some other existing sequence. That non-uniqueness draws them together.” She drew a chalk line diagonally across three of her six lines, connecting the first and fifth lines.

“Two lines merging cause a timequake. When it hits, everything beyond the change winks out and creates a vacuum.” Using the chalk she made a dot where the diagonal connected to the first line, then rubbed out the line beyond it.

Annawen pointed. <It's a defense mechanism, since something had to come backward to alter things. It simply ceases to exist, and things snap back into place.>

Corim rubbed his eyes and smiled at her. He felt his energy returning. “So that's what that null-time generator that Dulcere told me about is for. Protection from the diffraction.”

“Right.”

“So what happens when the diffraction doesn't set things right?”

“We're finding out now.”

“Isn't that what the time guardians are for?” Beia asked. “An intelligent diffraction that straightens things out?”

“That's the idea,” Cassin agreed. “Supplemental back-up to the natural time defenses. Who knows what kind of snarls this is causing.”

“If Meridian wasn't corrected away, how do we fix it?”

“We must stop Meridian from disrupting the event.”

Corim swallowed. “That would mean searching time to find the event he changed. Isn't that difficult?”

“No, pinpointing where the line diffracted should be easy. It's tracking Meridian that will be hard.”

Corim made a fist. “I hope we can. Beia and I have business to finish with that cur. How long before we can do something?”

Cassin frowned. “A week, maybe longer.”

“A week!” Corim breathed. “We don't have any provisions!”

All three women laughed.

“What's so funny?”

Beia patted him on the leg. “Corim, in Eternity's Heart starvation is the last thing we have to worry about. We could live here from now until the stars fell from the skies and never go hungry. You'll see.”

She looked at Cassin. “Let's go set up a place to live.”

The gold woman nodded. “After you.”

The four of them walked together into the darkness.

“This is all so incredible.” He glanced back at the twins. “What do we do now?”

Beia sighed. “We set up house. We'll finish dressing each other's wounds, get some food, then all of us start practicing.”

“Practicing for what?”

“You think we'll beat Meridian and Rakaar with our looks?” Beia asked. “They have to take us back time, and you and I have to beat Meridian, Rakaar and any toadies they brought with them. Don't you think we should practice for the occasion? They won the last battle, remember?”

He felt a chill. “How could a week's practice make any difference?”

“Corim, either we give up or we die trying. There is no middle ground. Besides, one week or ten, it makes no difference when we are outside of time.”

“That is correct,” Cassin remarked. “Nothing says we must leave the instant the turbulence is safe for us to navigate in. Here, relative and absolute chronologies are mutable, so we can stretch our preparation period without allowing any critical time to pass.”

Corim stopped and stared at her. “What?”

Beia dragged him into motion. “Never mind. It just means we won't miss anything important.” She glanced looked at Cassin sidelong. “At least—I think that's what she means.”

Cassin smiled. “That's as good an explanation as any.”

Beia led them beyond the radius of the gemstones and into the darkness. Unlike when he'd walked alone, the area around them stayed lit.

They walked for what felt like a league.

“It's so quiet,” he said.

“It's more alive than anywhere else in the universe,” Cassin said from behind.

“How so?”

“You feel that surge don't you?”

“Yes.”

“That's the heartbeat of the universe.”

Corim went silent. “Eternity's ‘heart'. Are you saying the universe is alive?”

“Did you think it was dead?”

“Never thought about it.”

“Now, you know.”

Corim slowed and looked in Cassin's sparkling ebony eyes. “Alive.”

Beia punched him in the shoulder. “She doesn't mean that way. You're as literal as Ess!”

“Listen,” Cassin said. “Alive; the collective consciousness of all thinking things. Over eons, the aggregate psychic impressions became etched on those stones out there. In time they attained a limited ‘awareness'.”

“That's easier to believe,” he muttered. “So what are we doing walking in the dark anyway?”

Beia stopped. “What would you like to see, Corim?”

He shrugged. “Some walls at least. So we know we aren't walking in circles!”

“You mean like this wall?” She patted the textured granite surface.

Corim blinked. It hadn't been there an instant ago. He caressed the hard rock. The wall's two ends were lost in the vast darkness.

Cassin and Annawen both grinned, apparently sharing Beia's amusement.

His jaw dropped. “Did you?”

“Anything else?”

“Ah—”

“Perhaps a landscape,” Beia offered. “Some hills, a lake, and a sprinkling of trees.” She gestured.

Corim turned. Girding the darkness was the scene exactly as described. A half league away a stubble of hills swelled from a verdant green panorama. To the right, a turquoise lake glittered beneath an amber sun, its periphery dotted with copses of evergreens. The aroma of grass and loam wafted on a breeze that warmed his cheeks.

He wrenched his eyes away from the spectacle to observe the demarcation between the black marble and the impressive imagery before him. The shadows curved away, a division that became a vanishing point where the illusion began and where it ended.

“Is it real?”

Cassin patted him on the shoulder and pointed toward the glow of Eternity's heart. “Quite. Remember what we were talking about?”

“Uh huh.”

“Well, that awareness coupled with the infinite energy of those gems makes reality completely malleable.”

“Meaning?”

“Provided you're keyed to a stone like Beia is, you can make anything happen simply by thinking about it.”

“Ishtar—paradise.”

“That's what they call it,” Beia said in a flat tone.

He froze. Frowning, he looked away from the scene to her. “Are you serious?”

Beia shared a look with Cassin. At another time, the two might have laughed and shared a joke. “Serious as dragonfire.” She and the twins stepped into the panorama.

Corim followed. Walking into the verdant landscape seemed like stepping into another world. A slight tingle was the only transition he detected. The sights, sounds and smells were indistinguishable from reality. If it was an illusion, Corim couldn't discern it.

“Actually, I've always liked the ocean. Especially the beach; Ivaneth is built on cliffs. There isn't one within ten leagues.”

“The ocean.” Beia nodded as they walked toward the lake. “That sounds refreshing. I've lived in a jungle most of my life.”

As they walked, the ground shimmered. The sapphire sky dotted with gray tufts of cirrus melted. A mesmerizing ripple of light swept toward them like a phantom tidal wave. In its wake, a white-capped ocean thundered into being.

The atmosphere abruptly filled with a salt tang, the now cerulean sky streaked with mare's tails. Foam capped turquoise breakers rumbled onto bleached white sand. Rocks rose behind them to become an escarpment peppered with stunted pines. Beyond the toothy ridge, he saw an elaborate stone and wood dwelling. Its stained glass windows glistened in the afternoon light.

Finally believing, Corim dropped to his knees in the sand.

Paradise. Time is the ultimate weapon wielded only in the direst circumstances. It is the classic case of a sword that cuts both ways, the strike that kills your opponent may as quickly slay you. Ultimate this weapon may be, but it is the choice of fools who've left themselves with no other options...—Quasar Lathaan Diliaysus,

Prime Tarkath, 1st Sabre Legion

Quasar stepped out of the shimmering, reflective surface of the gate. Eclipse followed immediately on her heels. Their quarry huddled a short distance away, hidden by mists that smelled like sulfur and excrement. The heavy gases writhed around them like tendrils. Through the eddying vapors, she could see a yawning maw of blackness, a giant rip in the fabric of reality.

Fools. How could any thinking being rationalize the creation of such a monstrosity? That anomaly would expand until it threatened the flow of time. Eventually, the radiation emitted by the intense gravity well would annihilate all the sectors around Daladar.

Insanity.

Eclipse put a hand on her arm. Quasar closed the gate. She put a hand on top of his.

<Do you think the white-haired one managed to escape?> Eclipse asked.

She studied his glowing blue eyes. Now was not the time to show indifference. <She appeared capable. We did what we could.>

Eclipse appeared to accept that. He looked toward the party of humans grouped around the warp interface where Dulcere Starbinder lay. <Where is the Baronian and his assistant?>

She scanned for Rakaar. She and Eclipse had become familiar with the inhabitants of the arena at Daladar. Their long vigil had proved frustrating; several times they had expected Dulcere to escape captivity. Eclipse would have assisted the Belkirin, but Quasar refused.

She wanted Dulcere to escape on her own. That way the Belkirin wouldn't suspect she was being tracked.

Quasar's scans found the Baronian. <Over that way.> She pointed.

<I was surprised they managed to coerce Dulcere after allowing her to threshold on energy.>

Quasar rubbed the jewels on her face. <They have their moments of lucidity.>

<We should have stopped them. You took an incredible risk that they wouldn't cause a chain-reacted diffraction.>

She sighed and ran a hand along his cheek. <The odds were heavily in our favor.>

Eclipse took her hand and kissed it. <Let this be the last risk of its kind for some time.>

<It was.>

<Good.>

Quasar looked back to the human group. Her scans showed the two Baronians returning. She could feel Meridian even though she couldn't see him. She'd spent megarevs touching his mind occasionally, trying to learn Dulcere's secrets. She wondered how he fared after their trip backtime. He was an interesting, if tormented soul, full of ego and foulness; a typical product of humanity.

As she'd done with him over a hundred times, she synchronized with the human's mind, merging entirely with his thoughts, feelings and emotions.

Meridian stared into the darkness, he felt drawn to it. His face burned and his purple robes hung in tatters.

Favoring his cracked ribs and punctured shoulder, he surveyed his entourage. Five of nine had survived: Willowy Psihtath, blocky Jherick, diminutive Lugh, portly Shamada, and mousy Vulg. All wounded.

The uneven ground crunched underfoot like cracking bones. The shreds of landscape that he saw were devoid of landmarks.

Rakaar and Senalloy had gone to scout. They were the only members of the group unimpeded by their wounds. Rakaar's injuries had healed after a few long breaths. The female healed noticeably more slowly, but magnitudes faster than any human could.

I'm glad that bitch, Beia, put him down.

Psihtath gestured, and Meridian came to where Dulcere lay.

“She's dead,” the gray-haired mage said.

He looked down at her. “No brain activity?”

“Nothing. Complete cessation. That last jolt appears to have destroyed her nervous system. Even those focus gems aren't putting out power.”

“Could she be magically resurrected?”

He rubbed his chin. “Unlikely. No soul that my spells could detect.”

Meridian abruptly felt dizzy. A sharp sensation pecked at his temple. He blinked and shook his head. What had that last thought been? Never mind. The witch had been nothing but trouble. He needed no reminders of her taunting. “Space her then. We don't want anyone finding the body.”

Psihtath frowned, glancing over to heavyset Shamada, who also stared at him. “Are you sure?”

“Do it. The interface has the power. Space the creature.”

Shaking their heads, four of the mages moved the heavy body on top of the warp interface. Psihtath set the controls and sent the body into space.

Satisfied, Meridian nodded. “Okay, Tath, have you figured out where we are yet?”

“No. The substances here are older than anything I've encountered. The rock is primordial, possibly dating back to the beginning of time.”

He looked toward the crunch of footsteps approaching. Rakaar stepped out of the mists. He'd stripped down to a pair of breaches and a sash. Senalloy walked a little behind him. She looked like a pale ghost, almost invisible in this eerie landscape.

“I know where we are.”

Meridian frowned, wary. “Where is that?”

“Siderous Chronous.” He looked around. “Where's the Belkirin?”

“We spaced her.”

“You did what!?”

Everyone assumed a defensive posture.

Meridian winced at the scathing tone. “She was dead, we disposed of the body.”

“Did you get the power stones?”

“No, there wasn't any life left in them.”

“You cretin! The Kriar are at home in the void. All you did was set her free!”

Meridian folded his arms, unaffected by Rakaar's verbal barrage. “Total nervous dysfunction, cerebral tissue disruption. She's dead, Rakaar. Completely dead.”

“Imbecile. She survived being buried under a million tons of rock. Tissue damage won't kill a Belkirin. She simulated death to get away.”

The other mages looked at one another, then glanced at Meridian.

He was quiet. It was so obvious. Why had he wanted to void her so badly? It had been as if it were someone else's desire...

“You.” Rakaar jabbed a finger at Psihtath. “You knew better. Why did you let it happen?”

“He'll kill me if I don't obey.” Psihtath's tone was flat.

Rakaar smiled. “That problem is solved. The five of you no longer work for this imbecile. You work for me.”

Meridian narrowed his eyes. “Hardly, fool, I can—”

He felt a blast of pain as Rakaar's fist smashed into his gut. “You can do nothing.”

Meridian went to his knees, trying to suck wind with lungs that fluttered ineffectually. His injured ribs screamed in torment.

“Go ahead, Cretin, try to invoke the soul biter. Come on, you sniveling piece of defecation, challenge me.”

Meridian formed a fist, and the Baronian kicked him in the face.

“Dung-eating craven.” He looked around at the other mages. “Serve me. I am the strongest. Soon this simp will make the error that kills you all. I will not. Are you with me?”

“I'll follow you.” Vulg spoke up in a squeaky voice.

“I, too,” said the shortest mage, glancing at Shamada.

“Lugh.” The portly mage shook his head, returning the smaller man's gaze. He gave a wary glance toward Rakaar.

“What about you, fat one?” Rakaar sneered. “You seem to know where the best meals come from.”

Shamada's porcine features darkened. “Aye, I am not certain it is wise to follow an alien.”

“Come, now.” Rakaar's voice calmed. “I am not Meridian. My underlings are not chaff to be blown off at the merest inconvenience. We are a force. We have the tool to gain power.” He reached down and grabbed Meridian by the hair and shook him like a doll. The man clawed at his arm. “I'll even keep this one alive.”

“I'll kill you, Rakaar.”

“Be serious. You couldn't beat me when you had the advantage. Serve me, or die. If not, I'll animate your corpse and get my wish without your cooperation.”

“Let him go,” Psihtath rasped. “We know you're the strongest.”

“Good.” Rakaar dropped Meridian. “Will you serve me?”

“If you give your word that you'll lead and not slaughter us.”

Rakaar narrowed his eyes. “Better yet.” He scanned the small assemblage. “You owe this one your lives.” He pointed at Psihtath, and glared at the two mages who had agreed to serve him. “Remember it. You have my oath that we shall work together, and conquer these weaklings. Serve me now—I will not make the offer twice.”

“I will serve you.” Psihtath pulled at his peppery beard and glanced at the writhing Meridian.

“I will do as Tath does.” Jherick's blocky features were pale.

Shamada frowned. “No sense in dying for nothing. I will serve.”

“Good. Now, we can solve the problems before us.”

“What about Meridian?” Psihtath asked.

“Pay him no mind.” Rakaar walked away a short distance. “I will use him when the time comes.”

“Arrogant bastard.” Meridian forced himself upright and stood swaying in the mist. “You can't dismiss me. I have your soul!”

Rakaar didn't turn to look at him. “You mean had my soul. Your magic does not work here. Your spell has no chance of reaching it.” The Baronian laughed. “We are outside of time. Contingency magics cannot work here.” His voice dropped. “Resist my wishes—please.”

Meridian's knuckles whitened, and he gritted his teeth. “Bastard.”

“Come on, attack me. Insults are a poor weapon. Serve or fight. You have no other choice. You cannot leave here without me.”

Pain clouded Meridian's face. He could barely stand. Rakaar was uninjured, the same warrior who had leveled twenty of his top ranking pit fighters.

Wasting his life opposing this juggernaut was not the intelligent thing to do. Wait. Plan. The opportunity to slay this usurper would come.

“Damn you. All right, you lead.”

“Better. I know you plan to stab me in the back. To show you how much respect I have for your power, you are free to try. Be sure when you make the attempt. There will be no more chances. Follow my orders to the letter. We need not discuss failure to perform as instructed.” He looked at the others. “Enough talk. To work.”

Quasar pulled her mind back. The human had definitely gotten himself into a predicament this time. One she didn't think he would slip out of again. Obviously, during that short time when they lost track of Dulcere, the Belkirin had devised a method for escape. The compulsion in Meridian's mind had been obvious to her.

She admired the Belkirin's ingenuity.

Rakaar would run things now. That did not concern her overmuch. She wanted Dulcere. Tracking where Psihtath sent Dulcere with the interface would not be easy, especially with the timeline so unstable.

Perhaps they should continue to observe the Baronian for a while. Dulcere might come back for them when she regained consciousness.

If she knew the Baronian at all, his first act would be to squeeze the location of that soul-stone out of Meridian. That would be fairly simple. Then he would scout out the new territory and dig in, preparing for the eventuality of the Protectorate coming to look for him.

If the Protectorate didn't come, she would. Either way, he would go down. Anyone that trifled with her timeline would pay in blood.

After all I had been through, when I first thought about the possibility of teaching fighting I could only scoff. I hated fighting. My skills were honed by a desire to survive and a heart filled with revenge. It then occurred to me that warriors fought not only to destroy, but also to protect. That was something I could put my will to. Teaching warriors the skills necessary to protect themselves and others. Ultimately, showing fighters the secrets necessary to defeat the abominations under Meridian's command...—Regaura “Beia” Targallae

“Focus, damn it.” Beia glared at Corim as he knelt clutching his stomach. “Your fancy footwork is wasted unless you strike with more authority. This isn't the tournament league, our opponents won't be surprised by a flashy handspring.”

The agony in Corim's chest felt as if a beast had gotten trapped in his ribs, and it hammered to escape. Salty needles pricked the inside of Corim's eyelids as he fought to recover from Beia's kick to the solar plexus.

They practiced in the atrium of Beia's conjured estate. Anything they needed came at her call: food, drink, practice weapons and armor. The sixty pace enclosure with its worn stone floor and vine covered walls gave a sense of ancient austerity. It was a place of warrior's business.

Rolling to stand, Corim sucked a breath.

“Corim, I've fought forty summers. I survived on brass and basics, not tricks. Keep that blade hard in. Anything that misses should make them retreat. Go over the top, blind side, crush your opponent.”

He nodded. A demanding teacher, Beia insisted on perfection. She could spin instantly, dodge unanticipated blows, and turn apparent victory into painful defeat. The Myrmigyne wasn't a warrior.

She was a machine.

Beia's sessions were less crippling than his fight with Tal, but more demeaning. Frustrated and unable to pierce her defense, he tried to outmaneuver her with his acrobatic skills.

She countered with feints, shifts of pace that made him leap into empty space and swing at nothing or worse yet, set him up for punishing kicks or punches.

Wiping away perspiration, she sighed. “Focus. Drive in, don't back off. Sometimes you have to take a shot to give one. Always give better than you get. Always.”

Corim picked up the wooden practice weapon. Without warning he lunged, deliberately overstepping, knowing she would cut at his spine as he passed. Like a man glancing off a wall he back-flipped as her blade cut under him.

Drive. He cut at her shoulder with all his power. She ducked with phenomenal speed. The blow scored lightly on her back. Beia's spontaneous riposte snapped around. He charged, tied up her hands and slammed an elbow home.

She spit blood and countered. He barely deflected it.

Too close.

Crack, Crack, Crack! Savage uppercuts to the abdomen lifted her off the ground.

Beia retreated, now fully defensive.

Drive. He pushed the advantage.

She backpedaled for an instant, and thenexploded into motion.

Short stepping a fierce cut, she high-sided Corim's swing, slipped past his parry and drove a rock hard fist into his face.

Corim's vision exploded into a million tiny fragments of light. Pain shrieking through his skull, he landed twitching in the dirt.

The world took a moment to stop spinning. His eyes cleared in time to see Beia wipe the blood from her mouth.

“Good.” She grinned with bloody teeth. “Exactly what I wanted. That's enough for today.”

Corim lay clutching his face. She'd withstood punishment that would have crushed tournament fighters twice her size. Her harsh life coupled with Aarlen's magic had made the Myrmigyne tough as iron.

After helping him up, she gestured, and Eternity's energy healed their wounds. She clapped him on the shoulder, and pushed him toward the courtyard entrance. “I'm pleased, good progress after only a few days.”

Corim swiped at his face, running shaking fingers through sweat-matted hair.

The world still seemed out of focus. “All I did was get punched in the mouth.”

Her face was a stern. “Corim, you brought home an elbow shot that could have been turned into the con'gorot.”

“I've never heard of that.”

“That's because they don't use lethal moves in your tournament. Con'gorot is an upward blow to the face that shatters the nose.” She reached out with her finger and touched his nose and pushed gently. “Hit that right, and the shards of the septum enter the brain. I've seen complete defeat turned into victory by a lucky con'gorot blow. Remember it.”

He shuddered. A death blow. It didn't take much force to shatter the nose. Leave it to the death spectacles to give such a strike a name.

They walked into cool interior of the commons, which were decorated with statuary, art, and furniture culled from the most sophisticated courts in the realms. The palatial setting amazed Corim with its detail and extravagance.

“For someone who lives in a tree, you have quite a contemporary flare.” Corim gestured to a painting by a famous artist he recognized.

Beia glanced at it. “Aarlen insisted that I become more cultured. There isn't much erudition in the pits.”

“Aarlen must be impressive. I can't see anyone forcing etiquette on you.”

Beia snorted. “You won't, either. I'll even wear a dress occasionally, but to Hades with which spoon I use to eat my soup!” She sighed. “Yes, she's impressive. Aarlen can deck me four times out of five.”

Corim shuddered. The thought of sparring a great elder was both intriguing and frightening at the same time. What tricks would a person like that know? They walked into the natatorium. Marble pillars, fountains, benches and small hanging gardens surrounded the huge pool. He smelled the fragrance of hundreds of different kinds of blossoms and the faintly acrid scent of minerals.

Beia stripped nude and leaped into the water. His heart thundered. He tried not to watch as she flashed through the ripples. She rose at the far end and shook her hair out.

She looked more curvaceous than he'd imagined. When he pressed against her at the tree, her hard body felt almost like a man's.

Beia turned. Corim struggled to keep his eyes above neck level, and wondered how to make a strategic withdrawal.

“What's wrong? You must have seen a naked woman before.” Her voice echoed off the marble columns and the high ceiling.

His face felt hot. “A few. None quite so beautiful.”

“Oh, get in the water, you're my brother now, remember?”

“It's not proper.”

Beia raised an eyebrow. “Don't you think I can protect myself?”

Of that, he had little doubt. Despite the healing, his jaw still ached in remembrance of that punch. He wondered briefly if he should be more concerned about his safety. That was foolish of course. “If you're sure.”

“I'm positive.”

Corim stripped off his tunic and boots, and waded into the water with his breeches on. The refreshingly cool water lapped against his skin. He felt the heat of his body dissipating into the cool liquid. The mineral scent grew stronger.

He relaxed and floated. It was difficult to think of this place as being inside Eternity's Heart, the fortress of the Protectorate. It seemed blasphemous to be so lackadaisical when everything they knew had been wiped away by a madman. He believed that now. He felt Dulcere's convictions tied into that message. She had feared what would happen. He sensed that not much in this universe frightened one of her kind.

Blasphemous or not, he and Beia were at the mercy of the twins. They wouldn't go anywhere, through time or otherwise, except at their suffrage.

He heard the water splashing. Beia stroked closer. It made him nervous to think of the distance between them diminishing. His heart started to beat faster again.

“Are all Matayans so proper?” she asked. Whatever space existed, it didn't sound like enough.

Corim looked over. “Is there something wrong with decorum?”

She dipped her hair and wrung it out. “If it's not affected. I despise shallow people.”

“Few people even know what an ‘affected’ behavior is,” he said. “Much less know to call it that.”

“I've spent twenty summers with mages who weren't happy unless they were force-feeding me a book on something.”

He paddled away a short distance, trying not to be obvious about it. He dunked under the water and surfaced. “Ironic pair, aren't we? I spend all my time chasing books, and you spend your time running away from them.”

Beia sighed and started undoing her complex braids. “I don't hate books. Other things have always been more important.”

Corim could empathize with that, knowing of Beia's drive to rid the universe of Meridian Arcturan. It might be a while before he was able to settle back and enjoy a book again.

The masculine part of him kept making his gaze drift toward Beia's silky body as she flowed through the water. For a warrior, she seemed remarkably unscarred. There were only a few noticeable discolorations in her skin. Even if she had twice as many blemishes, he could have appreciated a body like that.

He derided himself for thinking of Beia that way, especially knowing the identity of her mate. He thought of Dulcere instead, and tried to imagine how she would look with the ripples fanning out around her.

“Beia, what can you tell me about the Kriar?”

She splashed some water in her face. “A lot, I suppose. What do you want to know?”

Thinking of Dulcere seemed like betrayal. He had to face the fact that Ceraph was gone. Even considering the short time they spent together, he would always remember her. His stomach ached at the thought of having to confront Tal. He wondered if Beia had thought about that. Of course, being yelled at by Tal would be a luxury now. For that to happen they would have to put time back to rights again.

His deliberations returned to Dulcere again. The feeling had been so strong when he met her. “If we get Dulcere away from Meridian, what do you suppose my chances would be?”

“Chances for what?”

“You know—for us to get to know one another.”

Beia laughed. “You certainly set your sights high.” She sighed. “She's one of the most powerful creatures in the universe. They're truly immortal, some of them are thousands of millennia old.”

He blinked. Thousands of millennia? “You have some for friends.”

“They occasionally have liaisons with humans. Corim, they're aliens, completely different. Look at the twins, they were raised by humans.”

“I'll take my chances.”

“Whatever.”

“Mind if we join you?” Cassin asked in a breathy voice. “Warp practice is hard work.”

Corim glanced toward the sound. The two Kriar were standing on the edge of the pool. He hadn't even heard them approach.

“Cassin, Annawen,” Corim greeted.

“Just in time to help with my hair,” Beia said undoing the last of her braids. “How goes your studies, little sister?”

The Kriar woman shrugged. “It goes.” She held up the sack Corim had taken from the lab at Daladar. “Do you remember taking these?” She pulled a scroll from the bag.

“I thought I lost that in the void.” He scratched his head. “Are they important?”

Cassin nodded. “Very important.”

Beia looked over. “What's in them?”

“I told you our big problem would be tracking Meridian.” She shook the scroll. “These are the time equations that the Baronian used in his null-time generator. Now, I'm certain that we can trace Meridian's group.”

“Excellent.” Beia grinned at Corim.

He didn't like the way Cassin frowned. “You know we haven't been allowed to travel further back in time than a cycle or so.”

Beia rubbed the black lightning on her cheek. “Is that a problem?”

The two sisters looked at one another. “Theoretically, no. It's like having a lot of fighting practice, but no actual time on the battle field.”

Corim felt his stomach tighten. From Beia's expression, she didn't feel any more comfortable with the idea. What could either of them say that wouldn't sound foolish? If trainees were the only available soldiers, a general simply had to make do.

The twins stripped. The gems adorning their brow, collar and waist cast rosy reflections on their shiny gold skin. In unison, they leaped into the water. Their bodies were supple and quick, they moved through the water as easily as they did the void.

Corim watched their lissome movements as though hypnotized. He hadn't seen an unclothed woman since last summer. Now, three together at once. Annawen flashed up next to him. He backed away, but she put her arms around his neck.

<What's the matter Corim?>

Corim floundered in the water as Annawen pressed her full breasts against him. He felt the heat in his face as he tried to dislodge the giggling Kriar. That embrace was far too friendly. Unable to peel Annawen away, he froze.

What happened? He'd barely gotten her talking earlier.

“Please.”

The girl stuck her lower lip out. <Don't you like me?>

Something was wrong. He swallowed, glancing to her sister and then to Beia. Both their faces were unreadable. No help there.

He put a hand on her shoulder. “It's not that,” he choked out. “Don't you consider this over-forward?”

He thought she looked down, but couldn't tell for sure because her dark eyes had no landmarks. <Yes, it is. Good for getting acquainted, don't you think?>

Corim cleared his throat. “It's not proper—”

<Oh, bother proper. A while ago I found out everyone I love is gone. Now, are you going to console me or not?>

“I—” Her assertiveness stunned him.

He put his arms around the girl as if she were made of glass. She snuggled her face into the curve of his neck and squeezed. With her hot skin pressed against him, Corim couldn't help but fantasize. This is what holding Dulcere would be like.

He could feel both of Annawen's hearts beating. Everything about this young woman was tantalizing. He could tell that in the significant ways, Kriar and humans were alike.

“Are you all right, Annawen?” he asked. He glanced at Beia and Cassin. They seemed to be ignoring his situation. Both had busied themselves with soap.

<Fine,> Annawen answered. <Now, that you're holding onto me.>

“I mean are you feeling all right?”

<Quite bluntly, Corim, I am feeling aroused. I suspect if you don't learn to control your metapathy soon, you're going to have a hard time getting me unwrapped from around you.>

“Huh?” He started trying to push her away and failed. “What do you mean?”

Cassin undid her hair and fanned it in the water. Beia took the long strands and began washing them. The Myrmigyne's eyes stayed on him.

“What she means, Corim,” Cassin said. “Is you can't just go around inverting everyone's emotions. Especially the emotions of natural empaths like Kriar. It causes a reverb.”

Was it Annawen's unhuman warmth or something else that started making him sweat? He focused past his basic instincts. Cassin was trying to tell him something important. “A reverb? What's that?”

Beia and Cassin switched places. The Kriar tended the older woman's hair as she spoke. “Ever put two mirrors close together?”

He shuddered as Annawen rubbed against him a little. He found it easier to concentrate when fighting some monster out to kill him. “Sure, you see the image reflected dozens of times.”

“A reverb is a reflected emotion. Metapaths alter the negative emotions and memories they receive. They also reflect back positive emotions, like a mirror.” She sighed. “Kriar are empathic, we take on the emotions around us which makes us very susceptible to a metapathic ability. We've been through a very traumatic experience. The typical response to that is despair, sadness, anger ... You're taking those negatives and inverting them. When we respond favorably to that, it's reflected back again and again ... Understand?”

<It makes me dizzy,> Annawen thought with a grin. She nuzzled his neck. A tremor went through his body. He had to get this girl off him before he threw propriety to the winds. <It's like being drunk.>

“You mean, he's doing it all the time?” Beia asked.

“At a low level,” Cassin answered. She smiled. “It's just more apparent to us because of the empathic feedback.”

“I'm sorry,” Corim apologized. “I didn't realize. I can stop...”

<Don't you dare,> Annawen glared at him. She fitted herself to him more snugly. <At least for a little while.> More than once I have resisted Aarlenn's efforts to “educate” me. Much of the “enlightened” ways of the magic-poor cultures simply feel wrong. My intellect agrees that some of their “common-man's” magic makes certain nearly undoable tasks possible and more common ones simpler and easier. My spirit asks me, ‘Is this a good thing?'. Bigger, stronger, faster; they do not necessarily mean better. Too much of what I have seen in these other worlds stinks of soul poison...—Regaura “Beia” Targallae

When Corim wasn't practicing with Beia, Cassin and Annawen helped him to control his metapathic skills. He constantly had to remember to keep the ability turned off. Corim knew any time he'd let himself slip. If Annawen was anywhere within a hundred yards, she'd seek him out. Apparently, the draw was that strong.

While Beia's practices were grueling, his training sessions with the twins were fascinating. The sisters themselves were perplexing. Rather than being alike, the two were opposite. His first hint was the strange arrangements in their chambers in Ivaneth. Impassive Cassin; formal, deliberate, steadfast, turned flippant or nurturing at odd times. Uninhibited Annawen; candid, passionate, creative, a hedonist who turned hostile at the mention of their enemies. After a tenday, he had still yet to hear Annawen's voice except in his head. She didn't even laugh out loud.

He started taking time to watch their practices. They exercised as hard as himself, but with alien weaponry. One was a sword of light that sliced through stone the way steel did flesh. Both used a black device shaped like a hand-crossbow. It fired a lance of energy more devastating than one of Beia's fireball arrows. Cassin told him it was an ‘ion-plasma projector'. He preferred Annawen's slang term, ‘blaster’ better.

He trained with Beia in the morning. She drove him to the limit. Corim couldn't understand how she expected him to improve in the short space of time they were afforded.

Yet, somehow, he did improve.

By the tenth day, he consistently stopped assaults that had previously laid him in the dirt. Being realistic, he knew she'd used magic.

He was bursting to know more.

Corim thumped down in the sand after they'd finished their four-league jog. He gazed up at the cloud-streaked sky and inhaled the salty pungency of sea water and decaying kelp. Waves rumbled against the gentle slope that grew into cliffs behind them.

So real.

Hair fluttering in the breeze, Beia stood facing the ocean spray squinting up at the clouds. Dressed in a sky blue halter and breeks, long legs tucked into doeskin boots, the Myrmigyne looked spectacular today. She looked fresh even after the long run.

“Beia, you've got to tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“What you're doing to me.”

Beia frowned and folded her arms. “Be more specific.”

A movement at the cliff head made him glance up. Barely clothed, the twins reclined on the rocks next to the manse. They wore a scandalous piece of clothing that was nothing more than four patches of colorful material held together with strings. He sighed, trying not to let that appealing vision distract him.

“Come on, Beia, I'm a good student, and you're the best teacher I've ever met, but my improvement isn't natural. It's magic, isn't it?”

She stayed deadpan. “Does it matter?”

“Yes, it matters. I understand you have to do whatever you think is necessary to get me ready for this fight. It's too important. I still think I have a right to know what you're doing to me.”

“We agree. You have a right.”

A pause. They locked eyes in the intervening silence. Only the sounds of seabirds overhead and the surf below them penetrated the quiet.

“You should have asked me first.”

“Would you have said yes?”

“You know I would.”

“Then there's nothing to discuss. You know what's at stake. If we fail, everything you and I know will never be again.”

He felt heat in his stomach. “I'm not arguing that, damn it. Trust me, Beia, you trusted me to follow you into Daladar.”

Beia's face was glacial hard. “We failed at Daladar. I failed. Ceraph died.” Her hands balled into fists. “You think that what happened didn't affect me? Ceraph and I didn't get along all the time, but we were friends. Tal trusted me to take care of her. I didn't just fail, I lost everything.” She pounded a fist into her palm. “How in Hades can I trust you if I can't even trust myself!?” She turned her back and stared out at the breakers.

He rose slowly. Beia's shoulders trembled. He put his hands on her neck. “I'm sorry. I do understand.”

“Damn you,” Beia growled. She sniffed. “Blasted meddler.” She faced him; her face was red and tears leaked down her cheeks. She knocked his hands away. “I don't want to feel this! I did my job better when I was numb! You've opened me up, and everything hurts again.”

His chest suddenly felt tight. “You can't mean that. We came to terms with the past so you would be free of the pain.”

“And vulnerable, too.” She thumped him in the chest with her fist. “You must think that's funny.”

“I don't.” Corim swallowed. He could imagine the turmoil roiling around in her. She was afraid. The Myrmigyne probably hadn't felt fear for a decade. What's to fear if you have nothing to lose? “Everyone is vulnerable, Beia, it's part of being alive. What's left to life if you can't feel the world around you?”

“More of your Matayan drivel, I suppose.” She folded her arms and went back to looking at the water. “I think having feelings is over touted.”

“I think there is only one feeling we're talking about here. It's not the pain over Ceraph's loss.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “It's all right to be afraid.”

“Afraid?!” She shrugged his hand off and glared at him. Her emerald eyes flashed.

“The responsibility isn't yours alone, Beia. If we fail, it will be because the task was beyond us. Not because we didn't try.”

Beia's jaw tightened. Her eyes stayed fixed on his.

“I wouldn't lie to my only sister,” he said. “It's all right to be uneasy. We didn't fail, Beia. We didn't know what we we're getting into at Daladar. It's not as if we went prepared to fight Meridan, the Baronian, his hand-picked mages and fighters. It makes my heart ache to know Ceraph died. We put a scare in them, though. I saw the fear in his eyes, Beia.” He held up his thumb and forefinger a tiny width apart. “I was this close to putting Eboneye in his guts. We survived. My teachers have always told me where there is life there is hope.”

She let out a long breath and her shoulders slumped. “It's just so blasted big.”

“I feel for that. Look around us. This is bigger than I ever imagined. You're a goddess here. This is only a tiny part of Eternity. I am confident that whatever that bastard Meridian has done, if there is a way, we will undo it.”

Beia rubbed at her eye. “Tell me, Corim.”

“Yes.”

“Do you think your hugs work as well for Myrmigynes as they do Kriar?”

He smiled. “Let's find out.”

They held each other on the beach for a long time. For a while, it didn't matter that they were the only two humans in their universe.

They gathered in the palatial dining room every evening. The splendid setting was complete with vivid tapestries, silver candelabras, and gold tableware. Beia's clear imagining had conjured everything from the dining area of Aarlen's resplendent summer home, even down to the elaborate red and gold portieres tied with their styled braids.

The stained glass shutters were open, giving access to the roomy veranda. Beyond, the moonstruck ocean glittered with surreal intensity.

Corim sat at one end of the huge mahogany table. Beia sat opposite, and the twins sat to both sides. He picked at the food on his plate, stomach sore despite Eternity's healing.

Through that still unknown magic, Beia's training continued to work with miraculous speed. His quick learning made the experience no less arduous. As his skill increased, so did the power of Beia's blows. The Myrmigyne hit harder than anyone he'd ever sparred, and with three times the accuracy. He struck back, an act that made him feel sick.

The reality of the situation, and his sensibilities diverged at this point. He'd always been gentle with women. It frightened him to strike Beia with every bit of his strength. She rebuked him for hitting with anything less than his full power.

The sturdy Myrmigyne never gave evidence of being more than staggered by the best of his blows. Her quick reactions apparently blunted his attacks. Each day had left him more drained.

Why couldn't she be a man? After that time on the beach, he found it extremely hard to see her as anything but a woman. The more he learned, the closer he came to doing her some harm he'd never forgive himself for. Of course they could heal it, but he'd still be left feeling guilty.

“What's wrong, Corim?” Cassin asked. When he didn't respond, she spoke louder. “Corim?”

“What—? Sorry.” He gave her an uneasy smile. “What did you say?”

“I asked what was wrong.”

“He's upset about sparring with me,” Beia remarked between bites.

Corim looked up. Beia concentrated on the food in front of her.

“I see it in my male students. Some of them burst into tears when I force them to hit me.”

Cassin glanced at Corim. “Is she right?”

He frowned and took a bite of fish. He didn't note the taste. “I guess.”

Beia knew what was bothering him even though he didn't say a word. Was he that easy to read?

“Don't let it bother you, Corim.” Beia's gaze met his. “I'm sorry it makes you feel bad. You'll have to pretend I'm a man.”

“The male gender is not what I think of when I look at you.”

Beia smiled. “I like you, Corim.”

“I like you too.” Annawen said with a grin. They were the first words Corim had ever heard her utter aloud.

Beia glanced at the Kriar and frowned.

Corim realized he'd let his power slip again. He glanced between them. His gaze wandered warily toward Annawen, then he looked back to Beia. “How much more practice?”

“Another ten days at least.” At his pained expression she went on. “Don't worry, Corim, I've done this for decades. If you do well, you'll hit me. It's only fair. I pound on you.”

“I'll never like it.”

“I bet it would be easier if she were ugly,” Cassin mused, half-smiling.

He gritted his teeth. “That has nothing to do with it.”

Cassin wrinkled her nose. “If you say so.”

“I do,” he said.

<She's teasing.>

“I know. That doesn't mean I have to think it's funny.” He took a breath, held it and let it out. “You three don't understand what it's like for me. It's difficult to behave around women like you three, especially when some of you,” he looked at Annawen. “Are hanging on me all the time. It makes me tense, all right?”

Annawen frowned. <I can't help it.>

Corim stared at her. “Maybe.”

Beia swished the wine around in her glass. She paused and finished it. “I am inclined to agree with him. I know he's been pretty good about keeping his metapathy controlled.”

<What are you suggesting?>

Beia leaned back. “That you could exercise a little more restraint. Stop making him uncomfortable.”

Annawen turned dark eyes on him. She was beautiful, a younger rendition of Dulcere. She swallowed. <All right, perhaps I haven't been putting up much resistance. It's so much better than feeling the other, though.>

Corim frowned. “I can understand that too. I have to exercise my own restraint. Please realize that it can be uncomfortable.”

<Corim, don't make yourself uncomfortable on my account. I'm a big girl. If I get myself into trouble, it'll be my own fault.>

He coughed and took a sip of wine. She certainly wasn't subtle about her invitations.

Annawen slid her chair back. <I'll be upstairs if you want to talk about it more.>

Cassin rolled her eyes and watched her sister saunter out of the dining room. Corim found Cassin's reaction odd.

“Cassin,” he looked where Annawen had gone. “She's been chasing me since we arrived here. Do you feel the same way?”

The Kriar rubbed the side of her nose. “Do I feel the reverb? Certainly, I do. Annawen is simply more expressive than I am. I only go where I'm invited. I would suggest that we get your ability under control before she forgets any pretense of restraint.”

“Is it that strong?”

“Annawen is very emotional. The loss hit her much harder than myself. The inverse is also stronger. Annawen has always been rather—promiscuous. She's never been shy. Actually, she's shown more restraint than I expected, given what she is feeling.”

Corim let out a breath, exasperated. “What am I going to do? The ability won't stay off. Every time I turn around, I find it ‘on’ again.”

Cassin rubbed her chin. “I remember you said that you only recently started becoming aware of the talent. It could be just the trials of breakthrough. I do not know. Let me think about it.” She rose, walked to his end of the table and patted him on the shoulder. “I wouldn't worry overmuch, Corim. If something were to happen, it wouldn't be the first time. It certainly wouldn't be an occasion for guilt.” She looked to Beia. “Have a good night.”

She strolled out of the room.

Corim watched her go. “Those two certainly don't have any problems speaking their minds.”

Beia poured more wine. “Never, not once in 35 summers. Being their godmother has been quite an experience.”

“A godmother for 35 summers?”

“36 next season.”

“That's a long time.”

“I always thought so. The years are unkind, even when you don't seem to get older, you feel older. They keep my longevity in perspective.”

“It would put me in perspective. 26 summers, and they tell me I'm over the hill.”

Beia laughed. “They'll tell you that at eighteen, if you let them.” Glancing out the veranda, she stood and gestured for Corim to follow.

They stood looking out into the pleasant scene. The moon reflected off the crashing breakers. The rocks of the cliff formed a jagged mosaic.

Beia was silent, but he could feel her examining him. He studied the landscape intently, afraid to meet her eyes.

“Beautiful, isn't it?”

“Yes. Hard to believe it's not home.”

She looked at him. “I've been having an incredibly sobering thought the last few days.”

“What's that?”

“If we fail, you and I will be the last humans left of our timeline.”

He nodded and looked up to the moon. “It's occurred to me, too. I think sobering is an appropriate word.”

“You know what?”

“What?”

“If it came down to it in the end, I don't know why, but I think I could learn to live with it.” She kissed him on the cheek, and left him alone on the veranda to think about it. I am often caught in the dichotomy between what I know of technology and what I also know of magic. Because of my schooling as an engineer I can see a magical effect and understand the scientific principles at work. Because of my magic training I can see that many technical solutions to “real world” problems are doing it the hard way. As much as I understand, there remains a huge rift between the capabilities of each science. There is much that can be accomplished with tao-principles that is beyond even the super-advanced Kriar nano-tech. At the same time, after a few bio-medical operations, some physical implants, and ten days of training, I can do things it would take me twenty cycles of tao-training to accomplish. I've grown wise enough to recognize that instant gratification does not necessarily recommend one over the other. For myself, I have given up trying to decide which is better. Contrary to other people's indications, I feel no need to commit myself completely to one science or the other...—Cassin Kel'Ishtauri Felspar

Arms behind his head and knees pulled up, Corim lay in the satin bed sheets pondering. His extravagant room in the south wing with its deep fur rugs, velvet curtains, and sunken bathtub had been designed by someone of incredible wealth.

Since Beia had simply reproduced what she'd seen in Aarlen's summer home, it told him a lot about the personality of Beia's great elder mate. The woman's taste in furnishings showed a complete disregard for cost, concentrating on things that were unique or nearly so.

Corim had stood on the veranda for a long time. As usual, Beia could say a lot in a few words—the last two human beings in their reality. The thought was frightening enough to make a man catatonic. If they failed to return time to normal, that's exactly what he and Beia would be, the last two humans in their existence.

<Corim?>

Oh, no.

Annawen stood in the doorway wearing a filmy lace negligee. The Kriar's chocolate hair spilled across one shoulder. Eyes sparkling in the dim candlelight, the girl's full curves created a tantalizing silhouette.

“Annawen?” He sucked a breath, feeling an irrational panic. “You shouldn't be here.”

She stepped into the room. <What are you afraid of?>

Trepidation. He sat up hastily. “Look, I can't—”

<Of course you can. I'm quite functional.>

Surprise. “No, that's not what I—”

<Do you have any idea what you've been making me feel?>

Prurience. “Damn, that's confusing.”

<Tension making you go through another hot flash?>

Unease. “What do you mean?”

<Hot flashes are when a psi's power thresholds reach a new plateau.>

Concern. “Plateau? Damn it, what are you doing to me?” Confusion.

<Oh.> She took a few more steps. <You're picking up your own emotions.>

Then it occurred to him. “You really are a mirror!”

She nodded. <I'll turn it off.>

Ardor. Corim frowned, he felt safer when it was on.

She sat on the end of the bed and folded her legs. <We have to learn to coexist.>

“I don't understand.”

<Corim, I realize I've been acting, well—like a slut. Of course, you have to realize that you've been doing this to me fourteen kilorevs a day for the last ten days. There's restraint and there's this ... The feedback hits me as far away as the beach.>

“You must be very sensitive.”

<Too sensitive. I can accept being a bit forward over being despondent and in agony. However, I don't like you throwing all these vibrations at me, and then mumbling something about being proper.>

He reddened. “It isn't, Annawen.”

<Don't give me that. You want me. Remember, I'm an empath.>

“That's beside the point. I—I—” He cleared his throat. “I'm sorry.”

<You're not sorry. That's a universal male fantasy. It's embarrassing—for me.>

She had him there. Annawen was a fetching sight. If it wasn't for a sense of propriety...

<I tried to control myself. I'm tired of holding back.>

That sounded ominous. “So what now?”

<Either you cooperate, or you cooperate.> She smiled. <Whichever you choose is fine. As long as I stop being so damned frustrated.>

“You mean that, don't you?”

<Corim, I'm not body conscious. I know this isn't proper. Bodies don't know proper. They feel what the chemicals dictate.>

They were damn fine chemicals, too.

Annawen grinned. <You're not bad yourself. Decide soon.> She leaned forward, giving Corim a strategic view of what little the negligee hid. <I never took a man by force before.>

He cleared his throat. “That won't be necessary.”

<Taking you by force, or taking you?>

“Uh—” He felt his loins go taut. Her ardor had snuck up on him. “I'll do what I can.”

Annawen smiled. She inched forward and touched his foot.

Corim snatched his leg back. “What should I do?”

<Stop the reverb.> She moaned, and crawled closer.

Corim shrank away. “I've been doing that. It always comes back on when I'm not thinking about it.”

<Cassin says you probably have a synapse problem. The on and off gateways to your power are not well developed. You'll have to shut your power down from another part of your mind. You've been trying to stop it from the part of you that sends the sensations. You need to shut off the part sensing my emotions.>

Corim backed against the headboard.

“I'll try.” His chest tried to go concave as her fingers brushed his skin.

<Relax.>

“You're not the only one whose body has other ideas!”

<I won't hurt you.>

“Of course, but how am I supposed to concentrate?”

<What choice do you have?>

He gasped as her fingers caressed sensitive skin.

<Concentrate, or stop worrying about it.>

Corim closed his eyes, trying to shut out the voluptuous sensations as her hands and lips tantalized his flesh.

What did hurt feel like? Loss? Despair? He'd reversed those emotions. Did he reflect the emotions back changed, or did he interpret and project the opposite?

He jerked as she trailed kisses down his biceps. The temptation to take the easy route was strong.

His empathic projections were causing sexual arousal.

The easy way out?

He opened his eyes and took Annawen's face in his hands. Eagerly, she pressed against him with surreal warmth.

He put his lips to hers. Satisfaction. Satiation. Consummation. Not impressions this time. He projected the sensations, feeling them mirrored back. It allowed him to refine the image, strengthen it, send it again.

In an instant, the reverb took hold. She trembled, groaned, and went rigid, arms and legs twitching.

“Oh, no! That's not right!”

Cassin burst into the room, stumbling. “What did you do?”

Annawen lay paralyzed in his lap and moaned.

He flushed. “I kissed her.”

Cassin frowned. “She—I felt—I—”

Annawen blinked.

“I didn't mean to hurt her, I was—”

“You—I—she—we—”

It was affecting Cassin too.

He took her hand. She moved like a manikin and allowed herself to be seated on the bed. He brushed the hair out of her eyes.

“Calm down.”

“She—feedback—reverb.”

Annawen blinked.

This was a fine mess, now he had both of them in his bed.

He put his hands on their foreheads. Cassin collapsed as though stunned.

“Ishtar! What did I—?”

Consummation. Consummation. CONSUMMATION. It beat on his brain. He shuddered. They were both mirrors. Infinite echoes of the last sensation he'd projected.

Calm. He fought back the tidal wave of sensations. An inspiration told him what to do.

Contact.

He absorbed the emotions, concentrating on an absence of sensations. Like a wall slamming down, the reverb was blocked out.

“There.”

Cassin groaned and took hold of Corim's shoulder. She swallowed and put a hand to her chest. “Whoa. I've been in some strong reverbs before but—wow.” She gulped.

She took Annawen's hand. The other girl moved sluggishly.

<Cassin?>

“You okay?”

Annawen licked her lips. <What a reverb!> She held her head.

“Did I hurt you?” Corim asked, concerned.

<You stopped it soon enough.> She shuddered. <You don't fool around. Right through my shields.>

“Are you okay now?”

<I think so. That isn't what I told you to do.>

“I couldn't concentrate.”

Cassin snorted. “If that's the case, I'm glad you didn't.”

Annawen sighed, her golden features darkening in a blush. <That was incredible.>

“Are you sure you're all right?” Cassin asked again.

She ignored her sister and eyed Corim. <That's as close as I want to get to dying of pleasure.>

Corim felt how tightly she gripped his arm. “It seemed like good idea. I thought you could get what you needed without compromising myself.”

Annawen frowned. <Compromising yourself? You did this to me!>

He swallowed. Both pairs of midnight eyes were on him. “I apologize. That didn't come out the way I meant it...” He stumbled on, failing to complete a sentence.

<I forgive you.> She raised her chin. <Now, give me a kiss, a real one this time.>

Corim aborted his thought and his brow furrowed. “But—”

<I'm waiting.>

He sighed and kissed her. The embrace lasted until he was out of breath. Annawen squinted at the ceiling like a wine taster analyzing a fine vintage.

<I give him an eight,> she reported after a few moments.

“An eight?” Cassin looked at Corim with appreciation. “Really?”

<Well, after that reverb I'm hopelessly biased. Take off a point for cheating.>

Cassin looked at Corim. “A seven is not bad.”

He frowned. “What are you talking about?”

Cassin giggled. “Your kiss rating.”

“My—” He stopped.

“It's a fun game,” Cassin said.

Annawen raised an eyebrow. <How do you rate me?>

“Be serious.”

<I am serious.>

“That's silly.” He stopped himself. “I mean. I don't know.”

“We can either play games or perform the psychic surgery needed to fix this synapse problem.”

“Surgery?” Corim shuddered at the thought of them invading his mind. “I give her a nine. Definitely a nine.”

“I hope you two didn't wear him out. He's got a long day ahead.”

Beia's voice startled Corim awake. He sat up out of the cluster of their bodies. Hands on hips, Beia stood in the doorway dressed in her running togs.

Cassin propped herself on an elbow nearby, rubbing a starry eye. “Don't worry, we're the ones that got shagged.”

Beia raised an eyebrow. “Impressive. No one ever did that to them before. See you in the dining room in a quarter bell.”

“But—”

Beia was gone.

“You better get cleaned up.”

Corim nodded. He carefully picked his way around Annawen who rolled over without comment. What he'd thought were games turned out to be serious after all. They used the playing to relax, to bring down his guard while they searched for the problem. His defenses were tough. It would take more sessions to effectively control his power.

He washed in the suite's tub, dressed in his clean fighting harness and jogged to the dining area.

Corim skidded to a stop, stunned by what he saw.

Beia sat at the head of the huge table, long hair tucked into a bun. Large black spectacles sat astride her nose. Hands cupped around a steamy mug, she perused a large tome sitting on the table in front of her. Taking occasional sips of the warm brew she appeared more like a librarian than a Myrmigyne queen.

“What are you staring at?”

“I was startled. You look different.”

Beia muttered something he didn't catch. “Eat some breakfast. We have a long run today.”

Corim ate in silence for a while. “Are you angry with me?”

Beia glanced up. “Should I be?”

“You seemed upset. It's not what you think.”

Taking a sip from her mug, she studied him for a moment. “Then what were they doing in your bed?”

“They were too tired after the surgery to go back to their rooms.”

Beia frowned. “Surgery?”

“The reverb was making you and Annawen crazy, remember?”

“Yes.” She drew out the syllable.

“My talent should turn off properly now.”

Beia took a slow sip. “I see. Good.” She went back to her book.

A long silence. “Is something else wrong?”

Her gaze left the book and met his. “Why?”

“You seem different.”

“I miss Aarlen. Just because I might be able to deal with us being the last humans around doesn't mean I want to. I'm also not thrilled with having the responsibility of being boss in this situation.”

“I'm sorry.”

Beia scowled. “Why? It's not your fault.”

Corim's face went stony. “Isn't it? If I'd killed Meridian, this wouldn't have happened.”

“Look Corim, I know I'm grouchy. I'm satisfied that you did your best. We'll deal with this.”

He sighed. “Guess we have to. It's not like someone else is going to.” Because I do as I please, it has led to a lot of very unflattering labels being attached to me. Too often, importance is attached to trivia. Life isn't in the trivia; it's in living and enjoying the moment. It's a shame that so many get lost in the minutia, if they didn't, they'd smile a lot more...—Annawen Kel'Ishtauri Felspar

Corim awoke from a fitful sleep to the sound of splashing. The unexpected sounds made him sit up. It took a moment to focus on the source of the noise.

Morning light streamed in through the bay window. Dust motes danced in the beam that reflected sparkles off the luxuriant carpeting. Annawen reclined naked in his sunken tub, idly toying with the soap bubbles in the steaming water. She wasn't here because of the reverb this time. She and Cassin had seen to it that his power would stay off when he turned it off.

Every time he looked on this fetching woman, he wondered why he wasn't more drawn to her. Perhaps it was her over-willingness to bed him that kept him at a distance.

She smiled at him and stretched languidly, giving Corim a tantalizing view of her soapy gold body. <Good morning, Sleepyhead.>

He sat on the edge of the huge four-poster bed and rubbed his face. “What are you doing in there?”

She raised an eyebrow. <Is there something else you do with water and soap?>

He sighed. “Why not use your own tub?”

<That question is as silly as the first one.>

Corim drew a breath and counted to five.

Annawen cut off his response. <You've got these outmoded notions about women. They don't have to be fragile and shy, nor do you have to be this shining chaste knight to be attractive. It's clear you're interested in Dulcere.> She shook her head. <Consider the ‘ifs’ though. That's if we find her, and if you can interest a woman eight-thousand times your age.> She smiled wanly. <In the meantime, we could still have sex a few times. Sharing doesn't mean we have to be permanently committed to each other.>

This woman had enough brass to for all the fixtures in Ivaneth. He found it attractive and offensive at the same time. Something rang in his head. What had she said?

Eight thousand times as old? “How do you know how old she is?”

<Average Kriar age. The youngest Kriar was born 156,000 cycles ago. That's my grandmother Ivral, a force commander for military engineering. The Kriar fought a war with the Jyril and lost badly. The Jyril's retaliation made all Kriar infertile. They locked it in so that restructuring, cloning, and other technical manipulations couldn't fix it.>

“A cruel punishment.” He stood up and walked around the tub trying not to look down into the swirling water.

<The Kriar had a cruel leader at the time, Daergon Surr. The Jyril made sure his thinking was not spread to further generations of Kriar. He died about a quarter century ago. Good riddance. He'd done nothing but hurt people; my mother, the Eternals, anyone who crossed him.> She sighed. <I don't want to talk about that any more. Are you coming in, or are you still afraid I'm going to tarnish that armor?>

They washed, and joined Beia and Cassin at breakfast. The twins decided to join them on Beia's endurance run today. Part of Corim welcomed it. Another part dreaded it ... Breakers slammed against the pitted rock shoal. The salty spray cascaded around the four of them in a host of rainbows as they dashed across between waves. As expected, the weather was perfect, the bright afternoon sun shone down from a cloud-dotted sky.

The two sisters kept up easily. Corim had already seen signs of their capabilities in Ivaneth when he and Ceraph had chased Annawen across town. The Kriar girl never seemed to come even close to hitting her full stride. On the beach, they occasionally opened up with bursts of speed almost double that of a horse at full gallop. They periodically ranged ahead and circled back, teasing Beia about her age, and getting slow in her advanced years.

Corim saw that despite what she'd said, Beia had been angered at finding the twins in his bed. She'd spared him few words in the last day and a half. The Myrmigyne kept her emotions so bottled up that he couldn't tell whether it was simple irritation or something more serious.

They reached the plateau ascent Corim dubbed ‘heartbreak hill', a steep switch-back trail that rose seventy yards in a quarter mile stretch. So far Corim had failed to keep a steady speed while negotiating the vicious incline; that being one of the goals Beia set for him. Like a machine, the Myrmigyne could power up the grade, never altering her rhythm.

As he gazed toward the top he glimpsed a reflection like the sun mirrored on steel. Frowning, he narrowed his eyes. Nothing.

Odd. Could someone else be here?

Giggling, Annawen came up from behind and pinched him. He jerked to one side and almost tripped.

<Slow but steady, that's the way I like it.>

Cassin chuckled pulling even with him. He focused on Beia's back, on keeping even with her and not slacking off. He couldn't spare the breath to answer Annawen.

<See you by Anvil rock.> The twins laughed and raced up the hill past Beia. They disappeared in moments.

He groaned. “Not fair! Don't they ever get tired!” It burned his lungs to let out the words.

“Privilege of birth,” Beia called back. “To be powered by the sun.”

Fifty strides to the turn, he could feel every strike of his feet as his legs pistoned against the steep slope. Eboneye's weight felt like an anchor. A crease of pain lanced through his side. He inhaled through gritted teeth and exhaled out his nose.

I'll make it this time, damn it.

Beia's speed kept constant. Her image blurred as sweat ran in his eyes. Blood pounded in his ears. She rounded the bend and started up the next rise.

His thighs throbbed. Corim pushed around the switchback and leaned into the hill. From here, the climb steepened.

Tears welled, and he tried to summon the energy to keep that steady rhythm. Hissing each breath, every step hit like a blow to the chest. Beia slipped farther away. Growling, he leaned harder, gulping air and feeling his throat go dry.

He closed with Beia. Everything burned. Dots swam around her blurry form.

Go. Fifty paces left. Push.

A titan grabbed his lungs and slowly crushed the wind out of him. He let out yelps of pain, each step a lunge of agony as he fought up the sharp ascent of the cliff edge. Stumbling at the top, he rolled and hit the dirt with a gasp.

Beia looped around and jogged past him, her face still stony, no hint as to what she felt. “Shouldn't use up all of your energy like that. You still have two leagues to go. Come on.” She continued down the trail.

He groaned, feeling the knot in his stomach. Staggering, he started off again.

Here the trail followed a gentle course around grassy knolls sprinkled with rust colored outcrops. Anvil rock, a huge iron gray boulder stood out as the most prominent feature on the descent midway between heartbreak hill and the estate. At that point, the path wound through a grove of trees that hugged a rock-studded slope.

That descent lay a league away, and he could glimpse tiny figures that must be the twins already halfway there. Beia jogged a stone's throw ahead, her lead growing. It would be foolish to try to catch her. She'd chastise him fiercely if he didn't keep his speed consistent.

Another flash of silver. This time near Anvil hill.

He must really be tired. He rubbed his eyes with his arm. Nothing. Something gnawed at the back of his skull, and he picked up the tempo.

Midway to the descent, Beia appeared as a stick figure in the distance.

Measuring his breathing, he concentrated on the long gradual rise that preceded the descent.

Beia crossed the top of the ridge and disappeared before he traversed a quarter of the slope.

Up, down. Up down. A fist clenched in his chest.

Repeated glimmers as if a silhouette were bounding through the rocks at the summit. The twins? Anvil rock was on the far side, though. The ache at the back of his skull grew more pointed. Could Meridian have found them?

If he increased his speed, he wouldn't have enough wind to fight when he reached the top. He yearned for the telepathy that Beia and twins possessed, to be able to warn them.

Ishtar, I hope—

He didn't allow himself to finish the thought.

Push.

It seemed to take an eternity to reach the top. A glance down the slope showed Beia halfway to the estate, now little more than a colored dot against the brown line of the trail and the backdrop of the coast that curved away to meet the mountain headlands.

Damn.

Annawen's alarmed thought rang through his head. <Corim—!>

A flash of lightning arced out of the clear sky followed by a crack of thunder. Annawen's thought cut off as the echoes died out.

Ishtar! He broke into a sprint. His body electrified by the blast and the fear in Annawen's thought. The strike hit only a stone's throw away in the trees.

Scrambling around bushes and over rocks, he hacked a path through the thicker foliage with Eboneye.

Bursting into small clearing strewn with boulders, he sighted the twins prone in the grass. Pasty white fluid that must be blood leaked from their ears and noses. Neither stirred.

Corim almost missed the creature standing over them because it looked like one of the rocks in the clearing.

At second glance, Corim recognized more human characteristics. If someone managed to squish Tal so that he were only half as tall, he would have looked like this. Tree trunk arms and legs hooked on a squat frame a head shorter than either of the twins.

First instinct said he was a dwarf. The copper hair, heavy mustache, and chestnut eyes, were common to their race. Corim had never seen one so big.

Holding a huge hammer in his right hand, the fingers of his left around Annawen's throat he looked up, startled by Corim's sudden appearance.

“Hold!” Corim yelled. “Get away from her.” His heart labored so hard that his hands shook. He spun Eboneye and took several steps into the clearing.

The intruder spoke the common tongue with a thick dwarven accent. “Vent it, Lad, I be wanting no fight. The lasses here spooked me.”

“Move. I won't ask you again.” He took two more steps, Eboneye at the ready.

“Lad, you'd best vent it and listen. Don't be testing me temper, or I'll be forced to blunt that pointed stick you're wavin’ about.”

Eboneye snarled. “That's it, kill him. Nobody calls me a ‘pointed stick'.”

“Oooh, it be a sensitive pointed stick.” The dwarf grinned with even square teeth.

“Kill him, now.”

Corim growled. “Last warning. Back away!”

“Eat dross, Lad. Ole Dac don't be takin orders from a boy. You be backin off, or you'll be tasting dirt.”

Corim didn't know whether it was a trick or not. The only thing certain was that the twins were hurt, and that this dwarf was responsible.

Corim charged.

Dac only stepped away from the girls and waited, hitting the hammerhead into his left palm. Corim plunged Eboneye for the right shoulder.

At the last instant the Dac's weapon became a blur. Eboneye's point skidded off the hammer haft, going wide of the target. Corim reversed the spear to defend against a body shot.

Dac dove under and brought the mallet crashing down on Corim's instep with the sound of cracking bones.

Corim howled as pain lanced up his leg like a volcanic eruption. He whipped Eboneye toward the dwarf's head. Dac blocked, and their weapons clashed with a savage ring. Instantly the dwarf dropped to his knees and whipped the hammer into Corim's shin with a crack.

Corim dropped with a yell, both legs crippled. “Damn you!” The agony reverberated through both his legs. “Ishtar—!” He writhed.

Dac stepped back and put hands on hips. “Moradin bless me, I'll be betting that hurts. You be liking your taste of dirt, Lad?”

“I don't think that's funny.” Beia's voice interrupted Corim's groaning. “Turn around slow, unless you want an arrow in the back.”

“Take it easy, Lass. Dac be only protecting himself. The Lad here got up more steam than sense, is all.”

Through his tears Corim could see Beia at the edge of the clearing. Dac turned to face her.

Beia narrowed her eyes then dropped her aim, jaw going slack. “Dac? DacWhirter?”

“There be only one, Lass.”

“But how? Everything—”

“I've been wandering for days. Desiray brought me here for a wag. Something happened, and she left unexpected. The lass never came back. I'll be having some words with her about that.”

Beia held up her hand. “Are you okay, Corim?”

Corim groaned. “No! He broke my foot and my shin!”

She shook her head. “DacWhirter, you haven't changed much.”

“What's to change, Lass? Why fool with perfection?”

Corim gritted his teeth. “I'll give him perfection.”

Beia looked at the twins and frowned. “What happened?”

“I tried to tell the Lad, but he dinna listen. They spooked me, and I stunned them with me hammer. They be coming round soon. Be needing a little attention, but nothing that won't mend.”

Beia shook her head and knelt next to Corim. Summoning Eternity's energy, she soothed away the wounds.

“Careful with DacWhirter, Corim. He plays rough, but he's straight.”

Corim sat up and rubbed his legs, eying Dac suspiciously.

“Sorry about the legs, Lad. You had a midge too much wind in your sails, is all.” He pulled at the strands of his long mustache.

Corim looked at Beia as she settled next to Cassin. “How'd you get here so fast?”

“Teleport.”

He shook his head, wondering why he needed to ask. He glanced at Dac who watched, arms folded. “Where do you know Dac from?”

“Dac? One of the Band of the Crescent Moon. Joined up right before they challenged Hellzan.”

Corim looked back to the dwarf and swallowed. He stood on his repaired leg, feeling the tenderness in the wounds. “There were only three dwarfs to ever join the band. You must be the one that legend said was half human. Varon Ironfist, the Warmaster of Kron.”

“The books is wrong, I be pure dwarf. ‘Varon’ be me second name.”

Cassin moaned. “My head.” She blinked and looked around. “What—Dac!”

“Sorry about the thump, Missy. Me nerves aren't what they was. You two sneaking up on me; I threw without looking.”

<You were sneaking up on us!> Annawen held her head.

“Aye, Lass, I'm guilty of that, sure. Only looking you over before I introduced myself.” He shook his head. “I'd swore you was down there on the trail. Then someone popped in and spooked me.”

Beia helped Cassin to stand. “You must have been here before we arrived.”

“I guess that be the right of it. You don't suppose we could scare up some eats? I been chewing weeds for a ten-day.”

Corim pulled Annawen to her feet. She leaned on his shoulder. <We can probably manage that.>

Dac looked around the group. “From the look of you, I'm thinking this weren't such a good time to visit.”

Beia shook her head with a rueful smile. “Dac, my friend, I be thinking you're right. Come on, there's a lot to tell.” In me time, I heard plenty o’ dross about Dwarves. I ain't exactly what you'd call a shining example o’ my kind, but I ain't never done nothin to make Dwarves look bad either. I swing a hammer with the best, drink hard with the worst, and tell an off-color jest now and then—that pretty much makes me like the rest of the dinks who crack skulls for a livin. The only difference is most of ’em is bigger than me. Somewhere some slag-for-brains got the idea that bein different makes ya worth less than the rest of the dirty-footed sword swingers. All I c'n say is shut yer yap and take a swing. I be glad to show ya diff'rent...—Warmaster Varon “DacWhirter” Ironfist

Corim stood in the circle of glowing stones staring at the steel sculpture he'd formed with magic while in the void. He ran his fingers over the chill metal, imagining the golden flesh it represented. Ever since Annawen's advances, he'd dreamed about Dulcere.

Trailing his finger down a high cheekbone, around the angular jaw to the bow-like mouth, he marveled at Dulcere's perfection. The light cast by the huge gems played across the statue's shiny surface in a cascade of colors that made her seem alive.

He glanced up to the dome that hung leagues above in the darkness. After living for twenty days in Eternity's Heart, the experience remained difficult to accept.

“You be stuck on her, of that I be certain.”

Corim looked around, startled. For all his mass, the hulking dwarf moved like a whisper. Dac grinned up at him, and pulled at the strings on his leather hauberk.

“What makes you think so?”

“The wind blowing through your hollow head, Lad. I seen the look before, had it once me-self. Truth told, ain't never got over it. Hurts worse than a half-century of battle scars.”

He eyed the stern-faced dwarf. It had taken a while to get use to Dac's gravely tone and bluntness. Perhaps it was his frankness that Corim liked. Having two warmasters around certainly hadn't made his training any easier.

They'd filled Dac in on the details of Meridian's time treachery, and what probably happened to Desiray when she left Eternity's heart during the diffraction. The dwarf had only growled a curse in response to the calamity, but behind his eyes Corim could tell that even this stoic adventurer experienced a twinge of fear.

He decided not to ask about the lover that had soured Dac on women. The dwarf was open about his adventures, and a great storyteller, but he was intensely private about his personal life.

“So, you look ready to go. It's that time, I suppose?”

Dac pulled at his mustache. “Aye, Lad, time to put the spike in the wall and see what we open up.”

Corim heard footsteps, and saw Beia walking up dressed in her travel raiments, Snowfire over one shoulder and Eboneye used like a staff. “Ready to go?”

Dac nodded. “Me and the Lad will hold our end.” He grimaced. “Can't say I'm screaming happy about this time traveling dross.”

“It'll be okay. Cassin knows what she's doing.”

“Lass, ain't what she knows that concerns me. Never did like Desiray's popping about, always made me want to throw dredge.”

Beia slapped Dac on the back. “You'll get through it.”

“Aye.” He growled low in his throat.

“Cassin and Annawen should be here in a little bit.”

Corim glanced at the fuming Dac. “What's time travel going to be like?” he asked Beia.

She sighed. “It's not perceived in the normal sense, it's experienced. Once you've gone through it, you'll understand.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Only when you dredge yesterday's lunch,” Dac grumbled.

Beia looked at Dac askance, then focused back on Corim. “Traveling through time is every sensation you can think of. Focus on Cassin and Annawen, don't look into the void. When your resistance is stronger, then you can look.”

He nodded.

Cassin sauntered out of the darkness clothed in skintight silver. The material shimmered like a sheen of mercury in the colored light. The blaster hung in a holster. The ‘cyber-unit’ sat in its belt-case, and a gray knapsack was cinched snugly to her shoulders and waist.

<Everyone ready?> Annawen skipped up next to Cassin, a mirror image of her sister.

Dac growled again.

<Guess that means yes,> Annawen stepped behind Dac and hugged him around the neck, arms inadequate to wrap around his torso. <You'll be okay, fuzzy bear. You just like to grouch.> She ran fingers through his rusty-brown hair.

Dac cracked a grin.

<That's better.>

Cassin smiled and looked at Annawen. “The calcs done?”

<I have my cyber all set.> She winked at Corim.

“So, what's the plan?”

<First star to left and straight on ’til morning...>

Beia frowned. “What?”

Cassin tugged on Annawen's ear. “Never mind, that was a joke. We'll find the diffraction nexus, and use the signature to find where they went after making the change. We'll have to improvise when we get to that point.”

“You're the boss when it comes to time diving, Cassin.”

She turned to Corim and Dac. “Did Beia warn you about not looking into the void?”

They both nodded.

“All right. Here, Corim, Dac.” Cassin handed them each a small silver disk. “Put these on your forehead.”

“What is it?” He looked dubiously at the coin-sized disk.

“Medicine. It helps prevent chronal sickness. The disk has adhesive on it. Hold it to your skin, the body heat activates the glue.”

“Glue?” Dac frowned. “This comes off, right, Missy?”

“Of course.”

Corim grew dizzy as he held the disk to his head. “Everything's getting blurry.”

Beia steadied him.

Dac didn't seem as affected, or possibly those stumpy dwarven legs didn't buckle as easily.

“It'll pass.” Cassin looked at Beia. “You need one?”

“Last mission with Aarlen I got by without.”

“Good.”

They waited until Corim steadied.

Beia looked at Snowfire, and the bow shimmered and took the shape of a staff. “Take Eboneye, she's been pining after you, anyway.” Beia handed the spear to him.

Corim felt an affectionate hum as he took hold.

“I think she's in love,” Cassin remarked. “He doesn't have to say her name anymore.”

“Can she do that? Love, I mean?”

“You'll have to ask mother—” She frowned. “If we can get her back.”

“Let's go.”

Cassin nodded and glanced at her twin. Annawen took her cyber-unit from its pouch and punched some projections on it. She looked at the display for a moment, and spoke to Cassin in a strange musical language.

Cassin closed her eyes. “Step close to me, Corim—Beia.”

Cassin's eyes glowed as they stepped near. The Kriar clenched her fists, and Corim felt himself yanked off into nothingness.

They plunged from the apex of infinity down into a sea of pitch sprinkled with stars and enshrouded by colorful mists. Acceleration sucked at his innards, and his lungs tightened. Dots of light whirled around them with increasing velocity.

Bodies sparkling, arms spread, Cassin and Annawen dove through the ether. Corim felt some invisible force towing him along in their wake.

<We're in transition space now. I'm going to try to phase shift us. Don't look into the void.>

Beia held Snowfire in both hands, clutching it with whitened knuckles. Dac floated next to her grimacing, eyes already clenched shut.

A savage jerk to one side. A slam upward. A stomach-numbing lurch down. Turbulence buffeted them right and left.

<It's rough going,> Cassin thought. <The chronal threshold is going to be a bear. Hang on.>

They banked hard, and Corim's eyes felt as if they were shoved into the back of his skull. Slam. Slam. Slam. Punishing blows rocked them like a giant's club. An infinitely high wall of gray mists loomed out from the distance to rush at them with staggering speed.

Crack.

They crashed to a stop, and careened away like a ball hurled against stone. Recovering, they hurtled through another cascade of buffeting, and rammed into the grayness, only to rebound again with brain-racking force.

<This is giving us nothing but a headache, Cassin,> Beia thought. <We can't get into the time stream here.>

<I'll try farther down. Hold your stomach. It'll be bumpy.>

Any more of this, and it'll be in my hand. Corim was glad of the disk on his forehead.

The gyrations of traveling through the turbulence went on for what seemed like hours. They slammed against the gray wall more than once. He discovered Cassin could curse like a sailor.

<We can't pierce the fabric. We're so desynchronized with the rest of the universe that we can't leave the probability field around Eternity's Heart.>

Beia gritted her teeth. <Locate the weakest part, and punch us through. We can use Snowfire and Eboneye's power.>

<Punch through? Aren't we trying to fix the damage?>

<What choice do we have? Bashing our heads isn't helping.>

Whatever force held them suspended pulled Beia and Corim so that they were parallel with the sisters. Annawen took hold of Eboneye, while Cassin grasped Snowfire.

<Go!>

<This will sting.>

Eboneye and Snowfire gleamed as the sisters tapped their power. Accelerating hard, they veered away from the mists in an arc. Turning abruptly, the group slammed hard through a patch of turbulence, and banked brutally into the wall of gray so fast that the universe went black.

<Is he okay?>

“The Lad just lost his load is all.”

<I almost blacked out myself.>

The surroundings focused slowly. Corim felt solid ground beneath his back, and a distant humming rang in his ears. A wretched combination of odors burned his nose, the smell of feces and sulfur. He felt clinging moisture on his cheeks.

Sitting up, his back muscles protested. The ride through time had pounded him as badly as one of Beia's workouts. Cassin and Annawen looked pale; for them it was an odd, jaundiced color. Beia's face was flushed, and her tunic was torn in a few places. Dac stood like a statue, impassive as a rock.

A survey of the terrain revealed the most dismal location had ever seen. A clinging mist writhed like a living thing as it tumbled in clumps across a featureless, gravel-dotted plain. Above, the sky looked like a dome with a crack in it; pitch appeared to seep through the opening. The black scar touched some instinct in Corim. It made him shudder.

“Did we do that?”

Cassin looked at him. “No. That must be Meridian's gift to the universe.”

“What is it?”

She frowned. “That is a tear in the fabric of reality. A thread of time that has come unraveled.”

“That sounds ominous.”

Beia's voice was hard. “That's the very thing the Shaladens were made to prevent. That anomaly will grow to destabilize huge sections of the universe. If it's not sealed it will reach a point where it can't be acceptably shut.”

“Acceptably?”

“It gets so large that sealing it devastates the surrounding regions of space.” Cassin looked around uncomfortably.

“Oh.” He stood up in stages, hearing the ground crunch underfoot like eggshells. “Where are we, anyway?”

Dac frowned. “Does the lad always ask so many questions?”

Beia chuckled. “Usually.”

The dwarf shook his head. “So, where in Moradin's name are we?”

Cassin took a few clods of stone and crumbled them in her hand. “Siderous Chronous.”

Corim shook his head. “Don't people go crazy here?”

“Are you sure you're not?”

Corim shut up.

<I have a trace on them.>

“They're here?” Beia looked around.

<There's a positive track in that direction.> Annawen pointed.

Snowfire shimmered and became a bow. “Let's not keep those bastards waiting.” She stalked into the mists.

Dac grinned, and jogged to keep up with her.

Cassin shook her head. “Beia, Beia, Beia—” She trailed after her.

Corim and Annawen looked at one another, then followed.

They wandered through the mists for what must have been bells. Time was elusive here. He didn't get fatigued or feel the need to expurgate. Without landmarks to gauge their progress, they could have been walking in place.

Periodically, Beia verified the bearing with Annawen. The mists made it easy to stray off course without knowing it. The lack of features made it impossible to tell one direction from another.

“There,” he whispered. Corim pointed to some figures hunched in the fog. “That must be the Baronian. No one else is that big. Ishtar—is that another one with him?”

<That's the bearing,> Annawen confirmed.

Beia fitted an arrow to the bow. <I'll draw him off. You four get the Kriar loose.>

The figures moved, but something about them appeared wrong to Corim. Something he couldn't put words to. He could make out the analogue interface, and see the prostrate form of Dulcere atop it. He heard the murmur of their voices dancing chaotically through the murk.

He spun Eboneye, getting her loose in his grip. She could protect him from the mage's magic long enough to get him into range. At close quarters, he could hold his own. Dac pulled up next to him, war hammer clutched in a meaty fist.

Cassin unholstered her blaster. Together they crept forward in silence. By staying in the clumped mists, they could approach within striking range.

<There's something wrong.> Cassin thought in Corim's mind.

He nodded.

Closer. They could hear the mages groaning about their wounds. Rakaar pulled that other large figure off into the mists and vanished.

Corim started sweating.

Fifteen paces. The mages seemed oblivious.

“Space her then, we don't want anyone finding the body.”

“Are you sure?”

“Do it. The interface has enough power. Space the bitch.”

Something in Corim snapped. He could cover that distance in a heartbeat.

He did.

“No!” He leaped out of the fog into their midst, whipping Eboneye from side to side.

The spear cleaved through two men like water, and he plunged the glittering spear-tip into Meridian's sneering visage.

And stumbled right through him.

Corim maintained his balance and spun around. “Illusions, ware!”

Cassin walked into the assemblage unconcerned. “They haven't been here for a while.”

Dac stepped around her probing the area with a wary gaze. “Good move though, Lad.”

“What are they?”

“Timeshadows. Annawen and I would see through an illusion.”

“Where's Beia?”

The sisters looked around. “She must have gone after Rakaar.”

The images around them flickered out. Corim gritted his teeth. “They said they were going to kill her.”

“They said they were spacing her,” Cassin corrected.

“The void is deadly.” His jaw quivered. “I ought to know.”

“You're not a Kriar.”

“What difference does that make?” He walked where Rakaar appeared to have gone.

“Kriar don't need to breathe, and the matrixes will keep her warm. Sometimes Kriar patrol the void without protection.” The sisters looked around briefly, and followed Corim.

“You think she's okay?”

“She looked hurt. Being spaced wouldn't make it any worse.”

Corim frowned. “Beia!” He called out. “It isn't really them.”

<Beia.> Cassin called telepathically. <They were just timeshadows. Come back. Beia?>

Silence. I loved a human girl and lost her to someone else. Broke me heart it did. I know I got slag for brains cause I still love her. Guess I jus like pain cause I hang with her at times. Hate it when me eyes mist over. What kind of proper warmaster cries? Damned dross-kissin sap is what I am. I've always taken it as a message from Moradin that it weren't meant to be. I also think it means I'll end up dyin with a hammer in me hand never knowin the peaceful side o’ livin. Sometimes, late at night when the night things howl, I catch myself wonderin the kinda life I mighta had if I never picked up a hammer...—Warmaster Varon “DacWhirter” Ironfist

“She's what?” Corim quickly scanned the listless fog. “How?”

Dac frowned. “Beia was—” He cut himself off. “Dross! Annawen!?”

Corim spun. “She was right behind me. We'd better—”

“No.” Cassin grabbed his shoulder. Her features were tight. “Stay right here, both of you.” Cassin took his hand. Corim felt moisture in her palm. “This way.”

She paused for a moment, and then picked a direction in the mists.

“I don't understand,” Corim muttered.

“Neither do I, Lad.”

“This area is becoming unstable. Where non-consecutive chronology applies, time and space are the same.”

“Huh?”

“Time doesn't move here. Space does.”

“Oh,” he said in a faint voice.

Dac scratched his head. “Missy, speak in the common tongue would ya?”

“Imagine thousands of invisible lily pads on an ocean. If we're standing on different pads when the current shifts, we get separated.”

“Why can't they hear us?”

The stars in Cassin's eyes dimmed. “Corim, how far is an instant?”

“How far? But time—”

“It isn't time here.”

They walked for a league, Cassin staring into the barren terrain.

“So, how far is an instant?”

The Kriar pursed her lips. “How big a number can you imagine?”

“Pretty big.”

“About that far.” She changed their course again.

A shriek of steel. Corim whipped Eboneye into the ready position. Dac crouched hammer readied. Eight pit fighters dressed like Seglar converged around them.

The smell of fermenting blood and old sweat filled the air.

A figure leaped past them, a blonde streak that whirled a glowing, two-handed sword. Sparks flew as steel bit and hissed. Screams of pain and rage rang out as gore struck the dirt.

“Beia!” He yelled.

“Lass!”

No response. She howled like a banshee, blood trailing from a dozen wounds. Men fell back and drove in, playing a game of razor-edged tag.

He and Dac started forward, but Cassin dragged them back.

“It's a timeshadow!”

“She's in pain.” Corim moaned.

Dac's face turned stony, eyes narrowed and fists clenching.

“That happened decades ago, Corim. Come on.”

He turned away, stomach in knots. Behind them he heard the distant roar of a bloodthirsty crowd...

The mists were silent, but Corim could still hear Beia's primal yell. It was the scream of a cornered animal; a savage Beia, not tempered by the years. The image made him shudder.

“Lass, this running around is doing nothing I can see.”

“It's a grid pattern. I've allowed for the drift and the fact that we're being pulled toward that.” She pointed at the black rift in the sky.

Corim swallowed. “We could fall into it?”

“Eventually.”

“I don't like that.”

“Likewise.”

Light blazed around them. A voluptuous brown-haired woman in red livery drifted down from the sky. A metallic staff glittered in her hand.

“Mother,” Cassin murmured.

“Who are you?” Her strident voice seemed to echo through wastes.

A booming contralto answered back. “I don't answer questions, brat. I ask them.”

Corim turned to see a white-haired woman a head taller than himself, dressed in a black tunic and breeches. She wore a platinum headdress fashioned into the image of war-bird's head, and a flowing cloak of feathers trailed in the wind.

Cassin clutched Corim's hand. “Aarlen.”

A knot hardened in his throat. “That's her?”

Cassin nodded. “The one in red is my mother, Dorian.”

He could see from whom the sisters had inherited their curvaceous figures.

Aarlen sneered. “Tell me where the Crown is, and I may let you live.”

Dorian frowned. “It is safe.”

Other specters solidified out of the mists. Wiry Beia stood next to a huge Myrmigyne with platinum hair that stretched to her ankles. Next to them stood a Kriar who looked to be Cassin's twin except she was taller and more slender. That had to be Cassin's mother, Cassandra.

Dac growled. Somehow it sounded affectionate. “My Desi.”

A small, perfectly proportioned maiden with bone-white hair stood at the Kriar's side with daggers in either hand. There were others, but Corim couldn't make them out in the mists.

“Why shouldn't I simply kill you?”

“Because you'd never get it back. We sent it to Isis for safe keeping.”

“You lie!” The vehemence in those words made Corim wince.

“Kill us, and she will have it.”

Aarlen narrowed her eyes, looking at Dorian's golden companion. “You are the one who took it. What did you do?”

“You're talking to me.”

Aarlen responded without hesitation, backhanding the woman so hard that the smack echoed. Dorian picked herself up, the crimson splotch on her cheek growing redder as she flushed.

“Shut your mouth, little girl.”

Beia and the other Myrmigyne flanked Aarlen. The other two stood behind Dorian.

“I blocked the ether against everything. How did you escape?”

Cassandra smiled. “Tell me who you are, first.”

Aarlen narrowed her eyes. “They call me the Ice Falcon.”

“Well,” Cassandra glanced at the others. “What I did was—” Instantly, Aarlen stood alone. At first, she looked surprised, baneful silver eyes wide in amazement, then they narrowed to slits. Her fists clenched, and she screamed in frustration.

Corim tuned out the invective, pulling Cassin away from the scene.

Out of sight, Corim shook her. “Beia is going to marry that!?”

“Well, she's changed since then.”

Corim shook his head. “She needed a whole new personality!”

“The Eternals mellowed her a bit.”

Dac laughed. “Aye, and then some.”

“Wait.” Corim reviewed Cassin's earlier words in his head. “You said Dorian was your mother a moment ago, but Beia said Cassandra is your mother.”

“She is.”

“So, is Dorian your step-mother?”

“No,” the gold woman sighed. “She's as much a part of my blood as Cassandra. It's—um—complicated.”

Corim frowned and looked at Dac.

The dwarf grinned. “It be her story to tell, not mine.” He glanced at Cassin. “An odd tale ‘tis, too.”

She looked back at him. “Thanks.”

“Any time, Lass.”

Scenes danced around them. He relived his most grueling battles. Cassin and Annawen's adventures showed that they weren't strangers to action. Dac and the beautiful white-haired woman had taken part in some extraordinary escapades.

“What are these things, Missy?”

“We're paradoxes, the associated shreds of the timeline that came unraveled are attracted to us.”

Dac shook his head.

“Parts of our past are coming back to haunt us.” Corim translated. His hand clenched on Eboneye. “I want out of here.”

“As soon as we find them, we leave.”

“Good.”

“So, you're the time-damned bastard who plans to take me out.”

Corim heard it and turned part way, but Cassin grabbed his shoulder.

“Ignore it, timeshadow.”

“Learn what's real, wench.”

Somebody shoved Cassin from behind, knocking her in the dirt. The figure spun Corim around.

Eboneye snarled, and Corim looked up—and up.

“Rakaar.”

The Baronian scowled. He wore black breeches, his chest was bare and bleeding from what looked to be self-inflicted wounds. A jeweled circle held his braided hair in place. A huge, gold battle-sword gleamed in his fist.

“Cassin—get—” Corim glanced over his shoulder. She'd vanished.

“Pay attention,” Rakaar struck.

Corim sidestepped and guarded with Eboneye. The stroke rebounded with flash of sparks.

The sound of metal smashing on meat smash preceded Rakaar's sudden howl of pain. He staggered back clutching his leg.

DacWhirter tensed like a spring, teeth gritted and hammer bloody. “Old Dac hates being ignored. I challenge ye, fair combat.” He flashed a look at Corim. “Find the Lass.”

Corim snatched around, Cassin had vanished. “What about—”

“Do it, Lad! I'll handle dross-face here.”

Rakaar grimaced. “You'll regret this, Stump.”

“Me mother used to say that, too.”

Corim could see the wound in Rakaar's thigh had already stopped bleeding. “Dac—”

The Baronian charged. They clashed sword to hammer in a savage exchange. Dac dodged a sword blow, then slammed an upward strike into Rakaar's groin with a crack, spun and drove a swing into the giant's sternum.

The Baronian dropped to his knees, clutching himself and screaming, tears welling in his eyes.

Dac jumped back. “Now, I know that hurts.”

Rakaar gritted his teeth and wiped the moisture off his face. “This isn't your fight. If I have to kill you both, that's the way it'll be.” He surged to his feet.

What's he talking about?

Corim couldn't find Cassin anywhere in the immediate area. He was torn between the desire to help Dac, and warrior's ethic; honoring the challenge between two masters in battle.

The two clashed, slamming blows home that ripped both opponents bloody. Dac's height gave him impressive leverage and made him a smaller target. The dwarf also possessed some magic that allowed his wounds to heal as fast as Rakaar.

Neither of the two warriors boasted now, only grunts of pain. They fought to the death, and Corim stood on the precipice.

Come on, Dac. Yell, and I'll be in there. We'll take him down.

He didn't call. The dwarf fought with every bit of stamina and skill worthy of the legends. He went full on, in a staggering display of raw power. Roll, slam, strike, shift, block, feint, sweep.

Rakaar slipped on a patch of ground, and Dac swarmed on the advantage by slamming the leg completely out from under the Baronian. The giant fell, and the dwarf came over the top, knocking away the defending sword and bringing the mallet down to crush the warmage's head.

A battle yell. An exchange in the blink of an eye. Rakaar blocked the hammer in the one hand, and struck out with the palm of his other. The blow landed on the bridge of Dac's nose with a crunch that made a jolt shoot through Corim's body.

Dac's yell turned to a scream. He toppled backward, clutching his bloody face, writhed for a moment, and went still.

Corim's whole body turned to ice. Ishtar ... the con'gorot ... He's dead.

Rakaar lay on his back for a moment, as though in shock. He jumped up.

“Get up, Stump, damn you!” He kicked Dac. “You had me, by the stars!” He screamed, booting the still body. His voice broke up into an incoherent stumble in his native tongue.

Corim's whole body tingled with the blood rush. “Damn you!” Corim lunged. Eboneye shrieked as he feinted and double cut.

Rakaar, shocked alive by Corim's movement, blocked the attacks easily. He drove in, slamming Corim back with the same powerful style Tal had used.

“Bastard,” Rakaar snarled. “You soil me. Guarding your worthless hide with a true warrior!”

What is he ranting?

Every part of Beia's training wanted maneuvering space. Instead, Corim closed with the giant.

Diving straight at the Baronian's feet, he rolled and came hard in, tying up his powerful hands for an instant. Bracing Eboneye, he slammed the haft across the man's jaw with stone crushing force. It was the same stroke he'd caught Beia with.

Rakaar's head snapped around, and he hit the dirt with a crunch. Rolling, he launched back to his feet like a cat. He wiped the blood from his mouth.

“All right, a surprise. Maybe you aren't worthless.”

Terrific. His arm was numb from the force he'd used.

He would have welcomed any help as he stared into Rakaar's mahogany eyes.

“Sorry, you're too dangerous. You have to go.”

Corim went defensive as Rakaar hammered in. The Baronian's strikes were equal to Tal's in every way. He reacted with lightning speed, always pressing, never allowing counterstroke.

Relying purely on his new training, Corim concentrated on staying alive.

Have to keep sharp. Dac almost got him.

“You dishonor the Stump, Whelp, he deserved proper rites.”

Corim hesitated for an instant, and felt the sting of his error. White-hot nails burrowed into his left shoulder as a cut chopped into his deltoid.

“Your errors promise my escape.”

What is this drivel he keeps muttering? Corim's eyes watered at the pain, but he kept moving. He dodged three lunges meant to finish him, sidestepped and made an easily blocked riposte.

“There's an angry Kriar behind you!”

Rakaar snorted. “Don't expect me to—” he let out a roar of pain as a blade of light cut across his ribs.

He spun to face his attacker.

Dulcere smiled. She stood spinning Meridian's inhibitor chain in a circle. A lance of blue light emitted from her free hand. The Kriar still wore the same tattered silver raiment he'd first seen her in, and her hair lay in flaccid strands.

Her thoughts stabbed out like daggers. <Leave him alone, Rakaar.>

Rakaar shook his head. “Dead, and that idiot Meridian still haunts me!”

<What a shame.>

I won't stand aside this time.

Corim took a step, and Rakaar brought the point of his sword up. “Come a little closer, Boy.” He glanced at Dulcere. “Let me remove your head, that will solve my problems.”

<I don't think so.> Dulcere let the chain drop to the ground and frowned.

A flash. Two arcs of light crossed in front of Rakaar. The scratches on his chest were crossed by two more.

Corim blinked.

So did Rakaar.

Dulcere's smile was cold. She kicked the chain toward Rakaar. <I do not forgive, nor forget.>

Rakaar frowned. “If I have to beat you too, I will.”

Corim's eyes grew large. Something odd is going on.

Dulcere arched an eyebrow.

Rakaar spun the sword in his hand. He glanced at Dac. “One down, two to go. Your move, Belkirin.”

She glanced at Dac. Face tight, she circled slowly, her glowing weapon ready. Rakaar shifted with her, shoulders relaxed, face placid, no discernable emotion. His expression betrayed no fear as he prepared to battle one of the most powerful creatures in existence.

The initial clash startled Corim. He never saw Dulcere move, didn't catch the lightning movement that saved Rakaar from instant death.

<You've become timewise. Perhaps it won't be as unbalanced as that fight you had with Meridian's pit fighters.>

“I can beat you,” Rakaar's voice sounded strained. He didn't sound convinced. Burns and cuts laced his torso.

They lunged simultaneously. Their bodies became nothing but hissing blurs as weapons and limbs cut the air in clash and counter attack.

Rakaar fell back clutching his arm. His right bicep and forearm were sliced to the bone in several places.

<Go. I sense the chronal charge in you. I can't kill you here without further damaging time.>

“Curse you to the timewinds!” Rakaar vanished in a rainbow of colors.

Dulcere narrowed her eyes,looking at the spot where the Baronian had stood. She started forward and collapsed as if her bones had turned to water.

Corim caught her on the way down, his heart thudding.

No, don't let her be dead. She can't die, can she? He listened to Dulcere's hearts. One was beating. The other simply vibrated. He scrambled around her in confusion. He'd heard that a sharp blow to the chest sometimes restarted an ailing heart. The heart that wasn't beating was in her lower abdomen. He knew nothing of Kriar physiology, or what he might injure accidentally.

He scanned frantically. What do I do?

Corim poised his hands over the heart, ready to try to massage it back into motion again. His eyes crossed the haft of Eboneye lying in the dirt. The heal.

He grabbed the spear. “Can you heal her?”

The pause seemed unimaginably long. <Of course.>

“Do it.”

Another pause. <Say please.>

“What?” Corim eyes bulged. There was something familiar to that tone. “Eboneye, I don't—oh damn it—please!”

<If I have to.> He recognized the sound—a jealous woman.

He passed the spear over Dulcere's body, and Eboneye glowed. Its magic played over the Kriar.

Numerous nicks and cuts closed as he watched. Darkened, greenish abrasions turned to the normal color of her flesh. She sucked a deeper breath, body relaxing.

<I deserve a long cleaning and some tender polishing.> Eboneye's tone was more a demand than a request.

“You'll get it.”

<Soon.>

“Soon.” Dac was dead, the sisters lost, and his only means of finding them had collapsed. Now, Eboneye was acting up.

He put Dulcere's head in his lap to make her comfortable, and took a blanket from his pack to put it over her. He ran his fingers through the Kriar's silky hair. It was so soft. Tatters best described her clothing.

He frowned. Where could he find something to drape her in? The most immediate concern was finding a way out.

He studied the rift in the sky. A wound in reality itself. His eyes fell on Dac's torn body. The bastard got away. Oh, Ishtar, why did she let him go?

<Thank you, Corim.> Dulcere thought to him.

Her star-mottled eyes were open. Corim felt a rush of warmth that almost canceled the ice that tightening around his soul.

Damn it, what good is honor? I let you take on that monster alone. He swallowed. “I should thank you. He killed my friend, and would have killed me.”

She glanced at Dac's body. <If it had been anywhere but here, we could have saved—> she stopped. <I wish I could have come sooner. An unexpected side-trip delayed me.>

“You got here, that's what's important. You almost killed yourself, as it is.”

She frowned. <I owed that dark spawn. It will hurt him deeply to know I've shown him mercy a second time.>

His gaze drifted to Dac's body, now starting to turn gray. An icy fist clenched in his chest. “He needs to be hurt.”

She nodded.

“We tried to get you away from Meridian. Just couldn't seem to do it.”

<It was a worthy attempt. When you cut me loose, I was a heartbeat too slow. It meant a lot to me that you even wanted to try. I've been alone a long time.>

“You won't have to be, as long as I'm alive.”

She closed her eyes and smiled. <You know nothing of me.>

“I like the little I know.”

She grinned. <Ah, youth. Do you know how long it's been since I was that young?>

A knot welled up in his throat, and he forced it down.

“Thousands.”

She nodded. <Nine hundred thousand, including those I've slept.>

“Are you numb, then?”

<I feel what burns in you. I feel a fire I thought I'd never experience again.> She sighed. <You understand about feelings like that and an empath?>

<A friend told me.>

Sighing, she tried to sit up, only to fall back again. Corim felt a rush of embarrassment quickly capped. Dulcere would have blushed if she could have.

“What's wrong?”

<To get away from Meridian, I told my matrixes to short themselves to simulate death. I've been in the void for months of relative time. It took a great deal of effort simply to return here. Were I not able to capitalize on an opportunity backtime, I wouldn't have made it at all.>

Months? It had only been two ten-days. Cassin's voice echoed in his head. Time doesn't move here. Space does.

Two ladies that came with me are young Kriar. “They can probably help. If we can find them.”

Dulcere shook her head. <There's no such thing as a young Kriar.>

“These two are barely two score summers old. Beia, the one with the bow, is their godmother.”

Dulcere took a breath. <Obviously, I've missed a lot.>

Corim nodded. “Before we try to leave, I have to do something for my friend.”

He looked at Dac, hands trembling. Gently disentangling himself from Dulcere, he started to move, and she caught his arm.

<Corim, I sense he didn't die in vain.> She closed her eyes.

He nodded and went to the stocky man. Because of the strange nature of Siderous Chronus, his body still felt warm. There was no doubt, though, that the spirit had departed the body of this gruff but valiant warrior.

He shuddered. Damn it. Should have been me. Rakaar didn't even want to fight him.

Crossing the dwarf's arms and placing the hammer on his chest, Corim placed the fingers so that they gripped the hilt. By the time Corim finished, his hands trembled and were slick with sweat.

In a choked voice, Corim spoke Ishtar's prayer over him, and what he could remember of the dwarven rites he'd heard in the battlefields and read in books. Swallowing, he reached out and closed Dac's eyes forever.

<I'm sorry.> Dulcere thought in the silence. <From what I can tell of your feelings, he was a good person.>

He let out a breath and nodded. The living must go on. Beia and the girls are counting on me. “We have to get out of here. Can you stand?”

<I'll try.>

He helped her up, and when she couldn't support herself, he put her arm around his neck.

“We were separated. Cassin said she would find the others with something called a ‘grid pattern'. Can you do that?”

Dulcere nodded. <Which way were you going last?>

Corim looked over his shoulder. There weren't any landmarks. He searched around until he found their footprints. “There.”

<Look again, Corim.>

He blinked. Three paces beyond, the prints looked chopped in half as if by a knife.

He groaned. “How will we ever find them in this insanity?”

Dulcere thought for a moment. <Did either of them have a black box with them?>

“They both have something called a ‘cyber-unit'.”

Dulcere raised an eyebrow. <Engineering equipment? Excellent.> She paused. <Cassin had the right idea. If she's still laying down a pattern, all we need to do is patch into her cyber, and triangulate.>

“Triangulate? I'm not familiar with the term.”

Dulcere sighed. <We'll take bearings from different locations to find her.>

He thought about in for a moment. “Oh. So how do we do this ‘patching'? They can't reach with telepathy.”

<Some frequencies have longer ranges than others. Give me a moment.> She closed her eyes and concentrated.

<That way.> She pointed.

“You're the boss.”

The Kriar sighed. <Corim, that is more pleasant to my ears than you can imagine...> Mother always had a soft spot for the younger races. She often took protégés from promising members of culturally compatible races. I have always marveled at the depth of her compassion, her patience, and her ability to see into the hearts of minds of creatures so different from ourselves. I think part of it is that she has always loved children. Even before the conflict with the Jyril, Kriar fertility had been on a downswing. For myself, I don't actively dislike the younger races. I don't refer to them as the “lesser” cultures as many Kriar do. I simply never gave those peoples much thought. Given my responsibilities, having to interact with any of them is unlikely in any analysis...—Dulcere Val'Saedra Starbinder

Corim trudged along, head throbbing, throat tight, and stomach knotted. His slashed shoulder should have been covered in blood, but here it only oozed with agonizing slowness. As they passed through the thicker clouds, when the acrid moisture touched his wounds it felt as if he was being raked by red-hot claws.

To block out the pain, he focused on the tumbling mists that curled around them across the tabletop plain. He listened to the hollow crunch of their feet on the brittle ground, and felt the burn as he inhaled the stench that plagued the atmosphere. For the thousandth time, he studied the black scar that hovered in the sky like a death god.

I can't believe Dac's gone.

Sighing, he glanced at Dulcere. Instead of rescuing her, she'd saved him from Rakaar. It wasn't the way he'd planned to start his visionary relationship.

He knew that if he dwelled on it, she would pick it up in his thoughts. Worse, his emotions were an open book to her empathic abilities. He did not want to make her uncomfortable, not so soon.

Dulcere's thoughts intruded on his concentration. <How is the shoulder?>

“It won't slow us down.” He kept his face stony.

Dulcere shook her head and stopped. Stepping over, she examined the wound. Since Eboneye had healed Dulcere, her strength had gradually returned. Dulcere needed support to walk, but could stand unassisted.

They'd missed linking up with Cassin and Annawen a few times by what could only be termed fractions of an instant. In this paradoxical realm, it might as well have been continents away. Dulcere seemed certain that the girls knew that they were being searched for.

The Kriar's fingers traced the wound in his shoulder, and he flinched.

<Males.>

“What?”

She sighed. <I'm only noting a common racial characteristic—even after millions of cycles of evolution.>

Corim frowned, not understanding.

<This needs tending.>

“No herbs or anything to make a bandage. The twins can heal it when we find them.”

<Cell adjustment?>

“They just do it. I'm not sure how.”

<These two are interesting. They brought you here as well?>

He nodded.

Dulcere raised an eyebrow. <Time divers, at their age? Homeworld has changed.> A pause. <We should cauterize the wound until it's properly healed.>

That sounded ominous. A sharp twinge went through his shoulder.

<It will hurt.>

He took a breath. “So does the wound.”

<Get something to bite on.>

Corim pulled his belt off and folded it double. He stared when the blade of light sprouted from her hand. Swallowing, he bit down on the leather and held down the urge to tremble as she manipulated the weapon. The searing pain and the sizzle of flesh were over quickly.

Corim wiped away the tears in his eyes, and put the belt back on with a sigh. The odor of singed meat was disturbing.

<That will keep the chemicals in the mist out of it.>

He wanted something to keep his mind off the burning smell and Dac. “Where does that sword come from, and where does it go? Cassin has one, but she won't tell me.”

The corner of Dulcere's mouth quirked. <I wouldn't want to ruin her secret.>

Corim let out a breath and started forward again.

They moved at a measured pace. The shifting of this space was not random, according to Dulcere. She explained that the more predictably they moved, the easier finding the others would be.

Cassin's weary voice came from behind them. “Finally.”

They turned.

Cassin's eyes widened, and her golden skin turned the turned a pale ochre color. “Saeba hal ja, Belkirin.”

It was the same musical language he'd heard when they first left Eternity's Heart. The communication was more than words. Melodies resonated above and below the phonetics. It was as if that short phrase were a song for a host of voices rather than one.

“Cada. Teh hal ja.” Dulcere nodded to Cassin. The simple exchange seemed to explain completely to the younger Kriar how the elder got there.

Cassin swallowed and looked from Dulcere to Corim. “How'd that happen? Where's Dac?”

He scowled and let out a breath. “Rakaar got him. I couldn't stop the Baronian. Dulcere drove him off.”

Cassin's eyes misted. “Dac—he's—dead?” Her lip quivered. “Oh, Isis.” She hugged herself and shuddered. “Oh, dark—Desiray will be—oh, no—”

It took a while for her to regain control. She steeled herself with effort. Eventually, Cassin examined his wound, and soon repaired it. Corim relaxed when the pain and the charred smell went away.

Dulcere paused and rubbed her chin. <Let us find your sister.>

Using Cassin's device and Dulcere's skill, they walked close together in their search for Annawen.

<There.> Dulcere pointed.

Annawen appeared from the mists walking at a tangent to their path.

Cassin started forward, but Dulcere took her arm. <Steady speed, she'll get here.>

Annawen increased her pace, but Dulcere gestured her to slow down. It seemed to take a long time, but Annawen finally stood with them.

Cassin clutched her sister tightly. Annawen was shaking and pale.

<Don't do that to me again,> Annawen directed at her sister.

“Do that to you?”

Dulcere folded her arms and watched the two sisters. Corim could sense the ancient woman's feelings. Cassin and Annawen were more than a re-establishment of contact with her people. If he'd understood what she'd said correctly, they represented an end to eons of infertility.

There's no such thing as a young Kriar.

Cassin stopped Annawen's emotional outburst with a firm shake. “Annawen, Soranda Belkirin Eh'san Dulcere—” she looked at the elder Kriar.

Annawen's eyes grew round. “Eh'san...” she squeaked. The rest Corim assumed was an apology.

Cassin then told her sister the inevitable bad news about Dac. Annawen took it better than Corim had imagined she would. The girl seemed very fond of the dwarf.

Teeth gritted and face hard instead of crying, she only cursed. <Isis, how those bastards will pay—> She controlled herself with obvious effort. <We have to find Beia.>

<Yes, I wondered why she wasn't with you.> Dulcere looked at him. <The young lady's skill impressed me.>

Young? He guessed everyone was young to her. “How do we find her?”

Dulcere frowned and turned to Cassin. <Does she have something with a unique signature? Something we can track?>

“I can try to find Snowfire.” She pulled the black device off her belt and began tapping on it.

<How long in?>

Cassin didn't look up. “In the service? Only twenty cycles.”

<For someone who should still be in school, they let you play with expensive toys.>

<We're in the Saraeh academy,> Annawen thought.

<Saraeh? They wouldn't let you in the field until you were five hundred at least.>

<They made exceptions for us.>

<What happened?>

<Our mother found the cure for the Jyril gene lock.>

Dulcere's eyes widened, and her jaw dropped. <You would not—>

Cassin glanced at Annawen. “No. It was repaired thirty cycles ago.”

<All?>

“Every Kriar on homeworld.”

<How?>

Cassin smiled. “Momma Cassandra used a whole lot of magic.”

The two Kriar, young and old, stared at one another for a long time.

Dulcere bit her lip. <That explains young ones who are time diving centuries before they should. Holding military rank and insignia before they've finished basic training.>

“We've been shown some favoritism.”

<Perhaps I should be the one addressing you as Eh'san.>

“Eh'san, without your help we will not even have a homeworld to return to.”

Dulcere looked blankly at Cassin, then her features seemed to melt, and she began to shake. Tears welled in her ebony eyes. She threw back her head and howled.

The sound stunned Corim. Cassin and Annawen froze, petrified by Dulcere's burst of despair and rage.

Like a man wading through a storm, he pushed through the waves of pain to take Dulcere by the shoulders.

“No!” It was a command. He shook her once, his fingers digging into the Kriar's arms.

Contact.

The blast of sharing knocked Corim to his knees. The shattered timeline. Humans and Kriar dead. Fertility returned. The torture. Red-hot shackles. Blood on her hands. The scar in the sky. Everything gone. Meridian. Death. Children. Life. Time. Love. Loss...

The sensations hit him like arrows. It was more than the full realization of what Meridian had forced her to do. He saw images of war, of fighting and the Belkiran's duty; a shattered body, rocks falling. Thousands of centuries. Regret. Her mother grieving. Jaquen dead. Daergon Surr and the terrible mistake she made. The Jyril's curse now gone from everyone but her.

With his power now so strong, Corim thought he could simply drain off the despair as he'd done with the twins. These were old wounds ripped open by new pain. He fought simply to retain his identity. Dulcere had constrained these emotions, but even for her there were limits. The floodgates were open, and all Corim could do was try to keep from drowning.

He fought the current without success, and then in desperation let it carry him away. An instinct in him knew what to do. Corim relaxed, opening himself to negatives, embracing them.

He let the waves of calm play through her. Despair into hope, anger into calm, and loss into discovery. Corim bathed her in a sanity built of her own grief.

In moments, Dulcere went silent.

The ancient woman clenched her fists and glared at him.

<Never do that to me again.> She shook herself loose.

“But—”

Dulcere turned her back on him.

“I—”

Cassin put a hand on his arm and shook her head. “Give her time. Damn, I didn't think—I thought...” She trembled, obviously shaken from her own empathic contact. The Kriar swallowed. “You dragged Dulcere back from a nasty fall, let her sort it out.”

Dulcere remained quiet, but did not stray from the group. Cassin quietly directed them along the trace she discovered. They moved through the misty stench for what seemed a league, and then down a slight decline where Cassin stopped.

“Beia was close,” Cassin told Corim. “Probably following our tracks, but we keep moving around.”

“If we stand still, won't we drift off?”

<No.> Dulcere raised her head and looked at them. <Not if you etherlock us.>

“Eh'San, that takes a lot of power. We still have to break out of here.”

<If she gets too far away, we will never find her.>

“But I—”

<Have you forgotten the chain of command, Searga? Do it. Use the cyber to reserve some power. Give me an anchor so I can bring her in.> She looked at Annawen. <Give me your link.>

Annawen did as Dulcere ordered.

<Now.>

“Eh'San.” It was the sound of a soldier who didn't want to follow an order. Cassin closed her eyes and extended her arms. A nimbus of energy flickered around her body, and the air grew thick and heavy.

Dulcere looked at Corim. <Help me walk. There is not much time.>

The elder Kriar tapped some buttons on the device and pointed.

Corim supported her as they stumbled into the swirling fog. Dulcere referred back to the device every moment or so to correct their course. He sensed she was forcing herself to move. The tension in her muscles indicated pain. Mentally she'd gone to the brink of breakdown and back. Her defenses were low, and the turmoil was leaking through.

“Dulcere—”

<I know you're sorry. You meant well. We shall discuss it later.>

Corim let out a breath, relieved that he hadn't made an enemy.

They turned right and left through the fog, like walking the corridors of a maze. The stench grew more potent, and the scar in the sky appeared a magnitude larger.

<The area is destabilizing.>

“What?”

Dulcere stopped and put the device away. <No time. We can't move fast enough. She can. Open your mind to me.>

Corim flinched. “No.”

<Are your secrets more important than her life?>

A tense moment. Defeat. “Do it.”

He relaxed as Dulcere put her hands on his temples. He wasn't sure what she planned, but hoped it would be worth it. The Kriar's thoughts touched his. Her mind was turbulent. The task of retrieving the Myrmigyne was a focus.

She drew on his strength as she'd done in the battle. This time the pull was stronger. She searched for something, a feathery probe that flickered through his mind until it found the object she sought.

Beia.

She understood his talent. There was still a tenuous link even over the vast distance between them.

<BEIA.> Dulcere's thought burst through him so loud he reeled.

Far off. Excitement. <Who?>

<Corim, Dulcere. This zone is destabilizing. Come toward us as fast as you can.>

<Coming.> A pause. <Tracer.>

<Done.> Corim's head ached as if his brain had run a marathon.

Every few moments, Dulcere sent a pulse of thought. It seemed to siphon the strength out of him. Somehow, Dulcere was reaching across that immense distance with his metapathic power.

He swallowed. “I feel like I'm burning up.”

<Not much longer.>

Pulse.

The mists gyrated and dots swam in his vision.

Pulse.

It felt like a sword butt straight between the eyes.

Pulse.

A figure in the mist came toward them at full sprint. His skull felt ready to split. The silhouette danced around impossibly. The rent in the sky grew larger.

<Hold on, a moment more.>

He gritted his teeth, ready to scream with the pain. What was she doing to him?

Beia slid up next to them, chest heaving. Her tunic was torn and burned. She looked to have been in a major battle.

Dulcere let go of his mind. It felt as if he imploded. His tensed muscles went limp at the cessation of that pressure.

<That way.> Dulcere pointed, after tapping for a moment on the device. <Quickly. The youngsters won't hold long.>

Corim staggered to his feet, lurched forward, then fell to all fours, every limb trembling. Beia turned, seeing them nearly paralyzed. Grabbing him by the belt, she hoisted him to his feet, and gave Dulcere shoulder support. Together the three of them stumbled back the way they'd come.

<Get ready for transition. It's going to be close.>

A glance back showed the terrain crumbling behind them. Rocks and debris swirled as if stirred by a tornado.

Corim willed his cramped legs into motion, feeling the muscles bind in protest. The air became a gale, and the mists a stinking haze.

Finally, his body obeyed, and he could pick up the pace and help Beia with Dulcere. The wind sucked at their heels as they struggled forward.

“What's happening?”

<Aftershocks from the timequake. Ripples bounced off the anomaly.>

Lumbering forward, they started down the decline toward Cassin and Annawen. One of the figures was gesturing frantically.

“Where's Dac!”

<The Baronian killed him,> Dulcere thought. <The boy tried to help—>

Corim pushed for an extra bit of speed, tripped and slowed himself instead.

Beia snarled. Corim felt a blast of anger and regret from her. “Corim, move it, or we are really history.”

Gritting his teeth, he drove to increase the pace.

Dulcere glanced back, eyes widening. “Cassin, we hit that circle,” she yelled into the cyber. “Warp us out!”

“I don't have a plot!” Cassin's voice came from the black box.

“Do it. I'll get you that vector. I'll give you a five count to power up.”

“Eh'san!"

“Go.”

Corim put a final surge of energy into the last fifty paces. The wind howled and tore at their backs, and the fabric of Siderous Chronous broke up into huge hunks and hurtled toward the black maw. The glow around Cassin had turned an angry red, and her face was a mask of tension.

<3—2—1—>

Corim lurched down at Annawen's feet and latched onto her leg.

<Jump!>

The ground around them shattered into a billion fragments. Stars and nebulae exploded into being. He felt a gut-wrenching slam to one side.

A jarring stop was followed by the sensation of being swung as if they'd hit the end of a rope and were whipped around a pole. Stars flickered briefly, then the rift yawned infinitely large.

<No power!> Cassin gasped.

Dulcere's thought cut through the buffeting. <Cassin. Vector; Delta, One five, tangent, one mark six relative.>

<Eh'san.>

<Cassin, don't that'll—>

They plunged savagely toward the anomaly.

<On my mark. Vector; Delta ought five, tangent ought mark seven absolute. Point one. Point two—>

Spinning debris tumbled around them. Rainbows of light flickered insanely as they spun downward.

<Don't miss the mark. Point four—>

Annawen's thought was frantic. <Cassin, she's crazy. Cut across the corona. Sine Theta oh four one relative.>

<Belay that! Point six—mark. Hard in!>

They ripped across space as another stomach-twisting turn sent them toppling off with quadruple their velocity.

<I'm losing the analogue field with all these riders.>

<Calm, Searga, we must punch out now while we have a chance.>

<I—> Cassin's thought was weak.

<Field; oh six two, mass relative nine four one mark three—> she rattled a string of words Corim didn't understand. Space howled like a creature in torment.

<Execute.>

Blackness. It's challenging enough to deal with a normal generation gap, where your seniors might be double or possibly triple your age. With time, you learn to take being called ‘kid’ and ‘youngster’ in stride. Then there are age gaps that just defy any ability to meet on common terms. Imagine someone ten centuries your elder, go further yet to hundreds of centuries. I can't imagine how Aarlen and Beia get along as well as they do. Then there's the real stretch. The Kriar. Hundreds of thousands of years separate Annawen and I from their youngest. We can't be anything but children in their eyes despite the fact we're adults in our own culture. It's a struggle we're still dealing with...—Cassin Kel'Ishtauri Felspar

The time void whirled around him in an indescribable miasma, hammering Corim's senses like physical blows that made his limbs twitch, as though controlled by some insane puppeteer.

Annawen grabbed his arm and pulled him close. <Don't look into the void. Close your eyes.>

The young Kriar's face appeared as nothing but a distorted pastel. He clenched his eyes shut. The sensations diminished.

<Eh'San,> Cassin thought. <I lost the transition fix.>

<Stay cool, Searga,> Dulcere responded.

<Samna.>

Corim felt Beia's tension. <You took a big chance. I don't even know you.>

<Belkiran Dulcere Starbinder, Shrike Legion tactical for Dasta Daergon,> she thought. <Searga?>

<Eh'San.> Corim could sense Cassin's fatigue.

Dulcere thought a long string of phonetics.

Cassin nodded. <Samna.>

Corim felt something akin to acceleration. His stomach twisted, and he heaved convulsively into timelessness.

<We're losing Corim,> Annawen thought.

<He'll survive,> Beia responded.

Corim hoped not.

He felt himself twisted inside out. Reality flickered and slammed home like a brick between the eyes.

Corim sat up, weak from purging. His knuckles dragged across the hard, blackened glass that formed the floor of the overgrown depression where they'd appeared. The late afternoon sun burned low on the horizon, casting shadows in a long gouge in the landscape. Above them in the distance stood a collapsed hillside.

<Searga, we have to work on those landings.> Dulcere held her skull.

“Ni, Eh'San.” She dropped to her knees.

Cassin's eyelids drooped, and she pitched over. Dulcere caught her before she hit. Kneeling, she put her hands on Cassin's shoulders.

<I take back my words. Your grit makes you worthy of Searga rank.>

The two Kriar looked in each other's eyes. Cassin smiled.

<Rest. You've done well.> She lowered Cassin gently, and cradled the woman's head in her lap.

Beia stood. “She nearly died following your orders.”

Annawen frowned, and sat to take Cassin's hand.

Dulcere looked at Beia. <Cassin did what was necessary.>

The Myrmigyne scowled. “You can't push them like blooded Kriar warriors. You'll kill them.”

Dulcere sighed. <If my matrixes were operational, I would handle this, but circumstances do not permit.> She brushed the hair out of Cassin's eyes. <I set a stern task, and she performed admirably.>

“Look, I've already lost two friends because of you. Any more decisions to risk lives will be mine, all right?”

Dulcere frowned. <I am sorry about the female Meridian killed, and the short one. If I could have helped, I would have.>

Beia nodded and took a breath. She looked at Corim. He could feel the turmoil in her. She didn't voice the question, but he could see it in Beia's eyes. What were you doing when he died?

The Myrmigyne looked around. “So where the Hades are we?”

<A hundred years before the diffraction. Back to where it began.>

“I found something.” Corim pulled a blackened mass from the confines of a stringy bush. He rubbed his stomach reflexively. Even bells later, he still felt twinges.

“What is it?” Beia walked over. Her tone was stern. Even after explaining the circumstances of Dac's death, Corim felt she still held him partially to blame. The weight of it hung around his shoulders like lead.

“I think it's what's left of her blaster.” He held up the fused metal lump that vaguely resembled the weapons Cassin and Annawen wore. He looked down the 500 paces of trench to the shallow cone that Dulcere called the impact crater. “She lived through that?”

Beia followed his gaze, face unreadable. “Apparently.”

“Why won't she tell us what we're looking for?”

The Myrmigyne frowned. “She's being secretive for some reason. I wouldn't put up with it, except Cassin asked me to forebear.”

“She's acted funny since Dulcere joined us.” He looked to the other end of the trench where the three Kriar sat together.

Beia put hands on hips. “Take that to them. I'm going hunting. Unlike them, you and I need more than sunlight to subsist.”

Corim sighed and nodded.

She stopped and put a hand on his shoulder. “What's wrong?”

He frowned. “Dulcere isn't like I expected.”

Beia rolled her eyes. “What is it with you? Everything is gone, Dac's dead, and all you're thinking about is her. Get your priorities straight. If we don't repair time, there won't be a world to return to. Dulcere knows it. You should, too. Until then, there isn't time to play with lovesick little boys.”

Corim gritted his teeth and clenched his fists.

Her eyes narrowed. “Grow up, and focus on business.” She strode off.

He watched her go, guts twisted with anger. For a moment, he wanted to plunge Eboneye into the small of Beia's back.

Damn her. I liked Dac, too.

He turned toward the Kriar. Dulcere looked up, and their eyes met. She frowned. Stomach churning Corim marched over and shoved the object he had found into Cassin's hand.

“It was over there.” He pointed.

She raised an eyebrow. “What's bothering you?”

“Nothing.”

Annawen and Dulcere looked at him in silence.

Cassin looked toward Beia. “She's upset about Dac. She misses Aarlen, too.”

He looked over his shoulder. “She can take it out on someone else.”

Cassin sighed. “Brace yourself. It'll get worse.”

“Wonderful.” He stalked off.

Cassin said something, but he didn't listen. Following a blackhorn path that zigzagged down the plateau toward the desert, he headed in the direction of the setting sun. Scanning the russet mesas framed in pearly clouds, he realized that this beautiful land would be dead in a hundred years.

Reaching an outcrop that overlooked a vertical drop into cinnamon-colored sand, Corim stopped to fume. Grabbing a rock, he flung it over the precipice.

Beia is right. Damn it, I can't help how I feel, though. I didn't join up with her to save the universe. I saw Dulcere, we touched and I felt—

He clenched his fist.

Why me?

“I never understood what you saw in that gold hussy. I'm much prettier.”

“Eboneye, shut up.”

“You promised to clean me, remember?”

Grumbling, he sat on a boulder and pulled out his oil shammy. He worked the cloth vigorously over the weapon's wickedly sharp blade.

“Take it easy.”

He slacked off, knowing if he didn't take more care he'd lose fingers.

“Your mistress shouldn't be such a witch.”

“You should set your sight on something more attainable. Like me.”

“Oh yes, falling in love with an spear would be much more practical.”

“I'm loyal, trustworthy, I don't getfat, and I'm beautiful. What more could you want?”

“That's a bit rhetorical, don't you think?”

“I can have unreasonable aspirations too.”

He went silent, staring out at the burning ball on the horizon.

Maybe I am always trying to overstep my bounds; trying to push into the highest ranks of Tal's school, meeting Beia's challenge out of pride—wanting Dulcere's love.

Corim carefully tended the leather wrappings on the spear's haft. Wiping away the dried blood and trail dirt, he concentrated on mastering his feelings. The memory of his first contact with Dulcere was strong. Did he only imagine the recognition?

The sun sank lower. So much had happened, he needed to sort things out. Paradise, time travel, his metapathy, the Kriar, technology, they were all fantastic new discoveries. He never seemed to get a chance to ponder the revelations. Even the moons spent in Eternity's Heart were so hectic that he could hardly draw a breath.

Trying not to think of Dulcere made the images more persistent. His stomach ached every time he remembered Dulcere's furious face.

'Until then there isn't time to play with lovesick little boys.’ Beia struck a nerve with that statement.

He sighed and noticed the first star peeking out of the pale blue sky. The universe is crumbling, a friend dies, and all I can do is think about her. I'm so stupid.

<No, you merely know what you desire.>

Corim flinched, catching himself before he fell off the cliff. His ears burned as he looked into Dulcere's obsidian-colored eyes.

How long had she been standing there?

Smiling wryly, she stood there, the waning sunlight glinted orange reflections in her shiny skin. Even battle worn, she still looked beautiful.

Corim wanted to blurt an apology, or anything, that would make the hot feeling go away. Nothing came out.

Folding her arms, she looked at him sidelong. <Can I sit with you?>

Corim gave up trying to speak. He nodded, feeling the warm rush all the way to his toes.

She settled gracefully, not quite touching him.

A painfully long silence ensued.

<Corim, I do understand. I apologize for snapping at you. You were trying to help, albeit in a way that—> She paused. <I would have chosen a different means. Your metapathy is unusually strong, and it manipulates the beings around you.>

Corim found his voice with effort. “I've been controlling it.”

Dulcere raised an eyebrow. <I know you've been careful with your friends. You want me to feel for you.>

Corim swallowed. He hadn't consciously projected at her. What about unconsciously?

He clamped down on his thoughts, and searched her face for recognition, hoping to Ishtar he hadn't been sending vibrations.

Her face remained neutral. <I must tell you something.> Dulcere put a hand on her chest. <This body is a barren, unfeeling shell. I can touch things, feel them.> She picked up a rock and weighed it. <I cannot experience pleasure, cannot procreate or love. The Jyril took it from my people eons ago as a punishment. Part of what upset me was the news that I'd slept through the removal of that curse.>

“It can be fixed. They said so.”

<Perhaps. What if it can't? Would you still want me?>

“Of course!” His face burned.

<That is passion talking. Not intellect.>

“It shouldn't matter.”

<No? Corim, think, a Kriar's nominal life span is infinite. I am thirty thousand times your age.> She shook her head. <By the time I became accustomed to the idea of a human partner, you would be dust.>

Corim looked down. “I have trouble imagining a millennium.”

<Exactly.>

He looked at her impassive face. All of his hopes were being destroyed. I can't give up yet.

“No. Anything can be overcome. I've seen too much to doubt that. If you can care for me, I can find a way to stay with you.”

Dulcere pursed her lips, and eyed him for a moment. The beginnings of a smile warmed her face. <Are you worth all that fuss?>

Corim sucked a breath. “Cassin and Annawen thought so.”

She looked at him askance. <Then you should be courting them.>

“I prefer older women.”

Dulcere laughed. The sound startled him. <Your grandmother, twenty thousand generations removed. That is a fraction older.> She put a hand on his shoulder. <I will consider it. I think you'd be happier with a free spirit like Beia, rather than a philosophical, self-pitying old hag.>

“You're beautiful. Philosophy is my favorite pastime, and I don't think you've indulged in a minute of self pity in your whole life.”

She sighed. <Well, you'd be good for my ego.> She stood and looked around. <I think—>

“Dulcere.” Beia sprinted to a stop in front of them, face ashen. “I've found something you should see.”

The five of them trekked over the hill. Beia jogged ahead and kept nervously urging them to go faster. The trees grew denser as they went farther inland on the plateau, and the air filled with an odor similar to needleaf.

“Beia, why won't you tell us what it is?”

“Cassin, you need to see it. Come on.” She ran on.

Corim felt uneasy. “Eboneye. Seek.”

The spear vibrated. “Fat chance.”

“What?”

“I heard what you said to that hussy.”

Dulcere, who'd been walking next to him, looked surprised.

Growling, he felt himself redden. “Eboneye—”

“No.” A pause. “Tell me you love me.”

Cassin looked over, obviously shocked.

“Ebon—”

“I won't cut butter unless you love me, too. I've saved your life three times. I know my curves aren't much, but I've got personality.”

Corim's head throbbed. The three Kriar stifled laughs with difficulty.

“I love you, damn it.” He could feel the heat in his cheeks.

“Say it like you mean it.”

Corim felt a vein bulge in his temple. He forced down the urge to scream. Damn, Ishtar must hate me. “Eboneye, I do love you. It's a different kind of love.”

“Fine.” The spear glowed red. “No enemies within range.”

“Thank you,” he snarled.

Dulcere looked at him with one eye closed. <I didn't realize I had competition.>

The twins giggled.

Corim frowned. “It's not funny. Eboneye is serious.”

They followed Beia down into a valley choked with trees and rocks. Blue-green moss clung to the outcrops, and high grass grew in clumps a stone's throw across. The sounds of running water and crickets grew as the incline increased. A marshy smell mingled with the pine odor.

“Are you sure there's no enemies?”

The spear gleamed red again. “None I can detect.”

“It feels like we're being watched.”

Cassin nodded, casting about. Annawen did the same.

<The air is charged.> Dulcere looked serious and wary.

Corim sucked a breath. Anything that made Dulcere nervous wouldn't be good.

Annawen glanced up from her cyber. <Nothing but animal and insect life in scanning range.>

Beia dropped back. “We're close. Watch yourself, the ground is soft and there's only a little light left. There are things here, things that blend with the landscape.”

“So well that a cyber can't pick them up?”

Beia's voice trembled. “I trust my instincts.”

Corim felt a cold shiver run down his back.

Dulcere walked over to Annawen and looked at the cyber. They conferred for a moment. She took the device, tapped some buttons, panned around, tapped again, another pass. She repeated the action several times before handing it back with a shake of her head.

The Belkirin frowned.

Beia shifted from foot to foot. “You're wasting time.”

Curiosity. Corim snatched around. The burst of emotion had impinged on him like a door opening then closing. He opened his mind to surroundings.

He could feel the apprehension rumbling through Cassin and Annawen. Dulcere's emotions felt more subdued, unease with a hint of curiosity. Beia's confused him, excitement, tension, and anticipation.

The trees changed to a straight boled breed with an acrid smelling off-white bark. These grew closer together as they proceeded down slope.

As they walked, Corim sensed fleeting bursts of emotion. Mostly curiosity, sometimes revulsion, other times sympathy or concern. He never determined from where, simply that they were there—observing.

“There is something out there,” he said to Dulcere.

She nodded. <They want us to know they are there.>

The overlapping canopy overhead shut out the remaining light within a hundred paces. Beia asked Snowfire to give off light, and they walked inside the weapon's eerie radiance.

The ground leveled off, and the distant yammering of lily-hoppers broke the monotony of cricket chirps. Glowbugs danced overhead, and moths flitted through the glow around them. The air smelled as it did after a thunderstorm, pervaded with the hint of smoke.

His skin prickled. The presences were closer now; tenuous creatures, strangely insubstantial as if they were pinpricks in reality.

As they worked around boles and over logs, through thickets of grass and bushes, the air grew humid and warm. Sweat beaded on his brow.

Beia kept a steady pace. When she looked back, her eyes were glassy. He felt his nape hair stiffen.

The trees parted to form a huge clearing at least ten stone-throws across. Night had descended like a curtain, a velvety blackness sprinkled with a million sequins of light. A knee-high layer of mist covered the grass. A huge hemispherical shape rested at the center. Protrusions jutted from it at all angles, and a rainbow of colors danced across its surface.

Dulcere muttered something. She thought a single word. <Jyril.>

Beia strode forward without pausing. Cassin and Annawen froze next to Dulcere.

Corim felt torn between staying near Beia, who had been acting peculiar, and staying with the Kriar.

Backlit by the globes shifting lights, a silhouette moved to meet Beia.

Corim started forward, but Dulcere caught his arm. <Wait.>

The figures met midway and came together in a hug. Beia put her head on the other's shoulder for a moment before heading back toward them with the person in tow.

As they drew close, Corim could see the newcomer was a head taller than Beia. Light glinted off shiny hair.

When they'd approached to within twenty paces, Cassin and Annawen's jaws dropped. Dulcere's hand clamped on his wrist.

They stopped a few paces away.

“Well met, friends.” The white-haired woman smiled.

Corim swallowed and looked at the twins. “Cassin, I don't remember anything about Aarlen being blue.” I encountered the Jyril once while with my mother Cassandra. The blue-skinned creature had called itself “Vasar Mira", and wore the shape of a death spectacle trained pit fighter. Why she chose that particular person to emulate, we never discovered, although we were all troubled for some months wondering what that creature had been doing to be in contact with Meridian's arenas. As to the encounter itself, we answered a lot of questions, and ourselves learned next to nothing. It was the most annoying ‘first contact’ I have ever been witness to...—Cassin Kel'Ishtauri Felspar

A breeze swirled through the misty glade, filling the air with a rich loamy scent. Corim tasted the tang of perspiration on his upper lip as the invisible Jyril closed in. Their emotions felt like the ripples of a lake lapping against the island of his mind. He let out a breath, realizing he'd been holding it. His heart sounded loud in the quiet; even the insects were silent. The light from the hemisphere made the fog glow, and silhouettes danced on the trees surrounding the clearing.

The blue-skinned Aarlen loomed in front of them, white-haired and majestic. A gust stirred the rainbow of feathers that hung from her shoulders, revealing a shimmering black-and-silver uniform underneath. Beia stood at the woman's elbow, face impassive and eyes unblinking.

Cassin's voice broke the stillness. “You can't be Aarlen.” She swallowed, eyes wide, her full body trembling. Annawen's arm hugged Cassin's waist; the other hand squeezed Corim's wrist. Dulcere's grip tightened on his shoulder.

Smiling, Aarlen shook her hair so that it seemed to dance in the currents of air. “In the ways that matter, Cassin, I am.”

Corim's gaze went to Beia. The Myrmigyne appeared frozen in place. Probing with his senses showed no emotion coming from her. Aarlen radiated as if she were a blend of many creatures rather than one.

What could this—?

Corim convulsed as something slapped his mind.

Rebuke. He swallowed and suppressed the urge to shudder.

Dulcere tensed, her nails digging into his shoulder. Angular face set, and ebony eyes narrowed, she assumed a fighting stance.

Cassin glanced at the Belkirin and stiffened. “Is Aarlen—?”

The Jyril interrupted. “Aarlen Frielos became inert two hundred fourteen billion cycles past the last Kriar Tera-rev.”

“That's—?”

A muscle in Dulcere's jaw twitched. <She outran the timequake.>

The alien nodded and pulled at a golden hawk emblem around her neck. “She was assisted by some Kriar who escaped the devastation. They sent Aarlen ahead.”

“If she made it out alive, then—”

“She accomplished a feat duplicated only six times in Jyril history. Unfortunately, the loop transition proved too taxing for a human.”

Corim didn't understand. Outran the quake? Loop transition?

“Impossible,” Cassin breathed. “My—”

Dulcere cut in. <They tell students that on purpose.> The Kriar's eyes flashed and she pointed at Aarlen. <Why are you here, Jyril?>

“The attempt impressed us. Her last thoughts were about this one.” She put an arm around the rigid Beia. “We have decided to help with the time problem.”

<Why?> The suspicion in Dulcere's thought sent a cold tingle down Corim's back.

“Belkirin, there is no dispute with you. We protect less evolved cultures from destruction by creatures like Daergon Surr. The Fabrista have embraced gentler ways since the war. That ended our conflict.”

Cassin leaned around Annawen.

“Daergon Surr died twenty cycles ago. They exiled most of his followers. Vatraena Solaris heads the council again.”

<Marna?> Dulcere's eyes were wide. <In the Council again?>

Annawen's attention went to Beia. <What have you done to her?>

Silver eyes sparkling, the Jyril glanced at Beia. “She is not harmed. She only dreams.”

Corim cleared his parched throat. “So, how will you help?”

The Jyril studied each of them for a moment. “We will provide you with all the specifics on the diffraction nexus. We will also give you devices to prevent the creation of further anomalies.”

Dulcere frowned. <What about providing an experienced time diver? My abilities have been crippled.>

The Jyril raised an eyebrow. “We offer aid, not a solution. I advise you to waste no more time searching for the medical cyber or the Phalanx armor. We have them. You must repair the diffraction before the rift's growth cannot be halted. If unchecked, the rift will eventually destroy all parallel times and spaces.”

Dulcere gritted her teeth. <You expect me to repair the timeline with nothing but a handful of children and some anomaly compensators?>

“You broke the timeline, Belkirin, not us.”

<I did everything possible to prevent it.> Corim felt her nearing hysteria again.

“Your error began in following Daergon Surr.” A flat tone.

<A soldier follows orders.>

“There are penalties for following those we know are wrong. Consider this your penance.”

<To the dark with your judgment. Why should the children suffer for my errors?>

The blue woman shrugged. “They have the power. You have the experience. Whether they suffer or not depends on you. My time is up.”

The Jyril focused on Corim. The woman's silver eyes burned into him. “Let Aurra go.” The words made his skull ring. She gaze swept over the group again. “Good journey.”

A wind gusted through the clearing and left it empty. The low mist dissipated quickly beneath the brilliant black sky. As if a barrier had been lifted, the animal and insect sounds started again.

Dulcere growled something and kicked the dirt.

The twins paled at what must be curses.

Corim shook his head, and the ringing went away. Let Aurra go? What was that supposed to mean? He sighed. As always, he found more questions than answers.

Beia lay in the grass. She roused and sat up. “What happened?” She looked confused.

“You okay?” Cassin kneeled next to her.

“Fine. I—” She paused. “Where did this come from?”

A silver band with a large, pearl-colored jewel set in gold filigree now encircled Beia's right arm.

Corim found an identical band on his left arm. The three Kriar all had bands.

Why was his the only one on the left?

He focused on Dulcere, who stared into the forest. He didn't need empathy to feel how upset she was. He put a hand on her shoulder.

She gave him a withering glance, but didn't move his hand.

“If it's any consolation, I don't think it's fair, either.”

<You'll think it less fair if you get killed.>

Dulcere's thoughts burned like acid, and he winced. Corim looked at the grass and kicked a pebble. “We all die sometime.”

“Do we?” Dulcere spoke aloud, her accent peculiar and harsh. It surprised him. She'd never spoken in common before. “Those dark eating Jyril knew their curse on the Kriar had been removed by Cassin and Annawen's mother. If we fail, and the twins die, then all chances of being freed from the Jyril's punishment are gone. They force me to put them at risk. Pelans.”

Cassin frowned. “Eh'san, if we fail it will be all our faults.”

He nodded. “If I'd shot Meridian, then this wouldn't have happened.”

“No.” Dulcere scowled. “I had a clear chance to kill Rakaar, before he completed the null-time generator. I gambled on being able to get away. I failed. We came here to get my medicomp and heal my stones. The Jyril took it. Now, I must do it using the twin's abilities.”

Beia stood up. “Who did this?”

Dulcere met her gaze. “They were cruelest to you.”

“What do you mean?”

The reasons for Dulcere's anger suddenly occurred to Corim. They'd captured Aarlen. The elder was the only other experienced time-diver who survived.

The Jyril never said she died.

He took a breath. “Those bastards.”

Dulcere glanced at him. “You understand—good.” She laced her fingers and looked at Beia again. “You were dreaming, right?”

Beia narrowed her eyes. “Wait. When did you learn common?”

“I've listened to it for half a cycle. Of course I can speak it. Never cared for the language. I'm so angry now, it would be painful to use telepathy.” She paused. “Dreaming about Aarlen, right?”

“What's that—”

“She told you where the disruptions were, didn't she?”

Beia stopped. “She did! How—”

“Thought so.” Dulcere settled in the grass with her arms wrapped around her knees. “The armbands are anomaly compensators. They keep us from damaging the timeline further while we attempt to shunt the diffraction.”

“But—”

“It wasn't a dream.” Dulcere drew a breath. “We aren't the only ones who survived the time-quake. Two rogue Kriar, Quasar Diliaysus and Eclipse Shargris apparently were aware of Meridian's mission. They're after something I was in charge of when I was buried. They must have encountered Aarlen, and helped her escape the timequake.” Dulcere shook her head. “I'd certainly like to know what they're doing now.” She looked up at the sky. “Aarlen ran the time-diver's ultimate gambit; doing the loop. Going to the end of time where it loops back upon itself. Unfortunately, the Jyril captured her.”

Tears welled in the Myrmigyne's eyes. “Why?”

“I don't know.”

Beia buried her face in her hands and gave a choking laugh. “I knew that old witch was too mean to die. She's alive, thank Nethra.”

Cassin stood hands on hips. “I don't understand. I met a Jyril named Mira. She helped to remove the curse.”

“The Jyril have hostile and friendly factions just like the Kriar.” Dulcere took her head in both hands. Frustration. “Incredible. A human who could dive the loop. With my stones back, we could have straightened this mess out, with power to spare.” She sighed and turned to Cassin. “Searga, that means it will fall on you.”

Cassin nodded. “That's fine, Eh'San. Just don't ask me to hold an etherlock for three kilo-revs right before we're supposed to make an important jump.”

“I promise.”

Beia kneeled and stared at Dulcere. Wiping her eyes, she forced calm. “They won't hurt Aarlen, will they?”

She frowned. “I don't know.”

“Why would they do this to her?”

Dulcere put a hand on the Myrmigyne's arm. “Beia, I know little of what would motivate the Jyril now.”

<You think we can fix the diffraction?> Annawen asked.

“Of course.” She gave a cold smile. “There simply isn't any room for error. We have to find Meridian and Rakaar, and make sure they never threaten time again. Then we'll try to free Aarlen.” Closing her eyes she rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Quite an agenda. At this moment, I am too tired and frustrated to do anything. Time is practically irrelevant now. All of us should rest and get our strength back to face the next step.”

No one felt like resting at the moment, but what the elder said was true. With an open sky for a blanket, they lay down to rest. Corim didn't sleep well. It didn't seem that anyone did. Beia shifted all night, troubled by thoughts of Aarlen. The only positive Corim could see about what the Jyril had done, was that they had made Aarlen's life no longer dependent on their success. At worst, they could still try to get her back from the Jyril.

At daybreak, they found a lake where Dulcere quickly washed. Beia shot a forest blackhorn to provide rations for her and Corim.

Using blasters and light swords, and some Kriar knowledge, they cured the blackhorn's hide for use as material. Using that and what remained of Dulcere's uniform, they pieced together some serviceable clothing for the Belkirin.

The new raiment helped to restore some of her lost dignity, and she appeared more at ease.

They stood in a small green clearing near the edge of a rocky lake. Needleaf and shrubs almost obscured the water from view. The dense vegetation gave Corim a sense of security.

Dulcere had calmed enough to use telepathy again. <That's the proper cusp?>

Beia nodded. “Aarlen was very specific. It is a pivotal event. Oorcee the druid saved the whole Band of the Crescent Moon with a lucky spell. Hellzan was winning, with one attack he turned the tide. If Hellzan had won, I'd be dead, Cassandra, Dorian. It would result in the Shael Dal never coming to be. The Eternals would never get released from imprisonment by Cassandra. The Kriar curse never gets lifted. Change the outcome of that one event, and Meridian destroys all of his opposition in one chop.”

“It sounds right,” Cassin confirmed. “It's about as pivotal a point in time to our family as there is. It's where the destinies of all of Meridian's enemies cross.”

<Let's make our calculations, then.> Dulcere determined. <Annawen, you've got plot detail. Cassin, let's see how well the Dame taught you.> The three walked off.

Corim shook his head. “I'm glad she's here. I feel better with somebody knowing what they're doing.”

The Myrmigyne let out a breath. “I'm glad someone does. All this time and paradox nonsense gives me a headache. Aarlen lived and breathed timediving. That's what she did for excitement.”

Corim tried to imagine someone enjoying that battering ride through transition space. “Well, she must be made of sterner stuff than me. I can't imagine anyone liking that.”

“Depends on who's doing the flying,” Beia said. “Our pilots are a pair of kids who shouldn't even have time-diving powers. It's a damn good thing we have the Belkirin to give them guidance, that is, if she doesn't kill them trying to accomplish something only a Kriar with her experience is capable of.”

He frowned, his stomach feeling tight. “I trust Dulcere.”

“I don't,” Beia said in a flat tone. “The Protectorate members were taught to fight the Kriar. It's only recently that a full truce between them and us was recognized. Dulcere was a member of dasta Daergon. They are the Kriar faction responsible both for the war with the Jyril, and the Protectorate. She could easily still be loyal to their ways. The two rogue Kriar she mentioned—Quasar and Eclipse—Eternal Koass briefed us on them should there ever be an encounter. They are bounty hunters. In fact, Quasar offered to track down the culprit causing the anomalies. We now know it was your girl, Dulcere. So, ask yourself, what's really up here? Is it coincidence they also just happen to be the only two others to survive?” The Myrmigyne frowned. “There is way too much left unknown to trust anything or anybody right now. Meridian might not be our only enemy.”

Corim swallowed. The implications in the Myrmigyne's words made him cold inside. “Beia, isn't what we're facing tough enough without making it more complicated?”

“That's how life tends to be, Corim,” she said in resigned tone. “The problems just pile on until you give in. I'm not ready to quit yet, but there's a lot left to do.”

Her words had left him numb. He only nodded in response. He had hoped that, with the addition of Dulcere to their group, everything would be okay. Now, shadows flitted around that possibility for salvation as well. He closed his eyes, and hoped Beia's concerns were unwarranted.

It took the three Kriar about half a bell to finish their preparations. They had returned with bright eyes and determined expressions. Cassin and Annawen had changed since Dulcere came. The young Kriar definitely felt the need prove themselves to her. The deference that Cassin showed Dulcere was beyond that of soldier to an officer. It seemed to Corim only hairs shy of worship.

They stood together in the clearing, bracing for the transition.

<Ready?> Dulcere's thought seemed like the voice of doom. Corim could feel his stomach crawling up his throat.

“Set,” Beia answered.

“Set.” Corim shut his eyes. He didn't think he'd ever be ready.

Dulcere gazed up at the sun. The light glinted off her polished gold skin, and the wind riffled her glistening dark hair. She put a hand on Cassin's shoulder.

<All right, Searga, three points off max for a rev.>

Annawen took Corim's hand. <I've got you.>

He was a glad somebody did.

<Go.>

Cassin took a breath, and her body glowed with a shimmering that crescendoed until it became blinding. A burst of acceleration was followed by a blaze of colors.

This time the gray mists didn't slow them. They were an arrow shot for the heart of the void. Corim squeezed his eyes shut. His stomach told him everything he needed to know.

They were on their way to save the universe. We have time dived with our adopted grandmother Ivral. She makes skipping through space and time look as easy as walking across a street. On top of being a good Commander, she is a marvelously patient and articulate teacher. As one would expect from someone of her experience, she does everything masterfully. Both Cassin and I love her a great deal, and she returns our affection. Many of the other Kriar don't understand her, and chide the time and attention she lavishes on us. I guess it's because she's only a baby herself that she relates to us so well. That is, if you can imagine someone two thousand centuries old as being a baby...—Annawen Kel'Ishtauri Felspar

Oorcee knew this was the last stand for the Band of the Crescent Moon. Live or die, their lives all depended on winning this one battle. Either they destroyed Hellzan, or he destroyed them. There could be no middle ground, not after the blood already spilled.

The atmosphere reeked with the smell of thunderstruck air, singed flesh, and fear. Oorcee's ears ached from the din of explosions, war cries, and screaming. Flashes accompanied by the roars of detonating magic turned the darkness into daylight. Baltizaar, the greatest of the Kriar henges, rose around him like an artificial mountain. Massive blocks and pillars formed three concentric circles of rock that ringed the fray.

Heart pounding, he dodged behind a trilithon as a blast of lightning smashed into the stone.

Hellzan, his three best mages, and a contingent of mercenaries and their magical support, held their own against the Band.

“Cassandra, pin them down!” He saw Dorian running across the henge. She deflected bolts of magic that shot down at her from above.

The sound of robes whipping past drew his gaze to another part of the battle. Lithe Skyweir raced across the innermost circle dodging arrows and magic. Crack, crack, crack—rock hard hands and feet struck faster than snakes. A plate-armored warrior went down.

“Fools! It is only a matter of time!” The booming voice made him look to the center of the henge. Giant Hellzan stood atop the central tower, death-black eyes gleaming. He swatted another of Dorian's spells away with a gesture of a blocky arm. A white jewel on his forehead glowed.

That glowing stone was the source of Hellzan's time powers. Already, he had struck down many with his chronal abilities. Without the assistance of Hellzan's children, the battle would already be over. By pooling their skills, they'd succeeded in preventing their insane father from moving in time. Bodies drenched and shaking, they stood on the stones above Oorcee. He could see they were weakening fast. When their endurance ended, the Band of the Crescent Moon would be no more.

“Beia! Damrosil!” He heard Terra yell. “This way!”

Oorcee heard more shrieking steel and explosions.

Damn, they were going to press him now. Best to get in there. Bolting for the next stone, Oorcee snatched a wand out of his cloak. He came up hard against a rock. Bursts crackled behind him.

A double boom. The sounds of the battle became a rumble in his ears. Panting, he readied for his run.

By Dagda, they were all going to die.

Swallowing, he turned and plunged into the maelstrom. Ahead, Terra leaped to the top of a trilithon and battled an opponent he couldn't see. Arrows hissed into the knot of armored mercenaries. Shock waves from stun magic directed at the mercs buffeted him.

He activated his wand. It kicked. A cone of frost erupted from its tip. Black ice ripped into the massed group. A merc arrow nicked his shoulder. He dove to avoid the charge of a half-dozen enemy fighters. Tumbling back to his feet, he pulled his scimitar. The keening of a blade being pulled focused him. Hard eyes glared at him through slits in a demon mask.

Sidestep, clash, backpedal.

A sharp voice came from behind him. “Oorcee, move!” He ducked as something hissed inches from his head. The mercenary confronting him pitched over. “Go!”

He lunged away, catching sight of a compact form leaping into the fighters to cover his escape. Blood pounding, he ran.

Hellzan's mages stood on a trilithon adjacent the central tower. Terra and the white-haired Myrmigyne were flashes of black and white, darting around them like deathsprites.

Cassandra and Dorian hovered together, holding hands, their staves ablaze as magic shot out at the tower summit. Hellzan blocked the thrust easily.

The Band's paladin stood at the tower's base. The mercenaries swarmed around him, their swords flickering in the smoky air. His magic hammer rose and fell mechanically, driving opponents to the turf with each swing.

“Oh, Dagda.” Oorcee aimed the wand and activated it.

The blast struck Hellzan. The black ice rebounded without effect. Another of the Band's warriors charged into the fray to aid the paladin. His flashing sword chopped two deep into the armored ranks.

“Do it!” The new fighter screamed.

The paladin pivoted, and let fly at Hellzan. Like a stone launched from a catapult, the hammer drove home with an ear-wrenching shock that rocked Oorcee off his feet; Golnir', hammer of thunder.

Hellzan slammed twenty yards off the top onto solid rock with crunch of shattering stone.

Let him die, Dagda, oh, let him be dead.

A bellow of anger interrupted his prayer. A head taller than the two men, his crimson tunic a shredded mass on his rippling torso, the ebon-eyed titan righted himself and charged back into the conflict.

Sparks erupted off Hellzan as the Band's warriors guarded themselves against his attack. Arrows shattered on the juggernaut's gleaming body. Oorcee heard yells and spells blasting.

We're going to lose. One chance.

Oorcee gripped the Torc around his neck, and pointed a hand at Hellzan.

Dagda, heed this prayer. If this one does not die, your servant shall in his place.

Oorcee lost himself in the complicated rhythms of the spell.

He had completed the first cadence when a yell when up behind him. Then something tore through his body—an arrow.

He dropped unable to even turn to see his attacker.

In a rasp of disrupted air, the five of them appeared. Corim fell to his knees clutching his stomach. The air rumbled with magic bursts, fouled by the stench of burned flesh. He heard battle cries and the peel of rebounding steel.

The Jyril bracelets hummed, pulsing with alien energy.

They stood outside a huge circle of sixteen granite trilithons each ten times the height of man. Bolts of energy blazed upward like shafts of light reflected from a mirror. Explosions shook the ground and blue and white flashes ignited the velvety blackness overhead. Around them, the vast wastes of an ancient plateau stretched out, its lonely crags long devoid of life.

Annawen grabbed the cyber from her belt. <The anomaly will occur in one kilorev.>

“How long?” he asked.

<Count to three hundred out loud,> Dulcere told him.

“Nethra.” Beia pulled an arrow from her quiver.

<Cassin, get Corim on his feet. Annawen, back-up Beia, I'll cover. Stay clear of the analogue waves. There's a serious time battle going on here.>

Annawen pulled the blaster from her belt, and patted her aunt on the shoulder. They sprinted between the nearest henge blocks.

“Grata, Searga.” Dulcere held her hand out to Cassin.

“Eh'San.” Cassin threw her blaster to Dulcere. The elder vanished, running so fast the air cracked.

“Up.” Cassin helped him to rise. “Corim, we have to get you used to time diving.”

“Ishtar.” He groaned, willing his stomach to calm. “I'm okay. Let's go.”

A blade of light sprouted from Cassin's hand. “Just the same, I'll go first until you're sure.”

Corim nodded, and they headed for the henge at a jog. He staggered at first, but grew steadier as he went.

The reeking air turned hot as they pressed inward, dodging toward the second circle of stones. Corim's stomach tightened as he saw the gleaming center of the circle and the tangle of bodies at war around the huge columns within.

Men in demon armor swarmed around several fighters who were a blur of flashing weapons. Arrows pelted through the ranks. Corim heard the unmistakable hiss of Beia's powerfully hurled long arrows.

“Ishtar.” Corim breathed. “It just occurred to me. Beia's in this battle. What will happen if—?”

Cassin put a hand on Corim's mouth. “Erase that thought.”

They scrambled around the circle, ducking stray blasts of fire and electricity.

“Go, Mother, go. Show that bastard how to throw a spell.”

They sprinted until Cassin came up short. She looked up and pointed. “There are Hellzan's kids. Damn it, where's Beia? They must have gone the other way around.”

Corim looked where the Kriar pointed. Heads bowed and fists clenched in concentration, he saw two males and two females surrounded by a brilliant white aura. A movement on the ground caught his eye.

He felt a sudden ache in his gut.

“There.” Corim pointed. A stick-thin figure darted from behind one of the huge standing stones and lunged behind a column.

“That's him.” Frantic, Cassin looked around. “Corim, watch him. Don't get close. I have to find out what's wrong.” She sprinted away in a gold and silver blur.

He spun Eboneye. “Seek.”

The spear vibrated. “Three enemies. No bearing.”

Damn it.

Dulcere's thought echoed in his head. <Corim?>

<Thank Ishtar,> he concentrated on forming the words. <They're here I—>

<I know,> her thoughts stayed calm. <Do you see the target?>

<Yes.> He looked again. <No! Lost him.>

He sprinted through the nearest opening in the second circle, lungs aching and stomach churning. The horrendous charge in the air made the hair on his arms so stiff it hurt.

A boom crashed nearby, forcing him to tuck and roll with the concussion. He'd been dropped into the middle of a legend being born. If anything, the tales ran a pale second to the reality.

He still felt Dulcere in his mind. <What happened to Beia?>

<Poor luck,> Dulcere answered. <Beia almost ran over herself.>

<Ishtar!> He bolted for the last place he'd seen Oorcee.

<That's a word for it. Half a million cycles flashed before my eyes. The Jyril technology held.>

Corim slid to a stop behind a pillar, clutching Eboneye to his chest. A quadruple detonation lit up the sky. Rasps and booming shockwaves shook the ground, forcing him to clutch his ears.

“That's my maker's magic!” the spear vibrated. “What a mage!”

Corim's stomach twisted. I sure hope she never gets wind of my messing with her daughters.

He peeked around the column. He rolled, leaped and sprinted for the next cover. Corim slammed to a stop behind another column. A huge stone tower stood at the center of the henge. The mad demi-god Hellzan braced at the pinnacle, raining curses and magic on the struggling Band of the Crescent-Moon.

Men in red and blue streaked across the henge. Bare-handed, they flailed the horde of plate-armored mercenaries. Arrows sizzled into the press, picking out targets with deadly accuracy. Weapons flashed. The other fighters were a list of legends from Titaan's history.

“Oorcee, move!” A voice broke over the sound of the battle. Someone in red raced across the henge, calling out a warning and launching a gold javelin ahead of them. Someone ducked as the weapon hissed across the scene to impale a mercenary.

There he is. The one that went down was Oorcee. Corim looked for the cover nearest to the man, but the druid was completely in the open. No way to get any closer without becoming a target.

<You still with me, Dulcere? I can't get any closer.>

<Keep him in sight,> she told him. <Be ready to move.>

<Right.>

<Corim,> it was Cassin's thought this time. <Where is he?>

His heart pounded. He focused to keep the telepathy from distracting him. <Fifty paces ahead and to the left of me. He's in the clear.>

“Eboneye, where are those damned bastards?”

“Still no bearing,” the spear answered.

“They're here, by Ishtar, why can't we see them?”

<Fifty revs,> Annawen thought. <Coming in on your right, make space.>

He hunched down and looked back. Annawen bolted between two standing stones, zigzagged, leaped and rolled right next to him as static charge slammed into the column.

<I have him,> Dulcere thought. <The one in green by himself?>

Annawen leaned around Corim. <Affirmative.> She checked her cyber. <Thirty revs. Dulcere, I mark you opposite in the third circle.>

<Confirmed.>

<Beia?>

<Here,> the Myrmigyne answered. <I'm going around the back. My younger self is standing behind a column near Dulcere. The time-feedback shook me up, but I'm okay.>

<I'm covering her,> Cassin thought. <At anomaly in twenty revs.>

“Target,” Eboneye shrieked. “Twenty three paces.”

Corim gasped. “Between the first and second circle!” He plunged out of the cover of the column toward the spot. Blaster in hand, Annawen pursued.

“Target two,” Eboneye warned. “Forty one paces. Target one, fifteen.”

<Dulcere, you tuned in?> He panned the spear quickly to find the direction. <He's behind your position.>

<Acknowledged.>

<Coming behind you, Corim.> He glanced back, and saw Beia and Cassin charging toward them.

“Target three,” the spear yelped. “At—"

A burst of brilliance knocked the Myrmigyne and Kriar girl sprawling.

“Nethra!” Beia rolled to her feet.

He dodged into the cover of the first circle. Lightning rasped at his heels. He heard the whine of Annawen's blaster and rocks shattering.

“Three more,” Eboneye called. “Eighty-seven.”

He oriented and yelled. “Three more, far side of the henge.”

<Ten revs!> Annawen called.

“Beia!” He rushed for the second circle.

“Targets one and two, eighteen.”

He could see half the compass rose in that range.

Nothing.

“They're using invisibility!”

<Confirmed,> Cassin thought. <I'm pinned down. Do it, Corim.>

Holding his breath he changed directions and charged straight for Oorcee. Involved in casting some magic spell the willowy man couldn't defend himself.

<Corim, dive!>

He shoulder-rolled, feeling a blade strip tunic and skin off his back in a swath of pain. Flipping to his feet he saw a now visible Rakaar. The Baronian scowled and turned on the charging Beia.

“Come,” the behemoth crooned.

The Myrmigyne leaned into the run, doubling her speed.

The clash was quick and savage. One instant Beia was coming faster than a galloping horse, at the next, frozen. Rakaar missed clean, not anticipating that impossible stop.

“No—time—to—play.” Beia plunged a knee into Rakaar's groin. Slamming him in the head with Snowfire, she drove an elbow into his solar plexus and finished by tumbling the juggernaut with a footsweep.

Oorcee! Corim's attention went back to the man too late. Meridian was already pulling a dagger from his belt and reaching for the unknowing druid.

“Ishtar!” Corim leaped and snapped Eboneye round. The haft pounded home on the mage with the sound of breaking ribs. Meridian howled and missed his grab. Oorcee, involved in his spell didn't even seem aware of the fight right behind him.

Meridian whipped around. A blast sent sparks through Corim's skull and he reeled back.

“Meridian!”

The mage's eyes bulged, and his body jerked as the arrow hissed toward him. A double scream went up. The arrow tore through the mage's shoulder and stuck shuddering into Oorcee's back.

“Oh, no!” Beia's face went ashen.

Oorcee and Meridian dropped. Corim froze, guts knotting.

The bloody mage sat hard on the rock. A dazed look crossed his features as Beia drew back again, tears in her eyes.

Meridian clenched his fist and vanished.

“Ishtar.”

The universe exploded into pinpoints of light. Corim felt himself yanked into nothingness, as if a rope tied to his waist had been jerked by a giant.

The void whirled around him, and he clenched his eyes against the maddening images. Buffeted by hurricane gusts, he tumbled into chaos. He careened into a wall of pain that sent dots spinning through his brain.

They exploded into reality, bodies collapsing into grass. A lake glistened nearby. He lay face down in the wet foliage, stilettos worrying at his brain. His stomach swelled and exploded. Heaves wracked his torso; he retched.

After what seemed bells of sickness, he managed to regain enough composure to examine the others. The group had fallen in a circle no more than a few paces apart.

How had they gotten back here?

It felt as if he'd been running for hours. He dragged himself next to Dulcere, and collapsed.

Now what did they do? Of the entire protectorate, I was the third person to wield a shaladen. I am the only one that I know of to have used four of those mind-shatteringly powerful blades. Each time I have willingly set the weapon down, knowing that I am unworthy of such an honor. My soul is too soiled and my agenda against Meridian too consuming. I have helped the Protectorate on many occasions, but never thought I would become an official member. Now, thanks to Aarlen, I will soon become an honorary Shael Dal by marriage. I greet my coming status with mixed feelings...—Regaura “Beia” Targallae

Sunlight filtered through Corim's closed eyelids, a rosy glow that forced him to avert his face. Trying to shield his eyes, he found that someone was pinning his arms and legs.

Through slit eyes he saw four intent female faces. Their grins were unsettling as they studied him. Beia never smiled like that, nor did the others.

“What are you doing?” He tried to speak but nothing came out.

“You cannot talk,” Cassin told him.

He struggled, but couldn't outmatch all four.

“We take back what is ours.” Beia's voice cut like steel.

“Take back what?” he tried to yell, but only a strangled gurgle escaped. Sand seemed to fill his lungs. The dust closed off his air. The grip on his arms and legs tightened.

The sun grew blinding. Trees, whipped by a sudden wind, groaned like tormented spirits. The grass became spikes that gnawed into his back like a nest of hungry rodents.

“What have I done!” The sound drowned in the grit in his chest.

Dulcere's voice bit like the cold of the void. “It is not what you do, child. It is what you fail to do.” She lowered her face, and he felt teeth break the skin of his wrist. Pain and blood welled as one.

Dots swam in his vision. Agony stabbed home, as teeth clamped into straining arms and legs. His scream made no sound.

“You will succeed in dying.”

Annawen and the others laughed. Wiping the blood from their lips, they plunged again for another bite.

“No!”

Corim bolted to his feet clawing at empty air.

Snatches of landscape flashed by, as he frantically searched the glade. Ears roaring, heart hammering he took air in rapid gulps, his stomach felt ready to pitch.

<Corim!> Hands gripped his arms and shook him.

His mind jumped from turmoil to focus with a painful snap.

Brow furrowed, Dulcere looked up at him, her dark eyes reflecting the morning light. Her grip felt like shackles.

Swallowing, Corim held his breath, then let it out slowly. He staggered, dizzy from having risen so fast.

“Nightmare,” he said after a moment.

They were in the same glade they had left to go back in time. The twins and Beia were gone. He saw that their packs were laid out. Willowy trees swayed in a gentle breeze, and gray tinged cirrus drifted overhead. The valley wall rose in the background, the trees thinning toward the summit. The boulder-pocked indigo lake shone with ripple patterns, and a few birds swam together in circles near the center.

“Where are the others?”

Dulcere frowned. <Beia awoke a few hectarevs before you. She was very upset. Cassin and Annawen took her on a walk to calm her down.>

He looked around again. “How did we get here?”

She grimaced and pointed at the Jyril wristband. <Failsafe.>

“What?”

<It was a safeguard to prevent another timequake.>

“Oh, no, Beia must—” He clenched his fist. “Damn. I—”

The Kriar scowled and put a hand over his mouth. <Don't say it, don't think it. It is not your fault anymore than it is hers.>

“But—” the word was muffled.

<Listen carefully. What happened, is what originally happened. Everything in time is considered to happen simultaneously. Beings without the chronal awareness see time as cause and effect. It is a far more complex interaction than that.” She held up her arm and indicated the Jyril anomaly compensator. “This device functions to prevent unwanted interactions with the timeline that cause disruptions in the continuum. That's why we can be here backtime without causing damage. Though not as powerful as these Jyril devices, Kriar matrixes,> Dulcere indicated the gem glowing high on her sternum. <Function in a similar fashion. All matter, sound, everything associated with us is phased so that it can't affect this immediate now.>

Corim's eyes grew round. “But—” he tried again through her fingers.

<Not yet.> She kept the hand tight to his mouth. She reached down and touched the grass of the clearing. <What you understand as reality is fragile beyond imagining. Without compensation, my plucking of a single blade of grass might potentially devastate an entire civilization.> She fingered the leaf. <Or it might have no consequences at all. The Kriar knew how to travel in time for almost twenty millennia before we, like the Jyril, devised the means to interact in the past non-destructively. So, if picking this leaf or lying in that grass has a detrimental affect, the band creates discrete corrections in the surrounding probabilities to offset the effect. What should you conclude from what I'm telling you? That Beia couldn't shoot Oorcee unless she was the one who shot him, albeit accidentally, to begin with. Meridian comes back in time, we follow, the sum of our interactions is what causes the timequake, not Meridian's alone as we first thought.>

Dulcere took her hand away. <Now, you can talk.>

“Ah—” Dulcere's baffling logic made it difficult to form a coherent sentence. “Does that mean we can't go back again?”

She let out a breath. <Yes. You can never enter a cusp more than once.>

Corim bowed his head. “Then there's nothing we can do.”

Dulcere took his face in her hands. <It is not over. We have simply uncovered the nature of the anomaly. Now, we analyze what we know, and take action. Time's size provides unending opportunities for restoring things to their proper course. We have eternity, and things can't get any worse can they?>

“I'll take your word for it.”

She turned her face to the sun, and held her arms up to it. Even in the simple doeskin tunic and pants, the Kriar's beauty fascinated Corim.

<This is the first time in millennia that I've felt the warmth of the sun, without being half-dead, a chain around my neck, or a Protectorate warrior chasing me.> She shook her head. <Funny how such a little thing can seem like a miracle. My body works, I have allies, even friends—> She smiled at him. <We have a goal and the tools to achieve it. The only thing we need now is the tenacity to see it through.>

Corim smiled, inspired by Dulcere's words and put a hand on her arm. She covered his hand with hers. Looking in his eyes for a long moment, she shook her head.

<Amazing metapathic power.>

“What?”

<Never mind, Corim, it's something I'll have to work out for myself.>

“I'm not doing it, I swear. I wouldn't—”

<What about when you're asleep?>

“Asleep?”

She patted his hand. <The ability doesn't go away simply because you've fallen asleep. In fact, it functions on a more instinctual level while you are dreaming.>

“Did I? I mean—” he flushed.

<No, that's the least of our worries. Your power is helping to hold us together. We'll deal with the side effects later.>

She glanced up the shore. Beia stalked toward them, Cassin and Annawen following.

The Myrmigyne's face was flushed, and her eyes were red. Her long hair hung in strands.

She stormed up to Dulcere. “We're going back to do it right. I don't believe this lie you made them tell me.”

Dulcere frowned. <We cannot return to that event, Beia. We will not try.>

“I don't accept that.”

<This matter does not hinge on your acceptance. I forgive this outburst because of the personal stress involved. You will focus on our task and forget this unfortunate happening.>

Beia clenched her fist. “Listen you, I don't—”

Dulcere grabbed the Myrmigyne's wrist. <Child, you made a mistake. A mistake anyone including myself could have made. It's now part of a time loop that we cannot undo. You must do it in order for events to place you in the situation to do it.>

Beia snarled, jerked loose and turned her back.

Corim started forward, but Beia turned on him. “Touch me, Corim and I'll break both your arms. Stay out of my head. Damn all of you!” She glared at Dulcere. “Damn you. You want me to simply accept that I destroyed everyone? This is another of Meridian's tricks.”

Dulcere moved, and Beia's fists came up.

<Beia, we need your help.> Dulcere held her hands out.

Beia took short breaths, eyes wild. “You want help? Guide us back. I did NOT cause the timequake!”

Dulcere stepped forward to take Beia's hand.

The Myrmigyne became a blur. The next instant, Dulcere lay on the ground favoring her bloodied mouth.

Beia growled. “Don't touch me.” She pulled Snowfire off her shoulder. The bow flickered and became a black scroll-worked blade.

“Beia, don't—” Cassin started.

“Stay away from me, Cassin—all of you. Meridian has magicked your minds. My friends wouldn't want me to believe that.”

Corim leaned down next to Dulcere. “You all right?”

<Surprised. I expected it, and she hit me anyway.>

Corim nodded, grim. “Happened to me more than once.” He glanced at Beia. “She's not well.”

Dulcere rose. <Put down the weapon.>

Beia's eyes narrowed. “No.”

<Child, don't do this.>

“Nethra take you, old woman.” The Myrmigyne's hands shook.

Corim could feel the fear, the rage, and turmoil. Beia was falling apart inside, and his body ached in empathy.

A streamer of light erupted from Dulcere's hand, a hard blue light.

“Eh'San, no!”

<Searga, back away.>

Cassin and Annawen moved to stand by Corim.

The Myrmigyne took a breath, eyes flickering to the light sword. Beia put a hand to her chest, and a white light leaped around her body.

“The soulname,” Cassin breathed. “Beia, please don't—”

The soulname, he'd guessed at its nature when they first arrived at Daladar, what seemed eons ago now. Aarlen had put Beia through the forging. Once completed, a soul amulet could unleash a human's full potential for short periods of time. They were the most coveted source of immortality.

Even without the amulet, the Myrmigyne possessed frightening speed and strength. Now, she'd enhanced herself to unpredictably lethal levels.

The two clashed in a blaze of sparks. Brutal exchanges of hands, feet and weapons.

Failure, loss, and betrayal; the emotions ran so thick in Beia that Corim's mind rang with them. Cuts cracked the air like thunder. Beia fought as if her life were ending. Demented shifts of pace and stance kept the more experienced Dulcere at bay.

Cassin grabbed his shoulder. He felt her fear. “You've got to stop them, Corim. They'll kill each other.”

“I'd get killed before I could get close enough.”

“Concentrate. Touch only helps the focus. It's telepathic.”

His gaze stayed riveted on the blur of the two women, the clash of flesh and weapon. Rakaar had lasted half this long. Beia used every conceivable maneuver, every bit of strength and skill.

Dulcere did not want to hurt Beia, merely to exhaust her, something that would be nearly impossible.

Clash, spin, slam, slash. Dulcere yelped as Snowfire tore open her shoulder. He'd watched Cassin work with a force sword. The Kriar used the weapon to cleave through metal. Dulcere could only defend with it.

Cassin shook him. “Ignore the fight, damn it. If you don't turn Beia off, Dulcere will have to kill her. Concentrate!”

He felt an alien fist clench in his mind. Turmoil. The world snapped into focus as a vibrant mélange of pastels. Flashes of pain, anger, and desperation.

Slash! Corim yelled, feeling the cut. Teeth gritted and fists clenched, he felt something shove him through the miasma. Each person in the clearing became a whirling web of multicolored strands. Beia's were blood red. Energy licked through the network in a blaze. The whole framework was consuming itself.

He sensed the Myrmigyne dying inside. He and Beia were one, and he could feel all the pain of the arenas seething through her again. The Jyril's capture of Aarlen, the deaths of Dac and Ceraph, and now the entire population of a timeline had eaten away at her. Beia's sanity had given way.

His gut clenched. Struggling, Corim reached out to calm her mind. It felt so far away.

Another slash across his ribs. He'd opened himself to all of their senses. Beia's molten fury, the pain she could no longer feel. Dulcere's burning cuts and frustration. Cassin's drive, and Annawen's fear.

Something rammed home in the back of his mind. He plunged into the crimson plexus.

His body burned as though doused in acid. Beia's emotional framework had disintegrated; the Myrmigyne, so hard on the outside, so fragile inside.

Part of him responded on an instinctual level. He tried to salve the bleeding and drain off the excess energy. The alien presence grew stronger in his mind. He felt it work through him; healing the fissures, stilling backlashes, performing dozens of operations in moments. The energy dwindled.

Her face a drained mask, Beia dropped Snowfire, and fell to her knees like a fire without fuel.

Dulcere staggered back a few steps and sat hard in the grass. Cassin and Annawen immediately went to her.

A leaden feeling crushed his lungs and mind. Only dregs remained of his strength. He staggered forward and knelt in front of Beia.

Tears streamed down the Myrmigyne's face, bruises and contusions marred her cheeks and blood flowed from a split lip. She threw her arms around him and pulled him tight. Her voice sounded husky.

“You bastard, you won't let me be crazy. I killed them. Oh, Nethra, I didn't mean to do it.”

“I know.” Corim held her tight, crushing her body to his. “We'll make it better. You know we will.”

“Oh, Nethra, I want to die, Corim.”

“No, people need you. Aarlen needs you.” He turned and looked for Eboneye. The spear lay yards away. “Eboneye,” he said quietly.

The spear shimmered and reappeared in his hand.

Beia choked a laugh. “Little tramp, after all I've done for her.”

“Heal, Eboneye.”

The spear glowed.

She swallowed, chest heaving as the powerful magic coursed through her body.

They looked into each other's eyes for moments.

Beia kissed him. “I hate you, Corim Vale—my brother. You've seen things I want no one to know.”

He put his hands on her face, soft immortal flesh. “I live in you, and you in me.”

She put her face in the curve of his neck, fists clenched against his shoulder blades.

<Is she going to be okay?> Cassin asked in the back of his mind.

<I think so,> he answered. <Is Dulcere all right?>

<More embarrassed than hurt. Her matrixes should take care of the wounds.>

<Good. That was really amazing, what you did.>

<What did I do?>

<You took over and did that healing.>

<Not me, Corim.>

He frowned. <You didn't? Then it must have been Dulcere.>

<Not even a Belkirin could do something like that and battle Beia.>

Corim took a breath. <Well, somebody was in my head.> Fear—do I even know what the word means anymore? I spent centuries in fear. Perhaps I fear now but call it something else. As a youth, my destructive rampage through the realms could be attributed to nothing else but fear and rage. I could not run from the pain of my murdered family, so I lashed out as most children do when they are angry or frightened...—Supreme Magistrix Aarlen Frielos,

Minister of the 4th Alliance Territories

Aarlen lay in the darkness. It felt as if warm linen embraced her body. A faint, sugary scent tingled in her nostrils. A far off hum tickled the edge of her hearing. Aarlen drifted in the shadows. From those depths came memories...

She could remember being a child. Funny, she hadn't recalled anything about her childhood for over thirty millennia. She remembered sitting near the balustrade at the top of the marble steps that ran down into Falcon Hall's main colonnade. She wore her favorite dress, black velvet that hung loose on her pudgy body. Jacques, the manx who terrorized the manor's many rodents, struggled to get away from her. Aarlen's grip loosened as she paused to sniff the scents of cinnamon and spice wine wafting up from the kitchens.

Jacques broke away. His movement startled her. She lunged and caught his leg. The cat hissed and folded on itself. Its claws flashed and grooved the flesh of her hand.

She yelped and flung him away. A thud, followed by the cat's yowl and silence. Aarlen examined the scratches that had joined the bruises and welts on her arm. The cutting pain had felt like a whack from one of Father's straps.

A movement made her look up. Jacques lay on the marble twitching. His legs clawed the air as though to rend an invisible opponent.

She hadn't meant to throw him so hard. Since the men in the red suits had started sticking things in her, nothing worked right. She swelled up and hurt all the time. She couldn't walk without tripping. Her arms and legs felt too long. Things broke in her hands.

She was simply too dumb and clumsy. That's why Mother cried so much. Why Father always smelled of Darmack juice and screamed about worthless women. Maybe if she'd been smart like Marta, Father wouldn't have hit them with that rod.

If not for her, Marta wouldn't have gone away. A few months ago she knocked over a vase in the vestibule where she and Marta had been playing. Marta tried to catch it, but it broke anyway.

Father found Marta crying, and Aarlen trying to put the porcelain back together. He cursed at them. She had tried to tell Father that Marta didn't do it, but he hit Marta with his rod anyway. Aarlen tried to make him stop, but he knocked her down and ordered a servant to take her upstairs.

They made Father so angry that he sent Marta away. She asked Mother where Marta had gone. Mother said Marta was with the creators now. Aarlen never saw Mother after that. She guessed Mother went to be with Marta and the creators. The servants put wreaths of flowers around the manor as going-away decorations.

Aarlen remembered the smell of the blossoms. The decorations stayed until they became sad and dried up. The flowers missed Marta too. Father was angry all the time after that. He gave up hitting her with the wooden switch after breaking two of them.

“What was that sound?” Father boomed.

Aarlen's heart raced. She glanced at Jacques lying on the floor with a smelly yellow puddle growing around him.

She rose and stood on trembling legs. Should she run? Father would find her. He always did. He'd hit her worse if he needed to search for her. It was her fault. Dumb and clumsy Aarlen—she didn't mean to hurt Jacques.

Father stepped out of the office, a frown etched on his stony face. He looked at her, and then his gaze took in Jacques. His dark eyes ignited.

“What is this?” He blared, pointing at the cat. “Our best mouser. Can't you even play with an animal without killing it? Stupid little brat! After all the gold I've spent on you, this is the thanks you show!”

A cold shiver rushed through her. “No, Father, I didn't—”

“Don't talk back to me!”

A flare of heat exploded on Aarlen's cheek. Holding her face, she realized she lay on the floor. He loomed over her, a menacing giant with meaty fists. He pulled a rod from his belt. Light glinted off polished metal.

“I designed you to be a soldier,” he roared. “Soldiers follow orders. Hecate as my witness, you will learn!”

The rod came down. She didn't know how many times, except to know that it hurt enough to make the world go away, if only for a little while.

When the blackness faded, she could still hear her father screaming at the servants. Why was she so dumb? Why couldn't she make Father happy? The shame burned as much as the strokes on her back.

Aarlen rose with difficulty. Her back and legs burned, but not as much as some other times. She'd been bad. She needed to go to the safe place now.

Aarlen limped downstairs to the kitchen. The cinnamon smell grew, along with the aromas of stewing meat and vegetables. She wove around the cooks and their assistants to the cold locker at the back. They never looked at her. Father had told them not to. They were afraid.

She pulled the bolt on the door, then went in. Inside, it felt frosty and damp. The air hung heavy with the odors of raw meat and cheese. Aarlen welcomed the darkness and nestled herself in the corner between two huge slabs of ice. The frozen block felt good against the burning sensations. Soon, it would make her numb.

Someday she would be a soldier, and even Father's metal rod would break against her back. Until then, all she could do was huddle in the darkness and drink in the numbing warmth of the ice...

Aarlen drifted in the shadows again. Warm linen embraced her body. She felt the tears on her cheeks. So dumb and clumsy. If only I'd been as smart as Marta, Father wouldn't have sent her away ... Stupid child, he didn't send her away. She died. He killed her over the price of vase that shouldn't have been where it was... Aarlen's stomach burned and her throat tightened. I forgot these things because I didn't want to remember them...

On Aarlen's eleventh birthday, Father gave her a sword. He said that by the time a year passed that she would take a man's life with it. Now, the bone-colored courtyard walls seemed to close around her. She gripped the sword's hilt. The cool metal numbed her callused hand. The rankness of smoke and decay hung in the air. Father's words of a year ago gnawed at her. Today was Aarlen's twelfth birthday.

Studying the crenellated walls veined with crimson, Aarlen wondered how far she could get if she climbed over. Her back burned with the memory of her last attempt to escape Falcon Hall. Steel lashed through her mind. She shivered.

Guardians dressed in Father's ash-gray livery stalked the battlements. Falcon Hall's sentinels were more to keep people in than to repel enemies.

Aarlen glanced across the cobbled yard to the barracks. The sword master would soon come to test her. She stretched to get the kinks out of her muscles. She needed to be limber to perform the torn'fratar properly.

She saluted as one of the officers crossed the yard. At her motion, he stopped, his dark eyes even with hers. Since Father's red-suited alchemists began injecting her with their potions, she'd grown through four sets of clothing and could look most men in the eye. He frowned and strode away. The sight of her seemed to trouble the guards. Aarlen had asked why, but none would speak to her.

Sighing, she ran her fingers through the spectral-white strands of her hair. Before Father had sent her sister away, her hair had been brown. She wished Marta were here. If she hadn't been so dumb and clumsy, Marta would be here today. Three summers had passed since the bad day in the vestibule.

The slam of the barracks door made Aarlen straighten. She glanced back and saw the master approaching. Standing at attention, she realized she hadn't visited the safe place for several ten-days. She might be going back soon.

The master's wizened face looked as if it had been made from wrinkled parchment. He walked with a limp and spoke as if he couldn't get enough air. “Establa presenta,” he said in the fighter's cadence.

Her chest tightened. Aarlen drew the sword and saluted. The metal glinted. With this weapon she could sunder a sapling as thick as her leg.

“Today we see if you have mastered all the forms of torn'fratar. You will begin now.”

Aarlen swallowed. She saluted again and began. Her heart thundered. The sword whistled as it slipped through the air. The blade dances were like a safe place where she could hide. No pain or fear could reach her when she merged with the steel.

The world dwindled until it became nothing but the whirling edge and the scrape of feet on stone. Cover and lunge, she danced as the wyvern, shielding wings and paralyzing sting. Slash, slash, slash, she drove forward in the form of the unstoppable rhinotaur. Sway and strike, she performed the sinuous ballet of the serpent. The dread in her mounted. Where was Father?

She finished the last of the torn'fratar, and then stood at attention until the master grunted that he found the demonstration adequate. Aarlen let out a breath and wiped the sweat from her brow. Now she could hide.

“Aarlen,” Father's deep voice called.

She stiffened. She should have performed the exercises faster. Dumb and clumsy, Aarlen. Too late now, she couldn't get away.

She performed a perfect s'rat, the ritual sheathing of the sword and bowed to the master. The swordsman returned the bow and left. Aarlen turned to face Father's stony visage.

He strode across the courtyard, his shadow blacker than the others. A cloak the color of blood trailed behind him, and the platinum falcons on his surcoat gleamed. Two guardsmen dragged a struggling man.

Aarlen's stomach turned to lead and her throat constricted.

Father stopped in front of her. Even though less than a handbreadth now separated them in height, his presence still made her tremble. He carried the polished steel rod in his fist.

“It is your birthday.” Father's voice was as cold as an arctic storm. “Now, you will be blooded.” He gestured to the man. The peasant froze and stared. His face and clothes were filthy. “This man has stolen from me.” Father narrowed his burning eyes. “Kill him.”

Aarlen gripped the hilt of her sword. If she pleased Father, he wouldn't hurt her. It would be easy. She'd shattered wooden practice dummies with a single blow. One clean stroke, that's all Father wanted.

The man's pale blue eyes widened with panic. He smelled of perspiration and urine. His breeches were moist in the groin.

Father folded his arms. The rod glinted. A sheen of blood glistened on the metal.

Aarlen pulled the sword. It hissed from the sheath. She readied it in the kan'cora, the dragon stance, prepared to strike death with wing-spurs, claws, or deadly bite.

“Please,” the man blubbered. “I only wanted to feed my family. I have two daughters...”

“Silence!” Father roared. He gestured. “Execute him, Aarlen.”

The guardsmen took the peasant's arms and held him rigid.

“My daughters ... I only wanted food for them...”

Father had never risked anything for her. The rod gleamed. Her heart raced. He wanted her to butcher a man who had tried to feed a family. If she didn't do it, Father would whip her, and slay the man anyway.

“Aarlen.” She heard the menace in his voice.

It would never end; Father, the rod, the killing. Soon she wouldn't be able to hide, even in the forms. She could feel her world dwindling. She imaged the safe place in her mind; the cool, cool ice against on her back.

Maybe Father would send her to be with Marta.

The sword clattered on the paves. Her voice sounded tiny. “No.”

Father's face turned red. “Pick up that sword, Aarlen.”

A chill enfolded her. Aarlen hid in the focus of steel. She raised her voice. “No.”

“How dare you—” Father roared.

“No!” She yelled.

“Little witch!” Father caught her beside the head with the rod. Her skull rang. She staggered and tasted blood. He struck her again in the ribs. Aarlen gasped. Ice was hard and felt nothing.

Ice and steel, the rod would break on her back.

So Father had designed a soldier? He would see one.

She captured his hand on the next swing. His other fist caught her between the eyes, sending colors spinning through her vision. She reeled, but straightened. Ice and steel; pain meant nothing now.

Aarlen ripped the rod from Father's hand and brought it whistling against the inside of his knee. She heard a hollow crack.

Father screamed. The sound scared her. She'd never heard him make that sound. The metal flashed, this time against the hand reaching for her sword. He howled and ordered the guards to stop her.

The men didn't move.

He yelled obscenities at her. When she cursed in his hearing, that wicked rod came crashing down on her backside. Five lashes for a bad word.

She whipped it home. The fleshy impacts and the answering cries made her ears hurt. He tried to crawl away.

Aarlen kicked him in the side. As he writhed and moaned, she ripped the falcon crest off his surcoat. The image of the remorseless hunting bird felt good in her hand. Father cried with each new blow.

He wasn't used to the rod. He didn't bruise. He bled. She clenched her fist around the steel.

Father would bleed a lot...

I learned my first lesson in compassion that day. I let the peasant go and gave him food for his family. He came back with a group of brigands, torched the manor and stole all our horses. Father had been right in wanting him dead. If only I had known... Even after Father died, fate had always been like a rod on her back. She became numb, and it seemed only natural that everyone should suffer equally.

Aarlen blinked. The sugary scent and the warm sensations helped to bring clarity to the darkness. The distant hum sounded louder now. She sat up. Aarlen held herself still for a moment while the dizziness passed.

A faint greenish light lit the small chamber. She ran her hand along the surface of a curved lounge that embraced her body. The couch was the only feature in a hexagon shaped area. She saw no discernible openings or any separations in the material that might indicate hidden orifices.

Aarlen no longer wore the clothes she had left Gravar in. She recognized the fit and feel of her ceremonial feather cloak. The shimmering black-and-silver uniform of the 4th alliance honor-guard hugged her body as though fresh from the tailor. The tiara of the majestrix felt cool against her brow, and the golden hawk emblem warm between her breasts.

Someone's been probing my memories. The thought made her heart speed. She noticed one significant item missing from her raiment.

The Shaladen.

Stellaraac. Where she might be, and how she got there were irrelevant for the moment. They'd been in her mind and had taken her clothing and weapons. She could only assume that ‘they’ were enemies.

If you think to keep Stellaraac from me, best think again.

The Eternals bound the weapon to her body and soul. Nothing could keep them apart. Its limitless power came at her command. She didn't enjoy the thrill of it rushing through her as she might once have. She wielded the ultimate weapon like a broom for the Eternals. She swept the universe's scum under the rug the Eternals didn't have time to deal with. It was part of the penance she did to repay her crimes; inter-galactic community service.

It would have been laughable if they hadn't been so deadly serious. They wanted the Ice Falcon's ruthlessness and skills to use against the dark powers. Aarlen always strove for the ultimate power. It was ironic that she had to be defeated before it would be handed to her. She'd long since stopped trying to make sense out of existence. You took the rodding, and smiled if you survived. When life continued, retribution could be accomplished.

Aarlen reached out her mind and willed the Shaladen to her hand.

She felt the surge of Eternity's energies flicker through her body, and sensed the echo of it in the sword.

Stellaraac did not appear.

Hecate's eyes, what am I into now? The last thing she remembered was the temporal singularity; her consciousness being squeezed as all probabilities focused into one truth...

A section of the wall vanished.

For an instant, Aarlen thought she might be looking in a mirror except for an important difference. She didn't recall being blue.

Silver eyes looked into her own. Crimson lips unsheathed to reveal perfect white teeth in a knowing grin.

“Looking for this?” The blue Aarlen's voice mimicked hers perfectly, even down to the echoes she magically added for intimidation value. The impostor held Stellaraac in her fist.

For the first time in her life, Aarlen experienced what all those cowering fools felt upon meeting that flashing gaze. Her knees lost their stiffness, and the pit of her stomach burned.

She was in the hands of the Jyril.

They had mastered her Shaladen. My clan sister Cassandra once asked me how I could love someone like Aarlen. I answered that I saw a different woman from what everyone else did. All anyone else saw was the despot as defined by millennia of merciless mayhem. If anyone could understand a murderer, it was myself. I spent twenty years killing people on a daily basis simply to survive. Justification is irrelevant; the blood was on my hands. Like myself, Aarlen had the potential to be something other than a killer. We gave each other the incentive to do just that. In fact, we did more; we gave meaning to lives that had lost their purpose. How could I not love her when she gave me back my existence..?—Regaura “Beia” Targallae

Corim lay beneath the white-barked trees in the rock-studded lakeside glade. He felt the breeze tickling his bare arms, and heard it rustle through the brush around the grassy clearing. Corim pressed his sweaty forearm against his eyes to shut out the bright noon light. Since the fight, the throbbing in his skull never relented. It hurt magnitudes more than the morning after his worst drinking spree. Nothing would relieve the ache. The twin's silver medicine disks barely blunted the pain. Any attempt to move made waves of agony crash through his skull like a stampede of horses.

Annawen sat next to him dabbing a wet cloth against his forehead. <I can't find a cause for it, Corim. It's not muscle tension. You're not picking up someone else's radiated pain.>

He whispered to keep the sound of his own voice from worsening the ache. “I don't care what caused it. I only want it to stop.” Wincing, he peered at her between his fingers.

She shook her head, dabbing the sweat off his cheeks. <Hopefully, they'll find the ingredients for Dulcere's herbal painkiller.>

“I hope so.” He exhaled. “It's as if someone's in my head trying to hammer their way out.”

<Did you have headaches before this?>

“No. It started after I went through emergence, twinges sometimes, but never this severe.”

<It happens when you use your ability doesn't it?>

The drum beating in Corim's forehead picked up the tempo. “I—think so.”

Annawen nodded. <It may be a trauma from the psychic surgery.>

The mallet strikes became more pointed. “Ishtar.” He groaned. “Ann—I'd swear somebody is trying to tear my head apart.”

Annawen moved, cradled his head in her lap and massaged his temples gently. <I'm coming in.>

She entered his mind with a soft tingle. He felt her hands tighten as she shared his anguish.

Corim convulsed. A thunderclap rang through his mind.

The pain vanished.

He gasped, every muscle going lax. “Ishtar! What did you do?” Opening his hands, he grinned at Annawen.

The girl frowned. <Nothing. I didn't do anything.>

Corim leaned back in the grass, feeling the soft loam beneath his buttocks and palms. Hereveled in the relief from the agony. He'd stripped off his tunic, and Cassin knelt next to him, her fingers barely touching his moist chest. Golden skin glistening, Dulcere and Annawen stood together, silhouetted against the panorama of the tree studded valley wall. Hair shifting in the breeze, Beia sat cross-legged nearby cleaning Snowfire.

<Eh'San,> Annawen explained. <I'd established a rapport. There were no outside influences I could detect, no chemical or charge imbalances. I felt his pain. When I tried to discover the cause, it stopped like someone slammed a door shut.>

Dulcere pulled at her hair, twisting it around her fingers. She glanced up at the afternoon sun.

Dulcere looked at Cassin. <Searga?>

“Nothing. A hint of trauma, but it's old.”

The Kriar frowned. <How do you feel, Corim?>

“Fine. I guess Annawen chased it away.”

Dulcere sighed. <I wish I remembered more about human anatomy. All I know is that you have only one heart, small lungs, an oversized digestive track, and iron-based blood.> She looked at Beia. <Could a toxin or a tainting in your food have caused it?>

The Myrmigyne shook her head. She spoke in a small voice. “I don't think so. Annawen's healer's sense is excellent. If it were physical, she'd have recognized it.”

Dulcere nodded.

Since the fight, it seemed that Dulcere's estimation of Beia had risen considerably. Whatever he'd done to Beia had worked more effectively than anything he had done to date. The Myrmigyne appeared nearly recovered. He couldn't shake the conviction that something had been in his mind. That it had taken control.

<We'd best move on, then. There's no time to solve the mystery.> She looked at Corim. <If the pain comes back, tell me. Where we're going, we can't afford another mistake.>

“Where are we going?” Beia asked.

Cassin nodded. “Going back further won't help. What can we do?”

<We, Searga, will ride the shunt. We'll cross-line into Meridian's new timeline.>

Cassin turned pale. “Eh'san? I can't—”

<Searga, I haven't thought of a simpler solution. The only other ways I can think of require even more cross-lining—>

“Wait!” Corim broke in. “Maybe I missed something. Why can't we stop it by killing Meridian when I had a shot at him, or by making sure the interface is broken, or the paradox generator doesn't work?”

Dulcere smiled. <That would be fine, Corim, except those events do not exist. NOTHING exists beyond the moment Oorcee died.>

“Then how can we be here!? This is certainly SOMETHING.”

Cassin cleared her throat. “Corim, if we were to walk back to that hillside and dig, we'd unearth Dulcere. We're back a century.”

“So why can't we move her body so Meridian can't find her?”

The women froze.

“That's too simple,” Beia muttered.

Dulcere's brow furrowed. “That might cause a diffraction that would erase me from the timeline. Meridian was searching for a Kriar to power his interface. He would merely find another of my kindred. That one might not help Corim in the battle, and possibly cause unpredictable snarls that we couldn't control.”

“Not too fast, Eh'San.” Cassin rubbed her chin. “Perhaps that's too direct a change. What about something more subtle?”

<What did you have in mind, Searga?>

“What if we program another override in your stones? So that Meridian goes back to same event but in a different timeline. Where the change is already a part of that line's event sequence?”

<Searga—that might work. That does not resolve the time loop, but it will undivert the timeflow so that the Protectorate can mount a proper fix.>

“Wait,” Beia said. “Why wouldn't it all be fixed? Then we would never go back to cause the damage.”

<Cassin's method does not resolve the loop we caused. Our interference at the diffraction nexus is now indelibly etched on time. Even as we send Meridian off to alter another timeline, we will still go to Baltizaar chasing timeshadows. Beia's arrow will be the catalyst that causes the diffraction. When Meridian doesn't go back and alter things, we don't go back and change them, but then events loop back on themselves, Meridian does go back, and so do we.>

Dulcere let out a breath. <It's textbook knot in time; a paradox. Until that link is broken, the line will endlessly fluctuate between diffraction and normalcy. Right now, those shockwaves are flowing down the voided time channel and into transition space to fuel the growth in the rift.>

“Does that mean we should, or shouldn't? Or that we already did?” Corim shook his head. “Ishtar, the headache is coming back.”

Everyone looked at him, concerned.

He took a long breath, holding his temples. “What do you want?” He screamed. “You're killing me, damn it!” The pain crescendoed to an incessant hammering. His whole mind lit up with a single bright pattern.

<Aurra.>

Dulcere knelt next to him, touched him, then flinched away as an arc of blue fire struck her fingers.

<The pattern. Think the pattern,> echoed an ancient and desperate voice in his head. It didn't come to him in articulated words like speech. The understanding came from deep in his mind, as if a deeply repressed part of himself were trying to communicate.

Corim could sense nothing but pain and the single glowing tracery, a complex weave of interlocking lines that looked like an alien flower.

<The pain will go. Think the pattern.>

Corim knew the women were moving around him. He could no longer focus on anything but the glowing design that grew brighter.

He concentrated on its shape and texture, the shimmering pastels that licked through it like pulses of blood through a living thing.

<Be the pattern.>

The pain receded. He knew what the tracery represented. Not a pattern.

A person.

He stretched to grasp its complexity. The more he took in, the more that came clear. The name sang through him in a blaze of power.

<Aurra.>

Lightning cracked the sky. A tendril of it lanced down in front of Corim. Everyone staggered back from the flash and the peal of thunder that echoed off the hillside. Corim could only wince and sway.

Only an arm-length away, the loam had blistered and the air shimmered around a white-hot shape resting in an elongated depression. It cooled to silver, revealing a glittering rune-covered shortsword. Blue sparks danced around the blade, and light pulsed through jewels in the broad hilt.

Beia gasped, her eyes wide. “Nethra! He summoned a Shaladen—”

“Starwind,” Corim muttered, feeling empty and numb.

Cassin held her chest. “By Isis, Corim, how?”

“She's in me,” he whispered.

“She's what?”

Beia hit her forehead. “Of course! Aurra entered his body when he touched her stone in Eternity's heart. I remember him jerking as if he'd been shocked.”

Dulcere nodded. <All the power I sensed. It was the Eternal.>

Cassin snapped her fingers. “Aurra is the strongest telepath, the mind-bender. Her presence must have boosted his power way up. No wonder he had problems turning it off.”

The Belkirin frowned. She leaned next to Corim and put a hand on his shoulder. <Why did she hurt you?>

He swallowed. “There's a lot of her, and only a little me.”

Beia took a breath. “If she couldn't fit anymore, where—”

Corim looked down at the weapon. “Most of her anyway.”

Cassin knelt on the other side of him. “Are you going to be all right?”

“Stunned.” A pause. “I have an Eternal inside me.”

Corim sat on a rock at the edge of the glade trying to collect himself. It felt as if Aurra had taken some vital portion of him with her into the gleaming Shaladen sword. He studied the cloud-dotted sky, trying to avoid looking at the glistening shape half-buried nearby.

From the corner of his eye, he saw the three Kriar sitting cross-legged, studying him with their star-flecked eyes. They'd stripped away most of their clothing. Dulcere had borrowed one of Beia's revealing halters, and seemed to be concentrating on soaking up all the sunlight she could. Corim realized now that sun was as important to the Kriar, as eating and breathing were to him and Beia.

He felt faint and far away, weak in ways that were difficult to relate to the others. Mostly, he felt a disturbing emptiness.

“Can you talk to her?” Beia asked.

Her voice snapped him back to reality. He looked over to his other side where the Myrmigyne was combing her hair. He felt stupid, as if his mind was swaddled in wool. He gave her a blank look. “I think so.”

“We need to speak with her.”

He glanced over to the sword. “Beia, I'm afraid. You must realize—”

Beia's blonde hair fluttered around her face like a halo. She gave him a stern look. “I've done it four times. Made me want to wet myself every time. First with Sharonsheen, the most powerful Shaladen. Then with Warstar, Nova, and Cybersong. I overcame the idea of being crushed by the power. I did it because I wouldn't have to use it for long.”

Corim looked down at the blade. “How does Tal—?”

Beia shook her head. “Somebody has to have the guts.”

“I don't think Aurra's given me a choice. It's like I'm not all here.”

“Do it, Corim. We need her help.”

“Oh, Ishtar.” His hands shook. “I don't—”

“Do it.”

“Why don't you do it? You've done it before.”

“Corim, if Aurra wanted me, she wouldn't have crawled in your head.”

“Damn.” He sat up and went to stare at the Shaladen as if it were an opponent.

He knelt and reached for it.

“Wait.” Beia stopped his hand halfway.

“Dulcere—Cassin, Annawen. I think we should back off a few paces.”

Corim stared at her and his hand shook. “Beia?”

“You'll be okay. Grab hold, and for Nethra's sake, don't let go.”

Corim looked into Beia's eyes, then to Dulcere. The Kriar nodded. Cassin remained impassive. Annawen bit her lip.

He stared at the Shaladen for a long moment, sensing the power there. It felt like being near the huge gemstones in Eternity's heart. Corim rolled to his knees, hands bracketing the weapon. He took quick breaths, his heart pounding.

Corim glanced at Beia again. She gave a clenched fist high-sign.

He reached out, then stopped, hand shaking.

His gaze went to Dulcere again. She frowned, sensing his fear. Damn.

Snatching the blade from the turf in one grab, he clamped both hands around the hilt of the weapon.

He stiffened. Sparks burst down his arms and into his chest. His flesh lit up as if his bones had become powerful beacons. Out of the sky, bolts of red, blue, and green struck down, surrounding him in a burning halo. His breath came in gulps, and his heart raced. Corim felt Eternity's power merge with him.

He felt complete, his mind now receptive to every impression in the glade, the people, the birds, even the insects and plants. Time. He felt the chronal currents where they damned up only a hundred summers away. He tightened his hands into fists, feeling the strength of Shaladen enhanced flesh.

<It's about time.> The female voice resonated through him. It felt as if his soul vibrated to form the “sound” of her words.

When the Eternal spoke, he could see her. A lissome giant with billowing chocolate hair, glowing blue eyes, and a narrow face with high prominent cheekbones. She wore a scintillating armor of scales that winked on her body like diamonds in sunlight. A gold belt, bracelets, and necklace were the only variation in that mirror surface.

<I'm not used to this sort of thing.> The telepathy came instinctively to him now.

<You're forgiven. Sorry, but I'm pressing you into service. There's much work to do.>

<I surmised that. Are you really in my head, or the sword?>

<Starwind is part of my essence. The remainder of my soul is in the stone you touched in Eternity's heart. It took time to manifest enough of my consciousness in you to join the two of us.>

<Join?> He felt a cold shiver.

<For the duration, our souls are one. Starwind is now as much a part of you as your own heart.>

Beia interrupted his next thought. “Corim?”

He looked up at her and smiled faintly.

“You don't look dead.”

“No, but I think I wet myself.” Beia—how did that child ever get into my emotions? It certainly wasn't her marvelous personality. At the time, the child had all the tact of an orc with a toothache. I have my suspicions as to how it happened, but I no longer desire to question it. Why ruin a good thing, even if some scheming self-righteous little back-stabber somehow orchestrated it..?—Supreme Magistrix Aarlen Frielos,

Minister of the 4th Alliance Territories

Heart drumming and hands clenched, Aarlen stared at the Jyril doppelganger. The woman held Stellaraac in her hand. She shouldn't have been able to do that. The Jyril should have been ash. Instead, she stood there and gave Aarlen one of her own I-have-evil-in-mind grins.

She found it unsettling to say the least. Her stomach seemed to fold in on itself.

“Well, aren't you going to attack me?” Blue asked. The corridor behind the Jyril pulsed, the air thick with a tumbling mist where muted pastels played in a shifting kaleidoscope. Aarlen didn't know where she would go even if she could get past this shape-stealer. Her spatial and chronal senses said that harmonic fields running through the walls made it impossible to phase shift away from here.

She raised an eyebrow. “You must have me confused with someone stupid. I can't say I'm pleased with your choice of weapons or appearance.”

Blue looked down at herself. She narrowed her eyes, held out her hand and said a word. “Vralczarr.”

Aarlen felt the heat rise in her face. “No!”

Sparkles danced around Blue's fingers. Light traced out like the strands of a spider-web. The crackling paths formed into a thick rod with a large flanged head with a razor-edged spike. Jewels sparkled into reality down the staff's length, studding a shimmering surface that looked like quicksilver. Sparks flickered around the weapon.

Aarlen took a step back as Blue brought Vralczarr's spike up under her chin. She felt the crackle of the battlestaff's magic on her throat. Aarlen stayed still. She would sooner have tried to wrestle a star than take on that weapon. The battlestaff was the next best thing to a Shaladen, and in some ways more devastating than the weapons of the Eternals.

“What do you think of my choice now?”

“He is not a toy,” she gritted.

That razor edge skimmed dangerously close to Aarlen's skin. “A toy? I should say not. Whole battlefields have been swept clean of life by this tool. Uprisings have been crushed through fear of it. The minds of leaders have been controlled by it.” The weapon's magic flared. Aarlen felt tendrils of force wind around her body; venomous serpents of skharvarren, the soul-biter. If she moved, her death would be very painful. “Oh, no, Majestrix Frielos, it is not a toy.”

She swallowed. “Would you mind telling me what we're at, here? Do you intend to punish me for my injustices? You wouldn't be the first. The Eternals got to me way ahead of you.” Aarlen couldn't help shuddering. The Eternals never threatened her with Vralczarr.

Stellaraac became a sparkling gauntlet on Blue's hand. Before Aarlen could move, the Jyril held her by the throat with it. Blue's voice dropped to whisper. Aarlen felt moisture on her cheek. “What I am at, is deciding whether you deserve to live.”

Aarlen laughed. It hurt her throat. The heat in her cheeks and gut became scalding. “Well then, debate no more. I passed the point of repentance forty millennia ago. I learned pain and shared it with every kingdom and planet I found; a stupid girl chasing after a dead sister. When I finally figured it out, I took that out on them, too. By then it didn't matter; nothing did. It doesn't now. The universe will breathe easier when I'm gone. Kill me. Just don't waste my time.”

“You're a hard woman, Aarlen Frielos.”

“I used to think that. I was my father's revenge on an unfair universe, for all his afflictions and shortcomings. He went to the grave knowing he'd accomplished exactly what he set out to do. His mistake was thinking he would live long enough to see it.”

Blue jabbed the staff's spike into the floor. It rasped and crackled. The bands of skharvarren vanished. “You've taken a lot from the universe simply because of the folly of one man.”

As long as she didn't have to die by the soul-biter, she could relax. “It is easy to judge, Blue. What I took satisfied a craving, but never filled the void in me. I couldn't have known or even understood what my cursed Father did to my mind. Not yet in my teens, but already living in an adult's body. A child haunted by specters and given a demon's strength to fight them with. Children don't understand why they lash out. They only understand that they need. It's not hard to become convinced that the universe owes you a debt for the pain you feel inside. The difference was, Father gave me the strength to collect it. Once you're started on that road, inertia carries you forward.”

“You say then that you are blameless?”

“Hecate's eyes, no. I knew what I was about before my third century. My soul grew calluses from all the chunks that had been torn out. I knew no other way than taking, and didn't care to learn another. Somewhere in my head was this twisted notion that when I took it all, things would be balanced again.”

Blue's eyes narrowed. “You went a long way toward that goal.”

She felt the anger rising again. “You didn't come here to reminisce about what you must already know. Whatever you're going to do, let's get on with it.”

Vralczarr became a scepter in Blue's hand, and she folded her arms under her breasts. “Are you so eager to die?”

“I know I have things to do, and you're keeping me from them. The timeline is getting shredded while we sit here and babble.”

“Things are being taken care of. A Kriar belkirin, your mate and her goddaughters survived the diffraction. They have been given the necessary tools and knowledge to attempt a repair.”

Aarlen frowned. “The same Kriar who helped me out of the anomaly? There were two.”

Blue's brow furrowed. “We detected none such. The Belkirin is the same entity Meridian enslaved.”

Something wasn't right. “A Belkirin? A Kriar force commander could resolve this problem without assistance. Why risk further problems by taking amateurs backtime?”

Blue's face remained expressionless. “Her time-diving abilities were crippled from damage to her matrixes.”

Aarlen's knuckles cracked as she tightened her fists. “Let me see if I have this right. My mate is traveling with a pair of journeymen timedivers who have not even a giga-rev of diving experience between them.” Her voice rose. “They're out there with a crippled Belkirin, trying to fix the worst diffraction in this universe's history?” She leaned forward so her nose touched Blue's and yelled at full volume. “Is that what you're trying to tell me?! Are you unhinged!”

Blue's eyes narrowed even as her hair fluttered from Aarlen's point-blank outburst. Her voice rose a fraction. “We have more important things to do than coddle the children of this universe.”

“You have strange notions of pampering, Blue. Set me loose. You can go do these important tasks of yours. I have some youngsters to go coddle.”

“No.” Blue grimaced. “You stay. You have carried your burdens already. They must learn to bear their own. Follow me.” She turned and strode into the corridor.

Aarlen followed the Jyril. She tried again to summon Stellaraac. Nothing. Vralczarr wouldn't come to her hand either. As long as they blocked teleportation and phase shifting, she would remain trapped here. Watch and wait, her opportunity would come.

“If you're going to hold me here, I can't just keep calling you ‘blue'. What is your title?”

“I prevail here, I am this ship's Vasar. I have no name as such, my essence phonation is Sa'Gairin. You may continue calling me Blue—I am that, after all.” She looked back at Aarlen and the corner of her mouth quirked up.

She let out a breath. This Jyril's sense of humor needed adjustment.

Apparently, the same mist filled every part of the ship. The Jyril technology was featureless and drab, unlike the Kriar who would expose conduits and maintenance hatches simply for the artistic appeal. They passed more than a score of intersections, all about fifty paces apart, and she still hadn't seen an exterior bulkhead.

Big ship, not a hint of a curve in these corridors.

She noticed something else odd. “Where are the other crew?”

Blue glanced over her shoulder. “We pass them occasionally. They are hard to see, if you don't know what to look for.”

Aarlen didn't know what to make of that. The few times she had run into Jyril, they had appeared humanoid like the Kriar, with sapphire-colored skin. She could only assume that those other times the Jyril had been imitating a human, as Blue was doing now.

For the third time, she tried to summon the staff and sword. Neither responded, as if the items were somehow completely isolated from her.

I'd really like to know how she's doing that. The Eternals never would have caught me if I could cut them off from the Shaladens.

Blue stopped by a section of corridor that looked identical to the hundreds of wall panels they'd passed on the way here. The Jyril merely looked at the bulkhead and an oval-shaped section of the wall dissipated into the same colored mists floating in the corridor.

Aarlen followed her inside. The chamber was hexagonal, like the one she'd been kept in, only it was about five times the size. Seven couches, again similar to her own, stood in two rows on opposite sides of the room. Tal, Terra, Nethra and Ceraph lay in one group, while Ess, Cassandra, and Dorian were in the other. They all appeared to be asleep. She saw chests rising and falling. The rate seemed inordinately slow.

She noticed brass-colored metallic stars resting on the foreheads of the mages and the Myrmigyne.

Had the Jyril managed to rescue these people from the anomaly, or were these more replicas? Why were Ess and the mages being treated differently from the three Protectorate members? Some of them showed bruises and scrapes that could have been caused by matter imploding into the rift. It supported the thought that these were the actual people.

“I know it's probably useless to ask, but what are you doing?”

Blue touched the hawk crest hanging around her neck. “They are waiting to be returned to the timeline from whence they came.”

“Why can't they assist in helping fix the diffraction? That is Nethra's job, and Tal's, and Terra's.”

“We do not choose that course of action.”

Aarlen's first instinct was to yell at Blue again. She doubted that it would have any more affect than the first time. This whole situation set her teeth on edge. She hated the idea of sitting idle while Beia risked her life. “What you're saying is that we're captives.”

Blue tapped the scepter in her hand. The gesture made Aarlen shiver. It was the same one she used to intimidate those who knew Vralczarr's power.

The Jyril stared at her, eyes hard and body taut. Every nuance, down to the tilt of her head and set of her jaw mimicked Aarlen's own when she wished to frustrate someone for the simple pleasure of doing so. Because it pleases you, I shall not do it. This mirror image of her insisted on putting Aarlen's dark traits on display. Why did Blue insist on flogging a steed long dead? What good came of taunting her?

Blue said the words. Aarlen knew they were her own repeated back from some incident. “You are in our custody. How you call it is of no consequence.”

Aarlen felt the heat of frustration mounting. She knew she shouldn't react to it. “Hecate take you, why!?”

Blue's mouth quirked. Those silver eyes looked dead. “Because it pleases us.”

Aarlen growled. “Don't you have any dialogue of your own?”

The Vasar studied her as if she were a lab animal that had exhibited some unusual behavior. “You have quite an arsenal of catch phrases. Seems a shame to let them go to waste.”

She stayed focused on the subject of importance. “Don't you care if a whole timeline destabilizes? Those are children out there.”

Blue spun the scepter between her fingers, and walked a circuit around the room. She stopped by Ceraph and her jaw tightened. “How do you say it? We have bigger dragons to broil.”

“Meaning?”

“The Genemar, Aarlen Frielos. Your facet of the multiverse is but a trivial part of the whole. Repairing the timeline will see to itself. We are concerned with a larger threat, there are those in this universe who seek it.”

Aarlen knew she sounded incredulous. “This thing is bigger than the annihilation of whole realms of existence?”

“It is the Genemar.” For close to a decade, I've wandered the realms and fought in the tourneys wanting only one thing—the stars. My dream is to travel among them. Somehow I don't think it will be like I expect. —Corim Erik Vale

Corim felt as if he'd been in the grassy clearing near the lake forever. Now, merged with the Shaladen, every sensory detail was magnified three fold. He knew every bush, stone, and tree that stippled clearing's edge as if he'd studied them for hours.

Every odor brought images to mind; the peppery scent of the white-bark trees, the acridness of loam and lake algae, and the enticing tang of the air around the three Kriar. Even the swirls of the breeze and the sway of the trees high on the valley wall called attention to themselves.

His gaze went back to women sitting in a semi-circle. The surroundings were so bewilderingly new that his mind kept drifting. He could see things as patterns of heat and sound, emotion and thought. Corim wanted to explore all these new abilities.

“So we can repair the damage.” Beia nodded, gripping Snowfire. Corim could feel less tension in her now. Aurra's psychic healing appeared to have restored her to normal.

“Of course.” Starwind's vibration made Corim's arm ache. Aurra's rich voice emanated from the Shaladen, as if made by living vocal cords.

Dulcere swallowed. Corim could tell that the thought of the Eternal being here, even by proxy, made her uncomfortable. <No offense, Raegra, but your knowledge can't help without an experienced timediver to apply it.>

Tension. “Eh'San,” Cassin said in a low voice. “I respectfully ask that you not call her that. The Fabrista and the Protectorate have made peace.”

Dulcere looked into the younger Kriar's eyes. <Forgive me, Searga. The times have changed. I have not.> She looked at Corim. <I stand corrected, Kul'Thane Aurra.>

Corim felt Aurra smile in his mind. “Kul'Thane? Belkirin, you honor me. No peace was made between Surr's dasta and the Protectorate. Our treaty is with Vatraena Solaris. If you do not accept her, Raegra will do.”

Dulcere stiffened. Lips pressed tight, she glanced at the twins, who paled. <Solaris is the eldest Kriar dasta. I respect them. I knew Surr was wrong, but I thought a greater good would be served. I was mistaken.>

“You have my respect, Dulcere. I've never met a Kriar who would admit an error.”

She frowned, but didn't respond.

Corim thought to Aurra. <Don't alienate her, damn it. Look, I know the Eternals and the Kriar fought in the past, but Dulcere is trying to help.>

<And you love her.>

He realized then, how totally open he was to Aurra. No part of his mind or feelings remained private. She shared his most intimate emotions as if they were her own. His face grew hot, and he knotted his fists. <That's beside the point—>

<Back down, Corim. We must be careful. Her dasta almost destroyed the Protectorate. If she remains loyal to Surr, it would pose a problem.>

<I don't think she is.>

<My instinct is that she's not. We must be certain.>

Aurra spoke aloud through the sword. “Apologies, Belkirin, that was uncalled for. We must work together. We will have to solve this without an experienced timediver.”

Cassin spoke. “Honored. Are we going to use my plan to program Dulcere's stones?”

“Give me a while, Child. I'm still reviewing the data.” A pause. “At the moment, I would say it's a plausible solution. It would resolve about sixty percent of the problem.”

Beia snorted. “Sixty percent? Is that all?”

“Meridian is still creating disruptions in an alternate timeline.”

Dulcere sighed. <Sixty percent is a start.>

“Let's head toward the landslide, then,” Corim said. “I'm taking root here.”

Everyone nodded, and packed the few things they possessed.

Corim reached for Eboneye. Searing jolt made him drop the spear. “Ow! Hey, what was that for?”

Static rippled along the weapon's haft. “I'm not talking to you.”

Beia gave Corim a wry smile. “A woman spurned.”

“I didn't spurn anybody!”

The spear growled. “Then what's SHE doing here?”

He looked down to the Shaladen in his right hand.

Aurra chuckled in his mind. “Claws in, Eboneye. It's only temporary. I'm not after your boyfriend.”

Eboneye snorted. “Then I should be in his right hand.”

“Oh, Ishtar.” Corim put the Shaladen through his belt, and took Eboneye with the other hand.

“Better.”

He sighed. The twins giggled, and Dulcere smiled.

“She pouted for weeks when I got Snowfire,” Beia said.

They left the lake with only a few glances back. Corim trudged up the slope, still feeling fatigue dragging at his limbs.

Beia took point and ranged ahead, and Dulcere slowed to defend the rear of the party.

Pushing aside brambles and climbing over fallen trees, Corim stumbled often, and his vision blurred. His legs and arms shook. They felt doughy, as if his bones had turned to rubber.

Annawen put a hand on his shoulder. <Something wrong? Still not feeling well?>

He shook his head. “All this power, and it's like none of it is for me. My muscles ache, and I'm tired.”

<It's trauma from the merger. You need food and rest to give your system time to adjust.> She poked a rock-hard bicep. <You have to eat three times as much to feed those new muscles.>

“I do feel hungry.”

<Think of the energy the change burned. You haven't eaten since we started time traveling.> She looked back to Dulcere. <Eh'San, we need to get some provisions.>

<Is there someplace to get them without causing time snarls?>

Annawen shrugged. <I have the Jyril device.>

“I'll go,” Cassin said. She walked over and put a hand on Corim's shoulder. “You watch Corim. Make sure Beia knows I'm going. I'll meet you at the cliff in three kilorevs.”

<Watch yourself, Searga.>

Cassin waved to the elder Kriar and vanished.

“Let me call Beia,” Corim said. “I want to practice.”

Annawen nodded.

The Shaladen made it easy. <Beia?>

<Corim?> He sensed Beia smile. <Trying out your new toy?>

He frowned. <I'd never be flippant enough to call it a toy. Cassin wanted me to tell you she went for provisions.>

<Good. I'm starved.>

<She'll meet us by the cliff in three kilorevs.>

<That's acceptable. You're going to need food; the Shaladen takes a lot out of you.>

<I'll survive.>

<Of course you will. We still have to take care of Meridian.>

<True.>

The thought of a meal lightened the journey. Once he concentrated on his stomach, some of the other aches faded. The green trees and bushes became sparser as they topped the summit and looked down into the desert.

Annawen held his left hand, smiling and silent.

If only Dulcere were as willing.

His stomach growled, and he frowned. As they picked their way down the rocks, he looked at Annawen.

“Don't you ever get hungry?”

<Thirsty, sometimes.> She hopped off a boulder, then looked back. <We only eat when we're wounded or need extra energy.>

“It's because of those gems, isn't it?”

She nodded. <They supply everything.>

Beia jogged down the trail ahead.

Corim looked behind them, and watched as Dulcere jumped off the rocks. “Hers are broken. That must be like losing a hand.”

Annawen bit her lip. <Exactly like that, Corim.>

The heat rose as they left the trees for the barren rock of the plateau. Mesas and outcrops formed a jagged motif in shades of cinnamon and rust.

Dulcere caught up and walked beside Annawen as they picked their way down the trail.

<How are you feeling, Corim?> Dulcere asked.

“I've been worse. The change came too fast for me. There are so many new senses. I can feel Aurra inside me.”

The expression on the Belkirin's face was solemn. <You're the weapon that will turn the tide. Take care of yourself.>

Corim took a slow breath. “That's hard to imagine. I started out the little player in this game.”

She smiled. <I never planned on having subordinates tote me around like old baggage.>

<Hardly baggage, Eh'San.> Annawen frowned. <We will solve this, and take you back to homeworld to get you cleared.>

The elder Kriar scowled. <Cleared?>

Annawen looked over at Dulcere's dark tone. <All returning personnel are going through a court inquiry and debriefing.>

The belkirin sighed. <Yes, of course.> Corim could tell she wasn't looking forward to it.

Edging down the ridge, they headed into a small valley made by two spurs of the hillside. Huge boulders formed a gentle slope rising to an abrupt vertical incline. The hill looked as if some huge fist had staved in a barn-sized section.

Beia walked around the periphery looking doubtful. “There must be a thousand tons of stone here.”

Corim folded his arms. “How are we going to move that?”

Annawen leaned on his shoulder. <More important is how we keep Dulcere from waking up.> She glanced back at the belkirin. <She can't restrain herself. The Jyril device might prevent a close approach from causing harm, but it's doubtful it could handle direct contact.>

“It would take time for her to regain consciousness,” Beia said.

<Two hectarevs,> Dulcere confirmed.

“That's not enough time.” Beia put hands on hips. “We'll still be moving rocks when she comes around.”

“I'll take care of it,” Aurra spoke through the Shaladen for first time in a long period. “A sense block will keep Dulcere under. It's very fast, no trauma, and in her weakened state, a low chance of resistance.”

Beia nodded. “If you're sure, Aurra, then that's what we'll do. Cassin better get back with that food soon. This will be heavy work.”

Cassin returned with more than simple provisions. There were changes of clothing for everybody, backpacks to carry equipment, water bags, and other necessities. It helped moods a great deal.

Three days later they were near their goal. When Corim and Beia stopped to eat, the Kriar would continue working. Corim marveled at their efficiency. Together they moved man-sized boulders at a constant rate. Anything that was too heavy, they chopped into smaller chunks with their force swords. The three worked seamlessly, with no confusion or hesitation.

Moving the tons of boulders required such energy that the Kriar began digging into the provisions as well. Cassin went back for food twice.

Dulcere walked down from the rocks wearing a revealing white halter, a pair of tight blue shorts, and a set of metal boots. The glaring sun never burned her, and she reveled in the heat.

<We're very close, perhaps a kilorev more work.>

Beia and Corim sat on a rock, wolfing down slabs of cheese and bread. They'd used blankets and some tree limbs to make a lean-to.

“You better let us do the rest,” Corim said wiping his brow. “You're very pale.”

Ultra-short skirt fluttering around her hips, Annawen skipped down from the quarry and snatched the last piece of cheese from Corim's fingers. <Leave some for us.> She put an arm around him. The heat from her skin made him flinch. Annawen took a bite and put the rest in Corim's mouth.

Corim smiled and finished his cheese. Putting his arm around Annawen's waist, he gave her a squeeze. It seemed useless to fight the Kriar girl's forward habits.

<Cassin and I will finish, Eh'San. You've worked hard; rest. You have to talk Cassin through the programming as it is.>

Dulcere nodded.

Beia yelled up to Cassin. “Come down and rest for a while.”

Cassin paused, holding an uneven rock twice the size of a filled pack. The strength of the Kriar still amazed Corim. He'd seen them heft rocks that weighed as much as large horse. Even with the Shaladen power, he couldn't move much more. They appeared to gain extra strength from the long days in the scorching sun.

Cassin tossed the rock aside with a crash, and walked down to join the group. She wore more modest attire than Annawen; dark blue breeches and a loose sleeveless blouse knotted beneath her breasts.

She picked up the waterskin from next to Beia, and took a long gulp.

“We're close. I can see her through the rock. Only two more boulders, and I can sync with her matrixes.”

<Go slow, Searga. This has to be done precisely. If I detect tampering, I'll simply erase the program.>

Cassin nodded.

“Do we need to protect ourselves when this change is made?” Corim asked.

<No, we want to be part of the change. So we'll become part of the timeline again. Remember what I told you about these compensators? Even moving the rocks is causing minuscule changes in time that these are keeping isolated to our local bubble of probabilities. We have to do this in such a way that events as we know them aren't altered.>

Beia rubbed her forehead. “I'm glad you understand it. Makes my head swim. I'm ready to get this over with. Come on. Cassin and Dulcere can plan while we work.”

Corim stood. He hopped forward in surprise when Annawen pinched him. She gave him an innocent expression when he looked back. Sighing, he climbed toward the excavation.

They looked down into the funnel of scattered stone. Two large boulders lay directly over Dulcere's resting place.

“We don't want to cut these up,” Beia said. “Her stasis field will have made a wedge in the rock. We want to replace them as found.”

“How then?” Corim stared at the several ton slab.

“Annawen, cut some notches. We'll use Snowfire, Eboneye and some of these rocks to lift it out of there.”

The force weapon sparkled from Annawen's hand, and she cut a progression of notches down the exposed side of the rock.

“Corim, get me that big stone over there.” Beia pointed to a round chunk of granite a yard across.

He went to the boulder fragment and pulled the Shaladen from his belt. With two clean swipes, he cut a chunk out of the rock's side and then again opposite. He'd learned this trick after Beia showed him the strength and sharpness of the weapon. It cut stone and metal as easily as a normal sword did flesh.

He grabbed hold and heaved. Nothing. Corim focused, the greater levels of strength required concentration. His muscles tightened, and his body grew taut as he braced against the weight. The rock shifted and rose. It made sense for the strength to work that way. This way he wouldn't accidentally hurt somebody with a pat on the back, or wound himself trying to eat.

Corim trundled the huge weight to the position indicated. Beia summoned Eboneye from where it sat next to Cassin at the lean-to. She jammed the blade into a cut, and pulled it down against Corim's rock.

Wedging the rock as close as possible to the spear point, she summoned Snowfire to her hand. After a few moments, she'd shaped the malleable weapon into large box hanging from the end of Eboneye.

“Chop up some stones and load them in.”

“Won't it hurt Eboneye?”

Beia shook her head. “She's made out of adamant alloy. She'll bend with about thirty tons. We aren't putting nearly that much on there. Snowfire is pure krill, I don't think anything can harm him.”

They loaded until the box was full, and the stone overtop Dulcere showed signs of shifting.

“Cut some more notches, and we'll put our backs into it.”

Annawen did so, and the three of them started the contest of raw strength. Muscles rippling, the three of them fought the boulder out of its resting place and rolled it on its side.

A neat, cylinder-shaped notch had been bitten out of the underside. Below, in the ground, lay Dulcere in silver tatters.

The sounds of loud hand-clapping came from the cliff head. A deep male voice boomed down to them. “Bravo. Excellently done. What a surprise. Five paradoxes for the price of one.”

Dark hair and crimson robes whipping in the breeze, the huge man smiled down at them. The single white stone on his brow glowed.

Corim blinked. It was the mage who had been attacking the band of the Crescent moon. The mage who Oorcee killed with a lucky spell.

Hellzan. For some strange reason everyone seems to think that we take our special privileges for granted. That is untrue; Annawen and I appreciate the silver spoon of our abilities and magic more than can be described. We strive every day to prove we are worthy of the gifts that were especially bestowed on us... —Cassin Kel'Ishtauri Felspar

Everyone froze. Standing over Dulcere's rocky burial place, Corim swallowed a knot, and looked up at the burly, square-faced mage, his red cloak stirring in the breeze. Poised near the rock they'd recently moved, Beia and Annawen's gazes fixed on the intruder.

Hellzan, the insane timelord, the man who—if not for Oorcee's spell—would have slain the entire Band of the Crescent Moon. The outcome of that battle had now been changed, and the wizard roamed the temporal currents. Corim didn't know why Hellzan had followed them, but he doubted the mage meant to do them any good.

The wind whispered across the rocky hem of the high desert sweeping banners of particles through the boulder-choked valley. Miniature whirlwinds danced around the bases of the two ridge spurs, the only movement in the tableau besides the stirring of hair and clothing.

The frozen instant shattered. Hellzan's hands flashed.

The air shuddered with motion. Snowfire appeared in Beia's hand. Cassin drew her blaster and fired. Annawen vanished in blaze of light. Dulcere became a white-and-gold blur sprinting for the hilltop. Corim pulled Starwind and summoned Eboneye.

Twin bolts of lightning roared from Hellzan's hands. An impulse made Corim swing the Shaladen in front of him. The shaft of power deflected and rasped into the rocks on his right. The second bolt crashed into Beia. The magic reflected off Snowfire back toward Hellzan.

Cassin's shot tore into the titan's leg. Annawen reappeared behind the enemy and lashed out with her force sword. Struck by his own magic, and slammed by Kriar weaponry, the giant man reeled.

Dulcere reached the hilltop. The Belkirin's weapon made four brilliant swaths at the same instant that Beia's arrow hissed into the mage's forehead.

Hellzan toppled down the cliff like a riddled doll, leaving bloody splashes in his wake.

<Corim!> Dulcere called the thought. <Don't let my duplicate wake up. Put her out fast!>

He obeyed, pointing the Shaladen at Dulcere's time twin, now stirring in the rocks. <Go!>

“My, we are amazingly fierce. Dear me, what a mess.” Hellzan stood on the opposite ridge spur looking across at Dulcere and Annawen. His simulacrum still lay bleeding on the rocks. He shook his head, voice dropping to a growl. “That looks like it hurt.”

The corpse shriveled, then decomposed into a crimson slime that ran into the spaces between the rocks.

<Don't stop, Corim.> Dulcere kept her eyes on Hellzan.

Passive, the titan looked over the small group. “Time is an amazing thing. No matter how good we become at traveling in it, manipulating events, predicting probabilities, there is always the unforeseen twist.”

Corim concentrated on what Aurra was doing. The blade glowed, and the figure lying in the rocks stopped twitching.

<That will only hold for a while.>

Hellzan continued. “After the battle ended, I found that everything had shifted radically in time. I noticed traces of timediving activity. I tracked you here. What do I find? Beia, who I finished killing only moments ago. Three Kriar, two who look suspiciously like Cassandra Kel'Ishtauri, and a weapon that stinks of her magic.”

“We can always kill you again,” Cassin said.

Hellzan rubbed his blocky chin. “Mouthy like Cassandra, too.”

<That's it!> Dulcere's thought made everyone jump.

The titan frowned.

Beia notched an arrow and drew the bowstring to her ear. “Hellzan, you picked a bad time to nose into our affairs. We will kill you. Go. Now!”

The man looked confused. “Amazing.”

“Corim, take him out. Cassin—go!”

Without Beia's warning, Corim would have been completely disoriented. Cassin flashed starbright. Instantly, he and she stood within striking range of the giant, her hand clasped with his on the Shaladen.

Before he could attack, the landscape streaked around them. Mountains leaped forward, and then shrank. Forests, deserts, oceans, the void, from the peaks of mountains to the deepest crevices; a thousand locales flickered around them, splashes of color that whirled by in a dizzying blur.

The chase was on. Corim's new senses perceived the wild time fluctuations, as Cassin and Hellzan vied for position. Leaping temporally and spatially, they played a game of cosmic tag, waiting for the crucial slip that would give either of them the advantage. Corim felt the huge amounts of power consumed, as each panorama shimmered past.

In the back of his mind, he sensed that Aurra had formed a link between herself and Cassin. The Eternal urged the young Kriar on, giving her access to the Shaladen's limitless energy.

<Stop kidding yourself, Hellzan,> Cassin thought. <You can't out maneuver me, I have all the power I need.>

They flashed into reality on a high peak, in some completely alien landscape. Purple rock rose like a forest of icicles against a bloody sky dominated by pale blue suns.

Hellzan stood only a few paces away, breathing heavily, sweat rolling down his face. His coal-dark eyes were narrowed, and the single gem burned on his forehead.

“Your warp ability is exceptional.”

“The Kriar invented it, remember?”

“The Kriar are dead.”

“Welcome to the future.”

As he listened to the two timedivers mock each other, Corim realized he didn't feel sick even after they'd come through the most violent time travel imaginable.

Thank Ishtar for Eternals and Shaladens.

“You're bluffing, you can't keep up the pace. Even if your source of power is infinite. Which I doubt. You'll burn out first.”

The young Kriar straightened, her eyes narrowing. “Try me. You're beaten, you simply don't know it yet.” The force sword sprouted from her hand, casting an angry red halo around her body.

Corim tightened his grip on Starwind and Eboneye. Hellzan's hand shifted to the hilt of his sword, ready for the fast draw.

“Do him, Corim. He's too stupid to live.”

Hellzan's eyes flashed. Corim reeled back, the impact feeling like a punch in the stomach. The titan had tried to slam Corim through time, and the Shaladen's defenses had thwarted the strike.

He slashed out with Starwind. The heavy shortsword moved with the ease of a table-knife, striking the giant before he could move.

Hellzan howled and staggered back, clutching the diagonal gash in his torso. Again, the landscape wavered as the titan retreated, and Cassin gave chase.

<Can you keep this up?>

Searing heat and blinding light engulfed them for an instant. Gigantic prominences of flame leaped high into the void above.

<No. Neither can he.>

Corim briefly felt a crushing pressure and tasted seawater.

<Must we kill him?>

A twisting sensation was followed by a slam, then a feeling of acceleration. Around them mountains appeared to crumble. Twist. Growing taller, slam, changing color. Jump, plains of grass. Flicker, a vast ocean. Flicker, mountains again.

He felt Cassin shudder. <Aurra says so—damn.> Flicker. Jump. Flicker.

He could feel the girl's pain. They weren't traveling in time, now. They were cutting directly across the chronal current. Cross-lining, the thing Dulcere had mentioned that had so frightened the young Kriar.

<We have to shut him down, Corim, otherwise we'll be lost. I'm losing my origin trace.>

<What?>

<Stomp on his brain. Break his concentration. Do something!>

He thrust a sensation at the vague figure that danced wraithlike before them.

Pain. He projected. Reaching out mentally he joined with Aurra, and the Eternal helped. Agony.

They exploded into real-time. Debris tumbled around them in a collage of twisted three-dimensional cuneiform. No stars shone in the blackness, no perspective, no order existed in the chaos. There was simply a confusion of matter that crashed together randomly in multicolored explosions.

Only Cassin's Kriar reflexes kept them from being crushed as they bounded through the weightless confusion. They'd lost sight of Hellzan in this cubist's nightmare.

Cassin propelled them through the void, dodging with masterful precision.

<Lost him!>

<Did he jump?>

<No. A rock must have carried him away. Dark. We'll have to leave him. My trace is almost dead. Hold on.>

Flash. Flicker. Flicker. Flicker.

They reappeared on an alien beach, red sand, purple clouds, and an iridescent sky. Vulture-shaped lizards flapped clumsily through air that smelled of rotting eggs.

“Oh, dark. Oh, dark.”

“What happened? Why did we stop here?”

The normally unflappable Cassin wore a panicked expression, and her gold skin had turned three shades lighter. She didn't answer; she only shook her head.

Corim's bones tripled their weight. His stomach cramped worse than it had after his first timedive. “We're not lost, are we?”

The young Kriar nodded once.

“Aurra!”

<What do you want me to do, Corim? I'm lost too. There's no other Shael Dal to get a fix on.>

“Ishtar. Now what?”

Cassin swallowed, gaze swinging around to take in her surroundings. She took deep breaths, visibly calming herself. “Give me a moment, Corim. I've got to think.”

Corim stood in silence while Cassin massaged her temples. Yellow-eyed lizards stared at them from above, but did not approach. Distorted crustaceans scampered around the edge of the frothing green water.

After studying the breakers for a while, he turned his gaze inland to the unfamiliar tree line. Knobby trees jutted from rusty hillocks, their leathery fronds dancing in gusts of foul-smelling air.

Cassin pressed clenched fists to her forehead. “Oh, Isis, they haven't taught me cross-line navigation yet. I told Dulcere. Oh, damn. I shouldn't have followed him. Let myself get to involved in the chase.” Tears welled in her eyes, and she pounded her temples. “Damn, damn, damn.”

“Be calm.” Corim put his arms around her. “Don't rush. You can get us out. I trust you.”

The Kriar looked up at him, lip quivering. “Corim, there are infinite probabilities. Without an origin, we can't know when we're in the right timeline. Because of the paradox, there's nothing to even give me a clue when I'm close. We're really stuck.” She clenched her arms around him and buried her face in the curve of his neck. “Dark—dark—dark.”

He held her tight, trying to be strong for her.

“What about Annawen and Dulcere?”

“Impossible. It took Shaladen power to get us here. Annawen couldn't drag Dulcere and Beia out here. The drain would kill her.”

Corim shook his head. He never thought their quest would end like this. The superior airs of the Kriar have always annoyed me. The righteousness of the Eternals makes my stomach churn. The unimaginative Time Guardians never fail to leave me cold inside. I can only laugh at the foolishness of humans, and shake my head at the whims of fate. After four hundred centuries, even a perfectly healthy body and mind begin to grow weary. The weight of all that living is heavy indeed. Having someone to care for makes the burden bearable... —Supreme Magistrix Aarlen Frielos,

Minister of the 4th Alliance Territories

Aarlen stood in the featureless hexagonal room. A faint acrid scent had mingled with the sugary smell that prevailed in the air everywhere she had gone in this vessel. She assumed it came from the seven bodies lying here in the room. The Jyril must have sedated them because they didn't stir in their sleep-like repose.

It is the Genemar. That was what Blue said. As if that would mean something to her.

She looked into the eyes of the sapphire-colored rendition of herself. The female flipped her snowy hair, still holding onto the scepter of Vralczarr. The nuances, the way Blue nonchalantly handled Aarlen's most deadly weapon made her want to attack. The impulse would accomplish nothing more than to get herself killed.

Aarlen folded her arms. “Am I supposed to know something about this Genemar?”

Blue narrowed her silver eyes. “You will.”

Why all this hyperbole? Why not just tell me what they want? It appeared that she would never get a direct answer. She refused to keep asking questions.

Aarlen walked over and put a hand on Ess’ cheek. The Myrmigyne's eyes were closed, and her skin remained warm, still moist from the fear of being sucked toward the rift. Angry red scratches striped her arm.

She took the arm in her hand. The strands of the incantation danced through her mind. Rubbing her fingers gently over the gashes, they glowed as the magic flowed into the flesh, knitting the raw edges and making the skin whole again.

Take care, Beia. Damn these blue meddlers, I should be out there with you. She sighed.

“How is it you love?” Blue asked.

Aarlen looked over. She felt a cold hand grip her insides. “Don't you know? You've violated my mind enough.”

The Jyril put the scepter in her belt. “Seeing is not necessarily comprehending.”

“What does this have to do with your Genemar?”

“Nothing. We were deciding whether you deserved to live.”

Aarlen closed her eyes. She held her breath, and let it out slowly. “Are we back to that again?”

“How is it you love, Aarlen Frielos?”

She growled. “Very poorly, Blue. Ask anyone. I have a heart of brass. They installed it on the birthday of my second millennium.”

“You refer to when the Trackazoids killed your infant son?”

The coldness swelled in her guts. “If you know the answers, Blue, why do you ask the questions?”

“There is more understanding in your answers.”

“You mean there's pain. I didn't become the monster everyone hated without help. I simply refused to lie down and die like they wanted. Their fear never let me rest. It finally became automatic. I stopped waiting to be rodded, and struck first.” Aarlen realized she'd balled her fists in Ess’ tunic.

She let go and smoothed the fabric. Blue continued to study her.

“How is it you love, Aarlen Frielos?”

Aarlen's jaw tightened. She smoothed the hair on Ess’ brow. She wished she could go to sleep and forget this madness. “I don't think I care to respond to anymore of your questions.”

“There is healing in your answers.”

“Funny, it doesn't feel like it.”

Blue stepped closer. “Many wounds hurt in their undoing.”

“As if you gave a curse about my wounds. What do you care, Blue?”

The Jyril's gaze stayed level. “You are a powerful force. You started with nothing, yet rose to a level of ability only exceeded by the elder races. There is much to learn from that.”

“What if I don't feel like teaching?”

“In and of itself, that is a lesson, Aarlen. I think you want to tell these things because you have never told anyone before.” Blue looked down at Ess and traced the curve of her cheek with a long fingernail. “How does one who has never felt love, or ever been loved, find it, as you did with Beia?”

“Persistent bitch, aren't you?”

The corner of Blue's mouth quirked. “I only emulated what I saw.”

Aarlen sighed. “Left myself open for that, didn't I?”

The Jyril nodded.

“Love.”

Blue's eyes narrowed.

“It's an ugly word, painful, dark, addictive. Born humans and Teritaani have pheromonal love. They can meet a person, and instantly feel an attraction. I knew about it, but in all my centuries I never felt it. Not even with the children I birthed.” She walked over to Cassandra and looked down at the Kriar's flawless face. “Father's drugs and magic robbed me of that. No doubt the same thing that kept me from loving, took away my conscience, too.”

“So how did you overcome it?”

Aarlen frowned. “It wasn't something I set out to do. The Eternals scrambled my brains so much that I'm surprised I distinguished one feeling from another. I'd never pitied myself, much less anyone else.”

Blue sounded doubtful. “Pity?”

“Pity, compassion, love, they're all degrees of the same thing. You have to start somewhere; especially if you were like me. I knew little beyond hate, anger, desire and sometimes satisfaction.” She walked around Cassandra and stopped at the head of Dorian's dais.

She felt a warm rush as she gripped a handful of the mage's auburn hair. “This is where it started. This is the little minx that caused it. She knew. She did this to me. I don't know how, but the little witch knew.” Aarlen rocked Dorian's head side-to-side then let go. “The Eternals had burned out my will. Nothing mattered anymore. Not even my own survival.”

Aarlen swallowed, remembering back to those bleak days sitting beneath the roots of Duran'Gravar, where Nethra had sentenced her. She recalled the sun, the pleasant smells, the laughter and tranquility and how it all simply blurred in her mind. All she knew was that horrible weight, the guilt of what she had done over the millennia. Every bad act now seared into her soul. She awoke each day with less and less reason for waking up. Aarlen knew with a grim certainty that one morning soon, she would not rise again.

Then one day it changed. She sat under one of Gravar's arch-like roots, and watched a squad of Myrmigynes doing spear drills under the direction of Queen Targallae. The sun shone brightly, making the jungle vastness glitter in all its iridescent hues.

Though Beia was getting on in years, she could still compete with the strongest of her clan. She looked lean and wiry. Her serious face was deeply lined, but still elegant. It spoke now more of wisdom than power.

Beia yelped as a spasm shocked through the arm with which she held the practice spear. She clutched at the hand. Aarlen saw the muscles writhing under the skin. She recognized the symptoms and felt no empathy. She'd seen it before. Over the months, Beia had experienced increasing difficulty in holding spear or bow.

Aarlen had heard the queen mumbling about how her time was nearing.

A dark-haired woman stepped forward. “I challenge!”

She was a head taller than Beia, lithe, strong-looking, and young. Beia's grip was locked on the spear; Aarlen doubted she could even change her hold on the weapon to wield it properly.

Beia's voice stayed level. “Donma, you aren't ready. Don't make me hurt you.”

Donma laughed. “The strongest leads, my Queen.”

Seeing the glitter in Beia's eyes, Aarlen smiled. Donma, if she had any sense, would have been afraid. The girl was confident and brash. She had no idea of the power of experience, even in a venerable old woman with only one good hand.

The burly Myrmigyne snatched up her spear. The members of her immediate clan formed a circle.

Beia did not move. She merely looked very weary. “Don't do this. The time will come soon enough.”

“The time is now!” Donma charged.

The Queen stood her ground, not flinching even as the spear jabbed toward her heart.

Beia's move was excellent, the de etante, the classic slipping block. Aarlen found herself impressed with the Queen's courage, trusting aged reflexes to such a chancy maneuver. She slapped at the spear, deflecting the point so that it grazed her shoulder. Beia jabbed in riposte, slamming her palm between Domna's eyes.

As the bigger woman staggered, Beia grabbed a fist full of hair, and cracked the woman's face against her upraised knee. Domna's head snapped back with the shock, and she fell with a groan.

Aarlen nodded in appreciation of a well-deserved drubbing artfully applied.

Unfortunately, the Myrmigynes of Gravar are imbued with the smallest bit of Nethra's power. Even this severe thrashing wouldn't stop a woman of the clans.

Cursing, Donma rose. Her bloody face made her seem all the fiercer.

Aarlen sensed something snap inside of Beia, then. She saw the steel glint in the Queen's eyes. It was the same intensity that had brought Beia victory in hundreds of arena battles.

The power of the challenge.

Domna moved in, jabbing a fist at Beia's face.

The Queen ducked. Giving out a battle yell, she backhanded the bigger woman. Aarlen felt the blow even where she sat.

“No—more—!” The angered queen used her fist like a club. Beia never gave Donma an opportunity to focus. The third stroke drove the challenger into unconsciousness.

Beia bent over the girl, making sure the young woman still breathed. “Tend her,” she ordered, and stalked off.

The pain in Beia's choked voice made Aarlen curious as to what she would do next. She rose and silently followed. When Beia stopped in a hidden area beneath the trees roots, Aarlen sat down out of sight to watch.

Apparently thinking herself alone, Beia cried over her shattered hand. Broken against the senseless head of one of her ambitious subjects. She'd paid a painful price to demonstrate her power.

With her telepathy, Aarlen could sense Beia's loss. This woman had surrendered to her fate in much the same way Aarlen had. Beia was not concerned with living as much as honor. With her left hand shattered, and her other hand enfeebled by an affliction of the joints, she could no more acquit herself honorably than she could uproot Duran'Gravar itself. She'd waited for the end, for the proper challenge, and now she'd stupidly thrown away the opportunity. Defeat.

Aarlen felt that word.

Defeat.

Somehow, it was reassuring that someone else felt nearly as miserable as herself. She didn't understand her impulse. Perhaps she simply wanted to reward Beia for unwittingly relieving some of the burden crushing her mind. Aarlen wanted to triumph over defeat, even if it was Beia's.

“Come here,” she said.

Beia spun around. “You, the old one, what are you doing here?”

“Sitting,” Aarlen snapped. “As you should be. Do as I say.” There was no kindness in her voice. She didn't know the concept. Beia stared at her a moment, then came and sat in front of her. Aarlen saw the pain making extra creases in the Queen's face.

She reached for the knotted hand locked around the spear. Beia snatched it away.

Aarlen growled. “Give me your hand.” When Beia hesitated, she put magical force behind her words. This youngster would not defy her. “Now.”

Beia frowned. Slowly, she extended her hand.

Aarlen stroked the twitching member. She considered the problem, calling upon millennia of magical and technical knowledge. It took only moments to formulate a cure. The strands of the spell formed a delicate filigree in her mind. A soft blue glow came from Aarlen's fingers. The twisted limb relaxed. Working deftly, she purged the disease from the tissues, scattering the corrupted cells to the winds.

Beia looked at her newly cured arm. She opened and closed her hand experimentally. Aarlen saw in the Myrmigyne's eyes that the crippling pain was gone.

The job wasn't done.

“Give me your other hand. If you have to die, you might as well go with both hands. Waste of a perfectly good pit fighter, but at least you can go with a little dignity.”

Beia did not question this time. She pushed her other arm forward.

This curing took longer. Pieces of bone needed to be set, fractures sealed and joints repaired. A younger woman could have performed that drubbing with only a bruise. Beia no longer possessed that resiliency.

“Done,” Aarlen concluded.

Beia met Aarlen's eyes. “What will this cost me?”

Aarlen laughed. How ironic that she ended up so far from where she began. “It is free girl. Absolutely no obligation whatsoever.”

“Nothing is free, not even the air you breathe,” Beia responded sourly. She stared into her lap.

The tone, the bitterness of it, sounded so familiar. There she sat, the Aarlen as she had been forty-five hundred centuries ago, a cold, remorseless warrior. Only this fighter had lost the spark; she no longer had a direction, just infirmity and death. Beia had already wearied of the fight. They sat there, opposite ends of the same circle, and stared at one another.

That is how it began...

At first, it was only talking. Aarlen grew weary of being a vegetable waiting to be harvested by her enemies. She and Beia shared a bond—even if it was a death wish.

They started finding excuses to be in each other's presence. As ten-days passed, there came another annoying tendency. Trust, of all the foolish and stupid things to start feeling. She began to trust Beia.

By that time, Aarlen had grown dissatisfied with her own infirmity. Imprisoned by the Eternals for half a decade, there'd been little opportunity to practice or work out.

Beia, had difficulty finding adequate sparing partners. The very same problem Aarlen had experienced millennia ago. Now, out of practice, the difference in their skills was evened.

She pushed Beia, and the Myrmigyne pushed back. Their battles grew in intensity. The pit fighters were tough, but Aarlen had the benefit of forty millennia of practice and trickery. In her later years, there had been little need to soil her own hands. Still, she kept fit and in practice.

The conflict is what brought back the spark. The battles often left the two women collapsed in the grass outside Duran'Gravar. Beia's subjects grew to respect Aarlen's fighting ability.

The more they argued and fought, whether over tactics, management of resources, or even religious issues, the more they stayed in each other's presence. They brought out the combativeness in one another, the urge to grapple, even if it was with words.

They turned an important corner in their relationship on an otherwise uneventful day. As was their custom now, they sat together in front of the hearth in Beia's chambers and ate their nighttime meal.

“You are a coward.” Aarlen leaned forward and picked up the fruit bowl. Adjusting herself on the mat, she shifted to get closer to the warmth of the flames. She stared at Beia. “You have the means, go destroy Meridian if that is your wish. Do not hide behind that flaccid argument that it's not natural to extend your life.”

“A coward?” Beia growled. “Who here is casting off one of the largest known empires?” She understood the grandness of Aarlen's provenance, but not the darkness of its history.

“We are not talking about me,” Aarlen snapped. “We're talking about you. I've already lived centuries. This way you can stop whining about your inability to appease honor.”

Beia snorted. “I do not whine! Now, all that complaining about your fine empire falling to pieces without you—that's whining!”

“Drivel, I cannot make a ship float if it has no keel. The Eternals won't tolerate my old way of doing things. A business cannot function without profit.” The elder took a piece of fruit and chewed it viciously.

“Drivel yourself. You're just lazy. I bet you could do even better with a legal organization.”

“Don't be stupid. There is no substitute for the drug trade. More than half the profits come from it.”

Beia shook her head. “Your age has addled you. It's obvious. You get your alchemists to find legitimate uses for those drugs. You have all these processing guilds. Even I know the value of medicines. You have a staff that spends its time looking for more potent pleasure drugs. Put them to work looking for cures! People pay more to save their lives than they do to ruin them!”

“That's—” Aarlen started angrily then stopped. It was so different from her own way of thinking. Heal instead of destroy? Sell the people health instead of addictions? She would have to sacrifice a great deal of capital to make it succeed. Give instead of take? Such a ludicrous idea, yet she saw possibilities. With effort it could work. “Genius!” She let out a whoop. It was the first warmth she'd felt inside for decades. “I could even sell cures for the addictions! I—” Aarlen stopped and stared at Beia's smug face. “Who will help me do this?”

Beia frowned. “You don't need any help. You built that empire by yourself.”

“I ask again,” Aarlen repeated.

“That might take centuries. I have maybe fifteen summers left!”

“It is your idea,” Aarlen said in a dry tone. “I could extend your life by a century easily. I could even make you twenty again. All I need is a magic lab and some of your blood.”

“No!” The Myrmigyne yelled.

“Coward!”

“Bitch!”

“Child..!” It was love. Aarlen looked back on it fondly. She recalled how it had originally repulsed her. Only people in love could fight so violently, yet feel so barren without the other. They had both been empty husks waiting to die; each had filled the other's void and provided the strength to go on living. Beia called it ‘hate turned inside out'.

Sometimes the Myrmigyne had wisdom far beyond her years.

Aarlen looked up at Blue. The Jyril was silent, a distant look in her silver eyes. She sighed, detecting the feathery probe recede from her mind. The Jyril had done it to her again. Why were the memories so important? They fixated first on what made her so uncaring. Then tenaciously pursued why she did care.

She growled. “One could grow extremely annoyed with your constant prying.”

Blue blinked a few times, then focused. The female pursed her lips as if for once she wasn't sure of herself. “There shall be no more prying. We now have what we needed.”

Aarlen glared. “Which was?”

“You are free to leave now.”

She felt the heat in her cheeks. “That's it?! Just go away!?”

Blue's expression turned flat. “There is no longer any need for you to remain here. The diffraction nexus has been diverted. You will be needed in the Guardian judgment hall.”

“Judgment hall?”

The Jyril came around Dorian and shoved the scepter of Vralczarr into her hand. She removed the glove of the Shaladen and put it in Aarlen's belt. Blue turned and headed for the wall where they had entered.

It happened too fast. “Wait!”

Blue stopped at the wall and looked back. “Prepare for transport. You shall be leaving directly.” The wall vanished and reappeared behind her.

Before Aarlen could do anything she felt the hum of energy licking around her. All this time with the Jyril, and it seemed she knew less about what they wanted than when she came in... I have stood before the Time Guardians twice in my life. Both times, I couldn't stop shaking. After becoming proficient in magic and Kriar time science, there's very little that scares me. They scare me... —Cassin Kel'Ishtauri Felspar

Corim sat in the crimson sand and gazed up at the iridescent sky dotted with purple clouds. The green whitecaps crashed against the beach filling the air with an acrid scent that tried to drown out the malodor of rotting eggs. The vulture-lizards circled closer, as if sensing that Corim and Cassin would drop dead suddenly.

“There's nothing they can do?” He asked again.

“It's simply too far for Annawen without a power source like the Shaladen. It would take a master timediver, otherwise.”

A thought surged through their minds. <Ever the realist, Searga, do you think a belkirin would be up to it?>

“Eh'San!”

Dulcere stood a few paces away, smiling radiantly. <My, but you did find your way off the beaten path.>

Cassin's jaw dropped. “You can timedive again!” She broke away from Corim and gave the elder a hug.

Dulcere stiffened, obviously surprised, and clearly uncertain how to react to the younger woman's affection. The Belkirin put her arms around Cassin as if she were made of glass. She patted her on the back hesitantly.

After a moment, Cassin detected Dulcere's rigid posture. Chastened, she stepped away. “Apologies, Eh'San, I—”

Dulcere held up her hand. <It is my fault, Searga. I've forgotten how to respond to endearment.> She took Cassin's hand and pressed it between both of hers. <I am pleased you care. Give me time.> She looked at Corim. <I can see the question.> She grinned. <Fixing my stones was simple. I programmed my damaged stones for the cross-line time jump, traded stones with the duplicate. In a hundred cycles, they'll have healed, and there will be no difference. Now, I have working stones, and we've resolved half the crisis.>

Corim looked around and frowned. “You can get us back?”

Dulcere gave him a half smile. <Some rescue mission I'd be, if I couldn't.> She took his hand.

Flicker.

The scene of the split hillcrest and landslide scintillated into view. The boulder again rested overtop the duplicate Dulcere. Beia and Annawen sat on it, looking worried.

The trip back convinced Corim that Dulcere was a master of timediving. The return cross-line felt as smooth as a walk across a street.

When Annawen recognized that they were back, she ran over and grabbed Cassin in a crushing hug. Beia came over and took Corim's hand and patted him on the shoulder.

“Good job.”

Corim scratched his head. “Did we do something I don't know about?”

“Decoying Hellzan is good enough for me, Corim.”

He took a breath. “I don't know if he survived or not. Cassin discouraged him pretty well, though.”

Cassin laughed. “Corim, if you hadn't brought him down with that brain cramp, he would have gotten away clean.”

<You both did admirably.> Dulcere was beaming, obviously overjoyed to have her powers back.

“Now what? Put the rocks back?”

Dulcere nodded.

“Let's hurry up.” Beia trembled with anticipation. “Then we can go forward to see if things are fixed well enough to get Aarlen back.” She started heaving rocks.

Restoring the rock pile went faster than the excavation. The rocks were already chopped into manageable pieces, and the heavy ones notched for carrying. Still, even with the greatly accelerated pace, Corim estimated it would take two days at best.

“Done.” Beia brushed her hair back and mopped her brow. She sat on a rock, grabbed the water-skin, took a healthy swig then passed it up to Dulcere.

The Kriar nodded and took a long pull. She looked up the landslide and frowned.

“It'll work, Eh'san.” Cassin reached for the bag and took her share. “It's got to.” She handed off to Corim who gulped down half the remainder.

He wiped his mouth. “Aurra thinks it worked. We have to leave this cusp for the change to go into effect, though.”

<Be certain, Corim, as soon as I get my breath we are leaving.> Dulcere stretched, skin glistening in the light.

<I can't wait to go home.> Annawen tapped Corim on the shoulder and took the bag to finish it.

<We're all ready for the nightmare to end.> Dulcere sat and looked at the sun unblinking. <It will take me a kilorev to get ready. So relax.>

Everyone tried to be calm, but Corim could read the tension in their faces and bodies. Had they solved the chronal problem? Would there still be snags to repair? Could they get help?

<Area clean, Searga?> Dulcere asked.

“Checked and double checked. It looks like it did when we first arrived. All of our gear is stowed, Eh'san,” Cassin answered, grinning.

The Belkirin smiled and looked at everyone. <All right let's—>

Flicker.

Soaring through time felt different with Dulcere. Corim sensed greater control; a sureness the twins lacked. They punched through the gray barrier and into non-consecutive space. He felt the ether clench tight as they accelerated forward toward the present.

He tried to keep his eyes open to the whirling chaos, but soon closed them again. Every sense burned with the bombardment of the myriad textures of sound, light, and vibration. For some reason, his body rebelled only when he could see the void.

As they traveled forward, through his link to the Shaladen, Corim could feel the timeline shuddering. The empty gap that used to be their home time shimmered. The waters of probability, now undiverted, flowed into the channel, a wave of recreated life. Corim heard the screams that had been cut short finish out, and then stop in wonderment.

The nonexistent lived again. He heard Cassin and Annawen give a victory whoop and telepath to Beia what he had just sensed. Even deep in the concentration of carrying them through time, Dulcere shared a smile with the rest.

Corim felt the gray barrier melt behind them, as they plunged into real-time. Their jubilation was cut short as the group slammed to a stop as if reaching the end of a rope. The midnight of transition space spread about them, painted with a panorama of churning color.

Dulcere tried again; the same shock, as if hitting a wall.

Three globes of light appeared around them.

A blending of three powerful voices boomed in their minds. <Access to consecutive time has been rescinded by order of the Protectorate Time Authority. You are hereby summoned by the Guardian Triumvirate for debriefing and formal charging. Will you come willingly?>

Corim could feel the stress in Dulcere's thought. <We will come willingly.>

The universe flashed, and they reappeared in an empty, arena-sized hemisphere with no doors. A fog eddied around them, emanating a soft blue light. Shadows jumped and writhed across the interlocking geometric designs carved into the curved surfaces of the dome. The smooth black floor looked exactly like the one in Eternity's Heart.

The dry, scentless air hummed, the sound surging and waning like breakers crashing on a distant shoreline. A salty dryness in Corim's mouth forced him to swallow repeatedly so he could speak. “I felt the line snap back to normal. Shouldn't we be getting a pat on the back? What's this about charging?”

Cassin folded her arms. She looked worried. “The Guardians are only concerned with protocol. It won't be long before we'll know.”

She barely finished her words before three humanoid figures solidified out of nothingness. White, glowing eyes looked down at them impassively from a height head and shoulders taller than Corim. The entities were slender, with long necks and tapering fingers. Each wore a simple, slate-blue tunic and kilt covering hairless gray bodies.

They were difficult to tell apart, except that Corim felt that the one on the left appeared female, there being bulges that might be underdeveloped breasts. The central entity wore a gold amulet that was two linked circles side by side.

The center entity's telepathic voice echoed in their minds as though generated at the bottom of a well. <The Guardian Triumvirate is now convened. Noted, this is Protectorate Court Inquiry index—> a meaningless series of telepathic symbols. <This case record is now open. All subsequent testimony is duly transcribed for future review. Inquiry proceedings will commence now.>

Annawen took Corim's hand. He'd never felt a Kriar sweat before. It made his stomach grow cold when he saw Cassin bite her lip.

The female Guardian started communicating exactly as the first finished. Her telepathic voice sounded marginally softer but more penetrating. <Noted, the following entities: Dulcere Val'Saedra Starbinder, Cassin and Annawen Kel'Ishtauri Degaba Felspar, Regaura Targallae, and Corim Vale; all stand present in violation of Protectorate sanctions. Charges and pleas to be recorded without delay.>

The entity looked at Dulcere, and the Kriar went rigid. <Dulcere Val'Saedra Starbinder, you are charged with creating a class alpha diffraction, and aiding in unsanctioned temporal adjustment. How do you plea?>

The Belkirin's fists clenched. <Guilty. Violations performed under duress.>

<Plea of guilty is so entered. Testimony of action due to coercion is noted.> The entity looked at Cassin and Annawen. <Cassin and Annawen Kel'Ishtauri Degaba Felspar, you have violated Protectorate probation statutes. You stand charged on three counts of exceeding the two-decade and cross-time curfews imposed on class Epsilon members of the Chronal Affiliation. Your plea?>

Cassin took a slow breath and looked at Dulcere. Corim felt Annawen's hand clamp down until it hurt. <Guilty. The actions were taken under the provisions allowed for in class alpha emergency conditions.>

<Entered. Testimony of justified action under Protectorate emergency measures is noted.> The creature focused on Beia, who went pale. <Regaura Targallae, the charge is negligence on the scene of a class Alpha diffraction.>

Beia swallowed and took a breath. She looked into the glowing eyes of the tribunal. Beads of sweat ran down her face, and her voice shook. “Guilty. Weapon misfire in the attempted termination of primary suspect in class Alpha diffraction.”

<Entered. Testimony of accidental collateral-damage is noted.> Corim felt the tribunal's eyes sweep to him. It felt as if millions of tiny needles were trying worry through his skin toward his bones. <Corim Vale, you are in violation of Protectorate weapon possession statutes. Present as evidence, Prime Enforcement Weapon Starwind. Additional charges include unsanctioned binding with same, and the use thereafter of Protectorate Enforcement powers without legitimate authority.>

Corim wondered why Aurra didn't say anything, and now doubted she would. It startled him to discover that his ‘crime’ was commensurate with the others. He cleared his throat and tried to think of a good response.

He took a breath and let it out, trying to keep his voice from trembling. “Guilty. Inducted by—ah—Eternal Aurra in the course of—class Alpha Protectorate—emergency.” His bones felt like water.

For an instant, he thought the corner of the female's mouth quirked. <Entered. Testimony of pressed service by Prime agent Aurra is noted.>

The central entity continued. <All charges, pleas, and summary testimony are now transcribed. We will listen to supplemental supporting testimony before prescribing disciplinary action.>

A thought interrupted, the unmistakable timbre of Aurra. <We would like to enter a motion.>

The entity on the right responded. <The tribunal recognizes Protectorate Prime-Enforcers Aurra and Nethra. You may take the floor.>

Corim nearly swallowed his tongue when the two huge females appeared near Dulcere. Nethra, the goddess Beia so often swore by, looked every bit the part. A mane of flaming hair streamed down her back, forming a shimmering nimbus around the Eternal's hard, angular face. Aurra appeared exactly as she did in his mind, a magnificent female in mirror-plated armor, only a hand-width shorter than giant Nethra.

<We request that formal sentencing be waved in favor of Protectorate Enforcer conscription commensurate to the infractions committed.>

<Motion for trial under field justice tenants is so noted.> The female looked at each of them in turn. <Are there objections from the defense?>

The five of them looked at one another, and then at the two Eternals. The silence went on so long that Corim finally let out his held breath.

<So noted.>

The central figure continued. <Motion for Enforcer conscription as disciplinary action is entered and judged satisfactory. The Triumvirate deems it necessary that all conscripts present be sponsored by registered Protectorate personnel of Beta rank or higher. Due to the nature of previous crimes, the Kriar Belkirin must have two Alpha rank or higher sponsors, and give a personal guarantee of good conduct.>

<Nethra and I will sponsor the Belkirin if she gives her word.>

Dulcere looked up at Aurra and Nethra. The moments stretched out as the Kriar studied her ancient enemies. <My oath and guarantee of lawful conduct under Protectorate tenants.>

<The Triumvirate recognizes Nethra and Aurra as personal guarantors of ward Dulcere Val'Saedra Starbinder.>

A female contralto boomed out. “I will sponsor Regaura Targallae.”

Corim saw Beia's face light up. It could only be Aarlen. Nearly as big as the two Eternal's, she stepped forward and held out her arms. She and Beia met in a crushing hug.

<The Triumvirate recognizes Aarlen Frielos as personal guarantor of ward Regaura Targallae.>

Another female voice carried through the room. Corim recognized Terra's unmistakable purr. “I'll sponsor that little minx Annawen and her sister, if I have to. They go together after all.” Still dressed in shiny, black chainmail Terra stepped out, grinning.

A deep baritone echoed behind Corim. “I'll vouch for the runt.” A huge hand clapped Corim on the shoulder.

<The Triumvirate recognizes Terra Karlin-Falor, and Talorin Falor as guarantors of the identified wards. This concludes sponsorship identification. The Triumvirate will adjourn to deliberate conscription times and specific duties of the inductees.> The three entities vanished.

Dazed, Corim looked up at Tal's rocky face. “It's not over, is it?”

The big man chuckled. “Hardly. You did okay, though.”

Corim sighed. “I had a chance to get Meridian and Rakaar. Didn't get either.” He clenched his fists. Did Tal know about Ceraph? His stomach tightened.

“Hey, Kid, you're still sucking wind. You'll get your chance.” Tal folded his arms and looked toward the sounds of laughter.

Three more women had appeared. One looked like another Kriar, dressed in blue robes with dark-brown hair. It had to be the twin's mother, Cassandra. Dorian, dressed in a red surcoat and black breeches, added herself to the hugs being given out. Ess stood by Beia's shoulder.

Aarlen and Beia knelt together, foreheads touching. It seemed so alien for the Myrmigyne to act that way. She looked up and grabbed her sister in a crushing hug.

Dulcere stood alone, gazing at the intermingled bodies looking lost.

Corim swallowed. “Tal, I have to say something. I—”

“Stow it,” the big man growled. “I know about Raph. I saw the place where it happened. Three of you against Meridian's top people. You did as much damage as whole platoon of Talons. It wasn't your mistake.” His jaw tightened. “It was Beia's. She should have backed out of there at the first sign of that kind of trouble.”

His chest felt as though it were in a vise. “If it's any consolation, she fought well.”

It seemed a trick of the poor light here. It appeared that, for a moment, moisture welled in one of the man's eyes. “She didn't need to die.”

Aarlen's boom voice cut into Corim's thoughts. “Save your tears, Falor.” Beia's mate looked over at them, her silver eyes gleaming. “I wouldn't want your face to melt.”

Already Corim didn't like this woman much; making light of Ceraph's death.

Tal's eyes narrowed and his hand went to the hilt of his sword. The man's voice rumbled with danger. “What's that supposed to mean, Whitey?”

“It means, don't start the funeral until your mother-in-law is actually dead. Last I checked, her life had not faded.”

The woman in red looked up from where she was hugging Annawen. “I concur. The ring appeared to be a magical bloodstone.”

Aarlen nodded. “The devices are rare. It appears she owned one of the great magics. Unfortunately for her, it was designed for a human and not an elf. I can restore her with some time and research. I will do this thing for you.” She paused. “Provided you get off my back.”

Corim felt a surge of elation; Ceraph alive! His gaze panned the room and found Dulcere. A shudder went through him. Trapped. He loved Dulcere. What would he say to Ceraph if Aarlen did somehow restore her? He forced the thought down. Dulcere was worth a kick or two in his heart. The gold woman looked troubled. She didn't look toward anyone.

Tal scowled. “Get off your back, Whitey? Raph's worth that. ‘Course I got words for Beia about the way this all came down.”

The Myrmigyne's face turned as stony as Tal's. She rubbed the black lightning on her cheek. “Tal, it was my error, my burden. I under-estimated the threat. Whatever reparations are necessary, I will make good. You know that.”

“Yes, I do. It was a hard call, but you put yourself in that position by not being cautious enough in the first place.” The Master drew a breath then punched Corim in the shoulder. “Keep your guard up. I'm going to check on Raph, and see what they're talking about.”

Terra glided over next to Corim and Tal. “Corim, you should go over to the Kriar lady.”

Corim had been focused on going to see Ceraph. He stared into the cat-woman's gold eyes. “Huh?”

She smiled, showing the hint of pointed incisors. “I learned to read Kriar eyes some time ago. You may not be able to tell, but she's looking at you. It might be wise to go see what she wants.”

Corim swallowed and looked at Dulcere, seeing the troubled look on her face, then back to Terra. He turned to Tal.

The blocky man looked at Dulcere. The corner of his mouth quirked. “I'll check, Raph, ain't much you could do anyway except get all mushy like me.” He slapped Corim on the shoulder. “Take care of the living, Kid.”

“Thanks.”

Tal nodded and strode off into the mists, Terra with him. His heart beat faster as he headed toward Dulcere. As he approached, he felt the attention that Terra had detected. There was a hint of a smile on the belkirin's face as he approached.

Arms folded, Nethra and Aurra stood like statues ten paces away.

“You seemed uncomfortable.”

Closing her eyes, she wet her lips. The Kriar spoke aloud in her oddly accented common. “I feel out of place. Even those who are of my race are not my people.”

Corim touched her hand. “It's all right.”

Dulcere sighed and laced her fingers in his. “I feel like a child, yet I am the oldest person here. All these—”

“Emotions,” he finished. Corim felt her trembling. “They can't hurt you.”

Her hand tightened in his. “I am dead inside. These sensations are reflections of the life around us. Not what is inside me.” She swallowed.

Corim put a hand on her shoulder, and glanced back at the sound of footsteps. “I think Cassandra has a remedy for that.” The best criminal is a dead one. Corpses can't repeat their offenses, or get better at their crime. The best thieves and murderers are the ones who are allowed to get away. I never put stock in Koass’ decision to ‘rehabilitate’ offenders. Aarlen Frielos in particular, it's no secret I dislike the witch. No matter how thick they lay on the whitewash she'll always be black underneath. She may not be a problem now—but she will be. I've got heartache with that. I always will...—Talorin “Tal” Falor

Corim leaned back, his gaze wandering across patterns of the dome's distant ceiling and the disjointed shadows that played across it. Without looking at them, he sensed the presence of powerful mages, elders, Shael Dal and Eternals.

Starwind had not only bonded his mind and soul to Aurra, but to the pooled consciousness shared by all of the Protectorate. It felt as if he'd known Tal, Terra, Aarlen and the others all his life. He knew that when they looked at him, that same open book lay before them as well. This strange nakedness made him uneasy. He'd always been a private person. Now, it seemed as though he'd suddenly gained several brothers and sisters.

He focused his attention again on the circle of people. Cassin stood at the center, relating their tale as a verbal and telepathic collage. The gripping display was complete, with every sensory impression narrated like a fine theater production.

The intensity of these powerful people made the air feel as it did before a giant thunderstorm.

Dulcere reminded him of her presence by squeezing his fingers. Aarlen and Beia sat together on his left. They'd been inseparable since their reunion. The rejoicing hadn't lasted long. Corim felt Aarlen's anger. A humming undercurrent that kept him tense; an explosion waiting for a place to happen.

Tal and Terra knelt together to his right, cleaning their weapons and nodding in approval of the battle highlights. Tal cheered at the part where Beia kneed Rakaar in the groin.

Nethra and Aurra sat across from him, their bodies glowing dimly. Next to them Cassandra, Annawen and Dorian sat close together, arms around each other.

Dorian noticed him looking and smiled, a sparkle in her green eyes. She gave Annawen's waist a squeeze. When she and Cassandra had come to talk, he'd felt her scrutiny. Originally, he'd been concerned about Cassandra being upset about his involvement with her daughters. Now, he was more worried about Dorian. He now knew where Annawen inherited her cattiness.

After examining Dulcere briefly, Cassandra told the Belkirin that removing the Jyril curse would only be a matter of having the time and opportunity to do so. Dulcere had reacted little to the diagnosis, but his new insight felt the tremors of joy she suppressed. The Kriar would be counting the revs until Cassandra worked her healing.

“We got back, covered up Dulcere's time duplicate and skipped forward. The Guardians met us in transit, and here we are.”

Nethra rubbed her chin. “The Jyril implied that they would fix the rift in Siderous Chronous?”

Cassin shrugged. “I can't be sure. It sounded that way. They stopped Dulcere from getting her gear. I can't say what they were planning.”

The Eternal looked at Aarlen. “You were the only one awake, did they say anything helpful?”

Aarlen frowned and closed her silver eyes. “My mind was probed. I spoke to the Vasar. They acted as if the little help they gave Beia and the others was some great stretch for them. They're after some device, which they were equally vague about. When the timeline stabilized, they kicked me off the ship.”

Tal slammed his sword into its sheath. “Are we going to go get Meridian and those bastards, or not? Let's stop sitting here, and do it!”

Nethra scowled at Tal. “Have you checked the chronal synchronous with their timeline?”

“No.”

“If you'd checked, you would know that we can only enter that line a hundred years after Meridian's team. They will have been preparing for over a century.”

“Hey, life is tough. They hurt us. We hurt them.”

“There's more to it than that. Cassin's solution was haphazard at best.” She looked around the group. “Since the fix where Hellzan died was botched—” Corim saw Beia wince like she'd been slapped. “—and because of Rakaar's ‘time'-bomb in Daladar, we don't have a clean fix. Our chronology is riddled with anomalies created by his accomplices that we weren't given the opportunity to fix.”

Nethra let out a breath explosively. “Added to the time-rift in Siderous Chronous, we have tremendous instability. The slightest tampering now could set off a massive chain-reaction that could completely annihilate our timeline. While we waste time trying to fix the damage, Meridian's team continues to infect the alternate line. The corruption is propagating paradoxes that will soon make it impossible for us to even get at him.”

“I don't see a way around those anomalies.” Cassandra tapped her chin with a slender finger. “They must be fixed, or we'll be vulnerable. If Meridian's sycophants touch off another disruption, we're done for.”

“What a cheerful thought.” One of the men said, tugging at his mustache.

A deep voice broke through the hall. “On that note, I shall enter these proceedings.”

The words were like the yank of invisible strings. The two eternals and the all the Shael Dal, save Tal, stood. Tal joined the others when Terra dragged on his arm.

Alarmed, Corim found the source of the voice. Dulcere caught her breath and stood, drawing Corim up with her.

<The Vatraena,> Dulcere went rigid.

A man who was about Nethra's size strode forward. He filled a coat of black and silver mail with a physique much like Tal's. A single gold starburst hung from his neck. His braided, dark hair and seamed features gave him the look of an ancient, benevolent strength. A Kriar with ankle-length hair, dressed in indigo robes belted with a jeweled sash, walked with him, arm through his. She looked familiar for some reason.

Nethra placed a hand on her chest and dipped her head. “Lord Koass, Council Solaris. I was ready to start assignments.”

Koass nodded. “Commander, with your forbearance, I'll finish up.”

“Sir.” Nethra thumped her heels and nodded.

Koass saluted the red-haired Eternal. “Ladies, Gentlemen, I've finished deliberating with Guardian Security, and the Triumvirate. I will make assignments now. Council Solaris has made her chronal crisis team available. This will free up Protectorate personnel to deal with the engineers of this crisis.”

He looked at Tal. “Field Commander Falor.”

“Ready,” Tal boomed.

“Yourself, Karlin, the new recruits Vale and Starbinder, will reconnoiter through our only gap to the perpetrators. I'm giving you full authorization, Tal. I know you work best under your own auspices. Clean or dirty, bring me back a solution I can work with.”

“You got it.”

“Vale, Starbinder—the Council and I will speak with you separately.”

“Field Commander Frielos.”

Aarlen's chin came up. “Sir,” the word sounded forced on her lips.

“Yourself, the sisters Targallae, Kel'Ishtauri and Degaba. I want you to work with Aurra and Nethra. I want you to contact the Jyril, and find out what they're planning. Do what you can to batten things down.”

Aarlen nodded.

“Cassin, Annawen.”

The twins looked surprised. “Sir?”

“You will meet with Commander Ivral Techstar in one kilorev for a full debriefing. You will brief the crisis team, and stay on as reservists.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Tarrantil?”

The man thudded a boot on the floor. “Sir!” Corim recognized him as the Paladin he had seen in the battle against Hellzan. He was one that had slammed the mage off the henge with a hammer.

“You, Varin, D'Shar, and Terranath will report to Field Commander Vinax for special assignment.”

“Sir? T'Gor is retired, and Lady Damrosil is on maternity leave.”

“If T'Gor wants a timeline to retire in, he'd better un-retire. Damrosil's children are old enough that she can answer an emergency call.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Those are the assignments, people. Let's shut this problem down.”

“Sir,” Dorian spoke up. “Cassandra and I aren't Shael Dal.”

Koass raised an eyebrow. “Dorian, you and Cassandra are Shael Dal in everything but name. You know the procedures, be a good lass and help out.”

Dorian sighed. “Yes, Sir.” She looked to Aarlen. “By your command.”

Nethra and Aurra walked over to the white-haired elder, and there was a brief conference. As they stood together, Beia caught Corim's eye. She gave him a clenched fist high-sign.

<Take good care of Eboneye until I get back,> she thought to him.

He didn't get a chance to respond before the two Eternals and Aarlen's team vanished.

The man called Tarrantil bowed to Koass and disappeared.

“Tal and Terra,” Koass focused on the husband and wife. “Corim and Dulcere will meet you for team briefing in two bells at Eternity's Heart.”

“See ya there, Corim.” Tal made it sound as if he was reporting to a funeral. They faded out.

Council Solaris gestured, and Cassin and Annawen walked up to her. The lady smiled and put a hand on each of their heads.

“We are pleased that our trust was merited. A commendation has been filed with your Commander. Seargas, the two of you are dismissed.”

They bowed. Cassin glanced back at Dulcere. Annawen's eyes lingered on Corim. They looked to the Council, nodded and flickered out.

Dulcere's hand grew tighter around Corim's.

Koass and the Council approached.

The Eternal held his hand out. “Corim, I am Koass Vinax, Command Executor.”

Corim swallowed. He could feel the power pouring from this creature. It seemed ludicrous to shake hands with a being that was more than a god.

Hand quivering, Corim gave him a firm handshake.

“Good man. It seems we've pressed you into service. Aurra gives you a good reference. I'll deputize you as an honorary Shael Dal for the duration of this crisis. That is, unless you have an objection.”

Corim stopped breathing. “Oh—no, Sir. I'd be—honored!”

“Excellent.” He pulled a huge sword from the air, a giant, single-edged blade that scintillated in the dim light. “By the powers vested in me by Eternity and the Protectorate authority, I deputize you as Protectorate enforcer gamma class.” He laid the sword on Corim's shoulder. A broad beam of light shot down from above and bathed him in a sparkling nimbus. He felt the Shaladen's power sing in his body, coming fully alive like a hive of bees beneath his skin. When the light faded, he stood clothed in a hauberk of black and silver mail, exactly like that worn by Koass.

“I know a good man. You'll give me your best. Do yourself proud, and there may be a commission in it for you.” He sent the sword away. “After you're done, Starwind must be returned to its rightful wielder.”

“Yes, Sir.” Corim felt hot all over, and his stomach burned.

This was incredible; they'd made him a real Shael Dal.

Koass nodded to the Council, and she inclined her head in return.

Corim felt the moistness in Dulcere's hand.

The Council's voice was as beautiful as the woman herself. She spoke in the Kriar language, but now Corim could understand the words through the Shaladen. “Sanji Starbinder, it has been a long time.”

Dulcere did not meet the Council's eyes. “Vaetrana.”

The council folded her arms. “It saddened me when you left my service for the Daergon.”

Dulcere let go of Corim, and her hands formed fists. She bowed her head. “Yes, Vaetrana.”

The older Kriar raised her chin. “We are full circle, Sanji. Do you still think I was wrong about Surr?”

Dulcere held her breath and said nothing.

The Council pressed her lips into a line. “Answer me.”

The belkirin's hands shuddered. “What I think is of no consequence.”

“Look at me. I want to know.”

Dulcere exhaled. “Marna, I never thought he was right. Something needed to be done. The Jyril's curse would not lift itself. I said so, then.”

“It was Surr who caused us to be cursed in the first place.”

“He was also the only one willing to search for a cure. That babble about serving penance, that we deserved to suffer for our arrogance was foolishness. I refused to lie down and accept the Jyril judgment. I was willing to pay a price if it served my people.

Dulcere glanced at Corim. “I won't apologize. Surr's disrespect for life put me at odds with these people.” She gestured to Koass. “Our war with the Jyril shouldn't have spilled over onto other peoples, but a soldier doesn't change allegiance simply because they don't agree with policy.”

The Council frowned. “Dulcere, I was wrong, too. I let my despondency overwhelm my sense of duty. I wanted them to suffer, for ignoring me and following that parasite—” Dulcere's eyes met Marna's, then. “I wanted them to hurt, after he butchered Jaquen. They chose to be blind.” Marna's eyes were brimming now. “I don't want an apology, Dulcere. I want you to forgive an indulgent old woman, who let her people down because of self-pity. I want you back.”

Dulcere went and hugged the Council. “Mother, it's been so long. I abandoned you—”

Marna rocked her back and forth. “I should never have let you go. I blamed you for Jaquen. I let the anger close my eyes and ears. You'd already gone when your father finally proved Surr had deliberately implicated you to separate us.”

Koass looked at Corim. “Let's give them some privacy.”

Corim was mesmerized by the two Kriar locked together. Dulcere's mother... The thought of a million year old woman and her mother. Koass tore him away with firm pull on his elbow.

It was a long time before Corim spoke. A glance back showed the two Kriar as tiny figures in the distance.

“The Council; she's their Queen?”

Koass nodded.

Corim swallowed. “Dulcere is a princess?”

“By Marna's second husband, Louvros.”

“Jaquen then—?”

“Marna's third husband. He died during mock battle maneuvers. My understanding was that Surr arranged it. Dulcere and Jaquen had been quarreling. Surr made it look as if Dulcere knew of his assassination plans and did nothing to avert it.”

Corim shook his head. “I've been such an idiot—I—”

“What? Because she's high born?”

Corim sighed. “I'm flattered she even humored me.”

Koass smiled. “Chin up, boy, she likes you, that's half the battle.” I joined the Protectorate because I had to. The ranks of the Shael Dal had been reduced to a membership of children. The eldest of them, Terra Karlin, was barely into her fifth century. Despite her talents, she is still little more than a beast in human guise. Tal Falor is worse, a callous brute with no sense of decorum. They needed someone civilized, a lucid, thinking adult who could make sure the organization maintained some level of decency. They needed me...—Elsbeth Dalia Crowninshield,

Judiciary Counsel, 27th Magocracy of the Ring Realms

Corim and Koass exchanged a few pleasantries, then the Eternal led him where he could wait for Dulcere. A few gestures conjured food and drink to help pass the time.

Silver made up the walls of the small waiting area, and bronze covered the floor. Elaborate tapestries and paintings from ages and cultures unknown decorated the walls. Two ancient bookcases stuffed with volumes written in more languages than Corim could name sat along one side. The whole chamber felt ancient and weathered. If it could tell a story, Corim knew the tales would be worth the years it took to listen.

The coarse blue fabric of the couch felt softer than wool, yet sturdy enough to be pulled taut across frames and hold weight. He knew this from seeing the furniture in the other chambers he'd passed.

The amber liquid in his goblet tasted heady and sweet. It sat on a table made of braided strands of what appeared to be wood. A musky fragrance lingered in the air, reminiscent of a woman's perfume. The aroma conjured exotic mental images.

Corim tried to focus on anything that could keep him from thinking about his upcoming venture with Tal. He searched until he found a legible book, then immersed himself in the lore and the food.

Not quite bread or fruit, the small loaves reminded him of nuts and candy.

He heard a knock at the casement.

Corim stood, expecting Dulcere, but his gaze met the deepest blue eyes he'd ever seen.

When he first looked at her, Corim thought that the woman wore an ornamented cloak. A second glance revealed it to be a waist-length tumble of scarlet hair. Her hair wasn't blood-red like Nethra's, but more like the shimmering of a polished ruby. Her angular face possessed no discernible age, its lineaments magical in the way each plane and angle seemed to catch the light exactly right. She swept into the room, the flowing green and black satin of her robes swirling around shapely calves. Tapping the floor with an elaborate metal battle-staff, she stopped a few feet from him.

“Corim Vale?” She spoke with musical lilt; the trained voice of a mage.

“Yes, milady.” He swallowed and bowed. “You have the advantage of me, I expected someone else.”

“Pardon.” She dipped her head. “I am Elsbeth Crowninshield—”

Corim jerked, his ears ringing. “Starwind is yours.”

She nodded and pushed the hair back on her shoulders. “Koass told you? Good.”

“No.” He frowned. “I felt it.”

“Ah yes, recognition, Koass deputized you, then. You look stout, I can see why he is pleased with you.”

Corim stared. “Pardon me milady, but—you're a Shael Dal?”

Elsbeth grinned and put a hand on her chest. “Dear boy, we can't all be Myrmigynes. A mage needn't scrape the ceiling and brush both sides of a door frame to be capable.”

“But—”

She waved him silent and gestured. Starwind vanished from his hip and appeared in her hand. With a flourish, the sword flickered and became a staff. She twirled the weapon, then set it on the floor.

“Yes-s-s—” She drew out the syllable, obviously glad to hold it again. Elsbeth's body sparkled. “The Shaladen is a fragment of Eternity; infinitely mutable. It looked like a sword because that is how the Guardians originally forged it.”

“It's like Beia's bow.”

“No, Beia's bow is like a Shaladen.”

Corim sighed. “Incredible. So—?”

“I wanted to meet Koass’ new recruit. The one he gave my Shaladen to.” Corim felt her internally add, ‘The one who's making me suffer.’ “I was going to berate Koass if he'd adopted some time-orphaned bounder.”

“Berate him?”

Elsbeth shrugged. “Propriety must be maintained, occasionally he needs reminding.”

Corim smiled wanly. “Am I a bounder?”

She surveyed him for a moment, nibbling on a painted fingernail. “No, a little young perhaps, but that's not too much of a crime.” Jaw tightening, she paused, then gestured. Starwind reappeared in his belt. “Be careful with Tal as your team leader.” Her voice sounded strained. He could tell it took great effort give back the weapon. “Honor aside, the man is an absolute brute.”

“Don't worry, I will.”

She nodded. “I'll thank you to bring Starwind and yourself back in one piece. Dreadful task, sewing you youngsters back together. You're always getting parts of yourselves scattered about.” Elsbeth smiled. “Good luck. I must help my team prepare now. Farewell.”

She vanished in a multicolored flash.

Relaxing, he let out a breath and looked at his belt. “Aurra, are you there?”

“Always.”

“It looks like there are more female Shael Dal than male!”

“There has been a shortage recently. Tal, Bertram, and Algernon are the only males. T'Gor and his wife retired to raise a family.”

“Why didn't you tell me about her?”

“Corim, she didn't exist until you fixed the timeline. It wasn't pertinent.”

“She looks like she's suffering without you.”

“She is.” He felt Aurra shrug in his mind. “Czar will fix her up with an alternate weapon during this crisis.”

“Why is Koass sending me, anyway? I'm not experienced—”

“Elsbeth can timedive without a Shaladen. You're resourceful enough to supplement any team you're on. Most important, you and I melded perfectly. Elsbeth and I wrestled for days before we came close to the match you and I had instantly. We will do things instinctively that it took the others seasons to learn. Koass knows that, that's why you're on the point team.”

He clenched his fists. “Well, I hope I live up to that.” He shook his head. “Did I tell you how breathtaking you are?”

“Not to my face.”

“That's because I swallowed my tongue. You and Nethra are sights I will carry with me all my life. So will my children, if I live to have any.”

“I'll pass that along to Nethra. She likes flattery.” Aurra chuckled. “I must focus on this problem now. I'll speak with you later during the mission.” The blade went silent.

He sighed. At least he could understand their reasons. He sat and concentrated on the book. The volume contained a dissertation on the origins of magic as a science. The writing was excellent, and the subject matter absorbing. He didn't notice the time slipping by until footsteps brought him back into focus.

Dulcere.

Dressed in skintight indigo trimmed in white and silver, the princess had undergone a complete transformation. A formfitting carapace covered arms and torso, red metallic boots encased her calves and a crystalline mesh covered her knees and thighs. On a heavy belt, hung her sidearm, cyber, and other tools he did not recognize. Slung over her left shoulder was a large black device that looked something like the blaster, only larger. She set down a large, loaf-shaped satchel, and their eyes met.

Corim simply stared, his throat tight. Her hair had been braided and washed, and make-up enhanced that perfect doll face. He felt himself falling in love all over.

“Magnificent.” The word seemed to echo. He abruptly became conscious of his filthy condition and looked at himself. “—And I look like I just stumbled out of a sand storm.”

Dulcere smiled and closed her eyes. She moved forward and took his face in trembling hands. The belkirin studied him for a long time, thumbs panning back and forth across his cheekbones.

<Your feelings—so strong—I almost don't need the curse lifted from my body.> She shuddered. <I felt my mother, felt her whole. It was so beautiful.>

“Your mother is impressive. I felt honored to be in her presence.”

<I am honored to be her daughter again.>

“Are you all right?”

<Yes.> She shivered again and let out a breath. <Damn you.> She gave him a brief kiss. <Could you at least not scream your emotions at the top of your lungs? I acknowledge you. Calm down.>

Corim took deep breaths. He bottled up the emotions, concentrating on calm emptiness.

Dulcere sighed. <Better, now my brain can stop ringing.> She bent and pulled a clasp back on the satchel with a sound like tearing cloth. <I brought you something to clean up. I knew you wouldn't get facilities or time to wash, so I brought this.> She pulled out a black cylinder, about the length of his arm. There was a red slot in the device that ran from one end to the other. <Stand still.>

She clicked something on the item, and a band of red light shot out of the slot. As Dulcere played the light across Corim, his hair rose straight on his head. Sparks crackled around his body, and his clothing hummed. He noticed black particles shooting at the red window in the tube like miniature meteors. The dots struck the lens, sparkled white-hot, and winked out.

After a few long breaths, every mote of dust, dirt, and blood had been pulled from his flesh and clothing; even the stains underneath multiple layers of cloth.

<A cleaning cathode.> She answered without his asking. She put it back in the satchel, and closed it with a pass of her fingers. She shouldered the bag. <Better?>

His armor sparkled, and his clothes possessed a luster they'd never attained in normal washing. “Much.”

A powerful thought interrupted his next words. <Hey, Corim, are you and your girlfriend ready to join us?>

<I guess.> He walked over to the corner and picked up Eboneye.

<Well, take her by the hand, and get a good grip on Starwind.>

Corim put the spear in the crook of his arm, took Dulcere's hand, then gripped Starwind's hilt.

<I'm summoning you—now.>

The universe flickered, and the two of them stood in the circle of gems at Eternity's heart. Nothing had changed, except that now Corim could feel the souls in the stones around him. He particularly felt the power pouring from Aurra's gem.

Tal and Terra wore the silver-and-black armor of the Shael Dal. Both wore packs, and carried numerous weapons besides their Shaladens.

Tal looked at Dulcere and whistled. “All right, special forces, Shrike Legion, even packs a Mark Twelve. Love that weapon.”

Dulcere frowned. <You recognize Kriar military weapons and insignia?>

“Trained in class seven assault armor with Ivral Techstar. So did Terra. Tons of fun bashing Baronians on Karanganoi homeworld. I used the assault model of the Mark XII adapted for space combat. Liked it so much, I bought one. The Security Council won't let me take it off Fabrista homeworld, though.”

<You've been to the Karanganoi homeworld?>

“Sure. I heard Marna is your Mom. She handled herself pretty well in the fights.”

Dulcere's eyes widened. <Mother—fighting?>

Terra grinned. <Yeah, surprised us too. We thought she was a pacifist. We found out she can be a real animal.>

The Kriar's jaw dropped. Her face a expressing unmasked surprise and disbelief. The stars in her ebony-colored eyes flickered, and her hand doubled in the strap of her satchel. <How can this be? I thought she—> Her thought stopped. It was clear from her expression, the revelation was baffling. <I mean she couldn't. It's not possible.>

Tal pointed a finger at Dulcere. “Don't sell your old lady short. I thought she was just another tree-kisser too. When we brought her along, I figured she'd just be a technical specialist—an observer. When it mattered, she was in the thick of it.” He made a fist. “She held her ground, and, sure as hades, gave better than she got.” The big man nodded, obviously remembering back. “Yeah, the lady earned my vote. As model a trooper as I coulda asked for.”

Dulcere blinked, and shook her head. <Trooper? I cannot imagine...>

“Believe it, Goldie. Your Mom ain't no one to mess with. I learned that. For whatever reason, she had a serious mad going, and for a little thing she can really tear it up in a brawl—her and that green-haired gal,” he snapped his fingers a couple times obviously trying to remember. He looked at Terra.

“Sornai,” the cat-woman provided.

“That's right. Sornai—now there's a chick who can mix it up—whew!”

Hearing the admiration in stony Tal's voice, Corim could only begin to fathom the kind of battles they must have been in. It took a lot to impress the master.

Tal rubbed the back of his neck. “You know, before that trip, most of your people kinda left me cold. I ended up likin those two. Guess cause they were both willing to get their hands dirty and work with us. They had the technology, and we had the magic. I think it's also because they had passion for the mission, they could get mad like the rest of us. Your mom hates losin. She don't like Baronians much better. I tell ya, it was none to good for the goons that stepped on her shadow.”

Dulcere pinched the bridge of her nose. The shock was obviously too embarrassing for her to let it be heard in her thoughts. “Why didn't she tell me...” Her breathy voice trailed off. “Mother was keeping company with psi-master Sornai—? Killing—Baronians?”

Tal nodded, apparently enjoying Dulcere's chagrin. “Only the ones that pissed her off. She does that warp-thing like none of your other kin I seen. Messy. I seen one guy just get—”

Dulcere held up a hand. Her skin had actually turned slightly green. “I can imagine. She is a grand master of warp science.” Dulcere seemed truly shaken by this news. Corim squeezed her hand. She glanced at him with a forced expression.

“Guess that explains it, then,” Tal said with a nod to Terra. He drew a breath. “If you're anything like your Mom, you'll be okay in my book.”

The Kriar looked dazed. “Thank you. I—think.”

Tal rubbed his hands together. “That's enough story-telling. Let's do this bash.” He looked at Corim. “All set?”

He nodded. “Wait for a moment. What did you find out about Ceraph?”

He noticed that Dulcere looked up, apparently also interested in what the man had learned.

The big man frowned. “Whitey was right. She isn't dead. She's in a coma.” He let out a breath. His dark eyes looked flinty. “I had her put in stasis until we get back. I'll take care of her then.” He put his arm around Terra's waist. His whole tone changed as if he'd forgotten Ceraph. “Let's brief and blow. I want to be back for lunch tomorrow...” The trip to Karanganoi homeworld really opened my eyes about the Kriar. Before then, they were just a bunch of walkin, talking fossils as far as I was concerned. They had about as much passion as a bowl of mush. Livin simply for the sake of continuity is just a waste of flesh and bone. If a man don't give a rip, if he don't care about his duty, he ain't doing his job—he's just pretending to do it. Ivral, Marna, Sornai, maybe they aren't your typical Kriar—but they showed me guts—they showed me passion. Even when all their tech was useless, their warp powers cut off, and they were just as vulnerable as the rest of us—they didn't cave like I expected them to. They hung in, ready to pick up sticks and stones if necessary to see the job done. Of one thing I'm certain—they love life as much as the rest of us. They were there to protect lives of their kind and ours. They earned my respect...—Talorin “Tal” Falor

Tal's briefing consisted of a terse summary, describing what he called a ‘kink’ in their timeline. This strange anomaly caused by their haphazard patch had resulted in a hundred year discrepancy between Meridian's current event synchronous, and theirs. They could not enter further back without causing more timequakes.

To make matters worse, the numerous anomalies had caused great instability in the transition realm between non-consecutive time and real-time. The turbulence grew impassable only twenty years in the future. This left only a narrow window to make their time entry.

Tal wouldn't give Meridian any more years to prepare than he already possessed.

All during the briefing, Corim could tell Dulcere was only listening with half an ear. Clearly, the belkirin warrior was truly shaken by Tal's story. Corim could only guess what it would feel like to think you knew somebody for eons and abruptly realize that you didn't know them at all. The part that seemed to shake Dulcere most was that her mother was capable of violence; not just self-defense but actively clashing with some of the most vicious fighters imaginable. Corim didn't know much about the Kriar yet, but sensed that Marna acting as a warrior crossed some normally impassible line.

Thankfully, by the end of Tal's talk, she seemed to have gotten over her upset. At the mention of Meridian's name, her eyes narrowed and her jaw tightened. She was definitely ready to fight.

“That's it. Let's do it.” Tal unsheathed his sword. The sliver of metal gleamed in the polychromatic light of Eternity's Heart.

Terra pulled out her weapon, Jemfire. It gleamed in a rainbow of colors and looked similar to the Kriar force swords.

Dulcere slipped off the Mark Twelve, put her arms through straps on the satchel, then shouldered the weapon.

Tal put his arm around Terra, then made a slice with the sword. The air split like layers of flesh from a wound. A window opened, revealing the colorful transition realm.

Dulcere smiled. <A weapon that makes gates, impressive.>

Tal grinned. “The only way to fly.” He sheathed the sword. “We'll go first. Give us a ten count, then follow. The opening will shut itself.” They dove through.

Corim looked at Dulcere. “Does he know what he's doing?”

She shrugged. <Apparently, Mother trusted him enough to follow his orders.> She took his hand. <Jump on three. One ... Two ... Three...>

The opening closed as they leaped.

Instead of hitting solid ground, they found themselves floating in a void. Stars peaked out of a black background dabbled with clouds of color. Tal and Terra floated a few hundred paces away.

Corim's knuckles went white around Eboneye, even though Dulcere supported him. The belkirin looked around, unbothered by the weightlessness.

<What's going on?> he asked through the Shaladen.

<It's not my fault!> Tal growled. <These are the coordinates they gave me. The line must have shifted.>

<Hey, Tiger,> Terra pulled on his arm and pointed. <There's your answer.>

Six gigantic dragons slipped through the ether toward them, toothy snouts agape. They were thirty-horses long, with stubby, taloned wings; short, rending foreclaws and blocky rear legs, with oversized, gripping feet. Their black scales shone like mirrors, reflecting the shifting miasma of the transition realm.

Dulcere gasped. <Falor, those are void dragons!>

Tal's thought showed no emotion. <Sure are; big ones, too.> He looked around. <Terra, Corim, flank them, fast. Dulcere, lay down some suppressing fire. Everyone, close-link rapport—we don't want to get in each other's way.>

Corim swallowed. <Tal, I can't move out here!>

<Use the shaladen, go, before you get cooked!>

Terra streaked toward Corim. Dulcere towed him, and met the cat-woman half way. Terra snagged his belt and shot away.

He felt Tal, Terra and Dulcere synchronizing their minds with his. Linked through the shaladen, he could see and hear everything that they were doing.

<Get Starwind out. Think of the energy moving through your body. Push against the ether in the opposite direction you want to go.>

The dragons peeled off into two groups.

<Take the one on the left, break, fire and flank.> Tal told Dulcere.

A silvery blast shot from Tal's shaladen and smashed into the middle lizard, knocking it tumbling.

Dulcere arced left, drawing her opponent off. Pulsating blue light erupted from the weapon, pummeling the beast.

The remaining one hurtled toward Tal. Large antennas on the creature's head flashed, and a lance of ruby red shot out. Tal sliced with the Shaladen, and the beam struck into a gate.

<We can't kill them with energy!> Dulcere fired again at the one nearest Tal, forcing it to veer off course.

<Keep them busy, so I can get a good shot.>

The monsters regrouped.

Corim unsheathed Starwind and closed his eyes. He focused on Aurra's symbol and being one with it.

The power burned. He kicked away like a swimmer pushing away from a wall. He shot forward, and pulled Terra off course.

<Good, stay with me.> She looked over her shoulder. The dragons continued to pursue. <We lead them off. On my signal, break right. I'll go left. Concentrate on the rear guard.>

<With what?>

<Cut the bastard. It's a sword isn't it!>

<Right.> Oh, Ishtar.

Eboneye growled in his mind. <If I don't draw some blood, I'll be very angry.>

<If this goes badly, you may get mine.> He needed more tangible feedback to survive in this soundless, airless, nothing. He willed Starwind to give him those senses. He felt Aurra's warmth embrace his mind. He felt and heard the frozen hiss of the ether passing around him, the shriek of the dragon's weapons, and their bellows of pain and challenge. He detected the smell of burning cloth and flesh.

<They're going to fire!> Terra thought. <A moment more—steady—go!>

Corim's heart hammered, and he kicked right as hard as he could. Starwind's power blazed, the whirring of the ether became a roar as he shot off.

He saw the three streaks slice behind him. The dragons rumbled in frustration.

Too far, too fast! He arced around and headed for the trailing dragon.

In his mind's-eye, he saw Tal dart in on one as it tried to pivot. The warmaster opened gashes in its side that spouted green ichor. He dodged as it bent on itself, and clipped him in the shoulder with its light weapon.

Corim's target loomed large. He angled to pass between the wings.

He heard the ether whipping around Terra as she rushed in at the same time. Her Shaladen blazed as she veered and streaked down the creature's side. Meat sizzled, and the creature screamed as a trail of ichor spewed out in her wake.

Hurtling between the dragon's wings, he brought the spear whistling down into the massive pivot muscles. The pinion went limp. A rasp and a flash of light.

Slam!

An explosion knocked him spinning. It felt as if a brick wall had fallen on him. Every limb jerked as if electrified. It took all his concentration simply to shake off the agony and get his arms and legs to respond.

He surged right in feint, then dodged left. Two more bolts singed past.

<Can you stop another of those, Eboneye?>

<I don't think I stopped that one!>

<You okay, Corim?> Terra asked.

<Yes. Eboneye can't stop another attack.>

<Don't move in a straight line. Stay on that one. I'll draw the others.>

Terra zipped past and dove between the two dragons. They staggered as their lances stabbed into one another. The attack only seemed to startle them.

Corim circled the wounded one. It roared a challenge, but he knew it to be false confidence. Its fear smelled like sulfur. He felt the creature's pain, but sensed it would never surrender.

So be it.

He arced over top and came down on its spine. Eboneye punched in past the blade, grating through scale and bone. Gore splattered, clinging to Corim's legs like boiling sap. The caustic fluid blistered his skin instantly.

The monster writhed like a snake, twisting to bite at the wound. Refusing to lose Eboneye, Corim hung on as the creature gyrated. Fangs as long as his arm snapped only a handbreadth away. He imagined the hot wind of its musty breath gusting over him.

<Come loose!> He gripped Eboneye, and used Starwind defensively by swinging at the dragon's face. He then slashed at the monster's flesh, trying to hack the spear free. Gouts of acid blood seared his arms and legs.

<Are you crazy!> Terra screamed. <Let the spear go!>

<No!>

He ducked under a clash of teeth, and ripped upward with Starwind. The blade flared and split the creature's nose. More burning blood scored on his face and arms.

<Aurra, I need your strength!> He let out a yell, and drove all of his Shaladen power behind the spear.

The Eternal's tracery expanded in his mind.

It felt as if a star had erupted in him. Power exploded down his arm.

The dragon screeched and folded backward as the irresistible force cleaved downward. Eboneye howled and flashed brilliant red. The spear sparkled, magic sputtered from it like golden blood. The weapon's scream trailed off, and the glow faded to black.

Eboneye came free, her haft blackened.

Cold talons pierced his heart. Oh Ishtar, no! Eboneye! He hadn't meant to put that much force behind the attack.

<Corim!>

He spun and brought Starwind around in a defensive arc. The Shaladen met burning red, and deflected it. The contact sent him reeling. His whole body throbbed.

<Lords and ladies, Corim, what school did you go to? I want to enroll!> Terra dove on the dragon's back, and hacked off a wing.

Corim rushed forward, envisioning Aurra's tracery. The shaladen shone white-hot by the time he closed. The weapon detonated as he struck, sending streamers of force through the mammoth body. The dragon flopped in a disjointed epileptic dance.

<Cor—!>

Terra tried to dive for cover behind the twitching corpse as the red beam hammered home. He felt the agony jam through Terra's nerves.

Damn. He put on a surge of speed. Grabbing Terra around the waist, he jerked her away from jaws that snapped closed, right where she had been. Holding the big woman close, he pivoted to interpose his body, and whipped Starwind around. The blade smacked into another power bolt and deflected it.

<You okay?>

She shuddered. <Nailed me solid. I can't move.>

<Tal!>

One dragon was down. Tal's shaladen and Dulcere's force sword were cutting swaths in the remaining creatures.

<Yeah?!>

<Terra's down. We still have one dragon!>

<On the way.>

Holding onto Tal's wife, Corim evaded as the dragon maneuvered closer.

<Go get him,> Terra thought. <I'll protect myself.>

<But—>

<Do it.>

He let go, and shot past the dragon. Behind him a ball of colors erupted around Terra. The dragon's attack struck it and rebounded.

Tal's battle became more furious, as he and Dulcere redoubled their efforts. Green ichor became a haze around their speeding bodies.

Corim darted toward the dragon. It lunged away, and attacked from a distance. The sulferous smell of fear permeated the ether. It knew now the touch of the shaladens was death.

Corim dodged as a bolt whined past. He charged again. The dragon kept out of range. Three more passes, like knights jousting.

<Terra, help me!>

<What can I do? I can't move!>

<Some tactical advice. Anything!>

<Sometimes you have to take one to give one.>

Corim gritted his teeth. <I've heard that before.>

Keeping Starwind in front of him, he went head-on with the dragon as fast as he could go. No dodging or margin for error this time.

The creature rolled as he came in. A staccato burst raked his spine in a stinging fury. The pain engulfed him like a runaway forest fire. He brought Starwind across its throat as he passed.

A shallow cut. Not lethal. Beia's voice echoed in his mind. Always give better than you get.

I'm trying, damn it!

<Corim, hard left—now!>

He threw himself the opposite direction. A blast of pulses rained in on the creature, driving it sideways. Dulcere darted in, force sword gleaming. The Kriar slashed into the armored hide.

He reversed direction as Dulcere failed to block a ruby blast. The beam struck her armor, and sent her careening with a startled yell. Another series of rapid pulses raked across Tal.

Driving in, Corim struck hard on its flank. The blade ripped through bone and muscle. The monster's tail cracked out. A crunch of agony knocked him spinning.

Tal interposed himself, as the beast started turned on Corim. He could only float paralyzed. Eboneye felt like the weight of a mountain.

She isn't waking up. I've killed her.

The talons in his heart gripped tighter.

<That's it! This lizard is history!> Tal charged. A beam caught him solid, but he didn't slow. He met the creature's chest with a boom. Blocky fingers that could crush rocks clamped into the monster's scales. The beast tried to bite him, but Tal's massive fist drove its head back.

The warrior's sword flashed twice. The monster went into a fit of twitching. The head burst away from the torso in a green fountain.

<Damn lizard, you ruined my good tunic and armor.> Tal turned away from the dragon. He rubbed his burned chest.

<Are you all right?> Corim and Dulcere asked each other at the same time.

Terra groaned. <Let's move—now!>

<Yes.> Corim's whole body burned. He sheathed Starwind, and gripped Eboneye in both hands. The spear no longer felt warm to the touch, its blackened haft nothing but chill metal now.

Damn, it was an accident. I didn't know so much power could go through me like that.

Tal took Terra from the globe of colors, and placed her near Corim.

Corim looked at her askance. <Take one to give one, huh?>

Terra grinned, yellow eyes glinting. <Works for Tal and Beia. Guess we haven't got the hang of it yet.>

Dulcere drifted up next to Corim, glancing at his wounds. Her armor had withstood the impact of the dragon's weapon. <Should we continue with them injured?>

<I have healing stuff.> Tal frowned. <We're targets here, or I'd take the time.> Tal paused, hitting his forehead in thought.

Corim held Eboneye's cold metal to his cheek. You loved me. Oh, Ishtar, there's no healing this.

<I got it. Let's go.>

Tal grabbed Terra around the waist, and Dulcere did the same with Corim. They flickered through the transition realm and into real-time... No matter how many times I visit the Kriar Homeworld I am always awed. Simply thinking about it makes my head ache. It is called “Homeworld” but it is actually a spherical vessel bigger than a star. In fact, my understanding is that at one point a star was its initial central hub. Over time, the star was cooled and its metal extracted. The ship took thousands of centuries to build, its structures built in layers. One can only be daunted by the shear immensity the place. Even if the size didn't amaze you, the fact that the whole thing can move would...—Cassin Kel'Ishtauri Felspar

Cassin and Annawen reappeared inside a vast docking bay. Duralloy stretched upward around them until distance made the vertical walls appear to converge. They looked down into a metallic canyon that was a league across. The canyon led into space through a blue force grid. Stars and the taller portions of Homeworld's nodular topography shimmered through the azure haze. Like mirror-skinned whales, two gargantuan cruisers dozens of city blocks long maneuvered into their cradles. Personnel shuttles darted like minnows around the needle pointed ships. Hundreds of lighted windows dotted the bay's side.

Cassin inhaled the cool, purified air, rich in oxygen. She felt Annawen do the same. Skin tightening, she sensed the tension in the air.

“They're battening down; probably preparing to move Homeworld.”

<Wouldn't you? It's too easy to touch off another timequake.>

Cassin nodded. She looked toward the heart of the solar-system-sized cruiser. Through the haze of force fields, the dozens of league-long chambers looked as if she stared into the infinity of two mirrors reflecting one another.

Every time she pondered Homeworld's vastness, the overwhelming sense that she'd become lost forever in its immensity tore at her stomach like icy claws.

It had taken a million eons to build this vessel into what it was now: a shell able to hold thousands of planets. How many worlds had vanished into its depths? A madman once controlled all this. What if it happened again? The Eternals fought only the fringes of Kriar armada. They never engaged Homeworld and its reserves.

She shuddered.

<There you go again, Sis. Thinking.>

“Can I help it? This place would scare anyone.”

<Listen to you. You're always telling everyone to relax. The Kriar are our friends. They rarely even have the psychology to be warriors.>

“I don't need you to repeat my own speech. The Jyril showing up now worries me. The last thing we need is another war.”

<Cassin, you worry too much.> Annawen looked toward the security station. <Come on. We'll be late for debriefing.>

Annawen pulled her toward the desk, where security would check them into Homeworld-proper.

They stepped up to the station that girded the main access tunnel. A blue field similar to the ones in the docking bay blocked the gate.

A husky male with hawkish features operated a console. The blur of his thick fingers made a staccato rapping as he keyed data. A wall of monitors loomed behind him, flickering with images of various sections of the complex. A chunky female, her hair woven into a waist-length cloak, used a scanner to examine several pallets of equipment sitting near the entry. Both wore the skintight red of the Durathi, Kriar militia.

The man stopped and nodded. <Saeba.>

“Cada.”

Cassin presented her hand palm-up on top of the desk. He took a trace wand and scanned her matrix implant, then Annawen's. He checked the console.

<You have three messages. Eratha Techstar says to meet her in staff area 41, in grid 238-E. You have private postings from Dame Techstar and from Dom Starbinder. I'm posting them to your cyber access now.>

<Our gratitude.>

The silvery hum of the force-grid stopped, and the field winked out. Cassin led them down a cavernous corridor lined with conduits that sparkled with energy. The tunnel opened into Greeting Center; a cylindrical chamber ringed with counters and radiating passages.

Four large bounce shafts moved cargo to and from mooring bays for inspection. With relocation imminent, only a few Kriar worked here at the rim, directing lifter drones. The human-shaped giants of metal lumbered back and forth, hauling crates of proto-matter from pallets to several hovering bug-shaped carryalls for distribution throughout Homeworld.

<What do you suppose Governor Starbinder wants?>

Cassin frowned. “Must have something to do with Dulcere.”

Annawen smiled. <Great-grandmother Techstar is probably leaving us the typical note of concern.>

“Probably.” Something told Cassin that it involved the Governor's note. She pulled her cyber out. “238-E must be on the rim somewhere.” She punched the map function. The transit stations and shuttles used to reach that part of Homeworld flashed on the display.

<Strange, that's the old prewar base. There's next to nothing there.>

“Ivral knows what she's doing.”

Breezing through Centre, they took the main corridor, and jumped into a bounce shaft. Cassin controlled her dread of the thing by simply plunging in without stopping. The gut-sucking sense of falling hit the same way every time.

Even after twenty cycles of living with the Kriar, she couldn't accustom herself to it. You stepped into intertialess freefall and dropped. Grabbing a rung at any of the exits instantly stopped you without a jar. Overcoming the idea her arm would get ripped off, took months.

Exiting, they stepped on the railed sector ramp. They could see the framework of Homeworld's gigantic interior from here. To either side, the walls dropped away until they coalesced in the distance.

Annawen looked down. <Ivral told me that she fell off one of these ramps when she was little. Said her Mom went ahead to breakfast, finished shopping, took a shuttle and caught her four kilorevs later.>

Cassin shuddered. “I bet Ivral didn't play on the rail again.”

The Kriar built Homeworld in layers, air breaks separating each one. Vertical and horizontal sectioning gave them the ability isolate each area. From between these huge cubes they could see toward Core, and view the horizons in all directions. Shuttle tubes formed a glistening lattice crisscrossing the gaps.

They continued to the station. Cassin typed in an access and destination code at the door. They waited a hectorev for it to arrive.

The doors of the cylindrical capsule slid open. Stepping inside, Annawen settled in one of the twenty spacious chairs. Cassin stepped up to the controls and verified their destination. The vehicle accelerated as she moved to sit down.

<How long?>

“According to the board, about a kilorev. It's pretty far out.”

<Why didn't she pick someplace where we could use a teleporter?>

Cassin shrugged. “I don't know.”

<We have time. Let's look at those messages.>

Taking out her cyber she viewed the first message. “That's funny.”

<What?>

“The message header is here, but the text body is missing.”

<Must be a glitch. Check the other one.>

Cassin scanned the governor's message and frowned. “Same.”

<No, it isn't, look.>

The last two letters of his name remained at the message's end. “The cybers glitch once a century. Two netmail sends fouled up the same way? I don't believe it. Somebody erased the text.”

<Call Dame Techstar.>

Cassin punched her great-grandmother's number into the comm-link built into the chair arm. The speaker emitted a crackle of static. “Hardware failure? Come on.” She went to another chair; the same result.

<I don't like this.>

“Stop the shuttle.”

Annawen stood and punched in an abort. <It's not responding.>

“Dark, I'm warping us out of here.”

Annawen came and took her hand. <I'm with you, Sis.>

Cassin focused and summoned the energy surge from her matrixes.

Nothing.

“There must be a damper field on the shuttle.”

<I can't call telepathically. It's being screened out.>

Cassin felt both hearts start to gallop. She pulled her blaster. “They haven't overridden the signal on my Mark V.”

Annawen checked hers. <Mine, either. That's something, I suppose.>

“What are our chances of fighting a trained Kriar warrior?”

Annawen shook her head. <Slim.>

“Well, no one ever said we didn't try to buck the odds.”

<Can't we stall the shuttle?>

“Not a chance. We're moving at ninety percent of light-speed. We disrupt the inertia field, and we'll become a new coat of paint in here.” She took a breath. “When the shuttle stops, we'll jump for it.”

Annawen's eyes went wide. <Cass, we can't fly!>

“Details, details. We can't use our warp powers to teleport, but we can still convert matter to energy.”

<You want to amass power without focus? It might as well be a—>

“Bomb? Or a concussion to provide thrust.” She checked the chronometer. “They can't warp in the damper. They'll have to chase us on foot or by hopper. All we have to do is reach one of the sector ramps.”

<Cass, if we miss we'll fall forever!>

“Hardly forever, eight months at the outside.”

Annawen gritted her teeth. <That makes me feel so much better. Why not fall clear of the damper's influence, then warp out?>

“You want to chance hitting something before we're clear?”

Annawen shook her head. <All right, sector ramp, don't miss.>

“There you go.” Cassin clenched her fists, and tried to slow the thundering of her hearts. Throat tight, she tasted the sappy perspiration on her lip. She checked the time that remained before reaching the station.

Five hectarevs.

“Here's the plan. I cut a hole through the floor and the tube gantry, and we drop out the bottom. It'll paralyze the shuttle, and cause a tube outage. That should get some repair personnel out here. Five rev drop, two millirev burst toward the wall, and a braking burst to ease the impact.”

<Five revs! Cassin, that's a 20 stories down!>

“Yes, and still well within the effective range of most weapons.” She checked the chronometer. “I've got enough energy in my matrixes to stop two attacks, if they're not using lethal force.” Swallowing hard, she pulled out the blaster and checked the signal again. “Make that braking thrust good, Sis, bust your leg and we're caught.”

<Caught by who?>

“Let's worry about getting away first.”

Cassin's force sword blazed from her hand implant in a buzz of concentrated matrix energy. Two swift jabs fused the door shut. A slash through the lighting conduits plunged the car into blackness.

“Okay, we heat it up in here to block thermal scanning. I'll rig some white noise from the control board through the speakers to stop sonics.”

<I'll block the windows with the seat cushions. We can use my cyber to generate a matter flux to stop the life scanners.>

“Let's do it. The sisters Kel'Ishtauri don't catch easily.”

Cassin tore open the main circuits and routed a blaring cacophony through the shuttle's public address system. Setting her blaster on extreme-wide aperture brought the air temperature well into the scalding range. Heating the synthetic fibers of the seat cushions made them sticky enough to jam into the view-ports so that they stayed.

Cassin ripped up the floor access, and quick-welded the panels across the door with her blaster. Annawen set the cyber into matter-wave diagnostic, and overrode the gain so that the static would interfere with scanners in the vicinity.

She wiped the sweat from her brow. “One hectarev, the braking cycle is about to start.”

Annawen looked into her eyes; star-flecked copies of Cassin's own, glinting in the darkness. <Sis, even if we don't get away.> Annawen pulled her in for a kiss. Her sister trembled. <We did everything possible.>

“We'll make it.” She identified where she would cut to allow them out. “Okay, lay down flat. They may hit the car with a stun burst. Ground yourself to the metal, and cover your eyes. Shield your face when I chop us out. That conduit carries a lot of power.”

Annawen nodded and knelt down. Cassin felt the magnetic flux reverse and the surge of deceleration.

This is it, my two decades of training versus millennia of theirs. Our only hope is if they underestimate our ingenuity.

She paced her breathing. The mechanical brakes cut in. The car shuddered to a stop.

“On a count of three...”

A whine. The floor vibrated. The gantry toggles locked down.

“One—”

The door's spindle motor shorted out with a rasp and an acrid puff of smoke. The air filled with the stink of burnt insulation and fused metal.

“Two—”

A shriek. The side of the car buckled. Durascreen shattered with a high-pitched crash. Cassin's hearts felt as if they tried to jump from her body. Her muscles yanked taut. Annawen's face twisted in fear. Energy flashed. Miniature bolts of lightning struck like maddened adders. There were whiffs of smoldering cloth and synthetics.

“Three!”

Cassin's force-sword lit the cabin in blood red. She stabbed the blade into the floor. The conduit exploded. The shuttle rocked under another blow. More thunderstrokes lashed through the room. A blaze of pain as molten metal peppered her arm. Duralloy decking peeled back, like flesh from a knife. Stunner energy jammed into her nerves.

One more cut...

A metallic groan. Conduits sputtered. A gust of cold air. A roar. The shuttle door erupted into a barrage of white-hot fragments.

A searing fang plunged deep into Cassin's leg. “Go!” Gritting her teeth, she shoved Annawen through. She clutched the pumping thigh wound. Another salvo vaporized the door.

She snatched the blaster from her hip and sprayed the smoke-choked doorway at full power. Answering fire ripped the room. She back-crawled toward the opening. Pain numbed her legs. Her shoulders neared the edge of an infinite fall.

Closer. She felt the cold draft on her back. The odor of smoldering lubricant, seared flesh, and leaking pressure fluid bit her nostrils. A body streaked through the doorway. Her finger locked on the trigger, covering everything in the front of the car.

She arched backward into empty space. The shuttle mechanisms and the floor of the gantry hissed by. She continued firing as she fell. Bolts ripped into the front section of the car.

One rev, two...

The glistening shuttle tube dwindled. Air roared past. The flame in her leg burned hotter. A tangled string of blood trailed in her wake.

Block out the pain. Three...

She holstered and spun feet up. The walls of the air-break sped by in a blur. She spied the target railing.

Annawen's not there! Four...

Tensing muscles, mind clearing, streaks of colored light sizzled like chromatic rain.

Have to time it exactly. Five!

Matrix energy surged in her hand becoming a concussive burst.

Too fast!

She kissed the bulkhead with a flash of pain. The wall appeared and vanished in a dizzy rhythm.

The force-sword ignited in her hand. Smash. Another grate of agony.

Cassin drove the blade home. Metal howled and conduits erupted. A tear opened in the wall as she fell; glowing fragments of duralloy and synthetics cascaded over her head. Her uniform and skin abraded away in a crescendo of torture.

Stop! Oh, dark! Stop!

The platform rushed up with a numbing clash. She rolled to cushion the shock, feeling blood spurt from the tensed leg. The world flickered black, then returned. Pinwheels of light danced in her vision.

Blasts of energy smashed into the deck nearby.

It felt as if needles stabbed at her breasts and abdomen. Cassin clawed toward the cover of an engineering access. Tearing open the panel, she lunged inside. Suppressing fire continued to hammer the platform.

Telepathy still couldn't get out. “Annawen!” She screamed. “I can't move!”

No answer came back. I have only regretted becoming Kriar a few times in my life. The first was when I decided I wanted to have children. The second was when I learned how much some races hated them. For myself, I have found the Kriar who are close to me to be compassionate, generous and thoughtful people. Of course, I know my adoptive family is not representative of the whole culture, but I would like to think they are...—Cassandra Kel'Ishtauri Felspar

The rainbow-hued starscape of the transition realm spread around them. Waves of energy rocked them, like swells in an angry sea. Ahead, the black vortex loomed at the border of Siderous Chronous, matter and light corkscrewing into its depths like gigantic party streamers. As they observed the anomaly, Aarlen felt it drawing them forward.

Her mind and body still ached from the pulled-through-a-knothole stress of looping past the end of time with the two Kriar's help. Having Beia nearby made the pain easier to endure; one less thing to worry about.

Cassandra and Dorian discussed what they were witnessing; their telepathic exchanges a buzz on the edge of Aarlen's consciousness. Beia and Ess also conversed, the elder sister explaining what occurred here.

Aarlen relaxed, expending only the power necessary to keep them stable. The energies lost in escaping the time trap and dealing with the Jyril had taken more out of her than she'd admitted to Koass. Simply bringing the women here took far more effort than it should have. Until the headache subsided, she would let Cassandra and Dorian do the thinking.

Her mind wandered back over the past few hours. The relief of finding Beia alive changed to anger as the throbbing in her temples worsened. They argued, exhaustion and pain fueling the conflict, until they broke apart, realizing that the tension had made them combative.

Later, she noticed that Beia seemed pensive, especially when the subject of the boy, Corim, came up. The Myrmigyne had changed since her travails. In fact, Beia kept her mind closed, which made Aarlen suspicious. What was Beia hiding that she didn't want her to see? When things calmed down, she'd pursue the matter.

<—should do it. What do you think Aarlen?> Cassandra's thoughts interrupted her semi-drowse.

Aarlen looked into Cassandra's starry eyes, and frowned. Her ache-slowed mind couldn't conjure a response to hide her inattentiveness.

<Pardon?>

Cassandra raised an eyebrow. <Are you all right?>

Her jaw tightened. <It's nothing. Repeat your idea.>

The gold mage explained again. An involved process that required numerous adjustments to calm the disruptions around the maelstrom.

The throb in Aarlen's temple did a double beat. Why can't I make it stop? I must have hurt myself worse than I thought. I've been able to block pain for centuries.

<That would be fine, if we had more subjective time to work with. This anomaly is critical now. It must be plugged with a resonance field, and the etheral fabric repaired.>

<Impossible.> Dorian's green eyes were wide. <It's thousands of leagues across. Even the Kriar don't have equipment that could stabilize a field of that scale.>

Aarlen nodded. <We'll come up with something.>

Beia took her hand and squeezed. <Weren't we going to find the Jyril?>

She clasped her hands on Beia's. <They're here. I know it.>

Beia glanced at Ess, then to the other two mages. <Aarlen, I thought you'd have something in your bag of tricks to help us locate them.>

She frowned. <I'm still recovering from being turned inside out.>

Dorian toyed with the ends of her dark auburn hair. <Maybe we can—>

The void flashed from black to white, all the stars looking like black pinpoints on a paint splashed white blanket. A flash of silver followed by a line of brilliant blue shot from point to point around the periphery of the rift. The whole scene appeared as if a gigantic needle and thread were stabbing in and out of the fabric of space.

<I think we found them,> Cassandra thought.

The light laced the rip with ever-increasing velocity.

<What is that?> Ess asked.

Dorian smiled stiffly. <Either it's something trying to close the rift, or the biggest damn cross-stitch project I've ever seen.>

The universe shimmered to black. The stars were again white pinpoints. Shockwaves buffeted them, as the mesh of energy blazed like a star. Inexorably the gap shrank.

<Nethra,> Beia clenched her fist. <It's working.>

Cassandra gritted her teeth. <Too much pressure. Aarlen pull us back, now!>

Aarlen sensed the new rip, and slammed the group into motion.

<Go!> Cassandra grabbed Aarlen's hand, and they surged forward as though launched from a catapult. <Dorian, get the shield ready!>

<What's happening!>

Only instants left, have to—

The visible light from the rift touched them at the same time as the fringes of the shockwave.

<Now!>

Cassandra slammed them to a stop, as Dorian's staff flashed. A wall of colors formed around them as the nebulous wavefront struck. The impact of the main blast hammered home. Even in the airless void with the force wall's protection, the roar was deafening.

They slammed against the back of the sphere, hands covering their eyes against the brilliance.

Aarlen drew Stellaraac, and willed the indestructible weapon into a cocoon around them. The shiny metal closed around them as Dorian's magic buckled. The metallic shield lurched, pressing them flat as shockwaves knocked them forward.

Limbs paralyzed. Aarlen's eyes pressed into their sockets. She tried to inhale, but her chest weighed tons. She struggled against the acceleration.

No energy left to fight.

The pressure became a vise that squeezed out consciousness turn by turn. Stars whirled in her head; dots fragmented like shattered panes of glass that faded into nothingness...

Ess coughed. “What tells me that the Jyril's attempt didn't work?”

Dorian groaned and spoke. “Could it be the bruises all over your body?”

Aarlen opened her eyes. A glow from Dorian's staff lit the cramped oblong chamber, which was the size of six coffins built together. Foross, the Eternal, apparently created air for them through the sword. The smell of perspiration and burned hair hung in the limited atmosphere.

“Sister—” Beia sighed. “Oh, never mind.” She leaned over Aarlen. “Are you all right?”

“All my parts are present.”

“They all hurt, if they're like mine,” Cassandra murmured.

<Don't everyone all thank me at once,> a voice reverberated from the walls of their enclosure.

“Pardon our lack of grace, Foross,” Dorian said. “It's tough to be polite with a headache this bad.”

“Thinking of that we should—” Cassandra froze and went rigid.

At the same time, Beia jerked as though struck by lightning.

“Eboneye!” They burst out together.

“By Isis,” Cassandra shook her head. “This isn't like last time, she screamed and went dead.”

“What are you two—”

<Corim!> Beia yelled telepathically. The volume made Aarlen wince. <Tal! Terra!>

<Neither Nova nor Jemfire appear to be receiving,> Foross’ voice filled the chamber. <Strange.>

“The Shaladens can't be destroyed!” The color drained from Beia's face and her fists clenched. “Oh, Nethra.”

<No, they can't. Either we're cut off, or Tal and Terra are dead.>

Aarlen swallowed. “Has anything gone right recently?”

“Doesn't appear that way, does it?” Dorian gritted her teeth. “Are you all right, Cassandra?”

“I'll be okay.” Her gold skin looked pale.

“What about you?” Aarlen looked at Beia.

She swallowed. “I was really starting to like that clod. Damn—”

“That baby?” Aarlen arched an eyebrow. “He's attractive, but I didn't think you'd go soft on a man.”

Beia's jaw tightened. “Neither did I.”

Aarlen noted her mate's reaction. What have you been at, Beia? I wondered why you let the boy keep your spear. They needed to think about the damage caused by the new rift. “Foross, are we located where I can unwrap Stellaraac?”

<Void normal, no air of course.>

“Void normal? We were in transition space. How did we—?”

“Must have been a dimensional shift,” Dorian offered. “Distortions caused by fluctuations in the rift.”

Aarlen let out a breath. “This mess is getting worse by the hour. Dorian, you can handle the environment control, right?”

“One moment.” She touched a shiny gold amulet around her neck. Soon the air in their confines became fresher and less rarefied.

“What would we do without mages around?” Ess shook her head. “Beia and I are like a third leg.”

“You'll get a chance, Ess,” Cassandra clapped her on the arm.

“Go ahead, Aarlen,” Dorian said. “Break us out of here.”

Aarlen touched the ‘ceiling'. The silvery mass pealed away like the petals of a flower. The amorphous shape formed into a single-edged blade in her hand. Nearby, a sun blazed fiery-yellow with two striped gas giants circling around it. They were a few leagues distant from the orbit of some meteoroids. A pinwheel galaxy dominated the night, and only a dappling of lonely stars and nebulae were otherwise visible.

<Beautiful,> Ess thought in an awestruck tone.

<I agree,> Dorian looked at Cassandra. <Well, you're the navigator. Where are we?>

Cassandra looked around and bit her tongue. <In the universe?>

<That's a bit general.> Aarlen shook her head. <We weren't knocked cross-line. We should be able to return and see if the Jyril survived.>

<Think any did? They were probably close when the rift went nova.>

<We survived. Why wouldn't they?> She sheathed Stellaraac. <Did you report the blast, Foross?>

<As it occurred.>

<Any new instructions?>

<Directive remains the same. The Kriar crisis team has been alerted. They will meet you as soon as possible.>

<Okay, Boss, once more into the breech.>

Beia gritted her teeth. <Don't say that. Corim said that right before this mess started.>

They entered Siderous Chronous a safe distance from the rift's deadly pull. The main anomaly appeared to be half its original size, but now a new, smaller hole in the fabric of continuum had opened close by.

<Terrific,> Dorian muttered.

My headache isn't getting any better. <We'll call this one a botch. Divide and conquer is not the preferred method for resolving these things.> She frowned. <Let's find those Jyril. Cassandra, Dorian, let's link-up to make this pass. There will be a lot of turbulence.>

They joined hands, focusing their wills and magic. They needed to go close enough to see if the Jyril were still near the rift's threshold.

The buffeting increased steadily as they approached, buffeting them like a fighting trainer's padded weapon.

<I'm going to have bruises for a week,> Dorian grumbled.

<Nag, nag, nag.>

Dodging through debris sucked into the rift's inky depths, they narrowly avoided a hail of silvery splinters.

<Those are pieces of a vessel!> Cassandra pointed to some larger chunks spiraling downward to their right.

<I think they're the ones we want.> Beia indicated a group of five silhouettes hovering stationary in the maelstrom.

Even with Cassandra and Dorian's help, maneuvering in the chaos was tricky. The five figures made no effort to close the gap. They only remained fixed. The residue from a disintegrating Siderous Chronous deflected off a spherical shield around them.

<Look out!> Beia ripped an arrow from her quiver and launched it.

A quadruple detonation erupted as the missile hit the barn-sized chunk of Siderous Chronous that tumbled toward them. The mystic fire pulverized it into a swarm of fist-sized pieces.

Aarlen banked hard. The edge of the rock storm still caught them. Ess interposed her shield, protecting herself and Beia from the impacts.

Dorian threw out a warding gesture, and stopped all but a fraction of deadly hail.

Pain erupted from Aarlen's side and leg as the debris clipped her. She winced, checking the damage. Nothing broken, but there'll be some nasty bruises.

Cassandra favored a similar wound. Dorian had curled into a ball.

<Sorry,> Beia thought. <I didn't have a good arrow to stop it.>

<We'll survive.>

<Speak for yourself, Boss.> Dorian clutched her side. <I think a couple ribs are broken. Get us under cover!>

Cassandra took Dorian around the shoulders, and Aarlen swung them into the cover of the Jyril's force sphere.

<Now what?> Ess asked. <Knock?>

They could see five silhouettes as outlines.

Aarlen tapped on the shell with Stellaraac, confident that there wouldn't be a backlash through it.

The shield expanded instantly, engulfing them in its confines. Aarlen focused on the five occupants, immediately recognizing the blue-skinned Vasar. Blue was still dressed as she had been when Aarlen left her. The Vasar nodded to her, and touched the hawkhead emblem between her breasts.

She stood together with four other Jyril on the opposite side of the sphere. They all looked quite familiar.

Themselves. Time travel, dimensional warps, curved space—all that stuff gives me a headache. They're all tools to do the job—and the job is pretty simple—catch the bad guys. The Shael Dal are the best-equipped militia money never bought. Despite the fact that we're a bunch of babies by the thinking of some of the elders—we get the job done. As long as I have a say—we always will...—Talorin “Tal” Falor

Tal's sword slashed through reality, and Corim stepped out of the transition realm into a huge circle of stone monoliths. Behind him, Terra and Dulcere jumped out of the crackling doorway, followed by Tal. The gate closed with a hush of air.

Some ten-men high, two rings of rock arches surrounded them concentrically with a tall spire at the center. Each trilithon glowed with a dull light, and runes flickered on their surfaces. The structure looked similar to the henge of Baltizaar, where the Band of the Crescent Moon had fought Hellzan.

Even the barren outer terrain and hem of glass looked like that other place and time. The brisk air smelled dead, as if all the life had been breathed from it. Bolts occasionally rasped between the pillars overhead, sending eerie echoes out across the plane. In the distance, Corim could see valley walls, where mountains reached down to touch the desert. The cloud-thick night shimmered, as if the starlight strained to reach this alien place. The environment felt askew, as though everything were only partially right.

Dulcere shouldered her rifle and looked around. <Good move, Tal. They shouldn't detect our entry this way, no disruption of the ether.>

Tal's on-the-spot plan was to use what he called a ‘peephole', a place where a Kriar gate looked into transition space. Using that conduit they had arrived here.

“Olinar,” Terra breathed. “Ironic. The place we first started butting heads with Meridian.”

Tal frowned. “Too much of a coincidence for me. Let's fix you up—strip.”

Terra removed her armor, baring her shapely torso without a trace self-consciousness. Tal took salve from a pouch on his side and rubbed it into the damaged areas on her back. The cat-woman actually purred.

Dulcere took Corim's face in her hands, and made him look away from Terra. <You, too.>

He shrugged out of his armor with help, wincing. Dulcere took the pouch from Tal, and applied the contents on Corim. He gritted his teeth as Dulcere dabbed into sensitive wounds. Everywhere the substance touched, his skin tightened, and he experienced the familiar crawling sensation of healing magic at work.

Tal looked at Corim. “By the way. Great battle—no kidding.”

Corim frowned. “Didn't you see?”

“What?”

Corim handed Tal the inert form of Eboneye.

The big man looked at the weapon for a long moment, then shook his head. “Damn, Kid, your life is over. Beia's going to rip out your lungs.”

Corim shuddered. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.” Tal patted Terra on the bottom. “All done.” He looked to Dulcere. “You're the brains here. How did Corim focus enough power to burn this adamant without vaporizing himself?” Tal looked at Corim. “You should be dead, Kid.”

Corim rubbed the back of his neck. “It did burn a little.”

Dulcere finished applying the salve and handed it back to Tal. <I cannot say. The metapathic discipline should not give him any ability to manipulate energy.>

Terra sighed, running fingers through her brown mane. She moved a few steps and sat in front of nearby trilithon. She looked up at Corim, and her yellow eyes gleamed. “You did something different with the Shaladen didn't you?”

“I only focused on Aurra's symbol and merged with it.”

“You merged with her symbol?” Terra's eyes were round.

Tal's mouth twitched. “What's he talking about?”

“The Eternal's life symbol. It took me decades to discover that.” She gestured to the sky. “There's no justice. Corim stumbles in here, picks up a Shaladen, sees her symbol and merges with it.”

Tal scowled. “What symbol? I never see any symbol!”

“That's the point, Tiger. We only tap into it. Corim merges with it. He might as well be Aurra.”

Dulcere smiled. <Metapaths harmonize with the patterns of others. That would explain the symbiosis between Corim and Aurra.>

Tal laughed. “Too bad you can't teach us how to do that.”

“Why couldn't I?”

“Beia will kill you before you get a chance—”

He covered his face in his hands. “Tal, it's bad enough, I feel guilty. Eboneye was a—a—”

Terra raised an eyebrow. “A person? You can't murder a magic spear, Corim.”

“This will sound stupid, but she loved me.”

“Beia?”

“No, Eboneye.”

Tal looked at him askance. “I think that dragon rattled you, Kid. I'd swear you said a spear loved you.”

Dulcere smiled wryly. <Eboneye displayed a rather possessive feminine personality.>

“She said she was real.”

“That sounds like Cassandra,” Tal said. “Take some poor dead slob, and give them a second chance at life by stuffing them in an item.” He sighed. “We'll figure something out. I'll keep her in my magic bag so you're not—” he chuckled. “Lugging all that dead weight.”

Corim gritted his teeth.

Terra slapped Tal in the shoulder. “You reached a new low, Tiger.”

Tal pulled a bag off his belt. “Hey, Kitten, someone has to do it.”

Terra looked at him sidelong. “Keep calling me ‘Kitten', and Eboneye won't be the only dead weight around here—”

Corim decided to let Tal's coarse remark pass. “What's the plan, Tal? We do have a plan, right?”

Tal snorted. “We're not here to make plans, Koass wants a solution.”

Corim scratched his head. “Don't they go hand in hand?”

“Sometimes. Having Dulcere along makes our job easier. Our task is finding Meridian and that Baronian. We're sitting in the middle of the best source of information available.” He looked to Dulcere. “Right?”

Dulcere looked around the henge and frowned. <Correct in theory. This equipment is over a million gigarevs old.>

Tal shrugged. “What have we got to lose?”

“Say we do find him—what then? You don't think we can simply walk in there and drag him out?”

“Corim, you worry too much.” He looked at Dulcere. “Might as well start the thing looking. I know it takes a while.”

The Kriar walked over to one of the nearby henge blocks, then sang in Kriar for a few moments. Twelve large runes glowed brightly down the front of the monolith block, and the archway filled with a fuzzy blue mist.

The Belkirin's hand played rhythmically across the symbols. The stone melted away, and an array of glowing squares appeared to the right in the stone. As her hands flashed across these, more arrays emerged. Soon an area an arm-span wide and high glowed and winked with alien symbology.

<Other gates are active in the system,> she reported. <I do not think I can conduct a system-wide scan without it being noted.>

Tal nodded. “What are the chances of them knowing what it means?”

<I am uncertain how much of the Kriar they know.>

“Can he trace it here?”

“Not if I route it.”

“Do that. They know we're looking for them. If they go hunting for us, all the better.”

Dulcere nodded as her fingers played across the panel.

“You going to keep belkirin rank? Or do you have to get another commission under the new dasta?”

The Kriar's hands did not slow as she looked at Tal. <I have to apply again. I hold a temporary clearance until my debriefing.>

“Must be tough have the highest Kriar as your mother.”

<I've thought that once or twice.> She finished and moved to sit next to Corim. <It'll sound an alarm when it's found Meridian.>

Tal unshouldered his pack, opened it, and pulled out a blanket. He draped it around Terra's shoulders. “Then let's get some rest. We want to be fresh.” He settled next to his wife and put his arm around her. They kissed, and Terra snuggled into his embrace.

Corim still found it difficult seeing Tal as gentle, or even the type to marry. He guessed it came down to whom you married, and what they were like. Corim imagined it would take someone as ferocious as Tal to tame Terra.

He looked to Dulcere, who studied him with a half smile. <I think that's your real redemption, Corim. You're always trying to understand. It's a trait that seems rare among your people.>

“Is it my only redeeming quality?”

She grinned. <If your shoulder is soft, that will make two.>

What sounded like metal shrieking against metal roused Corim from a drowse. Dulcere stirred next to him, and stood. She walked over to the gate and studied the panels, Corim following.

Tal and Terra stretched and came over to observe the portal with the belkirin.

Tal yawned and rubbed his eye. “A good fix?”

Dulcere's hand flashed across the panel. The blue fog in the portal opening sparkled and cleared into a giant scene of a huge office lined with bookshelves. Meridian sat behind a broad wooden desk, his ursine features intent on some papers before him. In the background, a laboratory stretched out, dozens of tables cluttered with iambics, beakers, coiled tubes, and a plethora of other glassware, all seething with colored liquids. Tendrils of smoke and steam rose in the hall, and several figures worked around the tables. Rakaar appeared nowhere in sight.

“There must be some kind of defense,” Corim muttered. “Otherwise, it's a ploy. They sent the dragons.”

Terra smoothed her thick brown mane. “The dragons could have been left as guards. Maybe we haven't triggered any magical warnings.”

Dulcere folded her arms, and stared at the huge image of the man who had once held her prisoner. The Kriar's lip curled. <Meridian might be that careless in setting up a defense. Rakaar would not.>

“Two votes for a trap.” Tal's hand made a rasping sound as he rubbed the stubble on his face. “Any way to make sure that it's really him, and not some blasted simulacrum or something?”

Dulcere's brow furrowed. She worked at the panel, hand playing across the lighted displays. Strange glowing text superimposed itself on the moving image. The view panned back and forth across the scene of the vaulted lab area.

Dulcere moved her hand to another panel, and slid her fingers against a cross-shaped area. The gate's eye shifted, then focused on one of the workers. The glassware of the tables became a crystalline forest, as the view moved forward. It was as though they looked through the eyes of a bird swooping through the room.

A russet-faced man's slit eyes, stub nose and double chins loomed large. His porcine features were set in a mask of concentration.

“Shamada.” Tal nodded. “He's one of Meridian's toadies.”

<I saw him at Daladar several times,> Dulcere confirmed. <Note the uniform's weave; something only produced by an industrial culture. The crystal is also refined glass.>

“This is an amazing device.” Corim shook his head in wonder.

“The magic of Kriar technology,” Terra chuckled. “Can we switch around and back up, so that we can see the outside?”

Dulcere nodded. A slide of the fingers, and the scene panned slowly until the image of Meridian hunched over his papers became visible. The eye now saw him from a point halfway across the room. Gradually, the mage dwindled. Tables and people passed beneath their view as the focus point retreated. Walls briefly blackened the picture, as rooms filled with apparatus and other people at work flickered by.

Tal grinned. “He's been busy, look at the size of this place.”

“I'm looking,” Corim muttered. He swallowed as the spectacle of hundreds of chambers filled with equipment and workers flashed by.

The view swept out into the open. Dulcere corrected the movement so that they climbed away from the ground. A teeming city spread around them. Impossibly high shafts of glass and steel glittered against a star-dotted night. Domes, pyramids, and myriad variety of other shapes comprised the complex skyline that stretched out to the horizon. Silvery insects hurtled back and forth between the titanic structures, some running along smooth black streets, others far above.

A single massive stair-stepped rectangle—far larger than the arena on Daladar—dominated their view ahead. Crimson lights flashed on the roof, and dozens of men moved in guard patterns.

“Well, well, well,” Tal shook his head. “Meridian goes high-tech. He'd been hard-line against resorting to purely technical artifices. Guess he abandoned the idea. That makes this job interesting.”

“Interesting!” Corim looked at Tal aghast. “It makes it impossible!”

“Corim, you worry too much.” The first time my mother tangled with Daergon Surr I was only a child, even by Human standards. My understanding is that Tiernia Nirvanae and Damrosil Terranath were the ones that released him from stasis. At the time, they new nothing of the Kriar and had no idea of what kind of creature they were releasing. His “second coming” caused tremendous havoc on homeworld. They'd already ousted him from power once, and thought him dead. Having him resurface several millennia later put quite a knot in some people's tails. When he teamed up with Hecate the goddess of magic, they created a mess that the historians are still writing volumes about. When the family killed that bastard, I was old enough to be glad of it...—Cassin Kel'Ishtauri Felspar

Hearts hammering, lungs burning and mouth dry, Cassin glanced around the narrow confines of the engineering access. The injured leg felt as if a demon mole were burrowing in it. Milky blood pumped around a jagged fragment of duralloy that jutted from her thigh. Breasts and stomach abraded, arms stippled with burn lesions; it took all her concentration to focus through the agony.

She didn't have time to search for Annawen. Whoever the enemy was, they'd be after her soon.

Even sitting down, the height of the crawl-way gave minimal head clearance. The featureless walls gave no points of reference. The shaft could run for a few paces, or the length of a continent. The stale air reeked of coolant and pest deterrent.

She shuffled backward on heels and hands, darkness closing in as she put distance between herself and the dim light filtering in from the hatch.

Around a corner, out of the line of fire, she stopped. Grabbing the metal fragment imbedded in her leg, she jerked it out. Hissing in anguish, Cassin clenched her fists until the pain's aftershocks subsided.

Using the force sword and all of her matrix powers had drained most of her energy. She ran a chance of not having any in reserve if she healed herself now. She'd be caught for sure if she couldn't maneuver, though.

Clutching the wound with both hands, she willed the tissue to knit. Like a million tiny worms, tendrils of flesh reached out from the edges of the wound. Intertwining at the center, they merged, pulling the sides of the gash together.

What would she do now? Had Annawen missed the platform? What if she'd killed her sister? There was nothing she could do at the moment, except hope.

She checked the blaster. The cells showed full charge. The attackers weren't interfering with the power transmission in the area. No doubt so that they could energize their own weapons.

She shuffled farther down the tunnel. The darkness turned inky, and the air cold. The glow from her forehead matrix gave a small radius of russet illumination.

After a hectarev of crawling, she found an intersecting shaft; a vertical ventilation conduit. It looked large enough to slip into. She climbed, pressing with back and feet to opposite sides of the shaft. The ragged cuts on her breasts and stomach rubbed together, making her torso throb as though lashed by a whip.

Below, she heard a blast slam the access.

She climbed faster. There should be a joining conduit by now.

She heard the sounds of synplast boots ringing on duralloy.

Move! They could kill her easy in this space.

She fell backward, scratching for a grip on the smooth metal. Tucking her knees in, she rolled into the horizontal connector.

The metal around her seemed to shrink. Sliding backward in the crawl-space, she scooted toward a faint light at its end.

From the sounds, there were three entities in the passage below. It would take them only moments to determine her route of escape.

She smelled ionized air and heard the rasp of electrical arcs.

It must be a vapor plant. She could use it to cover her trace, if she could get through without getting cooked. She looked past her knees toward the vertical access.

Damn, won't be able to hear them coming.

Reaching the grate, she peered in. Four stories high and a stone's throw across, the cylindrical chamber seethed with arcs of lightning. Huge vents dumped oxygen and hydrogen together, where discharged energy fused them into moisture for humidity control.

Dark, it's a big one. Must be near an open space habitat.

She threw the toggles on the grate, released the safety catches, and dropped the panel into the electrical storm. A scan of the arc-laced area showed a maintenance hatch and an access ladder half way down on her right.

Tension shot through her body. She drew her blaster and aimed down the conduit. The sounder in the weapon didn't register a target. Nothing indicated that a body occupied the shaft behind her.

What's wrong? An instant of calculation. The air isn't moving in here anymore!

She cranked the blaster to its highest setting and fired. The shriek of plasma reverberated in the tight space. A lance of brilliance illuminated a figure poised at the end of shaft. The person slammed backward, their matrix shield a blaze of red. Shots whined off the panels overhead, as her assailant dropped his weapon.

She continued to fire. The air burned like a furnace as she poured energy against the warrior's matrix screen. Shots punched through the floor of the ventilation duct from below.

The warrior dropped from sight. Cassin willed her environment shield into being, and thrust herself into the vapor chamber. She landed feet first and rolled, blue fire hissing around her matrix screens like angry vipers.

She scanned frantically for the emergency shutoff. Hot steam and electrified air filled her sinuses. She plunged for the maintenance access, and jumped up the rungs, three at a time.

Cassin slammed the hatch toggles open and cranked the air seal bar.

She yelled, body going rigid as her screens caved in. A blast of energy struck home. Convulsing, she jerked the hatch open. A klaxon rang. The blaze of electric tendrils went silent.

She turned in time to see a Kriar male appear at the vent where she'd entered. Firing from the hip, she caused him to duck, as she rolled through the doorway. She slammed the door shut and locked down the toggles. The force sword blazed in her hand, and she fused the hinge pivots.

The air in the maintenance corridor reeked of age. The hall met a larger corridor after thirty paces. She staggered to the corner, and checked both ways before running toward the environment tunnel on her left.

She could seal off the biosphere until help arrived.

She reached the iris-like door of the nearer end of the airlock. Aiming her blaster back the way she came, she yanked open the control junction and hit the emergency cycle. More alarms sounded, and beacons spun in the tunnel. Air hissed, and machinery hummed. Three layers of duralloy, each thicker than her leg, ground toward the shut position.

Come on! Close! Close!

Two figures darted around the corner. A yard-wide gap still left room for them to get through. She fired, winging one. They rolled, shots hammering the thick doors. A crease of pain seared her shoulder.

Cassin summoned her force sword. Jamming herself into the crotch of the wall and door, she avoided a chatter of bolts that raked the wall.

One warrior yelled something.

Almost there. Come on, you bastard, try it!

She didn't wait for a visual cue. She swung at the last possible instant that one of them could leap through.

The light-blade scored full on, stuttering across an invisible figure silhouetted in a pyrotechnic clash of force-blade and screen. She concentrated the blaster on the weakened field as the warrior rolled.

He didn't get time to bare his weapon before his shield caved in. Bolts from Cassin's Mark V hammered him, punching through his arm, blowing away a device on his belt, and penetrating his lower abdomen.

The hawk-faced Kriar warrior hand-sprung to his feet. The wounds in his shoulder and stomach trailed pasty-white.

She charged. Her blade severed his rifle. She slashed at his neck. The male's force weapon erupted in a lance of blue, and met hers in a snarl of matrix energy.

Their weapons hummed in waves of blue and red, detonating in sizzling bursts at every clash.

She never saw what hit her cheek, or the follow-up that struck low on her ribs. She only felt the crunches of pain, and the floor rushing up into her face.

The cool metal against her cheek seemed to hold her down like a magnet. Everything refused to work. Her strength was gone. Oh, Isis. Annawen, I tried.

Something cracked through the air like a whip, followed by a staccato of flat thuds. She imagined her own ribs breaking. Another snap, and a volley of impacts that made the floor under her vibrate.

The warrior collapsed next to her, blood pooling from his face and chest. She noticed another pair of boots close by, but didn't have the coordination to look up.

Hands closed on her shoulder and waist. She couldn't even struggle, as the person gently helped her up.

Cassin looked into the male's iridescent blue eyes; a rare trait in Kriar. He wore his sable-colored hair pulled back from his husky face, and tied it in a tail long enough to tickle her arm. A white, half-moon tattoo curved down his right cheek. The gold and silver Special Forces uniform of the Miratha legion covered his sinewy frame like glistening paint.

He supported Cassin, careful to avoid sensitive wounds. “Damage looks superficial, I can fix it.” He spoke aloud in a soothing baritone. “I'm Eclipse, Crisis Enforcement.”

She took a breath, and glanced back at the doors, then to the prostrate form of the warrior on the deck.

“This is a rescue, right?”

He smiled. “It will be, if I can get you and your sister out alive.” Eclipse touched her cheek, and she winced. “Sorry. You're a tough girl. Far better prepared than they expected.” Energy surged through his fingers in a tingling warmth. The pain faded. He moved his hand to the burns and scrapes on her torso.

Cassin moaned in relief. “My gratitude.”

He nodded.

“Where's Annawen? Is she all right?”

He took Cassin by the arm, and led her down the tunnel. “I couldn't get to her fast enough. She took a bolt in a lung trying to get under cover. I dragged her from harm's way.” He frowned. “I would have helped you earlier, but I had to stabilize her condition.”

They came to the giant doors at the other end of the corridor. Where the metal walls ended, a dense jungle began. A kaleidoscope of smells hit her nose, the odors of fertile soil, running water, and thousands of differing plants.

“Your instincts were correct, an excellent place to hold them off.” Eclipse hit the close button as they stepped through. The doors slid shut, and the metal walls faded from view, leaving only the illusion of jungle growth going into the distance.

The sounds of birds, primates, and insects combined in a din that required her to raise her voice to be heard. Eclipse headed down a steep trail that zigzagged through a maze of fallen logs encrusted with moss and ferns.

“Is she close?” Cassin looked toward the gold light filtering through the canopy. A moist breeze trickled between the boles, carrying a mélange of animal and vegetable scents. All aspects of a jungle habitat existed here, every species of mammal, plant, insect, and fungus.

“Not far. What did you do that dasta Daergon would want you two dead?”

Cassin choked. “Surr's dasta?” Her mind whirled. “Dulcere! We're the only ones who've talked to her; aside from Council Marna of course.”

Eclipse frowned as he helped Cassin cross a wood-choked stream gurgling off a low cliff into a rocky basin. A group of bent-beaked birds nosing through the shallows squawked and flew away.

“So,” Eclipse paused. “You've spent time with belkirin Starbinder?”

“Oh, a lot of time, in the virtual sense, anyway. We even went to the site where she went down to look for her equipment. Unfortunately, we found out the Jyril took her cyber and armor.”

Eclipse frowned, his tone dropped. “The Jyril? Dark take them.”

Cassin swallowed. “That's what we thought. That armor is special, right? We were put on white clasp to investigate Dulcere.”

He plunged through the undergrowth dragging Cassin. “It's one of a kind.” Eclipse said. “The daergons want to keep knowledge of the Phalanx armor's recovery quiet. They obviously don't know the Jyril have it.”

“The prototype stealth armor lost against the Eternals?” They splashed through another stream and jumped over a fungus-choked log covered with ants.

“The same. The Eternals erased a hundred millennia of research in a raid, at about the same time that the armor was lost.” Eclipse slowed as they started up the side of steep abutment sheathed in vegetation. Trailers wound around the rocks, and made the hill look as if it were one giant plant with dark brown veins running through it.

“What's so important about it?”

“Surr's insurgents are a small group. With copies of that unique technology, they could become a viable force again.” Using a thick vine, he scaled a rock and reached down to help her up.

“Terrific.” She took his hand and clambered to the top.

A few moments later, he took them into a small grotto hidden between two huge ferns. Annawen lay in the soft loam, an ugly scar below her left breast. Her uniform showed tears from close misses and physical impacts.

“Both of you put up a great deal more fight than they expected. Her especially; she hit them with some psychic abilities I've never seen—blasts of electricity, thermic disruptions, flame explosions ... Quite a show. Just not quite enough.”

“She used magic—lightning, freeze bursts, and fireballs.” She stroked her sister's brow, her guts twisting. She should have been there with her. Annawen would have been frightened to death. Her twin rarely faced adversity on her own. “I didn't realize she had any spells memorized.”

“Your hitting separate platforms was actually fortunate. It forced them to split up.” He took a cyber from his belt, and scanned Annawen. “I halted the internal bleeding. She needs a cybermed for the nerve damage.”

“How did you know to come after us?”

“Dom Starbinder assigned me as your bodyguard. He thought an attempt might be made on you. They waylaid me on my way to greet you. I warped to where their communiqué diverted you, but the damper kept me from getting close.”

Cassin looked around. “What do we do now?”

A female voice spoke from behind her. “You die, of course.” I'm a schemer, I'll admit it. Always have been—probably always will be. There is little that cannot be overcome with a clever, well-executed plan. A series of such plans can make the miraculous happen. Just ask Aarlen. When threatened, my schemer burns the midnight oil. I've always been very fond of my hide. Threats of death make me very creative...—Dorian Degaba Ishtarvariku

The force sphere shimmered around them. The bands of energy orbited so fast that they blended into a shell of translucent color. Through the field's pulsating light, Aarlen saw the dappled transition realm and the disintegrating plane of Siderous Chronous. Matter poured past them in a steady stream, plunging into two, swirling black vortexes; holes in the fabric of reality.

Humming with static, the air smelled of ozone. A hard but invisible floor anchored them in the weightless environment.

The stars look dimmer.

Frowning, she dismissed the thought, and looked back at Blue and her shipmates. Each of the Vasar's sapphire-colored companions had imitated one of them; exact down to each weapon and stitch of cloth.

Aarlen broke the silence. “Still up to your shape stealing. Not satisfied with just borrowing mine?”

Blue unsheathed her teeth. “These shapes suit us for what needs to be done.”

“I bet,” Cassandra pulled at the strands of her dark-brown hair.

Aarlen frowned at the Kriar, and indicated Dorian, who stood hugging herself against the pain. “Cassandra, why don't you see to Dorian's ribs?”

Dorian nodded. “Yes, please.”

Cassandra knelt by the mage. Ess stepped over to assist, moving hesitantly across the invisible surface underfoot.

Beia shouldered Snowfire. Putting a hand on Aarlen's arm, she squeezed. Her emerald eyes glinted in the shifting light, and she smiled uneasily. Aarlen felt a tremor in the Myrmigyne's grip.

Is this more of Blue's frap about the Genemar?

“You are aware that the problem is now worse, not better?”

The Jyril who looked like Cassandra spoke in a tinny voice. “Overdriven device failure. We were unable to shut down in time to prevent the rupture.”

“Like we could have missed that.” Dorian gritted her teeth as the Cassandra probed her ribs.

Aarlen gestured for silence. The crackling in the air seemed louder. The Jyril did not visibly react to the mage's jibe. “Is your equipment repairable?”

Beia's Jyril twin nodded. “It will take thirty-kilo tera-tera chronons to refashion the requisites.”

Aarlen glanced at Cassandra.

The Kriar looked up. “Over 83 bells.”

Beia rubbed Snowfire. “Not that I'm an expert; I'd say we have about a fourth of that time before those holes can't be shut.”

Jyril Ess folded her arms and frowned. “Converted to your time—approximately eighteen bells.”

Aarlen grabbed Stellaraac's hilt. “You copy that, Foross?”

<Acknowledged.>

She snarled. “Where's the crisis team, dammit!?”

A different voice echoed through the Shaladen this time, Koass’ ringing baritone. <The Homeworld Consulate has informed me that there's been some in-fighting, and things will be held up until it's resolved.>

“We have eighteen bells. Get that equipment, or you'll need every available Eternal and some of the Guardians to shut this monster down.”

<Understood, Commander. I'll organize the detail, and put it on standby. We'll give the Kriar four bells to straighten things out.>

Aarlen let out a breath. Damn, he wants to cut it close. “We'll do what we can.”

<Very good.> Koass’ voice faded out.

Blue glanced at the one posing as Ess. “We regret exacerbating the problem. There is also one more difficulty—”

“Oh, come on! Things are difficult enough now—”

“Shut up, Dorian,” Aarlen snapped. She locked eyes with the Vasar. “Go on, Blue. What else has gone wrong?”

Blue gestured, and a sphere of light formed between her hands. The circle grew and became like a mirror. On its surface appeared a moving image of two men in an office.

Ess gasped. “That's Meridian's second, Psihtath.”

“And a Baronian,” Aarlen nodded. “Look at the clothing, industrial-age styling.”

The image enlarged, until it seemed as if they stood in the chamber with the two men.

Psihtath shifted from foot to foot, studying the ceiling of the stark gray and white room. Pairs of nicked and battered weapons, two shields, and a life-sized painting of a great orange-and-black striped cat served as the only decorations. Three rows of black bound books sat behind the Baronian's desk, upon which sat only a pen holder, spotless blotter, calender, clock, and a large, lifelike figurine of a nude woman dancing.

He glanced out the large bay window into the park, where people passed by in constant stream, walking, skating or jogging. Psihtath pulled at the collar of his white suit as if the neck were too tight, and wiped at his forehead with a handkerchief.

Wearing a green satin robe, Rakaar sat in a huge leather chair, polishing a gold sword. His dusky angular face was set in a frown. He stopped and pulled at the braid lying across his broad shoulder.

His gaze rose to meet Psihtath's. The mage flinched.

“Did you make the ordered preparations at Homebase?”

Psihtath nodded. “Everything is complete, the decoys and guardians are in place, and the shielding and dampers are set. You don't think after this long—?”

“I know they managed to put things back together. Within a few days, they will be able to bypass the interference and gain entry into this timeline.”

“How, Rakaar? Did the Guardians fix things?”

“Doesn't matter. We have to shut them down.” He picked up a sheath, then slid the sword into it. “I want you to oversee the assembling of a timediving team. They are to cross into our origin-line, and strike it from existence. With the line already weakened, it shouldn't be overly difficult to chain-react the chronology.”

“What about the Guardians? If any of them escape—”

Rakaar slapped the top of the table. “Consider the punishment you'll receive if we're brought to justice by the Shael Dal. Incarceration and adjustment for the next ten millennia.”

The mage blanched. “Disrupting a whole line? We might be able to get off with causing a diffraction, but this is like declaring war on the Protectorate!”

“A war we can win decisively if we strike now.”

Psihtath let out a breath. “If we fail, they won't stop until they've hunted us all down.”

Rakaar grinned. “I suspect they would, either way. Have the men ready in 48 hours. The warp interface will be charged by then.”

The mage shook his head. “As you wish.”

“Indeed.” The Baronian picked up the female figurine and caressed it gently. “It's been a good century, Psihtath. Things were getting boring. Did you want to live forever?”

Psihtath folded his arms. “As a matter of fact, yes.”

Rakaar looked up. “Disrupt that timeline, and you might.”

“What choice do I have?”

“None, of course. Don't waste any more time.”

“On my way.” Psihtath turned to leave.

“Tath.”

The mage looked back.

“When you get back to Homebase, send Meridian to me.”

“What's he done now?”

“I want to tell him in person that his assassination attempt failed.” He placed the figurine on the desk, and let his fingers trail down it until they rested on the wood. He sighed. “Such a pretty young thing, a shame to waste such good potential.” He stared at the willowy mage. “You can have his office.” Rakaar's voice turned icy. “After tonight, Meridian won't be needing it any longer.”

Psihtath glanced at the statuette and shuddered. “I'll inform him.”

“Good day.”

The mage nodded and left. The view of the scene vanished, leaving Aarlen with a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Destroy the whole timeline?

“Damn it,” Beia muttered. The Myrmigyne's face had turned red. “Damn him to Hades! He's going to kill Meridian!”

“When these people say difficulty, they mean it.” Dorian shook her head, wincing as Cassandra's glowing fingers pushed the fractured ribs back into place. She looked at Beia. “Why do you care if he kills Meridian? He's going to blow the whole timeline, for Isis’ sake!”

“I wanted to be the one. Now, I—” she lapsed in a stony silence, her jaw muscles working.

Ess gripped her sister's shoulder, and looked concerned.

Aarlen couldn't waste time worrying about Beia's sullen fretting over a lost revenge opportunity. She clenched her fist. “Blue, subjectively, how long ago did this happen?”

“Three kilo-tera-tera chronons before your agents entered.”

“8 bells, not much time.” She smiled for Beia. The Myrmigyne didn't seem to notice. “Let's go for a dive. Someone has to save the day.” Doesn't matter what tools you bad guys use, or how far you run. I'll find you and shut you down. The farther you make me chase you, the harder you'll fall. It's not a matter of ‘if’ but ‘when'. With a Shaladen in my hand—I got all the time in the universe. We can do this easy, or we can do it hard. You can come along with all your limbs attached, or I can tote you back in a box. It doesn't make much difference to me. It's your choice. Choose fast. I'm not a patient man...—Talorin “Tal” Falor

I worry too much? Corim shook his head. I worry too much?

Everything about this mission was worrisome. Caustic air made it hard to breathe. Streets thronged with people at the helms of weird magic vehicles. The four guards they left tied up and hidden in the loft of a store, wearing their ridiculous blue and black uniforms that provided no protection. The impossibly huge mirror-sided building that served as Meridian's new base of operations. The only reassuring thing was that the Eternals had designed the Shaladen with such missions in mind. It translated the written and verbal communication, so he could speak and write like a native.

Corim turned sideways to allow two men in finely-tailored dark clothes to pass. Most of the males in the building wore similar outfits, usually with a lighter colored undergarment and a brightly colored scarf tied around the neck.

Without turning, Corim knew one of the men had paused to look back at them. Even though Terra and Dulcere wore the guard uniforms like he and Tal, they still attracted attention from the male folk.

Hair tied into neat buns and tucked under their billed hats, Terra and Dulcere both graced their black trousers and blue shirts. The shiny silver emblem pinned over the left breast added a dignified sparkle to the otherwise utilitarian dress. Unable to remove the Jyril bracelets, Corim and Dulcere had hidden them beneath their sleeves.

Walking down the corridor, he glanced at the ceiling lit with unfamiliar magic. The large square panels gave off a flat white light. The floors looked equally alien, covered with carpets made from some unimaginable monster, and woven impossibly tight. The thin walls made him nervous. Nothing in this huge edifice appeared substantial.

Like the building, the people of this strange world seemed flimsy. The men relied so heavily on their devices that, when disarmed, they became as helpless as children.

That same reliance on artifices when applied to feminine beautification created interesting results. The fragrances, hair sculpturing, jewelry, padding, and sheer clinging fabrics made even the plain women pleasing to look at. His gaze followed a dark-haired lady swaying down the hall, perched atop the spiked-heeled shoes the females wore here.

He touched Starwind. The weapon, now fashioned as a large armband, pulsed at his touch. As Elsbeth had told him, the weapon's shape was infinitely mutable. With Terra's help, it took only a moment's concentration to refashion it into something less conspicuous.

He focused back on the task at hand. <Tal, I don't understand. You could gate us in. Why use these uniforms to sneak in?>

<By now, he's figured a way to detect that. We want to case the area, and find the best time and place.>

<I'd rather wear my magic protection. These clothes are like parchment.>

<Kid, the Shaladen is your protection.>

<Dulcere gets to wear her armor.>

<The carapace is thin enough that it doesn't show.> Tilting the black cap back, Tal glowered over his shoulder. With his tremendous shoulders and tight waist, he looked far better in the blue uniform than the fat guard he'd taken it from.

<What about this strange weapon?>

<Leave the gun in its holster. Thor's hammer, Kid, relax.> Tal shook his head.

Terra put a hand on her husband's shoulder, and grinned back at Corim. Her thoughts purred like her own lilting voice. <It's your first cross-culture contact; observe and learn. Try to blend as much as possible. Emulate what you see.>

Despite their posturing, he could tell that the man and wife were as nervous as he was. Terra and Tal might be used to this kind of mission, but neither of them seemed comfortable with it.

Corim frowned and glanced at Dulcere.

She smiled at him. The mirrored lenses sitting on the bridge of her nose reflected his troubled face. He didn't like being unable to see her eyes. Dulcere squeezed his hand.

<It's all right, Corim. You're getting a little culture shock, is all. They do things on a large scale here. It's not necessarily better, simply bigger.>

<It doesn't scare me like that. The new things are fascinating. The environment is so complex. This magic of theirs, technology, can be applied in so many ways—> He shivered. <Weapons, reconnaissance, transportation ... There seems no end.>

<There isn't. This is primitive technology, compared to my world. If you and I spend much time together, you'll have to adjust.>

Corim took a breath, glancing around the hall. He peered through an open office door at the paraphernalia scattered across an unoccupied desk.

<I also suggest that you not be so obvious about your curiosity.>

He looked back at her, feeling the heat in his face. <Sorry.>

Dulcere grinned and patted him on the shoulder.

They crossed a hall intersection, and Corim felt a tug on his shirt.

“Excuse me, Sir.”

He snapped around, hand reaching for a sword that no longer rested on his hip.

A tall, curvy brunette in a pink dress jumped back a step, hand fluttering to her chest. Standing on her spikes, she looked Corim in the eye. She appeared dressed for a special occasion; shoulder pads, white ruffles, glossy black belt cinched tight, and something lacy that made her heavy breasts thrust out like the prow of a ship.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. Could you help me?”

He was glad the Shaladen translated the language. They'd all been communicating telepathically, and their presence in enemy territory made him jumpy.

The other three gave him alarmed looks; their telepathic messages a jumbled buzz in the back of his head.

“Pardon?”

The woman smiled nervously. “I came for a job interview. Could you tell me how to get the Personnel Director's office?”

Corim frowned, not wanting to look at Tal. “Uh, excuse me?”

“Christian Psihtath, the personnel director.” She bit her lip, blushing. “I know it's on this floor, but I seem to be turned around.”

Rubbing his hands together, he floundered for some way to cover his ignorance. His fingers brushed the bracelet. Starwind. He caught sight of an official-looking woman approaching. He probed her mind, directing the Shaladen to find the information.

The data traveling from the woman's mind felt like a frosty kiss behind his eyes.

An instant later, he grinned. “Oh, Director Psihtath. Take this hall down to the second intersection, then turn right. It's the big office at the end of the corridor. Applying for the technical assistant's position?”

She nodded and laughed. “Thank you. Yes—yes, I am. Ummm,” she looked down and then met his eyes. “I hope you don't think I'm rude, but are you one of those professional body builders?”

Corim looked down at himself.

“Wrestling, miss,” Tal said. “We moonlight in security in the off season. If you'll excuse us, we have to finish our rounds.”

The woman noticed Tal for the first time and paled. “Yes, sir.” She grinned at Corim, taking a deep breath that threatened to split her blouse. “Thank you for the directions.” Her eyes gleamed. “My name is Melody. I know where you work, maybe we can go to lunch some time.”

He nodded. “I'm Cor—” Dulcere elbowed him in the ribs. “—Cory. That would be nice. Sorry—” Tal grabbed his shoulder. “Have to go now.”

Tal dragged him down the corridor. <What are you doing?>

<Staying in character.> He glanced back to watch Melody sway down the hall. She looked over her shoulder, grinned and waved at him. Of the two, Dulcere remained the more beautiful. Still, Melody did have an impressive shape.

Dulcere nudged him. <What was so tantalizing about her?>

Terra looked at Corim, then to Dulcere. <The lungs, darling; with humans, it's all in the lungs.>

<Kriar have much larger lungs—oh—> She frowned at Corim.

He shrugged. <Your lungs are beautiful.>

Tal grinned. <Terra's aren't half bad, either.> He pinched her.

Terra punched him in the shoulder. <Watch it, Tiger.>

<We did get something useful from the exchange,> Dulcere thought.

<What's that?>

<Director Psihtath; that's Meridian's second.>

Tal stopped at the corner. <That's right! Hey—>

“Sir?” a balding man in a brown suit carrying a case tapped Tal on the shoulder.

“Yeah?” Tal stared at him.

“Could you tell me where I could find Louise Barliff's office?”

“What do I—” Terra elbowed him in the ribs. Corim felt her scan the surrounding minds for the knowledge.

She pointed. “Next hall, take a right, third door on the left.”

“Thank you, Miss.” He glanced up at Tal, and detoured around him.

<You're worried about Corim? We should be concerned about you, Grouch Falor.>

<I'm supposed to be a security guard, not a traffic cop.>

<What's a traffic cop?> Corim asked.

<Never mind. I think I've got a good way to get in there.> He looked at Terra and grinned.

She narrowed her eyes and glanced at one of the passing women. <Tal, you don't—>

<Only problem will be finding one with lungs your size...>

Tal ended up leaving the building, only to return with the necessary disguise materials. Gathering in an unused office on an upper story, they made the preparations.

Corim glanced away from the hundred-story view out the window in time to see Dulcere finish helping Terra with her preparations. The Kriar stepped back with hands on hips, as she looked the big cat-woman over.

<You look good, Terra.> Dulcere frowned. <Perhaps too good.>

Terra took a mirror off the desk and examined herself, smoothing the wrinkles from the clinging blue dress and white frill blouse. The skirt barely qualified to be called one, in Corim's mind. It covered only a quarter of Terra's thighs.

With her plume of dark brown hair brushed back, and make-up applied in the style typical of this society's women, Tal's wife looked far more attractive than any of the females he'd seen.

She walked across the vacant office and back, moving in the spiked footwear as though born in them, adding a grace to it that made the other women look clumsy.

Sitting on the desk, Tal frowned and folded his massive arms. “Doesn't go—walk more like a woman.”

Terra snarled. “I am a woman.”

Smiling, Dulcere shook her head, and leaned against Corim. He liked the feel of her warm body pressed against him, and the tangy aroma that lingered in her hair.

“Do that hip thing,” Tal said. “Walk like the rest of the sissies.”

“I'm not a sissy.”

“You don't have to be a sissy, only walk like one.”

She rolled her eyes and walked back and forth using mincing steps, head swaying side-to-side, hands outspread close to her sides.

“Come on, Terra, this is a mission, remember?”

She sighed, turned and did a perfect rendition of Melody's hip wiggle. Corim bit his lip.

Dulcere moved the mirrored glasses down on her nose to peer up at him. He grinned back.

Tal licked his lips. “I have to get you to walk like that more often.”

Terra smacked him on the shoulder.

“It was only a thought.” He sobered. “All right, we'll back you up. Go in, case it out. Land the job if you can. Psihtath hasn't seen you before, and I don't think he'd recognize you now even if he had.

They escorted Terra down the corridor, every male stopping in their tracks to watch her pass.

<When I'm set, I'll pull you into a tight rapport so you can know what's going on.>

They continued to the intersection outside Psihtath's offices. Tal, Dulcere, and Corim took up sentry positions in the crossing corridor.

Corim watched men and women passing. Such diversity, what are they all doing?

He glanced down the corridor to see Terra opening the outer doors to the office. Dulcere gripped his wrist, and he glanced at her. The Kriar squeezed harder. He looked across the corridor, and saw a short male with dark eyes carrying a large book under his arm. Hair pulled back and tied, he dressed no differently than anyone else, but something about the man made him stand out from the others in the hall. Eyes narrowed, he stared openly at Dulcere.

“Can I help you, sir?” Corim stepped forward blocking the man's view of Dulcere.

The short man flinched and growled at Corim. “Don't be stupid, of course not.” His peculiar accent and enunciation marked him as a mage. He was probably one of Meridian's men. Fortunately, he wasn't one of the ones present when he and Beia had tried to free Dulcere.

“Excuse me, only trying to be helpful.”

“Don't be!” the man snapped, trying to look around him to see Dulcere. “Shouldn't you be guarding something?”

“Yes, sir.” Corim glanced toward Tal. He and Dulcere had vanished. Nodding, he took up Tal's position.

The mage looked where Dulcere had been standing, glared at Corim, then strode off. When the man turned a corner, Corim called Tal. <Where'd you go?>

<That was Vulg, Meridian's detail man. He would have recognized us. We'll have to stay out of sight while he's prowling this floor.>

Corim looked to where Terra entered Psihtath's office.

Oh, no.

Melody, swinging a white handbag, came swishing down the corridor toward him. It was too late to draw back out of sight. She'd seen him.

She sashayed up to him. “Cory!”

He nodded. “Melody.” He glanced toward the closed door. “How'd it go?”

“Terrific.” She looked both ways down the corridor. “Your sergeant isn't around?”

“He had to attend to a few things.” Damn it.

“Good!” She smiled, teeth seeming ultra-white against the brilliant red lip-paint. “I'm not doing anything this evening, maybe we could get to know one another.”

The women of this place certainly weren't shy.

“I don't know. I'm working late.” He glanced back down the hall.

She put hands on flaring hips and looked back toward the office. “I know what it is. You want a date with the skyscraper that just went in, right?”

“I—”

Melody pressed up against him. He could feel the tautness of her bosom through the thin blouse. “She's married. I saw the ring. Me, I'm available.”

By Ishtar, what a siren this woman was! She wouldn't give up.

He took a breath. Her perfume made him dizzy. “Melody, I'm flattered—really.” He groped for something to say. “I think you can do better than me. You're a fine looking woman, but I don't think it would work out.”

She raised an eyebrow. “All those muscles, and humble, too.” She felt one of his biceps. “Mmmm—” She reached into her handbag and pulled out a card. “You change your mind, give me a call.” She put it in his pocket and patted it. “Have a good day, Cory.” She swayed away and disappeared into the crowd.

He let out a breath. Why was it that the women he didn't want came onto him like fire breathing dragons, and the ones that he did want were barely interested?

Corim turned and headed toward Psihtath's office. By now, Terra should have established a rapport.

<Tal?>

Nothing.

<Dulcere?>

He broke into a jog. His mind filled with all the possible problems. Could the enemy have detected their telepathic exchanges?

Damn.

He stopped in front of the door and listened. There were no voices near the entry, so he opened it. Stepping into the spacious anteroom, he looked around. A blonde woman dressed in a tight-fitting gray dress looked up and sighed. She fixed on him, and her eyes grew round. Blushing, she fussed with her hair.

“The Director must have called for you?” She pointed to a door leading into an adjoining office. “It's a good thing you're big. That amazon is going to be an arm-full.”

He glanced to the door. “What's the matter?”

“She barged in here to apply for the technical position without an appointment. When I wouldn't let her in, she pushed me aside and went in anyway.”

Corim nodded. “Your name, Miss?”

“What do you need that for?”

He thought for an instant. “Reports—new policy.”

The woman shrugged. “Gillian Raines. You better get in there. She looks big enough to be dangerous.”

He went to the door, knocked on it and entered.

The huge office looked like a mage's study, only decorated in the sterile motif common to this world. A huge window looked out across a city seething with ground and air vehicles. Ancient tomes and scrolls sat in glass cases. Elaborate battle tapestries and paintings filled the wall space not occupied by bookshelves.

Dressed in a trim white suit, the mage sat behind the desk, pen in hand. Apparently at ease, Terra sat adjacent with her legs crossed. Psihtath appeared totally focused on her.

Psihtath looked irritated. “Yes, what is it? I'm busy.”

Terra looked at Corim, eyes widening.

“Sir,” Corim glanced at Tal's wife. “Miss Raines called for security, said there was a problem.”

Psihtath looked at Terra, then to Corim. “Her method for getting an interview was unorthodox. I'm certain it alarmed my secretary.” He looked back at Terra, and steepled his fingers. “However, I have things under control now.”

Maybe too much control.

He nodded to Terra.

The woman nodded back, jaw tightening.

She's realized we're cut off. Damn, Vulg must have recognized Dulcere and sounded an alarm.

“Sir, should I file a report?”

“No, simply assure Miss Raines that I have things in hand.”

“Yes, sir.”

He turned and stepped into the outer office.

Wetting her lips, the secretary smiled at him. “Is everything okay?”

“Fine, they had a misunderstanding is all.”

Miss Raines glanced at the door, then back to Corim. “You must have just been hired. I'm certain I would have noticed you otherwise.”

He sighed, seeing the glint in her eye. “Last week.”

What do I do now? I can't leave Terra. There might be trouble.

Vulg came through the door. He didn't have a briefcase in his hand this time, but a mage staff. “You.” He pointed to the secretary. “Out.”

“But, Sir—?”

“I said out!” His staff crashed on her desk, trailing blue fire. The wood and metal groaned and folded.

The woman shrieked and scrambled for the door. Corim moved to follow her, but Vulg cut him off with the staff. “Not you—” He narrowed his eyes. “I thought I smelled magic. Psihtath!” he hollered.

Oh, Ishtar.

Corim grabbed the leg of the desk and heaved. Swung with Shaladen-powered muscles, the huge bludgeon came around like a hurricane wind. Vulg yelped, interposing the staff with an eruption of power that sent fragments blazing against the walls.

The door behind Corim erupted, as the body of Psihtath slammed through and crunched against the outer entry, knocking it off its hinges. Terra swept through after him.

In a rage, Vulg swung the staff around. Corim slipped the weapon. It crashed into the floor and made a hole. Corim locked it down with his foot, and backhanded the man with all his strength.

The smack echoed through the room. Vulg spun around, caught his balance, spit yellow blood, and snarled at Corim. Angry red knuckle-prints glowed on his cheek.

“Look out, Terra, they aren't human.”

“Yeah, I noticed.” Her voice wavered as she watched Psihtath climb to his feet. The mage's sparkling white suit was shredded, and his chest marked with Terra's fist imprint. A normal man would have died instantly.

Psihtath's eyes glinted. “If you're all the Shael Dal sent, you're in real trouble...” I love Cassin, and I know she loves me. If I was threatened and she had to fight a rhinotaur barehanded, she'd do it without a moment's hesitation. If anything, she's more vicious when my life is threatened than when the danger is to herself. People think my sister doesn't have feelings. She does. She just keeps them bottled up inside. Heaven help the person that brings them exploding to the surface ... —Annawen Kel'Ishtauri Felspar

Leaning over the stricken Annawen, Cassin and Eclipse spun at the sound of that unfamiliar voice. You die, of course. The words made the intruder's intent clear to Cassin. Pinned in the fern-bracketed grotto, the only way out was through a green-eyed Kriar woman in a mirrored carapace and grieves. A rainbow of jewels encrusted half her face and the length of her left arm.

Cassin's force-sword sizzled to life, and cracked through the air in a swath of burning red. The green-eyed woman ducked back. A blue force-sword appeared in her hand in time to block the strike. The two weapons exploded in a torrent of rasping sparks.

Have to get her away from Annawen.

Hearts pounding, leap high, lunge, feint, clash away, twist, drive hard. She drew her blaster.

“Cassin, no! She's with me!”

Eclipse grabbed her arm and pulled the shot wide, the blast narrowly missed the green-eyed Kriar's head. Cassin gasped as the commander pinioned her arms.

She felt the blood in her temples. The woman had goaded her on purpose!

“Quazar!” Eclipse growled. “That was foolish. This girl is no mouse you can trifle with.”

Still smiling, the jeweled Kriar relaxed and her force-sword vanished. She brushed at some dust on a spotless black body-stocking. Pulling her long braid over her shoulder, she stroked it and nodded. “I can see that. Almost got me, too, impressive.”

Cassin noted that both of these Kriar were using verbal communication rather than telepathy. What are they afraid of revealing?

Eclipse growled. “It would have served you right if she had shot you.”

Quasar folded her arms. “She's good. At her age, you were lucky not to trip over your feet.”

Eclipse frowned and let up on Cassin's arms. “Are you all right?”

She nodded.

“Cassin, this is special forces Tarkath Quasar Diliaysus.”

Quasar's eyes narrowed. “I've heard a lot about you and your sister, Searga. Dame Techstar's endless gushing. Wanted to see if you were worth saving.”

Cassin tried to stop trembling. She swallowed. “Your kind of saving, I can do without—” She was careful to add. “Eh'san.”

The woman ran a hand through her hair, the jewels down her left side shimmered with colors. Cassin saw that they weren't jewelry, but tiny matrix gems implanted in the skin.

“That's fair. I gave you a scare. You fight hard, Searga. Dame Techstar has a right to be proud.” She held out her hand. “Do you accept apologies?”

Cassin frowned. Her stomach hurt from tension. She took Quasar's hand. The woman's grip was solid. “Yes, Eh'San.”

“Good.” She glanced to Annawen. “Let's get you two out of here. There's still a narrow avenue for escape. Eclipse, you take point.” She went and examined Annawen. After a moment, she passed a jeweled hand over the girl's body. A green glow encased Annawen's form, and she floated off the ground. The glowing envelope followed as Quasar turned.

Cassin gritted her teeth, watching as Quasar led Annawen away in the tractor field. She had tried not to react when Eclipse revealed the commander's name. She'd heard of Quasar—the terrifying whispers of a force commander turned assassin for hire. The kindest thing said about the female was that she was a bounty hunter.

Eclipse broke into a jog, taking them in a different direction off the knoll. Quasar following, she ran like a great cat, with no effort to her pace. She picked through the jungle foliage like a ghost, not stirring a leaf.

Cassin glanced toward the floating energy-field that held Annawen.

I'll get you back safely.

They skipped over the stream, then climbed an incline, scattering birds and small crawling mammals as they went. The hill grew steeper, and they fought through clinging ground-cover the last hundred paces to the ridge summit.

<Weapons up!> Quasar's thought rang in her mind. <There's a squad of Deargons on the right.>

Cassin scanned for what she indicated. <How did they get inside!>

<Cassin, bio-seals only keep out amateurs.>

Eclipse broke into a sprint, a silver blur zigzagging across the broken ground toward the trees on their right. Cassin didn't see the gun nest until the weapon started thundering.

The enforcer charged into the rain of energy, force-sword dancing. Cassin and Quasar laid covering fire, blasting the foliage and igniting the shielding of their opponents.

Eclipse deflected a rain of heavy blasts back against the three crouching Kriar. The Daergonians screamed as their shielding shredded. Eclipse jerked the rifle off its mount, and hurled it out onto the open ground behind him.

He's incredible.

<Go!> Quasar yelled.

Cassin holstered her blaster. Holding her sword up in defense, she ran. She deflected a few stray bolts, then grabbed the rifle.

Eclipse and the Daergon warriors were a blurred tangle of thrashing limbs. Cassin dove and rolled as several blasts peppered the ground toward her. She oriented on the attacker, and squeezed off a full volley.

The Kriar's shield overloaded, then went black as pulses ripped across his armored body and knocked him sprawling. Cassin oriented on another, and demolished his screens. She hammered at the warrior's armor until he fell.

<Shut it down!> she screamed into their minds. <Get out of there, Eclipse!>

The enforcer rolled out of the line of fire. <Clear!>

She cranked the power on the rifle to full. <Eat dirt—now!>

The warriors who had crawled to their knees fell face down, hands upraised. She tossed the rifle to Eclipse, hurried to the prostrate forms, and hurled their weapons out into the clearing.

Quasar destroyed the guns with her force-sword. <Sleepy time, Eclipse.>

He nodded.

Cassin dashed away from the area. <Clear!> She spun in time to see him lace the area with the rifle set on stun.

The Daergonians twitched and went still.

Cassin ran back to stand next to Eclipse. She stood panting, hearts laboring. Eclipse put an arm around her shoulder. She looked up at him.

Is that a spark of interest in his eyes?

Quasar half smiled. “Good moves, Searga. Looking for a promotion already, I see.”

“Those bastards hurt my sister.”

Quasar glanced at the quiescent body of Annawen floating nearby. “Indeed, they did.” She ran a hand through the girl's hair, letting the long strands riffle through her fingers. Cassin felt a pang of unease at the spark of fascination she saw on the elder's face. She knew the possible dangers in dealing with some of the older Kriar. Attracting their attention tended to be a mixed blessing.

Quasar pointed. “That way.”

Eclipse patted Cassin on the shoulder. Rifle readied, he headed through the foliage in the direction indicated. Staying behind the enforcer, she realized that he must be something special. The Daergon's followers were good. He waded into them as though they were children.

She hoped she wasn't getting into deeper trouble.

They charged around the edge of a lake, skirting tumbles of rocks and jumping over moss shrouded logs and root systems.

“There's an access behind that boulder on the far side.”

Cassin kept focused on that position in case the Daergonians were covering it. Nothing showed itself.

They reached the rock. She saw the outline of the door obscured by the holofield. She needed to look twice to see through the illusionary jungle growth that appeared to continue into the distance.

“Hold up,” Quasar ordered. “Cassin, take your sister.”

Cassin holstered her weapon. Annawen's body floated over, and settled into her arms.

Quasar held out her hand and Eclipse pulled out the heavy sidearm he carried. She took it from him, checking the weapon. “Give me twenty revs, then come ahead.”

She touched a sequence of jewels on the back of her arm, and faded from sight. Cassin sucked a breath. Nothing indicated where Quasar had stood, not even air currents.

A cold shiver raked her spine. She touched Annawen's placid face. What does she want with us?

“Stay,” Eclipse told her. He put his back to the portal.

She didn't know how Quasar would get through without opening the door, but she guessed the elite commander had many tricks in her possession.

At the zero moment, Eclipse slapped the open cycle, and whirled around to cover the area beyond. Quasar stood in the doorway. Four Daergon warriors lay face down on the metallic floor behind her.

Her free hand was pasty white with Kriar blood, and there were scratches on her cheek. Quasar looked at Cassin, and licked the blood off her fingers.

An icy feeling crept up her spine. This is not good.

Tossing Eclipse's gun to him, she turned and sauntered toward the other end of the bio-seal.

Cassin glanced at Eclipse. He didn't respond.

They followed Quasar out the other end of the airlock. The woman crept down the corridor like a predator, feet whispering across the metal decking.

Still facing down the hall, Quasar stopped next to a niche between two conduits on the wall. With a sound like a whip snapping, the jeweled Kriar punched into what appeared to be empty space. Metal crunched. Quasar stared at the pasty white blood bubbled out of the air around her fist. Stepping back, she jerked her hand free. Cassin heard a groan, then something metallic clanged on the floor.

Quasar reached down and jerked on something. She flickered out of sight. A Daergonian shimmered into view, white blood pooling around him. The Kriar woman's uncanny focus had crushed his carapace. Cassin heard a click. Quasar reappeared and tossed a small black box to Eclipse. He caught it. The device looked identical to the one Cassin had shot off the warrior that attacked her.

Quasar shook her head. <No wonder they want the Phalanx technology so bad. The cloaking they're using now is barely passable.>

<I'm glad she's on our side,> Cassin thought to Eclipse. Is she really on anybody's side?

Eclipse nodded, tight-lipped. They turned a corner. Cassin wished for something like Quasar's tractor field. She felt vulnerable burdened with Annawen's body.

A bounce access lay ahead on the right. Quasar relaxed upon reaching it, waiting until they caught up.

The commander kept a wary eye back the way they'd come. <This access, all the way to the bottom, and we're clear.> She pointed to the shaft. <Eclipse.>

He glanced at Cassin, then turned to stare at Quasar. Eclipse looked back to her. His jaw tightened. After a moment, he turned away, stepped into the tube and vanished.

The look in the Kriar's eye made her stomach turn to ice. Quasar had never intended a rescue, only to prevent the Daergons from capturing them.

Her sister's limp form seemed heavier than it should be. She thought of trying to break for the tube. Burdened by Annawen, Quasar would catch her before she covered a quarter of the distance.

Quasar turned. The gems down the left side of her face winked in the dim corridor.

Their eyes met. She felt like a bird frozen by the gaze of a snake. The elder female stepped close. Cassin smelled the tangy, sweet odor of Quasar's breath. The woman's jewel-encrusted hand came up and touched Cassin's forehead. Annawen felt like a mountain in her arms, and she tried not to tremble. She clenched her eyes shut.

Quasar's lips brushed her ear. Cassin swallowed.

“Tell me, Searga,” Quasar said in a purr. “What did you see today?”

Her throat seemed to turn to stone. “I—saw nothing, Eh'San. The Daergons, they—” She swallowed again. “They were careless.”

“Very good. You're every bit as smart as I gave you credit for.” She ran a jeweled finger along Cassin's cheek. “I trust you know how to ensure that no one can discover otherwise?”

She nodded, body trembling.

Quasar walked around her once. The gems down her side sparkled like dragon scales. The woman obviously debated with herself.

Cassin locked her legs, straining to hold Annawen against the shaking.

Quasar leaned close again. “I have a decision to make, Searga. Neither sits quite right with me. Perhaps you can help me to decide.”

Cassin swallowed. “W-what?”

“Let's concentrate on the option I know appeals to you most. Living. All you have to do is tell me something I want to hear. What do you know about the Phalanx armor and the Genemar?”

“The Genemar?” Cassin drew a breath. “The Jyril have the armor. When Aarlen—” She stammered. “When Aarlen was their prisoner, they told her they were looking for the Genemar.”

“Aarlen?” Quasar mused. “The tall, white-haired one?”

Shuddering, Cassin nodded.

“Ah,” Quasar cooed, pressing a hand moist with blood to Cassin's cheek “I knew you wouldn't let me down. Cassin, you and I are going to be best friends. You're going to be my girl, and from now on, no one touches you without my permission. Understand?” At Cassin's nod, she pointed to the bounce tube. “Go.”

Cassin took a shaky breath, opened her eyes, and staggered to the opening. She didn't look back, afraid she'd be transfixed again by that terrible gaze. Clutching Annawen to her chest, she stepped in and dropped ... The remainder of their escape became a blur in Cassin's mind. Quasar never ventured far enough away for her to relax. The jeweled Kriar was a serpent coiled to strike.

She'd avoided being captured by the Deargon's followers, only to stick her head in the dragon's mouth. Quasar kept her word though. When stragglers from the Daergons’ team pursued them, she shielded Cassin with her body. Nothing even came close.

When they arrived in a safe zone, Quasar arranged for top medical personnel to treat Annawen. The female Kriar became a shadow that never left the edge of Cassin's consciousness.

It left Cassin with the nagging question.

What does she want with us?

The twins sat together on the podium desk centered at the head of the tiered hexagonal debriefing room. Curved terraces wrapped around the speaker's stage in ten steps rising toward the back of the chamber. Twenty high-ranking Kriar men and women occupied the sixty available floating grav-seats with foldout tabletops arranged classroom-style on the terraces.

Cassin and Annawen slumped together, legs dangling off the table edge. They'd barely been given time to bathe, catch a snack, and don clean dress uniforms before being ushered into the debriefing. Annawen leaned against Cassin's shoulder, glassy-eyed and sluggish, still not recovered from the sedatives. Their adopted grandmother, Ivral, long hair twined into double cascade leaned against the desk, cyberboard and note stylus in her hand.

Holo-displays in the three front walls showed various technical readouts, one a real-time image of the vortexes in Siderous Chronous, another spatial and time distortion data, the last gave rosters of personnel and equipment available.

Cassin felt exhausted, but answered the questions as best she could. Her attention always drifted back to the shadow she knew lingered at the back of the room.

Quasar.

<Back to the point about the Jyril.> This from an elder male. <They're involved, but you haven't provided even an allusion as to what we can expect from them.>

Cassin let out a breath. “Eh'San, they were rather pointed in not alluding to why they chose to become involved. I can only assume they are after something.” She knew it was the Genemar, but she wouldn't say that to a room full of Kriar commanders with Quasar watching her.

Ivral straightened. <Our latest intelligence from the Shael Dal would indicate they do not plan to hinder us. We will work on that assumption. I think our Seargas have provided excellent insight into some of the inner workings of this anomaly. Engineering a solution should be possible. Gear up. Meet on flight deck 41 gamma for shakedown in two kilorevs.>

The males and females nodded, rose and left.

Cassin stood, wobbling and weary. She put her arm around Annawen, who had communicated only ten words since she'd come out of treatment.

Ivral came over and gave them both hugs. <The top officers are impressed with you two. There'd been a lot of grumbling about letting you into the academy eighty cycles early. Even more outrage at giving you warp training. You've both vindicated yourselves admirably.>

Cassin nodded, feeling numb.

Ivral glanced over her shoulder at Quasar, and narrowed her eyes. She looked back at Cassin. <Is there something else I should know?>

A cold hand gripped her insides. <Grandmother, please leave it be.>

Ivral frowned, started to say something, and stopped when Eclipse, dressed in formal regalia, stepped into the room. She saluted. <Eh'San.>

He nodded. <Shal'kar.> He let out a breath. <The counsel wishes me to oversee this operation. I would be pleased if you stayed on as adjutant. As an engineering commander, I'm aware this should be your task. Because of the presence of the Jyril, the counsel has requested that someone with more war-time experience be on top of things.>

Ivral raised her chin. <I understand.> She glanced toward Quazar, and her eyes narrowed imperceptibly. She focused back on the blue-eyed commander. <I also understand you personally went in to protect my grand-daughters. You have my thanks.>

Eclipse dipped his head. <My pleasure, actually. I had an opportunity to see these two in action. Rather remarkable for their age. You and Dame Techstar are right to be proud of them.>

Ivral clasped a fist in her palm and bowed her head. <Mikia.>

<Kiba—tan kiba.> Eclipse smiled and put a hand on Ivral's shoulder while looking toward Cassin and Annawen. <Actually, sometime I'd like to talk to them about this discipline of theirs—this magick. Technology without artifices. It is a rather fascinating study.>

The engineering commander glanced at Cassin. <Yes, it is. They are the only Kriar aside from their mother to practice the art.>

<Yes,> Eclipse nodded. <And who on Homeworld has not heard of Cassandra, the one to lift the Jyril curse. Yes, your family must count themselves blessed to have taken her in before anyone knew she would be such a hero to the Kriar people.>

Cassin could see her Grandmother had become wary of where the conversation was leading. However, Eclipse was both older and a high-ranking military commander. Ivral had no choice but to accede in this conversation.

<Yes, our family is a happy one.> Ivral answered, glancing again at Cassin and Annawen.

< Shal'kar, actually I'd like to request a favor.>

<Eh'San?> The expression on Ivral's face registered imperceptibly.

<It's nothing much, really. I'd like you to bring your seargas along. They've seen both the Jyril and this anomaly. They might have useful insights as the operation is ongoing. Besides,> he raised an eyebrow. <I know it would be their first time on a command deck, something of a reward for the good work they've been doing.>

Ivral drew a breath. <Very good, Eh'San. I'll—> She paused, and her gaze tracked to Quasar standing at the back of the room. <I'll see to it. Is there anything else?>

<No, that's it. Shal'kar I'll meet you on deck 41 gamma. I'll bring a present with me. Research and Development just released two of the prototype Star-reach suits to me. For your co-operation, one has your name on it.>

Ivral's eyes widened. <Eh'san. I'll have the ship prepped for your arrival.>

<Excellent.> Eclipse nodded to Ivral and to the twins. <I'll be seeing you later...> He swept out of the room.

Cassin glanced up to where Quazar had been standing. The female had left, as well. The Kriar bounty hunter was gone for now, but Cassin knew they would meet again ... I love Cassandra, and I love my daughters Cassin and Annawen. I love a lot of people, and would fight for most of them. They call me a schemer because I always have an agenda. That really isn't how it is. It's seeing possibilities in every situation; I'm always looking for ways to make events benefit a larger whole. My goal has always been to create a happy life for my family and myself. Some people just have heartache with me believing that the ends justify the means... —Dorian Degaba Ishtarvariku

Aarlen and the others floated midway between real-space and the disrupted currents of the transition realm. The stars appeared pale and faint against the inky blanket of the firmament. Despite Dorian's environment protections, Aarlen felt a chill. They'd left the Jyril committed to the task of stopping another attempt to disrupt the timeline. That left the question—when and where to go in an infinite number of possible cusps? They could only enter the juncture once, preferably before the enemy team. Intrude too early, and they would be detected; too late, and the damage would be irreparable.

Aarlen pressed against Beia, and looped an arm around her waist. The Myrmigyne remained stiff over the revelation that she had lost her chance at revenge on Meridian. She empathized with the younger woman's frustration, knowing of the decades-long war she had fought to repay Meridian for his crimes. It had been taken from her. The galling sense of being robbed churned in her like a hot froth that Aarlen felt through their telepathic contact. The person she hated more than anything in the universe would die at someone else's hands.

Instinctively, Aarlen dipped her head to sniff the Myrmigyne's hair. Being in the void, she could only imagine the musky hints of perspiration and leather, the traces of fragrant soap and muscle liniment.

Ess pivoted slowly in the weightless environment. Her face, so much like Beia's, wore a frown. Stroking her long braid, she stared at the magic shield on her arm, tracing the phoenix pattern on its surface with a fingernail.

Cassandra drifted like a polished gold statue, strands of mahogany colored hair floating around her angular face like the tendrils of an anemone. Her arm looped through Dorian's, her star-mottled eyes intent on nothing, she appeared lost in thought.

Dorian perched her chin on the haft of the jeweled krillstaff that lay across her shoulder, thick auburn hair obscuring her youthful face.

Aarlen steeled herself. Heart tightening in her chest, she clenched a fist around the hilt of Stellaraac. Together they possessed the skills and power to stop Rakaar's time divers.

Could they succeed? She ached. Beia was drained from the physical and emotional ordeal in their fight to restore the timeline. Ess and the two mages were still shaken after nearly dying at the rift in Daladar.

Bring it together, woman. You didn't live forty-five millennia to lose it now.

Aarlen tried to take a breath. Her lungs only filled with the achy sensation of vacuum. She missed being in normal space, the nuances of jewelry jingling and fabric rubbing together. She wanted to go back to Duran'Gravar with Beia, and bask in tranquility. She wanted them to lose themselves in the jungle vastness, and forget that magic and timediving even existed.

Little chance of that, if we don't solve this dilemma. <Guess, where will they hit?>

Cassandra nibbled on a fingernail. Her eyes glinted in the starlight like polished ebony. <Has to be after the Hellzan cusp, they don't want to kill themselves.>

Beia rubbed her chin against Aarlen's arm. <It's going to be before the Shael Dal clash with the Combine of Evil.>

Ess stopped turning and looked over. <Why?>

Beia smiled. <Something I learned recently. Seems like years ago now. Crisis policy, the Guardians put a freeze on a twenty-year time window. Meridian's sycophants step in there, and we won't have a problem.>

Aarlen pulled at her hair, feeling the strands flitter across her fingertips. <That gives us everything between 1062 and 1078, that's only sixteen years. What event can they disrupt that will guarantee a line dispersal?>

Dorian's face went pale. <Oh, Isis, it can only be one thing. Guaranteed—it would put such a knot...> The mage shuddered, her thought trailing off.

Aarlen grabbed her by the shoulder. <What?>

The woman's emerald eyes went wide. She looked to Cassandra and shook her head. <Cassin and Annawen; born 1064, far clear of the window. They're looped all through this thing. They save Corim. Take Dulcere back. Come up with the solution. Remove them and—>

<Hecate's eyes,> Aarlen felt as though punched in the stomach. <Everything will unravel. It's perfect. Meridian's people can strike at them nearly anywhere in the open window.>

Cassandra closed her eyes, fists to temples. <Dark—dark—dark—When—? While I'm pregnant? While they're young? It would have to be before we started using the Counsel shielding in 1073. That was proof against timedivers.>

<That still leaves nine years.>

Beia's hand tightened on her shoulder to the point where it hurt. <Nethra! We can't guard a nine year span, and we don't have the power to freeze it.>

Her thought made all the women's faces grim.

Come on, think. How do five people canvas nine years and not miss an incoming?

Ess looped the braid twice around her neck, and put a hand on Cassandra's shoulder. <If I understand how things work, if something causes Meridian's people to fail, then we'll be able to track them. They'd probably rule out the first season and a half, because the chances of Cassandra and Dorian interfering are high. New mothers and first infants, they're together all the time.>

Cassandra covered Ess’ hand with hers. <You're right, it will be when people who can resist them are not nearby to resist.>

Aarlen took Beia's clenching hand in hers. <Thousands of instances like that can occur in seven years, especially at night, during sleep time.>

Dorian tapped her chin. <Aarlen, didn't you say once that you held the record for a time-web?>

What's she after now? <Yes, I managed to detect all activity simultaneously across a two-year span. That can't help us unless we want to gamble on a particular two years.>

The Myrmigyne's hand tightened in hers. <If we all had your ability, we could cover the span easily.>

Dorian held up a finger. <Exactly.>

Cassandra clapped her hands together in silence. <Avatarism! She can surrogate through the Shaladen.>

Aarlen's chest tightened as the four looked at her. It could work, provided that she could perform as advertised. She had accomplished that feat centuries ago, driven by a passion that didn't exist now. She never seriously studied avatar magics. Surrogating four such strong willed individuals would be dangerous.

The two-year time-scan took ultimate focus. The Shaladen would give her the extra power to make it possible. It was a daunting thought, to try to do it through four proxies in different parts of the transition realm. Even if successful, her psyche would be so diffuse that she would be vulnerable to bleed-over from their minds.

<You must know what you're asking. You, especially, Cassandra—>

<Aarlen, the last thing I want to do is to open my mind to you.> She shuddered. <My daughters and the timeline need us. I'll get over it.>

She swallowed. Years of indulgence, of doing great things for her own benefit had not prepared her for this kind of self-sacrifice. It wasn't in her nature. That was before the Eternals altered her. This task meant melding with these four women. The ultimate intimacy, when she hadn't learned to open up to Beia yet. She risked sanity and identity.

Risking 40 millennia of life is stupid. It's not worth it. There are other timelines, other Beia's, when it comes down to it. Let the Eternals take care of it.

<Aarlen?> Beia squeezed her hand.

<Dammit, don't you understand? I could become one part me, and four parts other people. Hasn't everyone gotten enough blood from me already? I've suffered for my crimes. I don't want to die as an impression on some surrogate's mind, my soul scattered to the time-winds.>

Beia locked eyes with her unflinching. <It's okay to be scared.>

Aarlen wanted to scream. They all looked at her so calmly, as if they risked as much as she did. <It's not okay to be stupid. This is a bad wager. Give the Eternals the coordinates. It's their job.>

<You can do it.> Beia's thought was level. She gazed at Aarlen, a serene look in her emerald eyes.

Aarlen studied Beia's taut, lissome body, the way she clutched Snowfire in the crook of her arm. So sure, so focused. Nothing matters but now. The eye at the center of my hurricane. How did I get so attached to you?

Her heart pounded. She pushed the instinct for self-preservation into the back of her mind, and locked it behind a door.

The idiot things we do out of love.

<I'll do it, but I think it's crazy. You four run a risk of never separating from me.> A knot tightened in her chest.

Cassandra narrowed her eyes. <What a lovely thought; to become a permanent part of the Ice Princess.>

The ache in the back of her skull came back worse than ever. <You want to scratch the plan? Feel free.>

Cassandra clenched her fists. <I don't have to like it any more than you.>

Aarlen scowled. <Then keep it to yourself.>

Dorian held up a placating hand. <No one is thrilled with this idea. It's the best one I can think of, though.>

Ess’ face had become a stony mask. She gripped her braid with white knuckles.

Ess is scared. She should be.

Aarlen glanced to Beia. The Myrmigyne met her eyes. You're not afraid of being a part of me, are you? You're already fast on the way. <Dammit, let's do it before I change my mind.>

Cassandra and Dorian nodded. Ess looked to Beia with wide eyes. The two sisters studied each other for a long moment. Beia nodded. Ess’ hands doubled up. She dipped her head in acquiescence.

<I'm ready,> Beia thought.

Aarlen frowned at her. <You're almost too eager to do this thing, Beia. Do you have some kind of death wish?>

The Myrmigyne made the barest of smiles, her eyes stark with knowing. <If I die, it will be in your embrace. We will never be closer.>

Dorian raised an eyebrow. <I had no idea you were so romantic.>

<Or melodramatic,> Aarlen added, drawing Stellaraac from its sheath. The sword shimmered in her grasp until it became a circle of glowing metal. <Everyone take hold.>

Beia gripped the metal without hesitation. Dorian paused a moment, looked at Cassandra, then took hold. Ess glanced at Beia, swallowed and wrapped her fingers around the metal. The Kriar stared at Aarlen, eyes like pieces of the starry backdrop behind them. Aarlen saw the challenge. The gold-skinned mage did not forgive. She remembered Aarlen before the change, steeped in perfect malevolence.

You'll always remember, won't you? No matter what penance I do.

Cassandra reached out and placed her palm on the ring, curling each finger deliberately around the transfigured Shaladen.

Aarlen closed her eyes, shutting out the Kriar's flinty gaze. This task required magical assistance in addition to the Shaladen's power. She summoned the battle-staff Vralczarr from its hyperspatial hiding place.

Power. Magic danced around its length like a swarm of firebugs. Curling and spinning, the sparks spread up her arm. Alive in its desire to be utilized, the intoxicating rush gripped her body like a lover. Aarlen shuddered. She'd hated seeing this weapon in the hands of the Jyril. It seemed like eons since she had felt the glimmering, jewel-encrusted haft under her fingers.

Pushing the headache down, she concentrated on marshaling her energies for the duel that lay ahead.

Focus.

She felt the nebulous contact of the four other minds touching the Shaladen. Signaling Foross, she made sure that he was cognizant of the drain that would soon be placed on his resources.

First, she would bring them all into a combined rapport. She would unify their minds before forging the two-way links that would be her channels of control. Then would come the binding of energies, the twining of souls and minds, so that each of them became an instrument of Aarlen's will and an extension of her power. After that would come the synchronizing, making each body and mind conform to the new template, so that each entity became—in every essential part—Aarlen Frielos.

She slowed her heart, and shut down all non-vital sensory input. She reached out telepathically to Beia. Their minds meshed, and she imagined the Myrmigyne's warm breath in her ear. Aarlen's violent past did not disturb Beia the way it did others; she saw Aarlen apart from the acts performed before the purification.

She touched Ess. Beia soothed her sister, coaxing the uneasy Myrmigyne into the fold of minds. Moments of fitting, as Aarlen tightened the three-way matrix. Images of arms and hands intertwined. Sharp intakes of breath.

Who should I try next? She felt a rush of displeasure at the thought of linking with Dorian. Over the years they had interacted in precarious love/hate balance. The doe-eyed mage was the source of all Aarlen's troubles with the Eternals. Responsible for years of torment spent in rehabilitation. Unforgivable sins. Yet, she had nursed Aarlen back from the brink when her sanity neared cracking. Dorian had also arranged the relocation that brought Aarlen and Beia together. There were many other favors that softened the painful memories.

Dorian didn't wait for an invitation. She simply flowed in and meshed with Ess and Beia. For all the wrongs she'd done against Aarlen, the woman showed little fear of retribution.

The four-way interface made the meshing magnitudes more difficult. Aarlen and Dorian shared their resources with the slower minds to equalize the distribution of tasks.

Now, the prickly job.

Mentally, she took a breath. This wouldn't be pleasant for anyone. In physical space, she could see Cassandra's face screwed up with distaste, wavering as she weighed necessity against personal comfort.

A pause.

Convulsively, Cassandra flung herself into the link. The mage's face reminded Aarlen of a child gulping down bad-tasting medicine.

Joining with this reticent new mind set a stern task. Cassandra Kel'Ishtari, once human, had become Kriar in every essential way. Synapse training and neural enhancements made her thoughts and calculations blur together in a whirlwind of speed. Dozens of pathways unused in the human minds were ablaze in Cassandra's psyche.

Just like Cassandra to be difficult even when she isn't trying.

She felt the others wincing as she accelerated the matrix to accommodate the faster processes of the new member. The Myrmigynes weren't trained mages. The organization of their thinking revolved around the physical world, in lightning fast hand/eye reactions, not the ephemeral aspects of energy and dimension fundaments.

Aarlen wrestled all the minds together; restraining Cassandra to slow her to a manageable speed, streamlining and upping the efficiency of the Myrmigyne thoughts, pooling and combining the resources of their minds to strengthen the binding.

She took the battlestaff and passed it through the center of the Shaladen ring.

<Take hold.>

Four hands moved in concert, gripping the glistening wood and metal. A tornado of golden sparks spun outward, engulfing the bodies of the four women. As a unit, they stiffened as war-magic flashed through nerves and muscles.

She brought the Shaladen into the merger. The Eternal's power blossomed into their bodies in a soothing caress of infinite strength.

Transmutation.

Souls met and coalesced in the blazing crucible of the Shaladen. Hearts racing, blood pounding, hands white-knuckled and arms straining. Aarlen imagined the smell of sweat, and tasted the chalky dryness of fear.

Individuality melted. Beia, the driven and implacable Myrmigyne queen, was now one with stolidness of Aarlen's forty millennia of life. The wary and resolute Ess mingled with Aarlen's leader aspect, the sense of always looking over her shoulder with the determination to stay on top. Capricious and empathic, Dorian blended with whimsy of a jaded empress too long in control. Cassandra, unyielding and cold, complemented the unrelenting commander of the war machine.

Five separate entities, now one.

The hardest part remained, recreating them as her avatars so they could retain her self. The first to break off was Beia. She looked no different, but her body shimmered with the power and knowledge of an elder. Snowfire flickered and became a copy of the battlestaff.

<Scan 1064 to 1066.>

She arced away and dwindled into the starry background. It felt as if a hook ripped through Aarlen's heart. Her vision grayed. The pounding in her head came back with a slam. The others grimaced as a ripple of pain washed through the union.

Focus.

The distant body of Beia perched at the apex of transition space, ready to make the entrance into non-consecutive time. Aarlen gritted her teeth, still balancing the other minds in the network.

Go.