The Firehills Of Orland

Closing his eyes, Kelber cradled his father’s head against his shoulder. He could not bear to look again on that strong face, that crushed skull that had held all the knowledge of Maygor lands, all the memories of a gentle wife, three fine sons and a blossoming daughter. Could not look again into the gray eyes, filigreed with scarlet, staring toward the erupting firehill.

Overwhelming grief followed shock. It laid leaden hands on Kelber’s heart, weighted his soul. He took hold of the broad square hands that had guided his when he was learning to draw a bow, laid his cheek against the face that had come alight at his excellence in academics, strained to hear once more the deep voice shouting instructions on horsemanship.

Gone. The hand was limp, the face growing cold, the voice stilled. All the strength, encouragement, comfort, love—everything that had made Maygor the gentle, decent man he was—gone in an instant of red hate spewed by a firehill. Kelber pulled his father’s body tighter against his chest and wept. While tears tracked his cheeks, mounting sorrow fanned the fires of rage within him until they burned as hot as the flames that leapt from Vol Dorend.

"Patra. Patra." Whispered words escaped between wracking sobs. "I swear…I swear…I’ll put an end…to this curse."

THE FIREHILLS OF ORLAND

Frances Evlin

RFI West

http://rfiwest.com

RFI West, Inc.

9920 South Rural Road

PMB 107; Suite 108

Tempe, AZ 85284

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced electronically or in any form, or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher and Author, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All situations, characters and concepts are the sole invention of the author or are used fictitiously.

RATING: PG-13

Published in the United States of America

Dedication

To my husband, for his patience.

CHAPTER 1

The wind caught its breath. The brindle milch cows stood like blocks of jasper, waiting. Beyond the tall wooden fence that defined the boundaries of the lordshare, the night-feeding tersaks lifted on great barred wings, even though sunset was eight hours away.

Kelber gripped the worked-iron rail of the balcony and looked west toward the treeless peak twelve miles distant. Above the firehill an ominous sienna glow crept upward; highly heated air melted an ever-growing hole in the milk-white clouds curdling that portion of Orland’s skies.

"Vol Dorend’s about to burst again," the boy said sourly. He glanced down at the formal gardens flanking the greathouse, where servitors still worked at cleaning up after the previous night’s festivities. "What a way to celebrate the first day of my sixteenth year."

"But fitting." The deep-timbered voice came from the inner recesses of the room at Kelber’s back. "You were born on the eve of another of Vol Dorend’s extravasations."

The words sent Kelber’s gaze to the crosshatching of fine white lines that scarred the undersides of both wrists, and he wondered yet again why the birthaide had tried to kill him only hours after he was born. Driven mad by the firehills, some said. If so, the vols had claimed her, for she had fled to them and never returned.

The milch cows suddenly flung up their heads, lifted their ropy tails and crow-hopped about. An instant later, the tremor passed under Lord Maygor’s greathouse. The fired-brick building swayed on its foundation of cross-placed limbercane. The morning tea crockery rattled, pictures and mirrors skewed on their gold-tasseled hangers, but the dwelling stood firm, as it had for hundreds of similar shakes.

Kelber clenched his hands into fists and pressed them against his temples. His black hair, cut short in the fashion of the kingdom of Bodwyn, was thick and curly, like soft springs under his knuckles.

"It’s been only six months, Patra," he said. "Vol Dorend convolsed on the same day the Non sent that storm over the southern kingdoms of Prand."

A whippet of November wind brought a faint sulphurous odor belched from the firehill. Wrinkling his nose, Kelber turned his back on the vol, and in a few strides faced his father in the study. The older man sat behind a ponderous walnut desk, the lordshare’s considerable paperwork spread before him. His smoke-gray hair, short but not curly, softened a square face florid almost to the color of his chair’s red-leather upholstery.

All of Orland’s peoples were rosy-skinned, but Lord Maygor’s complexion was ruddier than most. Unlike many of Bodwyn’s lords, he spent a great deal of time administering out-of-house duties, and his skin had long ago taken on the deep red glow of the land he owned.

"How much more of this can Orland take?" Kelber’s eyes darkened with anger. The gold rings that circled his pupils and cyan-blue irises glowed; gold flecks sprinkled in the blue-green glittered. "You said yourself it’s getting worse every year. That when you were a boy, these disgorgements came five or seven years apart. Now they’re only that many months apart. There must be something we can do."

Leaning across the desk, Lord Maygor tapped cherry-scented ashes into a receptacle and set the pipe in its holder. "If only I could get in touch with King Emmil—"

"Drecka!" The expletive, even though mild, was so unlike Kelber that Maygor winced. "Where is Orland’s First Loyal anyway?" the young noble cried. "We haven’t seen evidence of him for over two years. Is he hiding from the Non? Why can’t our King Emmil be like Prand’s King Neel? He fought the Non and stopped the world from crumbling."

"He had two Second Loyals to help him," Maygor pointed out. "King Emmil has no one."

"Whose fault is that?" Kelber flung himself into a chair opposite the old lord’s desk. "Surely the Eternal One would allow him to father children, just as Prand’s First Loyal has done. Maybe Emmil doesn’t want any. Maybe he’s afraid they’ll have more power than he does."

"From what our spies have gleaned, even King Neel had to call on the One for strength enough to save Prand."

"Then why can’t our First Loyal do the same? Why can’t he ask for help to quell these infernal firehills."

Lord Maygor shook his head. "You are so young, Kelber. Things are not always as simple as they seem. King Emmil is a keeper of the land, not an owner of it. As intermediary between the Eternal One and Orland’s peoples, he will ask for help in controlling the firehills only when he perceives that the majority of Orlandians want him to. At present, they do not." He reached out and set to rights the cups chattered off their saucers by the groundshake.

"I do not," he went on. "My lordshare is as close to the firehills as the law allows, and you know the reason. My vineyards yield twice as many crates of grapes per acre as those in Deltarn, for example."

Kelber had accompanied his father once to Deltarn, the southernmost of the continent’s five kingdoms. Vegetation was greener there, but the soil so far away from the firehills was not nearly as nutrient-rich as that of Bodwyn—or Tiagelle, its neighboring kingdom.

Another tremor rocked the greathouse. Lord Maygor reached to pick up the mouthpiece of the brass tube that hung from a clamp on the wall behind his desk. The speaking tube led from his study to the servitor area on the main floor, and that end was always attended. "All vol procedures are now in effect," the old lord said into the mouthpiece. "And have a stablehand bring around two horses to the equipment room door." He glanced at Kelber. "You are riding out with me, aren’t you? Or would you rather accompany the rest of the household to the safechambers?"

Kelber rose. "I’ll go with you, of course. I can’t stand being cooped up, just waiting."

Followed by his youngest son, Lord Maygor left the study and tramped down the worn brick steps. In the equipment room, they tied gauze kerchiefs around their necks, and donned the steel helmets and padded outerwear any wise man wore when an extravasation threatened. The two heavy-boned horses waiting outside were outfitted with burlap nose guards, and canvas head and body coverings. It wouldn’t prevent injury from the occasional larger projectile, but did protect against the searing-hot rock chips that sometimes fell like hailstones.

Father and son accepted their mounts’ reins from the complacent stablehand.

"Thank you, Aldrin," Lord Maygor said as he swung up on one of the great gray beasts. "Now get yourself to the safechamber."

"Aye, Milord." Aldrin touched two fingers to his right brow and turned to amble toward the opening of a cottage-sized earthen mound a half-dozen paces from the east wall of the greathouse.

Kelber grimaced. What his father had said was true. Most Orlandians, even those living near the firehills, accepted the eruptions as a way of life.

The animals, however, did not. The chickens had already gone to roost, heads tucked under wings. The pigs were snout-first into one end of the sty. The cows, moon-eyed and stiff-legged, shifted from stone fence to stone fence like a school of shadow-startled minnows. They’d give little milk tonight.

Vol Dorend’s outburst seemed imminent. The firehill coughed red smoke and shuddered its massive shoulders. South and north, its fellows sat silent, their own fires smoldering far below the surface. From the road he and his father followed, Kelber could see Vol Tor and Vol Ferna. There were others not within sight of Maygor’s lordshare.

Why couldn’t Orland have had trees at its Crown, like that great land mass called Prand that lay east across the sea? It was a question Kelber had asked many times and no one had an answer. Had the Eternal One turned his back on the world’s lesser continent after creating it? Or had the Non—that everlasting antithesis of the One—corrupted it to suit his own designs?

They rode into the open courtyard of the subshare closest to the greathouse. Lord Maygor reined his horse toward the safechamber. "All hands accounted for?" he shouted.

From behind a heavy wooden door came a muffled reply. "All here, Milord."

The period of enforced rest was no doubt appreciated. When the eruption was over, the sharehands would have plenty to do. While some took the sprinkler wagons into the fields to wash the worst of the ash off the grape leaves, the rest would ride patrol on the lordshare’s borders to keep the gem gleaners from intruding on private property. By law they were allowed to pick rocks only on the openlands. But besides that, if any precious stones were to be found they belonged to the lordshare—with the sharehand who found them receiving a quarter of their value, of course.

The lord prodded his horse into a canter and rode on, Kelber at his heels. Ash clouds had supplanted the milky white ones. Through them the sun shone hazy green. The land lay bathed in a sallow glow that deepened the yellow of the November-brown grasses and dulled the red of the few leaves remaining on the russet maples.

A shift of wind brought the stinking sulphur smell. Kelber lifted the kerchief from around his neck and tied it in place to cover his nose and mouth. Another groundshake rolled under them. The horses stumbled. Even after years of training and under practiced hands the animals still exhibited fright. They crabbed and shied, emitting little snorts and squeals.

"Patra." Kelber was hard put to keep the unease out of his voice. "Let’s go home."

They didn’t really need to check all the subshares. The sharehands knew what to do. It was only the lord’s strong sense of responsibility that sent him out each time one of the nearby firehills convolsed.

And, Kelber suspected, the excitement of seeing the eruption. On more than one occasion he had crept out of the safechamber and joined his father atop the earthmound. His older brothers, Har-Maygor and Trendarmon, had little curiosity about the events, having seen enough of them. His sister, Fye, usually became hysterical, which distracted his mother from worrying about his whereabouts.

Sometimes the extravasation happened at night. Then it was terrifyingly beautiful. Great streams of fire flowed up into the dark sky and fell back on themselves like red fountains. At their bases, splashes of scarlet bubbled and leapt, shattered into droplets of carmine as they faded. Once he’d seen molten rock dribble down the side of the hill, its flaming surface pinking the feathered clouds sucked toward the heaving caldera.

Occasionally, one of the firehills would throw rocks large enough to maim or kill livestock, but mostly the vols just spewed fire, small rocks and immense clouds of dust-fine ash. The heat burned the moisture out of the air. The ash particles turned sepia every leaf of the maples, every needle of the coned trees, every blade of the field grass. It grayed the red-tiled roof of the greathouse and scummed the waters of the ponds.

For weeks the area might be plagued with wind and spatters of liquid mud. If rain did not come, King Emmil would coax clouds from the Great Sea to wash away the mud and dust. The land would bloom and prosper. Then, just when the last rocks had been plucked from the fields and the last grains of ash washed from the grapevines, another firehill would disgorge its spite.

The never-ending cycle of destruction and recovery wore on Kelber. The little-boy excitement he’d once felt was gone. He looked toward Vol Dorend now with anger in his eye and hatred in his heart.

A rumbling began in the firehill’s belly. It rolled across the harvested croplands, reverberated off the small stands of needletrees, sifted through the nearly naked branches of the maples and oaks and beeches.

"Here it comes," Lord Maygor said, his eyes riveted on Vol Dorend as if entranced.

A massive column of fire rose from the vol’s mouth.

"Let’s go, Patra," Kelber urged again, trepidation building within him. "This time it’s flinging rocks." His mount sidled and snorted. He reined it around toward the limited shelter of a copse of needletrees two miles away across a field of barley stubble.

"Yes," Lord Maygor said faintly and pulled his gaze from the awesome sight.

The first of the rocks, no bigger than hazelnuts, pattered around them like hail. Kelber drove his heels into the horse’s flanks and lashed its shoulders with the rein ends. The frightened animal sprang forward, not really in need of such urging. As they raced across the field, rocks the size of needletree cones mixed with the smaller projectiles. One hit Kelber’s mount a glancing blow on the head. The padded protector saved it from serious injury, but the animal staggered and went to its knees.

Kelber pitched forward. The pommel punched his stomach, expelled his breath and left his head reeling. The horse lurched to its feet, righting Kelber in the saddle but smashing his nose against the short-cropped mane. Blood spurted over Kelber’s face.

Lord Maygor swept past as his son’s mount fell. He sawed on the reins and jerked his horse around to come back for Kelber. The sudden reversal loosened his helmet. It slipped back a little, exposing his sweat-sheened brow.

"I’m all right!" Kelber shouted, wiping his face with his sleeve. "Go!"

From above came the peculiar whistling sound some fissured rocks emitted as they fell. Maygor looked up. As if released from an aimed sling, the fist-sized rock slammed into the old lord’s forehead. The force of the blow carried him backward over his horse’s rump.

"Patra!" Kelber screamed and leapt from his mount’s back.

Though he was slight of build, panic leant him strength. With his arms locked around the heavier man’s chest, Kelber dragged his father backward toward the copse. He glanced over his shoulder. The terrified horses had already disappeared into the sheltering trees. The distance, which had not seemed so great on horseback, now was dreadfully far. Rocks of various sizes continued to fall, bruising his hands and arms. In an agony of frustration, Kelber closed his eyes and envisioned the spreading limbs of the trees above their heads…

He stumbled over a root and fell, his father’s limp form dragging against his legs. Kelber looked up, astonished to discover he had reached the needletree copse. The rockfall had diminished. The spreading boughs of the coned trees diverted the few remaining projectiles. Lightning flashed inside the ash cloud. The wind turned, no longer carrying the stink of the vol’s breath. Kelber pulled down the kerchief, drew in a deep, shuddering gulp of air and forced himself to look at his father’s wound.

For an instant his heart forgot to beat. Gorge rose in his throat. His father’s forehead was a pulpy, bloody mass. A strangled cry pushed through Kelber’s shock-numbed lips. "No! No, Eternal One! Please, no!"

He lifted his head, his soul reaching, begging. But beyond the yellow-tinged needles of the cone trees was only the pallor of a sky sick with foaming clouds of dust.

"Patra. Patra." Whispered words escaped between wracking sobs. "I swear…I swear…I’ll put an end…to this curse."

CHAPTER 2

Chaff paused on the threshold of the Hall’s master bedchamber. He was pleased with the way his firstservile, Tevony, had redecorated the room. All signs of the previous lord’s stultifying presence had been removed.

At ten-and-six, Chaff was not only the youngest lord on the continent of Prand but also one of the wealthiest. He had inherited the vast timberlands six thirty-days ago and was easing himself into the luxury of owning the Holdings where he’d served seven years as stableboy. He’d been occupying one of the guest bedchambers and hadn’t yet slept in the great four-poster bed he now eyed with a small smile. Soon, he would bring back a bride from the neighboring kingdom of Falshane.

He returned to his study and had barely sat down behind the polished oak desk when his Awareness detected a subtle change in the Air Particles. He rose, smiling, to welcome his father. The silver-haired man appeared beside him, and Chaff felt again the peace and love flowing from this beautiful person, Prand’s First Loyal, King Neel.

Like Chaff’s, his eyes were dark brown with gold rings around the pupil and the iris, which was also flecked with gold. The unusual eye coloration and the Mark of Infinity—an elongated figure eight on the underside of the left wrist—identified the Eternal One’s Loyals.

"Chaff’s Holdings is prospering." King Neel’s voice bespoke his pride." And this in spite of the fact that you gave away an enormous stock of lumber to the southern kingdoms after the storm."

"I can’t take all the credit," Chaff said. "Tevony is an excellent bookkeeper, and Dowvy advises me on all the important decisions."

King Neel seated himself in a chair across from Chaff, who dropped into his own with a sigh. "I should have known you were on your way to visit me long before I did. But it’s just so tiring, always being on alert."

"It is. Even I cannot maintain constant surveillance over all of Prand."

As a Second Loyal, Chaff had received his Awareness magik—the ability to read human and animal emotions and to control the LifeForce Particles of nature—when he’d turned ten-and-six. Already he could cast it as far as his father, but not as continuously.

"I wish I could," Chaff said. "I’d like to be in closer touch with Aeslin. Ours will be a grand wedding, according to the messages I receive." He glanced at his mountain cat, one of those trained to serve as couriers between kings and nobles important to the crown. "As befits a princess, I suppose, but my mother and Prince Torin didn’t go to all this fuss when they were wed in May, and they seem to be radiantly happy."

"They are, indeed."

Remorseful, Chaff lowered his gaze. How could they not be? They had waited ten-and-six years to realize their dream of love. Chaff had been the cause of that, the son born of her union with the Eternal One’s First Loyal. The reason for her estrangement from her parents. The Second Loyal whose identity had to be protected at all costs until he was old enough to receive his birthright of immortality.

Chaff looked up as Dowvy entered from the hallway. The little brushbung crossed the room and knelt before King Neel, who reached out and touched his bowed head gently. Those whom the One had gifted with magik—which included all sprites and a few humans—were Keepers of the Land and owed their first allegiance to King Neel, the Keeper King.

"See ye often enough, we don’t," the woodsprite said, rising. "Came with ye not, did Haehli?" He glanced around, as if expecting Chaff’s half-sister, Prand’s other Second Loyal, to appear. Born a princess of Shubeck, she had lived in the royalhouse for ten-and-six years until King Neel had claimed her September before last. Since then, she’d been living with him at the Crown and usually accompanied him whenever he left there.

Chaff smiled. "You old faker. It’s Haehli you want to see, not your king."

Dowvy’s brown face reddened, his mud-brown eyes flashed with annoyance and his mouth rounded to form a retort, then clamped shut. What could he have said? His adoration of Haehli was too obvious to deny.

"Haehli has gone home to visit her mother and King Drelbyn. I am afraid he did not take well the news of her immortality." King Neel’s gentle face saddened and he averted his gaze. "Some of the Eternal One’s decisions are difficult for mortals to accept."

Like Chaff’s mother, Haehli’s had obeyed the One’s request to mate with King Neel to produce a Second Loyal. But Prince Torin had understood; King Drelbyn did not. Chaff got up, went to the Keeper King and put a hand on his arm. "Perhaps Haehli can use her Awareness to help King Drelbyn accept what had to happen between you and Queen Mehna."

King Neel shook his head. "What will be, will be. This sort of thing is beyond our control." He clasped Chaff’s hand in both of his. "What is not beyond our control is teaching you to convey." He smiled. "You really need to be able to go farther than from the Hall to the stable. Even though Haehli and I will certainly be in attendance at your wedding, it would be nice if you could convey yourself to Norporte."

"But that’s fifty-five leagues!" Chaff cried. "I can’t move my LifeForce Particles that far!"

"Then it’s time you had another lesson. Come along, Chaff. We have less than a ten-day."

* * *

Aeslin was radiant in her gown of white taffeta trimmed with hundreds of seed pearls and yard after yard of hand-tatted lace. Watching her walk toward him, Chaff wondered that his petite princess could bear up under the weight. No wonder that six young Falshanians strutted behind her, carrying the train.

Chaff was no less resplendent in a white velvet brocade doublet and breeches with gold piping. He had protested at the gold-colored shoes, but Aeslin’s father, Prince Torin, had assured him that was the proper mode of dress for a man marrying royalty.

As Aeslin drew nearer, all Chaff saw was her luminous flaxflower-blue eyes, filled with love. He lost himself in their blueness, and the grand hall of the royalhouse faded. He was back in his study at Chaff Hall with Dowvy.

"Worked ye seven years in the stable," the sprite cried, "and know ye not what to do on your marriage night?"

"Well, yes, I know the physical part." Chaff shifted in his chair, uncomfortable with the subject they were discussing but wanting the brushbung’s advice. "What I mean is, well, animals don’t love each other. They just mate because an inner drive tells them it’s time to do it. But it must be different with people. It has to be special. People have a love-union because they…they want…" He paused, floundering, blushing, gaze locked on the ceiling.

"Ah, Chaff," Dowvy said softly. "If with such reverence ye think of it, special it will be."

Aeslin’s soft hand slipped into Chaff’s, bringing him back to the present. To the royalcity of Falshane, to the royalhouse in Norporte, to the grand hall perfumed with masses of flowers, lit and warmed by banks of candlelamps, crowded with guests come to witness a golden-haired Second Loyal exchange wedding vows with a blue-eyed princess. Chaff thought his knees would surely buckle before he could slip the traditional seven-diamond ring on her finger.

With appropriate solemnity, Aeslin’s younger brother paced down the aisle carrying the two Sacred Books, the selected readings marked by purple tassels. He placed the books on a lectern in front of the Eld Believer, who would perform the ceremony, and took his place behind the white-robed old man.

Next came Winky, Chaff’s Holdings’ youngest stableboy, with the rings. His small face glowed as he bowed and held out the white velvet cushion. Only a ten-year, he exhibited an almost embarrassing admiration for Chaff, who gave him a nervous smile as he and Aeslin took the rings.

The words were spoken, the rings exchanged, the wedding blessed by the Eld Believer. Chaff kissed his bride amid a shower of ice-daisy petals thrown by the children of the serviles of the royalhouse and the Holdings. He clasped hands with Aeslin and they turned as one to greet their guests as man and wife. The receiving line formed and went on for hours, it seemed. All the royalty of Prand was represented, as well as many of the nobility.

Kormek and Parl were at the end of the line. The old mercenary and Chaff’s Holdings’ former stablemaster were clean-shaven, and their hair had been professionally trimmed. Impeccably attired in formal linen shirts, jackets and breeches, they seemed not at all to be two trail riders on respite from a grim mission. Chaff’s gaze touched briefly on the long scar that marked the left side of Parl’s face. It had resulted from a wound he’d received from a dragging ordered by Lord Yoad, Chaff’s one-time master. Chaff greeted the men warmly and promised to talk with them later.

Three felt-drums’ soft but distinctive thum thum thum announced the wedlock dance. Quickly following came the mellow chime of eleven psalteries. The hammers alternately caressed the strings then skipped across them to produce soft sweet passages or strong vibrant ones symbolizing the bride’s virtue and the groom’s virility. Aeslin removed the heavy train and Chaff escorted her to the dance floor, where he took her into his arms. A murmur of subdued laughter rippled through the onlookers as he drew her close instead of holding her away in the accepted dance posture. With his lips touching hers, he whispered, "I love you, love you, love you."

She didn’t reply with words, but he felt her mouth trembling against his in sweet response. Then, blushing, she stepped back into the correct position and the dance began. He studied her face, remembering the first time he had seen her, that spring day when he’d first entered Norporte. Then sunlight had sparked the copper in her brown hair; tonight, candlelamps set the copper lights aglow. By the One, how he loved her!

Too soon the dance ended, and he released her to the arms of her father while he danced with her grandmother, who regarded him with warmth. "Torin tells me you’re learning to do that…whatever you call it—where you can move yourself instantly elsewhere."

"Conveying," Chaff supplied. "And, yes, my father is teaching me, but I’m not a very good student, I’m afraid."

"But you will be able to do it eventually, won’t you?" Chaff almost smiled at her anxiety. She refused to let him escape her gaze. "And when you learn how, you will bring my granddaughter to see me often?"

"I will," Chaff said. "I’ll study very hard, and then we’ll both be only moments away."

She seemed satisfied with his promise and relaxed, while Chaff looked over her shoulder and hoped he could make good on his words. After that he danced with his mother, with each of Prand’s queens, and with more noble ladies than he thought the grand hall could hold.

"Isn’t it about my turn?" a bright voice queried, and Chaff turned to his half-sister, Haehli. She looked very different with her golden hair piled atop her head instead of gathered at her nape with a leather thong. And he’d never seen her in other than hempcloth riding clothes. Her rose taffeta gown was simple but stylish; the bodice flattered her well-proportioned upper body, the skirt hid her slender hips under tiers of ruffles.

"You are a young man of many talents," she said, the gold lights in her brown eyes flashing. "Where did you learn to dance so nimbly?"

"Tevony taught me," Chaff answered as he led her into a lively half-step. "Where she learned, I have no idea. And she graciously made adjustments for a person born with one leg shorter than the other."

In truth, the slight deformity rarely bothered him, and, knowing that, Haehli laughed. "Who would ever notice, for tonight you are walking on air."

He looked at her with affection. "You’re sweet as well as beautiful, Haehli," he said. "Where is the one who will recognize that and put the seven diamonds on your finger?"

Her generous mouth curved into a smile. "Don’t wish married life on me, Chaff. I like roaming the skylands. And Father and I enjoy each other’s company."

The dance with Haehli ended, and, not wanting to face any more partners at the moment, Chaff went to talk with Kormek and Parl. The two had just left one of the feasting tables. Chaff merely glanced at its platters of roasted meats and fish, great bowls of carrots and other vegetables, crystal dishes dripping with sauces and gravies.

He clasped hands in turn with the former mercenary and the one-time stablemaster. Kormek seemed at ease in his finery, but Parl shifted uncomfortably in his formal wear.

"What success are you having in your mission?" Chaff asked after they had exchanged the usual pleasantries.

Kormek’s lean face softened with a seldom-seen grin. "You see no Purists in this gathering, do you?"

Chaff returned the smile. "No. But my father would have detected them long ago and they’d be explaining themselves to the Eternal One by now."

For the second time in as many minutes Parl ran a finger around the inside of his collar. "King Neel wouldn’t have found any. Not in this area of Falshane, anyway. We started the purge here and we’re working gradually outward."

"I appreciate what you’re doing," Chaff said. "It’s hard for me…" He shook his head. He had killed four Purists in the heat of their attack, but guilt over their deaths still lingered. Even though the sect’s goal was to eradicate anyone gifted with magik, he would not have been able to undertake their methodical hunting and elimination as Parl and Kormek were doing.

Like Kormek, Parl was at least five-and-a-half ten-years. Lean and trim, he appeared to be even healthier than when he’d been stablemaster at the Holdings now owned by Chaff. "We miss you at the Hall, Parl," Chaff said sincerely.

A slow flush spread over the man’s face as he looked over Chaff’s shoulder, and Chaff glanced around to see Tevony approaching. The black-haired servile had left her post at one of the feasting tables. She wore a gown of pale blue linen, and only the spiritually blind would not have seen the beauty behind her scarred face.

She curtsied to Chaff, a custom she insisted upon observing even in the privacy of Chaff Hall, then turned her dark-eyed gaze on Parl. "It’s so good to see you again," she said and extended a hand toward him.

He took it hesitantly. His fingers trembled as he wrapped them around hers and he kept his face impassive. "Tevony," he said. "I understand you are a great help to our young lord."

The color heightened in her cheeks, but Chaff knew it was not due to Parl’s praise. Six thirty-days ago, Chaff had sensed the love between the two—a love each refused to express. And he intended to bring them together.

"She is, indeed," he said. "She has done a splendid job of redecorating the Hall. I will expect you and Kormek to attend my ten-and-seven birth remembrance March twenty next and see for yourself."

He excused himself to let the three talk and went in search of his father. King Neel was easy to spot, being the only one in the room dressed in gray. The dignified outfit, decorated with a simple Believer symbol embroidered in silver thread, was perfectly suited to the silver-haired man.

Chaff’s wedding was the first large gathering King Neel had ever attended. Heretofore, he had rarely left Crown Centre. But due to Chaff’s and Haehli’s urging he had become more sociable. The two Second Loyals insisted that the people of Prand needed to be better acquainted with their spiritual leader. Many guests had sought his presence during the evening, but at the moment only Haehli stood at his side.

As he joined them, Chaff said, "I’ve set into motion a meeting between Parl and Tevony." He smiled. "Do you think the Eternal One prompted my actions?"

King Neel returned his smile. "He does not arrange every meeting, Chaff. Just those that will have an impact upon the well-being of His creation. But since even we Loyals don’t know which is which…" His voice trailed off and he shrugged. He looked out the window at the star-jeweled sky. "Somehow I feel such a meeting had its beginning even as we celebrated here today."

"Today? November twelve?" Chaff looked around at the guests still milling about the laden feasting tables and dancing in the center of the grand hall. "Well, I’ve certainly met enough people for one night."

He glanced at Aeslin as she whirled past in the arms of the darkly handsome King Jeyr. Chaff sighed. "I’m tired of dancing and I’m tired of conversing," he said. "When will it be proper for Aeslin and me to be alone together?"

The Keeper King laughed. "I think you’ve given us enough of your time. I’m sure the royal family of Falshane can handle the necessary pleasantries for the rest of the evening. Collect your bride and consummate your marriage."

Chaff flushed at his father’s words, but looked toward the dance floor and reached out to touch Aeslin’s mind. She could not respond in kind, but she had already learned the origin of the strange "visions" that suddenly came to her. She turned her head and her eyes sought him out. He smiled and nodded. She apologized to her dancing partner and made her way toward Chaff.

He took her hands in his and leaned forward to kiss her on the forehead. "Sweet love," he murmured. "Father says we may gracefully leave the party now."

"Thank the One," she breathed. "I’ve been wanting to escape for the last hour or more."

They slipped out of the grand hall and hurried along the maze of corridors toward Aeslin’s room. The marriage bed had been prepared for them. The covers were neatly folded at the foot and winter-rose petals had been strewn upon the white sheets. Candlelamps shyly offered subdued light from the corners of the room, and a cherry log burned with a slow glow in the fireplace.

Chaff closed the door behind him and leaned against it. For a long moment, they only looked at each other. Chaff’s heart ached with longing, yet he hesitated to reach out for her, as if the touch would shatter an illusion. She seemed to know his thoughts.

"It’s really happened, Chaff. We’re wed, just like I knew we’d be from the first moment we touched."

He pushed away from the door, stepped toward her and drew back. "I don’t…I’m not sure…" he floundered.

She smiled shyly. "I think the first step is removing our clothing." She turned her back and lifted her curls with one hand. "Undo my dress, Chaff."

His fingers trembled so that he could hardly manage the buttons. And there were so many of them! Aeslin waited patiently, but he felt the warmth pulsing with her every quick-drawn breath. The white gown fell around her ankles. While she reached to unfasten and tug off her undergarments, Chaff stripped off his own formalwear.

She turned to face him and he drew a deep breath. "By the One," he murmured, "you’re so…so round and soft."

Aeslin giggled. "And you are the opposite."

Chaff flushed, knowing his body’s natural response to his bride. She stepped close to him. The touch of her body against his set pleasant fires aglow. He ran his hands along her shoulders, down her back. Her skin was silky soft, smooth and warm.

The words he wanted to say tumbled from a mouth gone dry. "Aeslin…I don’t want our love-union to be just…well, physical. I want it to be something special."

She raised one hand and caressed his face. "My dear sweet Chaff. With you, how could it be anything else?"

He caught her hand, turned it and kissed the palm. Her free hand tangled in his hair and pulled his mouth down to hers. The kiss was gentle and sweet and full of longing. He ran his hands along her shoulders and loosed her hair.

When it tumbled free he buried his face in its rose-scented softness. He felt her kisses on his neck, her breath warm on his skin. She was trembling.

He drew his head back to look at her. Tears shone in her eyes. "What, love?" he asked, puzzled.

"Oh, Chaff. Chaff, don’t ever leave me." Her slender arms wrapped tight around him.

Shaken by emotion of a kind he’d never known, he could hardly speak. He touched his lips to hers again, felt the devotion singing from his body to hers. "No, love, no. I’ll not. You’re my one true love."

He lifted her in his arms, carried her to the great soft bed and put her down gently on the scattered petals.

Their love-union was indeed something special.

CHAPTER 3

The great clock in the kingcity square pointed its hands at eleven and three. The impassive face it presented to Kelber seemed symbolic of the human ones he had thus far encountered in Nylsar. With the possible exception of the university librarian, his contacts in Bodwyn’s capitol city had been disinterested at best, hostile at worst.

It had taken five days of persistent nagging to wangle a fifteen-minute audience with the United Royal Council. He had succeeded then only because a dignitary from South Juledwi had fallen ill and relinquished his appointment time.

"Consider yourself lucky," the Appointment Secretary had sniffed. "Their Majesties’ schedule is understandably full. They Council only twice a year, you know."

Kelber had gritted his teeth. Of course he knew. He was the son of a lord, not a sharehand.

The appointment slip he held gained him quick entry at the palace doors and equally quick admittance into the great receiving hall. The cavernous room thronged with people. Many of them queued up to the appointment desk; the others were presumably there to offer moral support. Mothers clung one last time to young boys and girls who would soon be offered for service at the five palaces represented. The need for scullery help, personal maids, stablehands and pages seemed unending. It was an honor to have a child accepted, and it meant one less turnip needed for the stew pot at home.

Some of the supplicants were lowborn, as evidenced by their mungo-cloth garments. They were a mewling lot, and not well-washed, judging from the smells that lingered after they’d passed him. Others wore the roughweave cotton of higher stations—sharehands, factory workers, tradesmen and so on. Only a few people were dressed in the silks and satins that identified them as nobility, and fewer still sported the brocades and taffetas that signified royal heritage.

Kelber, in a blue-green satin doublet and hose, was politely directed to a long flight of marble steps. At their head, he met with an obstacle. Two guards, impressive in their uniforms of gray wool decorated with gold braid, were in heated conversation with an old man dressed in worn roughweave shirt and breeches. The odor of wine emanating from the sharehand indicated he’d made use of it to fortify his resolve to obtain an audience.

"I don’t need a ’pointment." He gesticulated toward the imposing double doors that Kelber supposed was the entry to the United Royal Council Chambers and shook his head, ill-cut gray hair snagging on his frayed shirt collar. "I bought m’ time with sixty years o’ taxes. This’s ’portant. They’s got to see me!"

"Sorry, old man," one of the guards said firmly. "No appointment, no audience." He grasped the sharehand’s right arm and began to propel him toward the stairway.

Kelber stepped forward, holding his appointment slip so that the time, eleven-thirty, was plainly evident. One of the guards glanced at it, then nodded. He turned as if to escort Kelber down the corridor, but at that moment the old man wrested free of the other guard’s grip. He backed away from the uniformed men, spreading work-gnarled hands in front of him as if to ward them off.

"They’s got to hear me out," he cried. "They’s got to stop the wind."

At this the guards exchanged glances and advanced on the old man with determination.

Tears pooled in the sharehand’s faded blue eyes. "It killed m’ gran’boy, the wind," he said fiercely. "And him no more than three years old."

Kelber’s irritation at being delayed was instantly swallowed by compassion. The death of a loved one was soul-shattering. He wanted to reach out and comfort the man.

With an unexpected show of agility, the sharehand dodged between the two guards and bolted down the hall. In a few long strides, the guards were upon him. As they hauled the now-weeping old man toward the stairway, one of them spoke to Kelber.

"Wait in the antechamber. Door to the right."

With one last glance at the sorrowing grandfather, Kelber hurried down the corridor, his quick steps echoing along its gray marble length. Directly in front of him were the huge carved-and-polished double doors; on either side of him were smaller ones, both closed to the hallway. Door to the right, the guard had said. To Kelber’s right? Or to the right of the Council Chamber?

Kelber chose the one to his right and opened it hesitantly. A man with shoulder-length light-brown hair stood at a window, his back to the room. He turned and Kelber drew a quick breath. The man’s skin was milky white. A Prandian.

"Sorry," Kelber mumbled. "Wrong room." He stepped back and pulled the door closed.

The sight of a Prandian in Orland had startled him. The two continents did not trade, and while Prandians were not exactly considered enemies neither were they welcome. In fact, this was the first pale-skinned person Kelber had ever seen. The man had to be an ambassador. His face was pleasant, his expression open and honest. He had exhibited no sign of agitation, but only mild surprise at being discovered waiting to speak with the five kings. But when had Orland begun meeting with Prandian ambassadors?

Kelber had no time to ponder it. The great doors to the Council Chambers opened, and a middle-aged tradesman was ushered out by a page. Kelber stepped into the antechamber across the hall just as another page entered it from a different door and beckoned him to follow.

The five kings of Orland—Noridj, Wem, Ott, Tobbik and Garlisteld—sat in high-backed padded chairs at a long mahogany table on a dais. Behind them a bank of artfully placed windows cast the supplicants’ faces in light, while those of the monarchs were nearly obscured by the brightness flowing over their shoulders. In front of each sovereign were various papers and inkpots with plumed quills protruding like the gaudy tailfeathers of a ghena bird.

All the kings wore simple gold crowns and full-cut over-robes of red brocade. This was not necessarily their manner of attire when each presided over his own throne room. The similar costuming here was to present a unified front for those who gained audience with them during the weeklong Council session. Even the youthful pages who stood at attention behind each ruler’s right shoulder were dressed alike in pale gray tunics and hose. Two more pages attended the great doors, along with two guards.

Kelber bowed to each of the sovereigns, beginning with Ott of Deltarn, the oldest king and therefore Council facilitator, then his own king, Tobbik of Bodwyn, followed by Noridj and Wem of North and South Juledwi respectively and, finally, his favorite, Garlisteld. He didn’t know why he liked the monarch of Tiagelle better than the others. Perhaps it was because the pleasant-faced man was gray-haired, short and stocky, and reminded Kelber of his father.

"Your Majesties," Kelber began, aware his audience time was fast slipping by, "I come to ask your assistance in a matter of great concern to all of Orland."

Ott’s dark eyes glittered with amusement. "And what is this matter of great concern?"

Kelber swallowed his irritation at the mockery. "I’m sure Your Majesties are aware of the increased frequency of the extravasations of the firehills."

Kings Noridj and Wem exchanged bored glances. The prevailing winds kept their kingdoms relatively free of ash and sulphuric fumes. Unconcern about the firehills’ activity was probably the one thing they agreed upon. North and South Juledwi had been split by civil war hundreds of years ago, but the old animosity between the two countries had never died.

While Noridj inspected the setting on his ruby ring and Wem smoothed a fuzzy eyebrow with a pudgy forefinger, Ott fussed with his beard. Iron gray, it was cut straight across at the bottom, his round ruddy face set into it like a manufacturer’s seal on a broom. He ran the knuckles of a loosely fisted hand along its bristly edge.

"And what concern is that to Orland?" he asked. "I would think the increased activity of the vols would only serve to further enrich the soils, especially of Bodwyn and Tiagelle." He flicked glances at the rulers of those two kingdoms. "Isn’t that so, Tobbik? Garlisteld?"

Tobbik nodded. The youngest of the monarchs, he was clean-shaven and deceptively sleepy-eyed. He regarded Kelber now with a sort of lazy interest. "Aren’t you one of Lord Maygor’s sons?"

"Yes." Kelber steeled himself to say the words he didn’t want to hear, even from his own lips. "My father was killed in Vol Dorend’s latest eruption, Your Majesty."

"Ah." Ott leaned back in his cushioned chair as if that explained everything.

Desperation moved Kelber’s tongue to a quick response. "But that isn’t the only reason I approach Your Majesties. It’s because of the Non. He’s getting too powerful, Your Majesties." He looked earnestly from one to the other, as if his own trepidation would slough off onto them. "I beg you to petition King Emmil to—"

Ott slapped one hand on the table, sending papers flying and the young pages scurrying to catch them. "I can’t believe this! You, a lord’s son, coming here with the commoners’ superstitious drivel! You speak of the Non and King Emmil as if they actually existed."

Anger at the old king’s blind stupidity rose up in Kelber’s throat, choking back the words he wanted to say.

Garlisteld spoke, his voice mild but his tone positive. "They do exist," he said. "I myself have conversed with King Emmil."

Ott whirled on the Tiagelle ruler. "You’ve talked to an ordinary man with an extraordinary imagination. Oh, yes, I’ve heard of him. A blond Orlandian," he scoffed. "A man who’s gone to some lengths to make himself look different so he can gull the foolish to follow him. The delusional dolt has even scarred one of his wrists with a supposedly magikal mark." His steely glare bore down on the stocky king, but Garlisteld did not flinch.

"I’d be ashamed to admit to believing in such idiocy," Ott continued. "You might as well profess to trust those shard-scored night gleaners."

"If you think King Emmil to be only a man, why don’t you bring him in for interrogation?" Garlisteld asked. "To satisfy your curiosity, if nothing else." His brown eyes softened as he looked at Kelber before once more turning his attention to Ott.

The old king’s face darkened. "I don’t have any curiosity about him. I don’t give a black curse who the commoners worship, so long as they obey the laws of Orland."

He pulled his fierce gaze away from Garlisteld and turned it on Kelber. "Your plea," he spat the word, "is denied. There are no facts to support your implied concern that Orland is in danger due to increased convolsive activity." He leaned forward and pointed a threatening finger at Kelber. "So far as the exchange of words between King Garlisteld and me, you never heard them. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Your Majesty, King Ott," Kelber said stiffly. He glanced at the Tiagelle sovereign, who gave him the slightest of commiserating smiles.

Trembling with outrage, Kelber turned and allowed himself to be escorted into the hallway. As the great doors clapped shut, he glanced at the smaller one behind which the Prandian waited. He was tempted to approach the man. The people of the larger continent revered their First Loyal. Even the nobility and royalty admitted to his existence.

Maybe Kelber could convince the Prandian to carry a message to their King Neel. Surely, that continent’s First Loyal would understand the urgency, would assist Kelber in locating Orland’s spiritual king.

He had actually taken a step toward the door when he looked up and saw the corridor guards watching him. With a determined stride he traversed the hallway and nodded to each of them as he left the second floor.

Anger, resentment and despair were his companions as he tramped down the marble steps and through the crowds in the receiving hall. He would not let his gaze touch theirs, these people bent on quests likely as futile as his.

He walked through the arched stone gateway to the palace grounds and fervently wished the Non would make the next groundshake strong enough to bring it down. Preferably with King Ott under it. But that wouldn’t happen—Bodwyn had prudently built its kingcity on the shores of the Great Sea, as far away from the vols as it could be.

The old man Kelber had seen struggling with the corridor guards sat beside the stone wall, head thrown back, eyes closed, bony knees drawn up, arms limp at his sides. Was the sharehand besotted with drink? Kelber stopped, but he was about to move on when the faded blue eyes opened. The grief in them was too great for him to ignore. He sat down beside the grandfather.

"I didn’t have any luck with my audience," he said bitterly. "The kings hear only what they want to hear."

"They’s got to stop the wind, milord." The sharehand’s voice was weary as he repeated the words he’d spoken to the palace guards.

"They can’t do that, old one," Kelber said gently.

"King Emmil can, milord. And he will, if enough people ask him to."

Kelber closed his eyes briefly. His father had said very much the same thing.

"But why stop the wind? It brings the rain we need to grow our crops."

"And when the firehills convolse, it brings death. M’ gran’boy died, and him no more than three years old."

Kelber frowned, trying to understand. "He was too close when the vol blew? He breathed the hot air?"

The sharehand shook his head and plucked at a bit of grass clinging to his roughweave breeches. "The wind come down the valley, all stinkin’ and yella. Many o’ us got sick, but m’ little grandboy…" The crabbed hand twitched, and he blinked away tears.

"Where is your valley, old one?" Kelber probed.

"North Bodwyn. North o’ the Masketene."

Kelber knew of the river he named, knew that the area was due east of Vol Tene, which had erupted in September. A strong wind could have carried enough ash and fumes to sicken an adult and kill a young child. It hadn’t happened before, but the Non was getting stronger. Kelber was sure of it.

He rested a hand on the old man’s shoulder. "I’m sorry you lost your grandson. I, too, lost a loved one to a vol’s wrath." If his resolve had been firm before, now it hardened like steel. "I intend to do something about it."

He started to rise, and the sharehand reached out with both hands and caught one of his. The rheumy eyes swam with tears. "Thank you, milord. Thank you. May the blessing of the Eternal One go with you."

The old man bowed his head over Kelber’s hand, and a tear splashed on the noble’s knuckles. Feeling as if he’d been anointed, Kelber pulled gently away, rose and turned toward the quay. He needed to hire a ship.

CHAPTER 4

Anzra gazed placidly at the door that had just been pulled shut by the young Orlandian—a nobleman’s son, judging from his clothes. It was unfortunate the boy had seen him with undyed skin and minus the tradesman’s cap that ordinarily concealed his long hair. No need to let the kings know about it; it was just one of those things that might precipitate action at a later time.

He doubted the noble would remember his face, but he had memorized the boy’s. It was a handsome face, with strong straight nose, high cheekbones, wide-set eyes of a striking blue-green color and a rounded chin.

With silent steps Anzra moved to the door to the Council Chamber. He grasped the latch and lifted it as slowly as the hands on a clock moved, so slowly that neither guards nor pages would notice its motion. Equally as carefully, he opened the door enough to hear the conversation between the young man and the council of kings.

Anzra knew Orland’s rulers. He had been in their employ for over forty years. Not these very same men, of course. Of the five kings he’d first met, only Ott remained. The others had died natural deaths or had been assassinated. Too bad Ott hadn’t been one of them. Of the five present monarchs, he was the most arrogant, the one who most enjoyed exerting the power of his position.

As he was doing now. Grinding the Orlandian boy’s earnestly spoken request like millet under a wheel. The black-haired noble wanted the kings to ask Orland’s First Loyal for help. Never, Anzra thought grimly. Never would Ott admit the existence of a spiritual leader, an immortal human with magik, someone with more power than he.

Anzra edged the door open to a thin crack. The young man was crestfallen, but a fire of determination heightened the glow of his Orlandian coloring as he was escorted from the room, plea denied. Anzra had the feeling this individual would not give up his quest.

If Ott felt any remorse about his harsh treatment of the boy his expression didn’t reveal it. But, then, it was said he treated Prince Lewtri, the youngest of his three sons, with the same contempt. And for the same reason. The broody fifteen-year-old believed in the existence of magik, and that diminished him in his father’s eyes.

A tradesman entered the audience chamber, pushing a boy of ten or eleven before him. Anzra was about to ease the door closed when the man said, "Your Majesties, I humbly offer my son to serve you." At once Anzra was transported back forty years to a time when his own father had uttered those same words. Again, he saw the five monarchs of that day seated before him.

* * *

King Ridmer of Bodwyn studied him with interest, his gray-haired head canted to one side, his lips pursed. Without preamble, he asked Anzra’s father the oft-repeated question. "What folly of nature gave him that coloring?"

Anzra gritted his teeth and stared resolutely at the marble floor. He could do nothing about his milk-white skin—no amount of fieldwork had reddened it—but at least they would not see his pale green eyes.

"I do not know, Your Majesties," his father, Stov, said.

"Of what possible use could such a freak be to us?"

As sure as a curved razorknife cut a grape cluster from the vine, those words sliced a chunk from Anzra’s fragile ego. He lifted his head just enough to peer through his pale brown lashes and see which king spoke so harshly.

King Ott of Deltarn, the youngest sovereign on the United Royal Council, glared at him with baleful dark eyes and continued. "He certainly could not be a page. He would distract from the order of business."

Nor do I want to be a page, Anzra thought. But I could work in the stables or the kitchen. Anyplace to hide away from the taunts and stares of everyone who sees me.

Stov rocked on his heels. "Perhaps in another capacity, Your Majesties?"

Anzra tilted his small face sideways and caught the sly look his father exchanged with King Ridmer. Even at the age of ten, the sharehand’s son had heard stories of what could happen to little boys in the hands of certain men. His heart set up a furious pounding that weakened his knees. Surely his own father would not be suggesting that. He lowered his gaze a little and pressed his lips tightly together to keep them from trembling.

"I don’t see—" Ott began, but Ridmer silenced him with a wave of his hand.

"Your perception is to be applauded, sharehand," the Bodwyn ruler told Stov. "How old is the boy?"

"Ten, Your Majesty, King Ridmer. But he is very bright and quick to learn."

"A bit young, but then again perhaps that is better. We can educate him in our own way."

Confused at Ridmer’s words, Anzra looked up.

The old king’s bristly gray brows rose in renewed appreciation. "And lynx-green eyes, as well. Excellent!" He turned his gaze back on Stov. "Such dedication to Orland should be rewarded. Have you a suggestion, sharehand?"

Stov shrugged. "I am in arrears to my lord for payment of my rent. He has been most kind in not pressing me, but I wish to set things to rights with him, Your Majesties."

King Ridmer reached for paper and quill, scribbled a hasty note of some kind and had a page hand it to Stov.

The sharehand looked at the paper and grinned. "Most generous, Your Majesties. I am forever in your debt."

And, with that, Anzra was sold into a life of espionage.

* * *

The clock in the kingcity square began to chime noonday, bringing the green-eyed man back to the present. The morning audiences were finished. Anzra peered through the thin crack. The pages no longer stood behind their kings. The guards had probably likewise been dismissed, since the monarchs knew their most efficient operative waited to present his report. Anzra opened the door to the Council Chambers and stepped into the room.

Ott’s hard gaze fixed on him. "So, Lynx, you listen at doors."

The old king was probably the only one who remembered Anzra’s given name, but of course he would not use it. Lynx ignored the inane question and approached the dais without asking permission.

Tobbik leaned forward, clasping his hands in front of him. "Have you been able to make the necessary arrangements to smuggle logs out of Prand?"

"Regretfully, no," Lynx replied. He spoke pleasantly and respectfully, but did not dignify the rulers with their titles. If they resented it, they didn’t so indicate. "The continent has been in a state of flux since that violent storm on the first of May. Chaff, the young man who inherited Yoad’s Holdings, gave away all the stock Yoad had accumulated to sell to the highest bidder."

"Gave away!" Noridj’s thin dark eyebrows lifted over his deep-socketed eyes. "He is cursed with the ignorance of youth."

Lynx almost smiled at the king’s dismay. "No, he’s blessed with the generosity of a Second Loyal."

"Ah, well." Tobbik lifted one slender hand and rubbed a forehead as yet uncreased with wrinkles. "It appears that we’ll have to fight for our logs, as you feared, Ott."

"That would be unwise," Lynx said. "Prand is twice the size of Orland, and all but one of its kingdoms have a seaguard force. Prand also enjoys the advantage of having three Loyals."

Ott stiffened, broom-bearded chin outthrust. "That’s the second reference you’ve made to Loyals. I’ve heard about the odd-legged whelp who appropriated Yoad’s Holdings. It’s all well and good for the hedge-born cur to believe himself possessed of magik, but you, Lynx, should know better."

Lynx shrugged. "I was in Prand on the first of May when Yoad’s men cut an Eternal Tree and started the land crumbling. In fact, my presence is probably what saved King Jeyr’s life. He and I had ridden to the top of the cliffs along the Goshawk River. He wanted to show me a bird’s-eye view of his harbor. Then the cliffs began to break away…"

Ott dismissed that with a wave of his hand, the sunlight streaming through the windows setting ablaze the rings on his short fingers. "Groundshakes."

"There are no firehills on Prand." Lynx’s correction was mild and without rancor and he continued. "As we rode east at a furious pace, the cliffs behind us broke away and fell into the harbor, smashing Jeyr’s fleet. The sea rose up in swells higher than these chambers and took what was left of his ships far out into its depths. The royalcity of Wasecha came down as if its buildings had been constructed of pebbles. Then the three Loyals arrived."

Lynx scanned the five faces before him. Ott’s still flamed with unconcealed hostility, Noridj and Wem were wide-eyed as schoolchildren and Tobbik’s drawn-down brows bespoke his skepticism. Only Garlisteld seemed truly interested, head canted to one side, mild brown eyes locked on Lynx.

"They froze solid the waters of the river, and the sea at the harbor’s mouth," Lynx went on, "made the ground quit shaking and stopped the fall of the dirt and rubble. I don’t know which one did what, or if they all worked together, but they stopped Prand from crumbling."

"What mammering, boiled-brain nonsense, " Ott growled. "Leave such storytelling for the ears of the onion-witted commoners, Lynx, and get on with your report. We didn’t invite you here for entertainment."

Except for Garlisteld, the other kings exchanged uncertain glances, then chuckled. Lynx shrugged. Let them believe what they wished.

Noridj leaned back in his chair. "I suppose, though, that this means we won’t be able to deal with the new lord of Yoad’s Holdings."

"No, but we can get along without him," Lynx responded. "I’ve been cultivating relationships with Jeyr of Veltok and Alstin of Draal. I believe both kings are more committed to enlarging their personal treasuries than those of their kingdoms. Smuggling logs out would not be difficult. Prand has miles of unsettled coastline. Or landsedge, as they call it."

"‘Landsedge.’" Wem’s short nose crinkled and his thick-lipped mouth twisted in a grimace. "How does such an uneducated people continue to exist?"

Lynx felt an inexplicable urge to defend the larger continent, but what the fat South Juledwi king said was true. Prand’s commonfolk were not as well educated as those of Orland. Here, it was only the poorest who went untaught, while on Prand only the royalty and nobility were formally schooled. The merchants and tradesmen were self-taught, and the serviles generally learned little except what pertained to their jobs.

Ott brushed at the chopped edge of his gray beard with his knuckles. "Since Jeyr’s harbor was destroyed by the groundshake," he said, persisting in ignoring Lynx’s refutation, "where do we land the ships to haul the logs?"

"There’s a protected cove about thirty miles north of Veltok’s royalcity, or rather, where it used to be. Jeyr is rebuilding, of course. The logs would have to be drayed overland to the cove, but the kingdoms of Draal and Veltok are not heavily populated."

"Even so, how long do you think we can carry on this deceit before we’re discovered?" It was Garlisteld who spoke, his voice soft but undeniable, like the dry finger that bursts a soap bubble.

Ott scowled. "Long enough to get the hardwood that Orland can no longer supply. Which we must have, and in sufficient quantity to build a good, fast fleet of warships."

Lynx shook his head. "Have you considered opening trade with Prand? It’s much cheaper than making war."

Ott’s chin lifted like that of a snake-startled pup. "Orland has never traded with Prand. Why should we even consider doing business with those milk-skinned wantwits?"

The vehemence of Ott’s words did not surprise Lynx. The old king’s contempt for Prandians was legendary and extended even to Lynx, who only looked Prandian. Well trained though he was, he was hard pressed to keep his flaring anger from lighting his eyes. He was pleased that his voice betrayed no emotion when he spoke. "You’re agreeable to dealing with Jeyr and Alstin."

"They’re representative of their countrymen. They haven’t the sense to realize what Orland has planned."

King Garlisteld rose to his feet and rested his hands flat on the polished table. Leaning forward, he looked past Tobbik and fastened his level gaze on the gray-bearded king. "What Orland has planned—or what Ott has planned?"

Lynx’s heartbeat quickened at the prospect of a confrontation between the monarchs. A listener could learn much when anger loosened the constraints of civil discussion.

Ott’s dark eyes narrowed and his skin took on a more severe flush. "Orland needs lumber, Garlisteld."

"And if we did conquer Prand and cut their trees, then what? Even Prand’s forests can’t last forever."

"I don’t give a black curse about forever!" Ott was on his feet now, and his voice shook with rage. "They’ll last until long after I’m in my grave! And you, too, you rabbit-hearted imitation of a king!"

At that moment Lynx wished his hand held the throwing-dagger he carried in Prand. He had lived there enough years to learn how to use that continent’s favorite weapon. And if anyone deserved a dagger through the throat, it was the arrogant king of Deltarn.

Garlisteld, however, seemed unperturbed by the Deltarn monarch’s insults. His cool gaze swept the other three sovereigns. "Do all of you hold with Ott’s plan to make war on Prand?"

Wem licked his lips and shot a quick glance at Ott. "I don’t see any other way to get what we want."

Noridj stared down at his bony hands and twisted a heavy ruby ring around his finger. After a long moment, he looked up and nodded. "Like Ott says, we need the lumber. North Juledwi will be completely out of timber within five years."

"Bodwyn has enough for possibly another seven," Tobbik said, "if demand increases at the same rate as it has for the last few years." His expression became grave as he eyed the stocky king. "You haven’t felt the pinch yet. Tiagelle has a little more forest than the rest of us."

"That’s right." Noridj sat forward and glared down the table at Garlisteld. "What’s your plan? To make the rest of us pay exorbitant prices and fatten your coffers?"

"And what good would that do, Noridj?" Garlisteld asked wearily. "When the trees are gone, they’re gone."

Wem’s close-set eyes gleamed like coal-bits set in carnelian. "South Juledwi still maintains a defensive army." He shot a glance at Noridj. "In case a neighboring country gets any ideas about taking more of our land." He looked again at Garlisteld. "But, if necessity demanded, they could just as easily march on whatever kingdom was hoarding the wood we need to survive."

"Threats, gentlemen?" Garlisteld asked. With slow deliberate movements, he removed the red brocade over-robe and gold crown of the United Royal Council. "I cannot support war to obtain a resource that we have depleted on one continent and seek to consume on another. I’m sorry, but Tiagelle will not be a part of this."

"You may not," Ott seethed, "but Tiagelle will! When we start bringing in logs, your subjects will be screaming for them just like the other four kingdoms. Then the United Royal Crown won’t be the only one to leave your head!"

The four kings watched in stony silence as Garlisteld stepped down off the dais and left the chambers. Lynx’s gaze followed the stocky monarch until the door closed on his heels. Then, veiling the expression of admiration he felt for the Tiagelle king, he turned back toward the remaining rulers.

"What are your instructions?"

Ott sank slowly back into his cushioned chair. "Return to Prand at once. Offer Jeyr and Alstin whatever you think you must for their product and cooperation." He glared at Lynx. "And don’t think Orland’s other spies won’t know what that amount should be."

The sharp words stuck in Lynx’s mind like poison-tipped arrows and quickly festered. The next time he came with news from Prand, he’d make it a point to pack his throwing-dagger.

CHAPTER 5

"No, I’ll not give you an advance on your allowance to hire a ship." Maygor slapped shut the lordshare’s ledger that lay on the desk before him. Kelber’s oldest brother was Lord Maygor now; the "har" that had identified him as first heir had been rendered unnecessary by the old lord’s death. At twenty-two, he was a slightly taller replica of his father, and more practical and penurious.

Kelber occupied a wing chair to Maygor’s left. Trendarmon, the lordshare’s second heir, lounged against the wall near him, hands in the pockets of his brown woolen breeches, one slipper-shod foot crossed over the other. On a settee to Maygor’s right sat Kelber’s mother, Cosamett, and her omnipresent shadow, his fourteen-year-old sister, Fye. Plumper than she wanted to be, she kept her smoky-gray eyes downcast, long black lashes hiding whatever thoughts busied her mind. One ringless hand absently stroked a tortoise-shell tabby sprawled across the lap of her ankle-length day-dress. Neither Fye nor Cosamett were usually present at business discussions, but Kelber had insisted that they should be for this one.

He appealed to his mother now. "Matra, you know that Patra believed in the existence of King Emmil." A flicker of grief crossed Cosamett’s gentle countenance. Kelber leaned forward in the chair, hands clenched on his knees. "But from what I could learn in Nylsar, no one has seen Orland’s First Loyal for the past two years. It’s certainly been that long since he pulled rain to us."

Maygor shuffled papers with impatient hands. "If the man is truly immortal, what could have happened to him?"

"Well, that’s just it," Kelber replied. "I can’t begin to guess, but another First Loyal would be able to."

He went to his mother and knelt before her. She was a small, delicate woman, the rose of her skin paler than that of her menfolk who spent so much time in the sun. "I want to go to Prand to find their King Neel," he told her. At her little gesture of dismissal, he caught her hands in his. "No. Hear me out. I’ve been told Prandians accept their First Loyal. They revere him. They don’t hesitate to tell where he lives. At the Crown, among the Eternal Trees."

"Darling…" Cosamett’s voice was soft, trembling with anxiety. "You don’t know what dangers might lie in Prand. They may seize you at once as a spy and I’d never see you again." She pulled one hand free from his and caressed his face. "I couldn’t bear to lose you, too."

"I’ll land in Falshane. That kingdom is neutral and it borders the Crown. I won’t even have to leave neutral territory to meet with King Neel. The Prandians will respect a lord’s son. Especially one who speaks their language well. I’ll be fine."

She sighed and ran the back of her hand across the curls of soft black hair that ringed her face. "But your coloring will mark you as Orlandian."

"Don’t you remember?" Kelber reminded her. "About the Prandian I saw at the Council Chambers? Relationships with Prand must be improving. Orland is starting to meet with their ambassadors." At Maygor’s snort of disbelief he glanced at his oldest brother. "Just because the kings are keeping it secret for now doesn’t mean it isn’t true. I saw him, Maygor. He was there."

He returned his attention to his mother. "This ship I’ve found—she’s not handsome but she’s sturdy, and the captain is an old man who’s sailed to Prand several times."

"To Falshane?" Trendarmon asked as he claimed the chair Kelber had vacated.

"No." Kelber looked over his shoulder at his brother. "To Veltok. But all you have to do once you reach the shore is sail north. Norporte, Falshane’s kingcity, is the only big city you’ll come to."

Kelber turned back to his mother. "Captain Vant says there’ll be no problem with wind power at this time of year. I’ve inspected his little ship, Matra. It’s sound."

"And its hire costs six months’ allowance," Maygor interjected. "No, Kelber. It’s an expenditure the lordshare can neither afford nor justify."

Kelber closed his eyes briefly and clenched his teeth. His mother’s hand, soft in his, trembled. He looked up into blue eyes that held a depth of sadness. "He needs to do this, Maygor," she said, her gaze not wavering.

While Kelber’s spirits leapt with joy, Maygor protested, his voice bitter. "You’re spoiling him. Just as Patra always did. Money wasted to satisfy a whim."

"Well, wait a minute." Trendarmon, who had been slouching into the cushions of the chair, straightened and looked at Maygor. "It will take three weeks to cross the Great Sea, perhaps a month or so to track down and meet with King Neel and another three weeks to come home. That’s almost three months’ allowance right there."

"All right," Maygor conceded. "And what about the other three months’?"

Trendarmon’s lips curved into the pleasant grin that charmed everyone he met. "If I went along and we combined our allowances, that would be six months’ worth."

Kelber twisted aroundt and sat on the floor. "You’d do that?" He regarded his brother with surprised delight. Although two years separated their births, they were almost like twins. The bone structure was the same and Trendarmon’s black hair was only slightly less curly than Kelber’s, but his eyes were deep blue instead of blue-green and they lacked the gold flecks and rings.

They differed slightly in temperament, however. Trendarmon was more affable, and not as inflexible in his resolve. Would he change his mind by the time the ship was provisioned? Kelber had planned to leave on November fourteenth, but now decided to move the departure time forward two days.

"I’d like to leave tomorrow for Nylsar," he said, "and sail on the twelfth."

Maygor’s gaze slid from his two younger brothers to his mother and then to Fye. "Matra seems to have made up her mind," he said stiffly. "But since an advance of six months’ allowance for these two," his nod indicated Kelber and Trendarmon, "might affect your spending in the next half-year, I must ask your opinion on the matter."

Fye raised her eyes to meet Maygor’s. Her fingers strayed to touch the pendant that lay at the hollow of her throat. It was an oval of blue corundum shot with needles of light from the rutile it contained. Kelber suspected she must be thinking of their father, for the pendant had been a gift from him.

Kelber had always felt close to his sister, but at this moment he could not sense her emotions. He hoped the sweet and gentle Fye would understand the depth of grief he suffered and his determination to avenge it. He breathed a sigh of relief at her softly spoken reply.

"I think it’s something Kelber must do. And if Tren wants to accompany him, well, he’s eighteen. Old enough to make his own choices."

"I might have known you’d agree with Matra." Maygor’s dark brows drew into a scowl. "Will you ever make a decision all by yourself, Fye? Or will Matra choose the one who places the marriage ring on your finger?"

Cosamett’s eyes flashed. "That will be enough, Maygor. You may be lord of the greathouse now, but I’m your mother, and I’ll not have you speak disrespectfully to your sister."

Maygor inclined his head to Fye. "My apologies." He pulled the account book toward him, took up a quill and reached for a blank bank draft.

* * *

While Trendarmon walked the sloping windward deck of the aged little sloop heeling with a full sail, Kelber knelt near the stern and clung to a shroud, his stomach churning. Captain Vant’s promise of ready winds had been realized. They’d already covered more than half the distance of their journey right on schedule after two weeks at sea. At least, Vant said they were getting close to Prand; Kelber and Trendarmon knew very little about celestial navigation.

Kelber gave his older brother credit for quickly picking up enough sailing skill to be able to spell Captain Vant for short periods of time. The ship’s owner was a coarse old man with a dirty gray beard, long greasy hair tied at his nape with a bit of leather cord and roughweave garments that stank of sealife. Although the name did not appear on her bow, Vant called the ship Lovey and seemed to have a certain affection for the vessel. She’d obviously been painted recently, but the muddy green color did little to enhance her shabby appearance. Still, she ploughed steadily along with very little tending and gave no sign of a leaking hull.

There being no trade between the continents, the travelers met no cargo ships; so, except for Kelber’s queasy stomach, the trip had been peaceful and uneventful. Now, though, as they drew closer to the shores of Prand, Captain Vant stood rather than sat behind the tiller, and he often used the spyglass slung around his neck. The weak winter sun was sliding down the sky at their backs when the captain took up his spyglass, squinted through it and uttered an oath. They had been sailing without a flag, but now he ordered Trendarmon to fetch one from below deck. "The one wi’ the blue field and pitchers of cows’ heads and horses’ heads on it," he said. "Then git below and stay there."

Before the flag reached the top of its halyard Captain Vant had altered their course to run parallel with a ship in the distance. Standing on the ladder to the tiny cabin with only his head above deck level, Kelber noticed that sweat filled the deep furrows in the old man’s brow, even though the weather was cool.

Kelber’s stomach knotted. Something was going on that portended danger. Trendarmon, standing the next step higher, muttered an oath.

For a time there was only the wash of the sea against Lovey’s sides and the snap of sail to wind. Then Captain Vant growled, "Di’n’t work. He knows m’ ship, e’en fresh-painted and carryin’ the flag o’ Falshane."

He squinted down at the two boys and shook his head. "I truly thought I c’d deliver ye wi’out trouble." His weathered face saddened. For a moment, he sagged against the tiller; then he straightened, his gaze sweeping over the little ship. "Take good care o’ Lovey, boys." He turned to Trendarmon. "Sail her close to th’ wind, like I showed ye. For all her sorry looks, she’s true. Sooner or later ye’ll make landfall."

Trendarmon took a few steps up the companionway ladder, leaned into the cockpit and gave the captain’s arm an appreciative squeeze.

"Git below," Captain Vant ordered gruffly, but his faded blue eyes acknowledged Trendarmon’s gesture. "Keep outta sight. It’s me he wants. He won’t bother to board Lovey if’n he gets me."

Kelber’s heart faltered and his limbs went weak. "Wait," he cried. "Those people, whoever is on that ship, they’re going to kill you?"

"One is," the captain said with grim acceptance. "By the grace o’ the Eternal One, he’ll not notice ye."

The nausea that now churned Kelber’s stomach was not from sea motion. Trendarmon caught hold of his arm but he wrenched free. "We’ll make a run for it! We’ll get away!"

A ghost of a smile touched the captain’s lips. "Nay. M’ li’l girl is a lovey, but she’s not that fast." He glanced once more at the ship bearing down on them. "Don’t sorrow f’r me, m’ lads. I knew it’d come to this, one day. Now git below and gi’ me one last chance to do a good deed."

Trendarmon caught Kelber’s arm in a more secure grip and forced him down the ladder. With numb acceptance, too sick with fright and nausea to argue, he followed Trendarmon’s lead in burrowing under stacks of foul-smelling burlap bags. He choked on the stench, his stomach threatening to upend itself yet again. He swallowed down the bile and closed his eyes, as if that could prevent what was about to happen on deck.

It seemed a long time passed without any sound except those he’d grown accustomed to hearing during the past three weeks—the creak of the little sloop’s timbers, the slap of the waves against her sides, a small rattle of chains or fastenings. He began to believe Captain Vant had been wrong. The people on that other ship were not a threat; they were just sailing the same area of sea, conducting their own business.

Then a rough voice called, "Ahoy, old man. I thought you’d retired. But I finally caught you, didn’t I?"

"Ye did, Grohs. On’y because I’m tired o’ runnin’."

"Then it’s time you got some rest, Vant."

Kelber heard the familiar, distinctive hiss of an arrow in flight. It was followed by a groan and a thump on the deck above them.

Kelber’s heart clutched with grief for the captain and fear for what might happen next.

"Want to make sure you got him?" a voice different from the first asked.

"I got him," the one whose voice Vant had identified as Grohs replied. "If he isn’t dead already, he will be within the hour. He’s carried his last message."

"Aren’t you going to board? Take the ship?"

As if the killers might hear the small sound his intake of air made, Kelber held his breath.

"What in Non’s Realm for? Vant’s never carried anything but information and the sloop’s nothing but dross."

Then there was only silence. Kelber’s head swam from the stench of the bags, from the wrenching of his stomach, from the agony of fear that paralyzed him. After a time, he was aware that Trendarmon had squirmed out of the protective coverings and left them thrust aside. Kelber sucked in deep breaths of air only slightly less foul than that of the burlap.

Night had fallen. He crept across the cabin and groped his way up the ladder. On deck, the shadowy form of Trendarmon moved silently about. The wind had freshened and he had taken down the jib and was reefing the mainsail. Kelber was glad for the darkness that made Captain Vant’s body only a lump against the cabin wall.

"What do we do now, Tren?" Kelber forced words through a throat gone dry.

"We try to save Lovey, as requested by one decent-hearted old sailor," Trendarmon replied shortly. "And, in the process, hope to save ourselves."

Kelber feared being left to fend for themselves, but the alternative was worse. "Think they’ll come back?"

"Why should they? Without anyone to trim her, a ship will go under sooner or later."

Kelber glanced at the captain’s still form. "Why do you suppose that one called Grohs killed Captain Vant?"

Trendarmon was silent for a long moment. Kelber tried to discern his expression in the darkness but could not. "I’m afraid," the older boy finally said, "you chose a spy for a captain and a Prandian counterspy recognized him."

Guilt washed over Kelber like waves over the Lovey’s bow. "By the One, what have I gotten us into?"

* * *

Captain Vant had told them they would reach landfall sooner or later. Days went by, and Trendarmon kept the little ship safely afloat, but he didn’t know how to navigate. Even if he had, clouds often obscured many of the stars at night and fog hid the sun for much of the daylight hours. When he could get a reading he felt sure of, Trendarmon set the sails to take them north-northeast, but they might have been off-course and probably were. The wind seemed to come from this side and then that.

"Shouldn’t we have reached Prand by now?" Kelber asked. "Captain Vant said we’d make landfall sooner or later if we kept close to the wind."

Trendarmon shrugged. "He was talking about the prevailing wind, Kel. On the Great Sea it blows west to east in winter. But surface winds, well, that might be another story." He forced his chapped lips into a small smile. "We must be going north, though. It’s getting colder."

He was dressed in layers of his own clothes and had added some of Captain Vant’s over them. Kelber and Trendarmon had buried the old man at sea, modifying their prayers to accommodate someone they hardly knew who had given his life to help them. Kelber, sickened by the memory of the arrow through Captain Vant’s right eye, could not bring himself to wear the man’s clothes, and he shivered in the cold sea air.

Trendarmon’s face, covered with black stubble, was gaunt and drawn. Afraid to leave the tiller, he slept with it lashed to his wrist so that any sudden swell would waken him. He’d shown Kelber what little he knew about sailing the vessel, but he always stayed close by and insisted on taking over at night. Kelber made a nest of the stinking bags and slept in the cockpit beside his brother. They spent their days watching for land, sharing the use of the spyglass, trying to keep Lovey in good repair, praying that the storms visible to the south would not come their way. Their exposed skin blistered, peeled and blistered again.

"We’ve been out here at least a month." Kelber’s lips were cracked and dry, his throat raw and aching. It hurt to push words through it. "We’re out of food."

Both of them were proficient bowmen, but the one seabird Kelber shot went down far out of range. They tried their luck with a fishing rod they found amongst Captain Vant’s belongings, but the fish they caught was so large it broke the line and left them without hook or tackle.

"That’s what comes of growing up privileged," Kelber grumbled. "We’ve never had to hunt for food."

"It’s not food that worries me. It’s water. We don’t have much left."

"I know." Kelber nodded. He’d had to severely tilt the water cask in the cabin to even half fill the flask sitting between them.

From his ever facing into the wind, Trendarmon’s eyes were swollen so that he could barely see. Kelber offered the flask to him.

Trendarmon shook his head. "I’ve already had some."

Kelber took a mouthful, letting it linger on his tongue before finally swallowing it. Fighting the desire to lift the flask and empty it, he recapped it with shaking fingers.

"Don’t you want me to steer for a while?" he asked.

The head shake was barely perceptible. "No, Kelber. You rest."

It was only mid-morning, but Kelber curled into the burlap bags, head reeling, stomach gnawing, muscles cramped. Hovering on the edge of sleep he came awake at the shuddering of the little sloop. The sails luffed. Lovey was not being held correctly to the wind. Alarmed, Kelber looked at Trendarmon, who drooped against the tiller, not even waking when it jerked his wrist roughly back and forth. Kelber struggled out of his coverings, and that alone exhausted him. He dragged himself to Trendarmon’s side and tugged at his brother’s clothing. There was no response.

With a sob, he collapsed against Trendarmon and grabbed at the loose tiller. He hadn’t the strength to move it. He heard a gull shreeing close by and saw it had landed alongside him. The bird’s eyes held such a depth of concern that Kelber drew back, startled. The gull winged away, and he watched it go with sorrow. Its gaze had seemed almost human.

So, this was the end of it, then. His noble quest, his grand attempt to save Orland, to avenge his father’s death, would die with him somewhere on the Great Sea. The Non would go on gaining strength and the firehills’ destruction would worsen. They would kill more good and noble lordshare owners and weary sharehands’ three-year-old grandsons.

Kelber hadn’t the tears he wanted to cry over the loss of his rash, lovable brother with the warm smile and charming manner. By the One, what have I done?

But the gull…Didn’t that mean land must be near? Yes, he thought he detected its rich earthy smell, the scent of trees and grass. He lifted his head enough to look over the bulwarks. But he saw nothing, only the endless sea.

As he sank into despair, a strange thing happened. The little ship nosed about and reached into the wind, her sails filling. On both sides, great green shoulders of water carried the ship forward. Each swell began with a long, wedge-shaped head like that of a horse. The edge of the waves rolled over along the powerful neck, creaming into snarls of mane. Green eyes glittered in the morning sun.

Hallucinations. Kelber let his head drop back to the deck. His last conscious thought was that the gull, which flew close overhead, seemed to be communicating with the sea.

CHAPTER 6

Chaff woke at dawn on December mid-thirty. He turned his head to look at Aeslin snuggled against his side and marveled yet again how such good fortune could befall a one-time stableboy. He eased out of bed slowly so as not to waken her, then stood looking down at her for a long time before donning his robe.

Their room was on the south side of the Hall. He crossed to the window that looked out on the flower garden, the same from which his lady mother had been conveyed by King Neel on that November day more than a year ago. What a series of events that had precipitated.

Lord Yoad’s starving of Lady Meave’s mare, for one. Yoad had pretended he wanted to draw his wife from wherever she was hiding, but really he had only wanted a target for his rage and frustration. Just as he had ordered Chaff beaten, not for disobeying orders but because the lady had favored the stableboy. Yoad hadn’t, of course, known Chaff was her son.

The scars were still there, ten-and-six rod lines across his back. Chaff smiled. Aeslin liked to catch him sleeping, kiss each one of the scars and set them burning with a different kind of fire.

He looked up into the lightening skies and saw a gull wheeling, floating on lazy widespread wings. In this portion of the kingdom of Draal the morning was clear; the bird could probably see the sun rising. Chaff sent his Awareness to join the gull’s. Using a technique he had learned from his father less than seven thirty-days ago, he co-mingled his LifeForce Particles with the bird’s and saw with its eyes.

The sun, a golden half-circle above the trees of the Crown, climbed and became a full red orb. Chaff felt its warmth, saw its light cover western Prand. Gently he urged his host bird to glide south along landsedge toward the neighboring kingdom of Veltok. He was curious about the progress of the rebuilding of its royalcity.

Already, at this early-morning hour, the stone masons were at work in Wasecha. Chaff wondered if Jeyr had increased taxes on smallshare holders—those who tended the flax and hemp fields along the kingdom’s southern borders—to pay for it. Since the fine harbor had been destroyed last May-beginning when the world started crumbling, the Veltok king could no longer count on the generous revenues he’d once received transporting lumber from the Holdings Chaff now owned.

Noting a wide band of sickly vegetation extending east from the royalcity, Chaff persuaded the gull to follow it inland. Splitting his Awareness, Chaff probed the LifeForce Particles of the affected area. Always-greens, underbrush and meadow grasses were barely surviving. The soil did not hold enough nutrients to adequately sustain them. The trail led directly to the stump of the Eternal Tree that had been felled by Yoad’s men. On that most horrendous of days, the Eternal One had given his First Loyal the strength to save the world, but clearly He wanted it known that the Trees of the Crown were the lifelines between His kingdom and His creation. Eventually, Chaff supposed, this third-of-a-league-wide swath of land that had been supported by the great tree’s primary root would become completely sterile.

Chaff pulled away and returned to the Holdings Hall.

"Are you back now?" Aeslin’s question was hesitant and softly spoken. Chaff had told her how he could co-mingle with birds and that when he did so his Being was not in his body. It was rather like experiencing a vivid dream, yet knowing he could pull himself back to reality whenever he chose. He always maintained a connection with his physical self and its surroundings, and he had known that Aeslin had awakened.

He smiled. "I’m back. I was just watching the sunrise." No need to mention the scar of dying land; soon enough it would become grist for the mills of myth.

She patted the bed in an invitation for him to join her and he did. She nestled her head into the hollow of his shoulder.

"I have to meet Tevony in the study," he said. "She wants to go over some accounts before the day’s work starts and we get interrupted."

Aeslin raised one hand and ran a fingertip, light as a featherstroke, down his chest. He caught her hand at his waist. "I really should get dressed right now and…"

"Leave, then," Aeslin said, her voice only a murmur. She slipped her hand free of his.

"Aeslin," he breathed, and again, "Aeslin…"

* * *

An hour later, while the pale winter sun struggled to light the corners of the oak-paneled study, Chaff pored over the account books, Tevony at his side.

"So, you see," she pointed out, "if we continue to sell lumber at the same rate as the past six months, the total amount of taxes due on January one will be five-hundred-twenty-three gold full-falcons, an increase of nearly a hundred gold fals over last year’s tax."

Chaff struggled with the figures. "But that’s a more than twenty-percent increase," he finally concluded.

Tevony set her quill in the hollow-feather holder. "Twenty-three, Milord," she said. "And our generous king is favoring your Holdings because of the volume of business you do. The other holdings and all the smallshares are being assessed twenty-five."

"And what excuse does he give for this monstrous increase?" Chaff flung himself back in the padded chair.

The message had come the previous day from Irby, the royalcity of Draal. Chaff had glanced at it, saw it had to do with figures and had put it into the stack for Tevony’s attention. He hadn’t even read the last page.

"You really need to read your letters, Milord," Tevony chided mildly.

Ignoring the justified rebuke, Chaff fixed his gaze on his firstservile. "Tell me, Tevony."

"He says it’s for the completion of the new harbor and moving the royalcity."

"But I’m supplying most of the lumber. And I know it can’t cost that much."

"Stone masonry is involved, too, you know. And King Alstin believes the port will pay for itself through increased revenue."

Chaff scowled. "Meanwhile, lesser smallshares and holdings will be repossessed by the king for non-payment of taxes."

Tevony shrugged. "They’ll still need hands to till the fields and fell the trees. What matter who owns the land?"

Chaff studied the beautiful black-haired woman thoughtfully. She had been a servile all her twenty-nine years. Like most in her class, it was a life she accepted. His gaze fell on the account books spread before him. And if you had a good master, life as a servile was certainly simpler than trying to succeed as a landowner.

They both looked up at the sound of running steps. A moment later Winky burst into the room. The little stableboy was trembling, and his face was ashen. "Nightfire’s hurt!"

Immediately Chaff conveyed himself to the black stallion’s stall. Restrained by several stableboys, the animal shifted about, wild-eyed. His hide quivered as if it were not attached to his body. Chaff’s heart lurched at the sight of Nightfire in pain.

The handsome horse had been a gift from Aeslin’s father, but the animal meant more to Chaff than only that. Just as Lady Meave’s mare had been Chaff’s connection to gentleness and caring, so the fiery black stallion had been his introduction to independence and determination.

Stablemaster Callum knelt beside the horse, his fingers gently probing the animal’s left foreleg. The stableboys, wide-eyed and gape-mouthed, stepped back to make way for Chaff. "What happened?" he asked Callum.

"According to Winky, the horse took a misstep. Feels like he may have broken a bone."

Chaff rested one hand on Nightfire’s shoulder and sent his Awareness into the animal. Yes, the bone was broken. Muscles and nerves were damaged, blood seeped around the wound. Chaff thought he could repair the tissue damage, but didn’t know if he had the skill to set the bone. He wanted Dowvy’s assistance.

He divided his Awareness, sending one part to summon the woodsprite, the other part to stop the bleeding and to ease Nightfire’s pain and terror.

Winky and Tevony arrived breathless from their run across the Hall courtyard. Eyes wide with anxiety, the little boy positioned himself in front of the horse. His small hands trembled as he stroked the velvety black nose, and Tevony watched Chaff with concern.

Dowvy appeared from the other end of the corridor. He would be illusioning himself to all but Chaff, so Chaff moved aside far enough for him to enter the stall. "Broken it is," the brushbung grunted as he laid a hand on the horse’s leg. "Observe ye how I do this."

Chaff followed the little brushbung’s magik as it flowed into the damaged bone, but although he tried to understand the healing process, he could not.

When the bone was set, Chaff used his Awareness to manipulate the muscle and nerve Particles. Restoring them to their exact positions required intense concentration, and he sagged exhausted against the wall when he’d finished. He murmured words of thanks to Dowvy for his help, and the brushbung reached out to touch him and lend strength. Chaff marveled at the woodsprite’s power; the One had indeed blessed His Keepers. The stablehands no doubt thought Chaff had been solely responsible for the healing. He felt a twinge of guilt at that, but respected Dowvy’s wish to remain unseen.

Chaff turned his attention to Winky, who seemed on the verge of collapse. "Nightfire will be all right," Chaff said gently. "But tell me what happened."

"On his morning run, I…he stepped on a rock. He stumbled, but I didn’t know how bad he was hurt until I got him back to the stable."

Chaff touched the boy with his Awareness and knew he lied. The deceit cut at his heart. He rubbed his face wearily, straightened and turned away.

Someone had alerted Aeslin to the trouble and she had joined him. Hand-in-hand, they crossed the courtyard and returned to the study. Tevony, who had followed them, collected her account books, said something about going to her office and left them alone. Chaff sank into the cushioned chair behind the desk and Aeslin took the smaller one beside it.

"Winky lied," Chaff told her, disconsolate.

"Oh, Chaff, no." Aeslin murmured.

A timid rap sounded at the open study doors. Winky stood there, his face pale, his chin quivering. He took a deep, shuddering breath. "I—I’ve come to resign my post, Milord," he said.

"And why would you do that?" Chaff asked quietly, although he already knew the reason.

"My…my sole respons…responsibility was to take care of Nightfire." The words were squeezed between strangled sobs. "B—but I…I hurt him."

His heart leaping with gratitude at the little boy’s confession, Chaff got up and went to him. He knelt before the ten-year-old and took hold of his trembling hands. "How did you hurt him?"

"I—I jumped him over a fence. That’s how he came down all wrong on the rock." Tears spilled down Winky’s face and his small body sagged. "I’m sorry, Milord. I’m…I’m really sorry."

Memories flooded Chaff’s mind, memories of seven years as a servile at Yoad Holdings without so much as a handclasp from any of the others. He pulled Winky into his embrace and felt his love for the little boy flow outward.

"You’re…you’re not mad?" Winky sobbed.

"I was very disappointed when you lied to me," Chaff said. "I thought you trusted me more than that."

Slowly, shyly, the boy’s arms came around Chaff’s neck and hugged him in return. "I…I do," Winky whispered. "I love you, Milord." Minutes passed before he drew back, eyes shining with tears of remorse but also of adoration.

"Then the incident is forgotten," Chaff said, rising. "But, please, don’t try to take Nightfire over any more jumps until you’ve grown a little."

Winky scrubbed his face with his sleeve. "Yes, Milord." He gave Chaff a tremulous smile and sketched a quick bow before whirling around to run down the hallway.

Chaff turned to see Aeslin watching him with misty eyes. He crossed to her quickly and leaned over to look into her face. "What, love?"

"You will make a wonderful father, my dear sweet Chaff." Her voice was soft and filled with devotion.

He kissed her gently. "And when will that come to pass, Aeslin?" They had not yet created a new LifeForce. When that happened, his Awareness would tell him at once.

She smiled. "I have ways to know when our love-union will produce a male child."

He straightened and eyed her musingly. "It won’t matter to me if our firstborn is not a male child."

"It matters to me. I want a son, Chaff. One who will look and act exactly like you."

"Ah, well. Father has said there probably will be no more Loyals for a long time."

She rose and flung her arms around his neck. "He doesn’t have to be a Loyal," she said, touching her lips to his. "He just has to be like you."

The warmth of her body, the scent of her hair, kindled again the pleasant fires. With a shake of his head, Chaff caught hold of her hands and stepped back. "Don’t do that. I’ve promised my people I will always be available during working hours."

She tilted her head to one side and laughed. "You’re blushing, Milord." With a glance out the windows at the courtyard glowing under a now-bright winter sun, she asked, "Would it be all right if the lord took his lady for a walk on the beach?"

Minutes later, hooded and cloaked against the December mid thirty chill, they were strolling the sandy edge of the Great Kind Sea. The water was calm. The storms that would beat the waves to froth and send them scudding over the sand would not come until after year’s-end.

Chaff looked north along landsedge. It was there he had first learned of his Awareness as, with Dowvy’s help, he had fled from Lord Yoad on a thieved horse.

So much had happened since then. He hadn’t learned how to heal as well as he wanted to. And his conveying left much to be desired. But he was good at casting his Awareness and at co-mingling. He sank down on a driftwood log and looked out across the vast blue-green sea. Aeslin sat beside him, her hand in his.

In the brilliant winter sky, a white gull soared far out over the water. Hardly conscious of what he was doing, Chaff joined its Particles and soared with it. It was a pleasant sensation. He looked down and saw himself and Aeslin holding hands, two dolls set out by fisherchildren at play and forgotten when Mamah called supper.

He slipped from his host gull to another farther out at sea and passed over a trading ship. The air currents were perfect, and he joined a third seabird that spiraled higher and higher, until landsedge was no longer visible. He was about to pull away when he saw a small sailing ship rocking in the waves far below.

He persuaded his winged host to fly toward it and sweep low across its path. Chaff knew nothing about sailing, but surely the little ship should not be wallowing in the swells like it was. It seemed out of control.

He guided the gull even lower, skimmed across the ship’s deck and saw two boys. One sagged over the tiller, the other tried to waken him. Chaff landed the seabird on the deck and looked into the face of the one who was still conscious. His lips were cracked and dry, his eyes swollen almost shut. Even through the gull’s LifeForce Particles Chaff could feel the agony and despair in that boy’s heart.

Chaff withdrew so quickly from the bird that when his Awareness arrived back on the beach at Aeslin’s side his body reeled.

"What is it?" she cried, struggling to support him.

"Two boys, lost at sea," he answered. "Aeslin, I have to join the gull again. I have to get their ship safely to Norporte."

"How?" Her eyes were wide with apprehension.

"The seawhinnies. The waterhorse-sprites. They’ll help as soon as I alert them someone’s in danger. Please, Aeslin, go back to the Hall. It’s too cold for you to wait here on the beach. I may be gone for a while this time."

"Chaff…"

Aeslin clung to him, but he had already found another gull and was winging back toward the drifting ship.

CHAPTER 7

Kelber woke to such warmth and luxury that at first he thought he was back in Maygor greathouse. But the bed was different somehow; and when he opened his eyes he beheld a small, brown-skinned woman at his bedside. Her black hair was pulled back into one thick braid and her gray-brown eyes watched him intently.

Although he didn’t perceive any hostility in her gaze, anxiety surged through him. Where was Trendarmon? His last memory of his brother was as a figure slumped unconscious over the tiller. Kelber drew a deep breath and willed himself to calm. The woman didn’t look like the Prandians he’d had described to him, and he spoke to her in Orlandian. "Where am I? Where is my brother?"

She cocked her head to one side, her puzzlement obvious. Without speaking, she got up and left the room. Relieved to be alone yet apprehensive as to where he was, Kelber lifted his head enough to look around. Heavy tapestries of woodland scenes in muted colors softened the white-plastered walls. Plush carpeting echoed the hues of the wall hangings. He didn’t know if it was night or day, for blue velvet draperies covered the windows. A small fire flickered in the marble fireplace. On the table beside his bed a tall lamp burned, its light diffused by an ornate frosted-glass chimney. The room, the soft sheets, his fine linen nightshirt—all spoke of wealth.

Realizing how tired and weak he was, Kelber let his head drop back onto the soft down pillow. Where was this place? And where was Trendarmon? Memory pictures flashed before him. His brother sagging against the tiller. The gull alighting on the deck and peering at him with such interest. The sea waves that had looked like horses. He closed his eyes wearily, only to snap them open again when people entered the bedchamber.

The little brown-skinned woman had returned with three others who were most certainly Prandian. Not only did they have milk-white skin but the oldest had silver hair and the youngest, a boy of about his own age, was blond. So I am in Prand, Kelber thought, but where? His heartbeat quickened and his fingers clutched at the coverlet. A brown-haired man in his mid-thirties came to his left side, and the other two approached on his right.

The light-haired ones stood close enough that Kelber could see the color of their eyes. They were brown, the pupils and irises ringed with gold, gold flecks in their brown depths. Just as his own blue-green eyes had the gold rings and flecks. He had never met anyone with eyes like his, and here were two people with the same coloration. The coincidence astounded him.

As Kelber stared up at them, his apprehension waned. He wondered about that. Here he was in a foreign land—he knew not what part—surrounded by people of obvious wealth and power. He should be worried, but he was not. Perhaps it was because all he felt emanating from them was concern. Still, he was hesitant to identify himself.

"Where’s Trendarmon?" he asked in Orlandian.

"He is asking about the other person who was brought in," the silver-haired man said to the blond boy. Then he addressed Kelber in Orlandian. "The young man who was with you will be all right. He is very weak, but he is recovering. He just needs rest." He stepped closer to the bed. "This is Prince Torin of Falshane," he said, gesturing to the man on Kelber’s left. "This is Idehla." He indicated the small brown-skinned woman. "She is the one who attended you when you were brought ashore. She soothed your sore eyes and blistered skin, but the rest of your healing can come only through rest, food and liquid." He laid one hand on the shoulder of the blond boy at his side. The affection he felt for him was evident. "This is my son, Chaff. And I am King Neel."

Kelber sucked in a breath. No! his mind cried. This can’t be true. You can’t be who you say you are.

Yet their clothing… The brown-haired man wore fine woolen garments and the blond boy was well-attired in linen shirt and breeches. Those two people could pass for royalty or nobility, but the one who called himself King Neel was dressed in coarse-woven servitor cloth of some kind. And meeting Prand’s First Loyal immediately upon arrival? No, it was just too convenient.

Kelber closed his eyes and pressed back against his pillow, his heartbeat once more accelerating. Somehow, the Prandians had gotten word of his quest and he’d been set up like a target at an archery contest. He felt an instant of giddiness—no, more like a soft brushstroke across the field of his mind.

"He doesn’t believe you," the one called Chaff said.

Kelber opened his eyes again and looked at the blond boy. The expression on the pleasant face was reproachful.

"No," King Neel agreed. "Perhaps he will tell us why. He understands Prandian, so I presume he must speak it, too."

A spark of resentment flared in the boy’s eyes, but Kelber did not think it was simply because he was Orlandian.

"If he’s a spy, he no doubt does speak our language," Prince Torin pointed out.

"I’m not a spy," Kelber retorted in Prandian, and tried to swallow down the trepidation that continued to threaten. "I’m the brother of Lord Maygor of Bodwyn."

The prince crossed his arms and studied him, hazel eyes thoughtful. "Yet you come into harbor under a Falshane flag, in a ship not registered to this kingdom or carrying papers of any other, and with six different flags of Prand in the cabin." The implied accusation was spoken without malice, and once more Kelber was beset with confusion.

None of the Prandians had threatened him in any way, but he was still skeptical of their identities. And if they claimed to be someone they were not, what did that portend? He drew a deep breath. "I’ll not tell you anything until I see my brother."

King Neel smiled. "Then we shall help you do that." He bent and slipped one arm under Kelber’s back. Kelber stiffened. He didn’t want to accept the assistance but knew he was too weak to walk without aid. "Here, lean on me," the silver-haired man said, "and we will go to his room. It is next to yours."

The touch was gentle, and strength seemed to flow from King Neel into Kelber’s body. Chaff came to support him on the other side, and Prince Torin ushered them out as Idehla once more settled into the bedside chair.

Kelber cried out in anguish when he saw Trendarmon. His brother’s face was clean-shaven and healed of blisters, but he was gaunt, the bright Orlandian coloring paled to near pink. He opened his eyes at the sound of Kelber’s voice. "Thank the One you’re safe," he murmured in Orlandian.

Kelber sank onto the bed beside him. For an instant, he felt his brother’s emotions—the relief, the love, the concern. Once again a memory picture flashed before him, of Trendarmon refusing the water flask, saying he’d already drunk his allotment. "You gave me your share of the water," he said. "That’s why you’re so much worse than I am."

Trendarmon managed a small smile. "But we made it, didn’t we?"

Tears sprang to Kelber’s eyes; his heart ached with gratitude for his brother’s sacrifice. He gestured at the Prandians and spoke to Trendarmon in their language. "These three, they say they are Prince Torin of Falshane, King Neel and his son, Second Loyal Chaff." At Trendarmon’s expression of disbelief, he added, "King Neel understands Orlandian, and Chaff can read my mind."

"He cannot read your mind, Kelber," King Neel said. "But with his Awareness he can read your emotions and sense your responses."

It didn’t surprise Kelber that the silver-haired man knew his name. Whoever he was, he possessed magik. So, too, did the one called Chaff. Even though Trendarmon was too weak to offer physical support his presence buoyed Kelber, who turned to face the three Prandians.

"How can I help but doubt you," he said brashly. "I come to Prand expressly looking for King Neel and find him the moment I set foot on land? Doesn’t that seem a little too coincidental?"

"No." King Neel shook his head. "I believe the Eternal One set this whole meeting in motion on November twelve when you sailed from Orland." Kelber was astonished that the king knew the exact date he and Trendarmon had left Nylsar. "Neither do I believe it was mere happenstance that Chaff located you with his Awareness," Prand’s First Loyal went on. "He called the seawhinnies to bring your ship ashore. Then he contacted me. I conveyed myself from the Crown and him from his Holdings." He glanced around, smiling. "And my daughter, Haehli, is on her way."

Before Kelber could respond to the king’s words he felt a difference, a disturbance, in the air of the room. A woman of about his and Chaff’s age appeared just inside the door. Kelber drew a quick breath and heard Trendarmon’s soft "By the One!"

She quickly stepped forward to embrace King Neel and then Chaff, bestowing light kisses on the cheeks of each. She acknowledged Prince Torin with a small curtsy, then turned her attention on Kelber. Again he felt the feather-stroke across his mind.

"Ah," she said, with a glance at her father. "Now I see what all the excitement is about."

Kelber’s eyes swept the young woman. Like King Neel, she wore blouse and breeches of cheap cloth and leather riding boots. She was beautiful, her features fine yet strong. Her golden hair was tied at her nape with a bit of thong. Her brown eyes had the same gold rings and flecks as her brother’s and father’s.

"What?" Chaff asked, looking from her to the king. "What is all the excitement about?"

"Oh, Chaff." Haehli laughed. "Look at his eyes. Use your Awareness."

Chaff turned to peer at Kelber more closely. The scrutiny made Kelber uncomfortable, and once more he felt the intrusive touch on his mind. He resented it, and let the blond-haired boy know it by flinging angry thoughts at him.

The brown eyes widened, the gold flecks flashed. "He’s one of us! A Loyal!"

Kelber’s mind staggered. That was preposterous…and yet, he did feel a kinship with them. An immediate closeness, as if he’d known them all his life. Bewildered, he fought the feeling, sure it was a product of his imagination.

Trendarmon grasped his arm tightly and put into words what Kelber had been questioning. "Don’t listen to them. Don’t trust them. They’re trying to spell you."

In Kelber’s mind, confusion wrestled with understanding, and he could only look from one to the other of the three brown-eyed Prandians.

King Neel advanced a step nearer and held out one hand. "May I see the undersides of your wrists?"

Even with Trendarmon’s warning fresh on his mind, Kelber could find no logical reason to deny the request, however strange it might be.

"Don’t let him touch you!" Trendarmon’s obvious anxiety caught the attention of the three Loyals. Haehli’s look lingered a moment, and Kelber saw the usual flicker of interest his handsome brother always stirred in young women.

"I think it’s all right, Tren," Kelber reassured him, but his voice sounded bemused, even to his own ears. "King Neel means me no harm."

He extended both hands to the king, palms up to show his wrists, crosshatched with fine scars. "My mother’s birthaide tried to kill me the morning after I was born."

"No," King Neel said softly. "She tried to save you."

Kelber’s stomach knotted. "From whom?"

"Are there Purists on Orland, too?" Chaff asked.

King Neel shook his head. "Not that I know of. But someone on Orland must wish ill to its Loyals. The birthaide obviously wanted to protect Kelber’s identity until his father, King Emmil, came for him."

"That’s nonsense!" Trendarmon tried to sit up but fell back weakly.

"If your mother’s birth helper had wanted you dead, didn’t you ever wonder why she didn’t just smother you?" Haehli asked. "Why go to the trouble of slashing your wrists? And only enough to leave scars, but not really hurt you?"

Kelber stared at the lines. "I have wondered, yes."

"She was mad," Trendarmon groaned. "Don’t you remember? Matra said the woman called herself a Diviner. Vol Dorend erupted that night. She ran to the vol and never came back."

"I think she was a Diviner," King Neel said. He brushed the fingers of his right hand gently over the scars on Kelber’s left wrist. The white lines faded; and beneath them, clearly visible, was the outline of an elongated figure eight.

"The Mark of Infinity." Chaff turned his hand so that Kelber could see the same design on his wrist. "We all have them," he said. "My father, Haehli, me. And we all have the eyes with the gold rings and flecks. I guess Orland’s Loyals are marked the same."

"We are all Loyal Serviles to the same Eternal One," King Neel said, releasing Kelber’s hand. "The thing that puzzles me is why King Emmil did not claim you when you turned ten-and-six. What day was your birth remembrance?"

"November first," Kelber replied. He took a shuddering breath, remembering the day following. "The next day my father was killed when Vol Dorend convolsed."

Trendarmon’s grip on his arm tightened. "And he was your father, Kel. Mid-Lord Maygor, kingdom of Bodwyn, continent of Orland." Kelber turned to look at his brother, saw the grief on his face, felt the anguish that tore at his heart. "Don’t you realize what they’re saying, Kel? If King Emmil was your father, that means Matra was unfaithful. Don’t let them tell you that. Don’t believe them." He tried again to sit erect and once more fell back, exhausted.

Chaff sighed. "That’s the hardest part to accept. I certainly had to wrestle with it before I understood."

Uncertainty plucked at Kelber. "My mother would not have deceived my father. She’s kind and sweet and good."

Haehli sank down on the bed beside him and put an arm around his shoulders. "And that is precisely the reason the Eternal One requested it of her and why she ultimately agreed." Kelber thought he should pull away from her, but he found he welcomed her gentle caring. "Just as my mother did," she went on. "And Chaff’s. They knew in their hearts what a great honor it was to bring into being a Second Loyal."

Kelber still could not reconcile himself to what they were saying. "But after so many centuries of only one Loyal for each continent, why did the One send two Second Loyals to Prand? And yet another to Orland?"

"Father thinks it may be because the world population is increasing and, therefore, so is the necessity for more of us, to guard the land." She shrugged. "But that’s only a guess. We really don’t know."

"They can’t give you a straight answer," Trendarmon said, "because there isn’t any. Listen to me," he begged. "They say your eyes are unique, that your scars hide a certain mark, that you are Orland’s Second Loyal. The Loyals have magik, Kel. Where is yours?"

Kelber shook his head. Trendarmon was right. He had none. For whatever reason—and he could detect no duplicity in any of the Prandians—they were trying to convince him he was something he was not.

Haehli, still sitting with one arm around Kelber, drew back a little to look into his face. "Yes," she said. "Father has the power to do many things. Chaff can stop motion and is especially good at casting his Awareness. My best gift is the ability to change the temperature of LifeForce Particles. I wonder, what is your specialty?"

Trendarmon pushed himself up to clutch at Kelber protectively. "Leave him alone," he cried. "He’s just my brother, Kelber. He doesn’t have any specialty!"

The exertion was too much for him. His eyes closed and he fell back limp against his pillow. Fear clutched Kelber. He looked around wildly, desperately seeking help for Trendarmon. Where was Idehla? His mind went in search and found her in the next room. Another of her kin, male and older, was with her. He, too, was a healer.

Kelber wanted both of them here with Trendarmon. Now. And then they were both standing before him, their expressions startled and confused.

Haehli leapt to her feet and stood looking at him, her eyes glowing, hands on hips. "Well," she said, smiling. "I guess that answers my question."

CHAPTER 8

Dowvy glared at Kelber, who drew back. Chaff read the Orlandian’s surprise. The boy hadn’t known he could convey the healers. He had done it without intent.

"Ask us first, ye could have," the brushbung grumbled, then stepped forward to lay a hand on Trendarmon’s forehead. In a moment, the noble stirred and opened his eyes.

"You’re back," he mumbled, looking at Dowvy.

"Conveyed two of us through a wall, your brother just did." Dowvy cast another annoyed glance at Kelber. "More magik he has than I thought."

Trendarmon’s gaze flicked to the three Loyals and Prince Torin, then again to the two brushbungs. "And I suppose you’re going to support their story that he’s a Second Loyal."

Dowvy shrugged. "Obvious, it is."

As an expression of resignation settled on his brother’s face Kelber regarded him with bewilderment. "You know this…this…"

"Brushbung," Chaff supplied. "They’re woodsprites. They possess magik and have the ability to heal." He nodded toward the two small brown-skinned people. "You’ve already met Idehla, and this is Dowvy. He took care of Trendarmon. My father conveyed him here from my Holdings in Draal. Along with me and my wife, Aeslin."

Chaff could feel Kelber turning that information over in his mind, like a squirrel examining an acorn. "Convey? Is that what I just did?" He gestured toward the two brushbungs. "With them?"

"You did," Haehli said, laughing. "And handily." She shot a glance at King Neel. "Father and I can convey only those to whom we have an attachment. And Chaff—"

"I’m still learning," Chaff interrupted, scowling. Evidently Orland had only one Second Loyal and he had inherited all of his father’s gifts.

Kelber turned to face his brother, his brow furrowed. "I think I did that with Patra, Tren," he said slowly. "One minute we were in the field, and the next under the trees." He shook his head, and tears of sorrow brimmed his eyes. "If I’d known then what I could do, Patra would not have been killed. I could have conveyed both of us away before the rocks started falling."

"But you didn’t know," Trendarmon said. "You did all you could. All you knew how to do." His anguish touched Chaff’s heart.

"You said you came here to find me," King Neel said, gently pulling the two brothers away from their renewed grief. "May I ask the reason?"

Kelber swallowed hard and drew a deep breath before looking up into King Neel’s face. When he spoke, his voice was firm. "I wanted you to help find King Emmil. It’s been about two years since anyone has seen him."

"Ah, then that is why he did not claim you."

Kelber shifted his weight on the bed. Chaff watched him struggle with his thoughts, then his words. "He can’t be dead. Loyals are immortal, aren’t they?"

"They cannot be killed by mortal means," King Neel replied. "And I do not think the Non has developed that much power. However, if your father chose to return to the Eternal One, he could have."

"He wouldn’t do that!" Kelber cried with conviction. "Orland needs its First Loyal. The Non is getting stronger all the time. He’s making the firehills convolse more and more often. And with fatal results. People are dying!" He dropped his gaze from King Neel’s and stared at his hands clenched in his lap, at the Mark of Infinity on his left wrist. "I loved Patra. I need the help of my…my other father to avenge his death."

"Vengeance is always an evil master, Kelber," King Neel said. "I am sure your father would tell you the same."

Kelber lifted his head. "Then we have to find him. He can’t be dead."

"Let us set your mind at rest." The Keeper King stepped forward, pulled the young Orlandian to his feet and turned his left wrist to the lamplight.

Chaff well remembered the night King Neel had called upon the grace of the Eternal One and blessed him with immortality. The experience had been so profound it had left him dazed. Now King Neel traced the mark on Kelber’s wrist and again asked for the Eternal One’s blessing.

Kelber watched the slowly moving fingertip, listened to the words and looked up into the Keeper King’s face with a puzzled frown.

"You felt nothing." King Neel’s words were a statement, not a question. "The Eternal One will not allow me to bestow the blessing of immortality upon you. That can mean only one thing. Your father is still alive. He will have to give you the blessing."

Relief washed over Kelber’s face. "He’s alive!" Uncertainty quickly diminished the elation. "But what’s happened to him? Why has he not made his presence known for the past two years?"

Chaff could think of one possibility. If King Emmil had offended the Eternal One in some way he might have been stripped of his powers. Chaff well remembered how the One had almost destroyed the world because a member of humankind had felled an Eternal Tree. It was only King Neel’s great love for the land that had gained him the One’s permission to save Prand. The Eternal One was gracious and loving, but He expected devotion and fidelity in return.

"Will you help me find King Emmil?" Kelber asked.

King Neel became thoughtful, as if listening to a voice only he could hear. At length, he shook his head and let go of Kelber’s hand. "I cannot go to Orland," he said gently.

Kelber stiffened. "Why not? You’re a First Loyal."

"Yes," King Neel replied softly. "Of Prand. My duty lies here. However, Chaff and Haehli will accompany you."

Kelber’s gaze shifted to them, his expression doubtful. "What can they do?"

Resentment flared within Chaff, but he quickly rationalized it away. The boy was a nobleman’s son. He had been raised privileged and would naturally expect to deal only with King Neel himself.

"You seek to locate your father," the king said. "Chaff’s Awareness is as strong as mine. If he gets within fifty leagues of King Emmil, he will detect him."

While Chaff appreciated his father’s statement of confidence, the idea of going to Orland made him draw a quick breath. He sympathized with Kelber, but he had no desire to leave Prand.

"Further, Haehli speaks Orlandian as well as you speak Prandian," King Neel continued.

Chaff’s glance flashed to Haehli. He hadn’t known the extent of her education and fought to quell his resentment of it.

Her face was flushed with excitement and her eyes glowed with eager anticipation. "When do we leave?"

"Tren can’t travel yet," Kelber objected.

"No," King Neel agreed. "But with Dowvy’s help, he should be able to do so in less than a ten-day."

Prince Torin frowned, contemplative. "That will bring you close to December-end. Although the Great Kind Sea is usually placid, January is not a good month to cross it."

"Because of too little wind or too much of it?" Haehli asked. Her own kingdom of Shubeck, on the eastern shores of Prand, bordered the Lesser Cruel Sea, an exceedingly turbulent body of water.

"Both," Prince Torin replied. "The weather is sometimes erratic. One day you might face storms, the next becalming."

"Neither is a problem," Haehli declared brightly, with a gesture of dismissal. "Chaff can stop the storms, and I can create the wind."

Trendarmon eyed Haehli with an expression akin to vexation. "And just how do you propose to do that?"

"It’s the collision of hot and cold air that produces wind," Haehli answered, smiling, " and I can heat or cool LifeForce Particles."

Handsome face resigned, Trendarmon closed his eyes.

Chaff’s thoughts were on Aeslin. On their marriage night he had promised not to leave her. Now, less than two thirty-days later, he was being asked to do just that. He twisted the wide gold band on his left middle finger. He did not look forward to telling her.

* * *

"Chaff, you know that’s not what I meant when I asked you never to leave me." Aeslin’s tone was gently remonstrative.

They sat on the lie-about in the bedchamber where they had spent their marriage night. Chaff bowed his head and stroked her soft hand held in his. "Yes, I guess I really did." He raised his eyes to meet hers. "I’ll not leave you in heart, Aeslin, no matter how far the One sends me." No need to tell her of his doubts about the trek.

"And when do you have to embark on this mission?" Her tone was overly bright, and her chin quivered a bit as she spoke. "Idehla says the boys aren’t ready to travel yet."

"It will be several days. And it will take that long to arrange everything. We’re to travel on a ship captained by a Prandian spy, so we have to sail out of Draal."

Aeslin nodded. Falshane could not jeopardize its neutral status by allowing them to sail from Norporte.

"Haehli and I will be in disguise," Chaff continued. "Kelber says there are no blond Orlandians."

"I can’t imagine you with black hair and rosy skin."

"It will be interesting to see how Dowvy and Idehla will accomplish that, although they assure me it can be done." He turned a little to take both of her hands in his. "While I’m gone, you’re to be in charge of the Holdings."

Aeslin’s eyes widened. "Oh, but I can’t!"

"Yes, you can. The Hall serviles know their duties well, but the Holdings needs a guiding hand, someone to keep it all going smoothly. You were born a princess. You’ve been taught these things. You can do it."

Tears filmed her eyes and trembled on her dark lashes. "Busy work," she said. "To keep my mind off the long days and longer nights while you’re gone."

Chaff cupped her face in his hands and with his thumbs tenderly swept aside the tears. "Don’t cry, Aeslin. I want to see you smile these days before I go. I want to hear you call me your ‘dear sweet Chaff.’"

He’d intended his gentle teasing to soften her anxiety, but the words had the opposite effect. Sobbing, she crumpled against his chest, her arms wrapped tight around him. "Just hold me. Hold me."

He pulled her close, his heart aching for a way to make her understand how he felt compelled to go on this mission yet how much he hated to be away from her.

"Aeslin," he whispered, "you know how I can co-mingle with birds? Would you like me to…well, that is…would it be all right with you…if I co-mingled like that with you?"

Blinking, mouth trembling, she drew back a little to look into his face. "Do you mean right now where we are, or…" she hesitated, "during a love-union?"

"Whichever way you want, Aeslin."

"Then…" she rose unsteadily, still clasping his hand, "during a love-union."

He got to his feet, body already aflame with the desire her love aroused, Awareness equally as eager to experience a heightened degree of emotion. Choking back sobs, she lifted a hand to caress his face. "My dear sweet Chaff."

He lifted her in his arms and carried her to the great soft bed. No rose petals on its sheets this eve, but none were needed.

* * *

Chaff and his three companions crouched close to the floor of the small cabin on the sloop Pride. She was easing down the Curlew at dawn, her papers having been cleared by the harbormaster the evening before. She was merely a single-manned ship following landsedge to the royalcity of the southern kingdom of Qwim, where she was to pick up two mercers returning to Draal. It would not do for a wary-eyed dockworker to mention he’d seen movement through the cabin’s portholes.

Chaff huddled, his nostrils filled with the odors of tarred oakum and his ears with the creaks and groans of wood protesting its iron and copper bindings. Through the open companionway hatch he could see Captain Rennel. The old man’s shoulders were squared, his expression unreadable as the ship cleared the river’s mouth and headed into the Great Kind Sea. Chaff had never been aboard a ship, but he had observed them from the Holdings. They had seemed much larger than the Pride.

While waiting for the captain’s permission to come on deck, Chaff examined the ship with his Awareness. The mast was spruce, sound and clear, from Chaff’s own Holdings. The sails were good close-woven canvas from Qwim. Keel, stem and ribs were all white oak from eastern Falshane, perhaps from those fine stands of mixed hardwoods owned by Chaff’s maternal grandparents. That thought diverted him from his mental inspection of the vessel, his memories bubbling up like froth on a lidded pot of boiling turnips.

Would his grandmother ever accept her bastard grandson? Would she one day forgive her daughter, Meave, now Princess of Falshane, for mating with Prand’s First Loyal? For, while everyone on the continent except the Purists revered Chaff’s mother for her selfless act, her humble acceptance of the will of the Eternal One, his grandmother did not.

"Yeh c’n come topside now." Captain Rennel’s voice dispelled Chaff’s gloomy musings. "But stay low f’r a bit."

Following the others, Chaff climbed the ladder. Sea air wrapped around them as they settled onto the storage lockers that lined three sides of the sunken cockpit area. Captain Rennel occupied the helmsman’s seat behind the tiller. Both mainsail and jib bellied with a fine wind. The flag that snapped overhead was Draal’s, a green field crossed with a black band of silhouetted always-greens outlined with bright yellow.

Chaff saw the forested lands of his home kingdom fast falling away behind them. He looked south toward the Holdings, picturing Aeslin waving goodbye from the beach. A flush of pleasure engulfed him as he remembered their first co-mingling. The oneness had been complete, his LifeForce Particles wrapping around hers, cherishing and caressing each Particle of her Being. It was such a delicious experience they had decided it should be special, not to become a part of their every love-union.

He wondered if King Neel had ever felt such elation. The Keeper King had mated with Meave and with Haehli’s mother, Queen Mehna, but only at the Eternal One’s request. Had there been even a little bit of human love involved? Chaff hoped so.

With landsedge sufficiently distant, Captain Rennel agreed they could stand. While Trendarmon took the tiller—he seemed to know a little about sailing—the captain prepared to dye his skin.

"Here, let me help." Haehli took up the wooden bowl containing the ruddy-hued dye and strip of sponging cloth.

"I c’n do it," Rennel grumped. He was a man of at least six ten-years and had no doubt handled the task by himself many times.

"I’m sure you can." Haehli smiled. "But why not take advantage of idle and willing hands?"

The captain said no more, but his weathered old face remained studiously impassive as she smoothed the dye into its creases. When she took up the gnarled hands and gently massaged the color into the skin, Chaff fought the grin that tickled the corners of his mouth. Rennel’s face had already reddened beyond the shade of the dye. Like Dowvy, the man could not refrain from adoring the gentle Haehli.

The Pride began to roll with the swells. Chaff’s stomach responded with a rolling of its own. He glanced at Kelber and saw that he, too, was swallowing hard.

After converting the gray-haired Captain Rennel into an Orlandian and stowing the dye and cloth below, Haehli returned to the deck. She stood at the rail quite unbothered by the ship’s action. Like Chaff’s, her golden hair had been dyed black and then short-cropped, as Kelber said most people wore their hair in Orland. If anyone asked, Chaff and Haehli were a brother and sister who crabbed for a living off the coast of Bodwyn and had found Kelber and Trendarmon drifting in their damaged ship.

Before again taking the helm, Captain Rennel gave his four passengers a critical look-over. Since it was quite possible they’d have to use their magik on the trip, they had told him they were Keepers. He did not know, however, that Kelber and Trendarmon were Orlandian. He thought they, too, were disguised.

"Yeh might c’sider," he told Chaff and Haehli, "usin’ their recipehs." He referred to the two dyes, one used to blacken their hair, the other to color their skin. "They looks more Orlandian than yeh do."

"They’ve been playing the part longer than we have," Chaff said. "They know quite a bit about Orland."

He had brought along the list of ingredients so they could concoct more dye if the need arose. Trendarmon reviewed it and assured them the same plants grew on Orland. "Though they won’t be Prand’s overwhelming vivid color," he amended.

The gold flecks danced mischievously in Haehli’s eyes. "What? You don’t like our beautiful, lush land?"

"I like it, all right," he replied. "It’s just so… so… well, so obscenely green."

Laughing, Haehli leaned over the elmwood rail to stare down into the water. "Oh, look," she cried, pointing. "A porpoise! They don’t live in the Lesser Cruel Sea."

"If you’re to pass as a crabber, you’d better let Kel give you a quick course on sea life off Orland’s shores," Trendarmon said.

Haehli turned toward the younger noble. "Would you, Kel?" She had quickly picked up on their shortnames for each other, and Chaff felt Trendarmon’s resentment of that. Haehli probably did, too, but she’d ignore it, of course. Chaff smiled at the thought.

Kelber’s rosy face had grown pale. He tried to reply, but instead leaned far over the rail and retched. The sight brought an immediate, similar response from Chaff.

"Oh, dear." Haehli turned away to lessen the embarrassment of the two Loyals.

"You can heal," Trendarmon snapped. "You could help your own brother, even if you refuse to help mine."

Haehli’s eyes flashed with anger, then she drew a deep calming breath. "Let me apprise you of the basics of healing. Keepers can do it, in greater or lesser degree, whenever it is the result of outside trauma to the body—wounds, poisons, things like that. But what the body does to itself, like nausea, the sufferer has to heal himself." She glanced at Chaff, now temporarily recovered. "You see? Kel will soon discover how to do that."

Not that it’s as easy as you make it sound, Chaff thought and spat into the sea. To distract himself from another episode, he cast his Awareness into the depths. Instantly, he was caught up in the astounding variety of creatures that inhabited the waters.

Some of the fish—cod, halibut, rainbow-sided salmon—he recognized. Others were beyond his range of knowledge. Casting farther away, he found whales of different types, and sharks. But beyond the typically fish-shaped sea dwellers were those of strange design—stringy-tailed triangles undulating like swatches of soaked black felt and fleshy lumps with writhing appendages reaching out from all around their dark centers. Crabs, larger than any he’d ever seen, scuttled along undersea ledges, their jointed legs folding and grasping. Unlovely creatures, but wondrous.

Haehli’s Awareness moved beside his along the sea floor, feeling the knobby projections composed of living organisms, touching the dull orange and garnet red of feathery little plants and animals. Chaff did not sense Kelber’s presence and wondered whether he did not know how to cast or if he simply chose not to. Perhaps he already knew all about the sea. Both Orlandians must be well-educated; the Prandian language certainly came easily to their tongues. Chaff fought to silence the raspy voice of resentment that whispered in his ear, reminding him of his own humble beginnings.

Kelber’s interest seemed to lie in Captain Rennel’s sloop. The Pride was a much trimmer vessel than the one Chaff and the seawhinnies had brought into Norporte. From part of the overheard conversation between Rennel and the nobles, Chaff learned the ship was forty-five feet long and fourteen wide, with a cabin large enough to contain a small galley forward and sleeping compartments aft.

"Sunk three feet into the hull," Rennel said proudly, speaking of the cabin. "For near six foot o’ headroom. She sleeps two comf’table. T’other two’ll be a bit confined."

"The Lovey wasn’t this big," Kelber said.

"Nor in this good of shape," Trendarmon added, "but Captain Vant left her to us, Kelber and me. I wish we—" He broke off suddenly. He must have been about to say something that would infer he and Kelber would never take Lovey home because they would not be coming back to Prand.

If Captain Rennel noticed, he didn’t so indicate. "Ah, well, when yeh get back from yehr mission, yeh c’n claim her at Norporte. The Falshanians’ll take good care o’ her, I c’n tell ye that."

They were well out to sea. The air was fresh and salty, the wind cool and steady. Great swells of green water rose in front of them. Chaff watched, fascinated, as the Pride, sails fat with wind, lifted her bow skyward, shook off wreaths of sun-jeweled water, then dipped into the sea again to re-festoon herself with the sparkling garlands.

Still feeling queasy, Chaff had been leaning against the starboard rail, but now turned to face south. "I thought I heard a drum boom." He nodded toward a bank of dark clouds roiling in the distance. "That means sharp-light bolts."

"We call it thunder and lightning," Kelber said, his eyes on the tumbling gray mass.

Fingers of anger pinched Chaff. Must the Orlandians always flaunt their superior knowledge? "Whatever you call it, let’s see you stop a bolt," he said hotly.

Kelber’s reaction came quickly. "You’re the one who’s supposed to be able to do that."

"And I will." The storm was still far away, might not even become a threat, but Chaff was now driven to prove himself.

He sent his Awareness racing toward the clouds, encountered the Air and Moisture Particles and pushed at them with his mind. A sharp-light bolt slammed into his Awareness, stunning him. He drew back, gasping.

"Are you hurt?" Haehli asked with concern.

"No!" he lied and cast again. Last May-beginning, his father had stopped bolt after bolt over Qwim. Chaff had marveled then at King Neel’s power; the slap of the sharp-light was a reminder that he was not King Neel. Chaff split his Awareness, worked around the bolts, dodged away from them when he felt them building around him. The moisture that collected on his face was not sea spray and the nausea that plagued his stomach was not entirely from ship’s motion.

This weather disturbance was small compared to the one he, Haehli and King Neel had fought. At that time Chaff had reversed the direction of rain clouds enhanced by the Non. Surely he could best those of an ordinary storm.

But the reversal would not be easy. As he had come to expect, the LifeForce Particles resisted. He set his mind against them, driving them farther south.

As they pulsed and fretted before his will, his Awareness found a ship directly in their revised pathway. Fah! Just when he had them moving as he wanted! He closed his eyes, gritted his teeth and pushed the Particles west. Their colors changed from dark gray and deep blue to tar black, their grumbles vibrated into snarls, their resentment of his interference heightened to animosity. He pressed harder, his own anger building.

Like a giant herd of great mad bulls, the stormclouds flung themselves into a churning frenzy, then drummed away. Chaff had the fleeting misgiving they had changed direction not because of his power but because they chose to.

"The storm has turned," Trendarmon said slowly.

"You can rest now, little brother," Haehli added softly.

Chaff pulled in his Awareness and sagged, forehead at rest on his hands. His fingers gripped the rail with such ferocity that he could not have uncurled them if he’d tried.

By the One, Chaff swore, I’ll not be goaded into making a performance out of my magik again.

He lifted his head. Captain Rennel stared at him with reverence. Haehli’s hand rested gently on his arm, but Kelber and Trendarmon regarded him with stony silence.

Well, so be it. He didn’t need their approval. He would help them find King Emmil and that would be the end of this forced relationship. The sooner, the better.

CHAPTER 9

Anzra approached King Jeyr’s temporary royalhouse with outward confidence. He wore a white linen shirt under a blue velvet vest and black velvet breeches tucked into knee-high black leather boots. His cloak was of fine wool. The card he handed to the gateguard was stylishly printed, identifying him as Lord Wilcher of Wilcher’s Holdings in the kingdom of Shubeck.

King Jeyr had been expecting him, and within moments Anzra was at ease in the brocade-upholstered chair opposite the one occupied by the Veltok king. He stretched booted toes to the fireplace and accepted a goblet of wine from the king’s servile. With a wave of his hand, Jeyr dismissed the servant and, when the man had gone, leaned forward in his chair, dark eyes eager.

"So, Wilcher? Are you going to build the manufactory?"

Anzra turned the goblet in his slender fingers, watching the purple liquid film the crystal. He could feel Jeyr’s greed. It rolled off the king like sweat.

"My Holdings is far south in Shubeck," Anzra said. "My southern boundary borders the Barren Lands, as a matter of fact. My property is too remote and far too small to support a manufactory."

Jeyr’s face reddened with barely-controlled anger. "Then why the charade of April-last, pretending to want to buy a large quantity of lumber?"

"My Holdings’ western border is the sea. I have been in contact with one who wishes to purchase your product. But logs, not lumber."

Jeyr’s fingers tightened around his glass. His nostrils flared as he drew in a long breath. "And just who is it you represent, Lord Wilcher?"

Anzra tasted the wine. It was a good vintage, from Shubeck, he suspected. "I speak for an individual who is agreeable to paying you a sum which will not only rebuild your royalhouse, but your whole royalcity as well." He glanced around the room. While Jeyr’s subjects strove to repair his damaged city, he had commandeered a Holdings Hall belonging to one of the lords of Veltok. It was adequate, but hardly suitable for a man of Jeyr’s tastes.

He was Prand’s youngest king, approaching his fourth ten-year, unwed, agreeable looking, with dark brown hair and brown eyes that at this moment were narrowed with suspicion. "Tell me more, Wilcher," he said.

"My associate is in great need of logs, especially hardwoods. He will pay you twice what they are worth in Shubeck." Anzra studied the narrow face for a moment, then added, "Or any other kingdom on Prand."

Jeyr sucked in a deep breath. He set the wine goblet down with a deliberate motion. "You’re asking me to conduct business with someone on Orland?" At Anzra’s slight nod he leaned back in the chair and eyed his guest with a calculating gaze. "I could call my guards right now, and you’d be swinging from a hangman’s beam within twenty-four hours."

"You could," Anzra said with a calmness he did not feel. "But that wouldn’t solve your financial problems, would it?"

Jeyr reclaimed his wineglass and took several slow sips, all the while observing Anzra over the rim.

"I suppose I owe you something for saving my life last May-beginning. If it weren’t for the fact I was out of Wasecha, I would no doubt have been crushed by my own royalhouse." He glanced out the window in the direction of the royalcity, then looked again at Anzra. "Who is this associate of yours in Orland who needs the logs so badly he’ll pay an exorbitant amount?"

Anzra did not allow himself to take a sigh of relief. Instead, he said, "He wishes to remain anonymous at this time. But I assure you he is a person in a position of wealth and power." He let that information settle while he took another drink of the Veltok ruler’s fine wine. "I’m sure you’re aware of the lack of timber on Orland. The continent never did have the resources of Prand, and what it had has been almost depleted. Your royal counterparts are unreasonably opposed to trading with Orland, but that is no reason why a forward-thinking monarch like yourself should deprive himself of the riches to be made by fair trade."

"It would be construed as dealing with the enemy," Jeyr observed. "And you know it."

"Who declared Orland an enemy?" Anzra asked. "Have they ever tried to attack Prand? Have they ever even intimated they would do so?"

"It’s only knowledge of our superior defenses that keeps them at bay," Jeyr growled. "I won’t agree to letting them get a foothold on Veltok land."

Anzra was rather surprised at Jeyr’s vehemence.

"If that’s a condition you set, my associate will agree. You could dray your logs to that protected little inlet ten leagues north of Wasecha, the one you call Scallop Cove, where they would be loaded on board ship by your own men."

For a while, Jeyr continued to study Anzra through half-lidded eyes, occasionally taking a sip of wine. Anzra remained outwardly calm, no trembling of hands betraying his inner uncertainties. He was counting on Jeyr’s ambition and greed to outweigh his loyalty to Prand and hoping he hadn’t read the signals wrong.

"I suppose," Jeyr said at length, "you and your partner have the operation laid out in detail. The method by which the ships would enter and exit the cove without detection?"

Anzra nodded. "The plan is well-conceived." It was, in fact, the way Orland’s spies had been arriving and departing Prand for the twenty-odd years Anzra had owned the property in Shubeck. "Incoming ships would arrive at night," he elaborated, "stand off and give one lantern signal. If it is not answered at once by similar signals on land, they will not enter. If it is answered, they will come into the cove. It’s doubtful a Prandian citizen would notice one flash of light from the sea. And, of course, the signal would not be initiated if a trading vessel or a seaguard patrol happened to be passing by between the Orlandians and the cove."

Jeyr nodded. "And the outgoing ship?"

"Would not leave until another was incoming, with the same signaling arrangement."

"Hmmm," Jeyr murmured. "A more or less continuous stream, then. They could move a goodly quantity of logs in a thirty-day’s time." Absently, he rubbed the rim of the now-empty goblet against his clean-shaven chin. "I’d have to hand-pick the men handling the operation. No information leaks, under threat of death—that sort of thing."

"And if someone did get suspicious, my associate is agreeable to halting the operation until things quiet down."

Jeyr got up and walked to the fireplace. He added another log, poked at it with a fireplace tool and stared into the flames for a few moments before he turned back to Anzra. "For the kind of risk I’m taking, I would expect each shipload’s payment in advance."

Anzra smiled. "That was anticipated and is agreeable. Just name the figure you deem equitable and you will receive it in flawless cut diamonds."

Jeyr’s dark eyes glittered as he reached for the bell rope to summon a servile. "More wine, Lord Wilcher?"

* * *

Anzra was astride the skewbald gelding he’d brought over from Orland long ago. The horse was short-backed and long-legged with a white parrot nose and broad poll, an animal so conspicuous a person who wished to remain unnoticed would never think of owning it. An ugly beast nobody would consider stealing, and one that could easily pace a hundred miles in a day. His name was Gip, and he stopped now at his rider’s light touch on the rein.

Approaching him on the track through Draal’s heavily wooded terrain were two young people in a cart drawn by one small horse. Both children were black-haired and stocky. Brother and sister, judging from their similar features. Anzra had recently passed the Hall of Chaff’s Holdings. He surmised this cart was on its way there or to the small village that lay nearby.

He raised a hand in greeting, palm out as was the custom of the commonfolk in Prand. Today he was dressed as one of them, wearing hempcloth shirt and breeches and heavy shortcoat. "Good morn, young folk. Is this the right track to Irby?"

He knew it was, but missed no opportunity to glean information from a passerby.

Exuding the smell of fish from under its tarp, the cart drew up beside him. The driver, a boy of about thirteen or fourteen, wore a shoddycloth coat that needed replacing, the sleeves too short to provide even minimal cover to his ungloved hands. In contrast to his poor garments he wore a ring with a blue stone set in what appeared to be true silver. The gem closely resembled the blue corundums common to the vol areas of Orland.

The boy shifted nervously and his fingers tightened on the lines as he looked up at Anzra. The girl, a few years younger, kept her eyes downcast, her hands thrust into the pockets of her hempcloth skirt. Anzra presumed they thought he might be a thiever and sought to set their minds at rest.

Keeping his hands in plain sight on the pommel he said, "I heard that King Alstin is building a new royalcity. I wasn’t sure if I should follow the same track as the one to the old location."

"Yes, sir," the boy said, his hands toying with the lines. "Hold to this track until you reach the Curlew. Then left to the new city or right to the old."

Anzra looked up at the sky, bright under a layer of high, thin clouds. "At least, I’ve a fair day for riding." He brought his gaze back to the young people. "Are you delivering fish to the Hall I just passed, or the village?"

"To the Hall, sir. And excusing us, sir, but we’d best be on our way before the catch stales." The girl flashed him a quick glance, and Anzra read apprehension there.

That piqued his curiosity; he decided not to let them move on so quickly. He shook his head, as if in admiration. "I respect the dedication of you fisherfolk. You must have been out at dawn, to get on the road so early in the morn."

"Yes, sir," the boy agreed. "We were out early and had good luck. But we do need to move on."

"It’s unfair for the people at the Hall to hurry you so. Surely, they won’t be serving the fish until this eve, and the Hall is only a half-league away. I’ve a mind to go along with you and tell the lord what I think of his cook’s ill treatment of young folk who fear to speak for themselves."

"Oh, please, don’t do that, sir. The cook is very kind. As is Lord Chaff. He is away at this time, but we work as Papah has taught us, and our hurry is our own." The boy reached one hand to snug his coat collar tighter. Morning light caught at the ring. The blue stone bore needles of brightness within it. The presence of the mineral rutile moved the gem from common to unusual. Orland was the only place Anzra had ever seen such gems.

"Well, then…" he said doubtfully, frowning. He let his gaze rest on the boy’s hand. "That’s a nice ring. Was it a gift from the lord you mentioned?"

The boy lowered his hand and clutched the lines. "No, sir. I found it in the belly of a fish. Of little value, no doubt, or the owner wouldn’t have been so careless as to let it fall overboard."

"Well, his inattention is your gain." Anzra smiled. "I thank you kindly for confirming direction," he said and added the standard farewell. "Safe track and fair weather."

The boy nodded. "And to you, sir," he said and shook the lines on the brown horse’s back.

His attention fixed on the track, Anzra let Gip go forward at a slow walk. He saw the less well-traveled lane from which the cart-horse had obviously entered, but passed it as if it had gone unnoticed. When he was sure the fishcart was out of sight, he turned Gip and backtracked.

It was possible the boy had found the ring in a fish. It wouldn’t be the first time such a thing had happened. But a rutilated corundum from Orland? Not likely. The tenseness of the young folk had raised the hair on his nape. Like a predator sensing prey, Anzra became Lynx.

With his throwing-dagger in one hand and the reins held loose in the other, he kneed Gip forward, one measured step at a time. His head swiveled as he searched the undergrowth for any sign of movement, anything that seemed out of place in the forest. When he could smell the sea he halted Gip and dismounted. Leaving the horse concealed behind a thicket of skyberry vines, he crept along an animal path that roughly paralleled the lane.

The fisherfolk houses came into view. As usual, several shared a common area—sons and daughters rarely moved far from home. Lynx hunkered and watched the activity around the group of grayed-wood dwellings. Numerous men, more than he’d expected to see—and no women—were unloading supplies from a ship at anchor in the harbor. The workers were dressed as fishers, but the material of their garments was not the tan hempcloth of Prand; it was the gray roughweave of Orland. Fingers of suspicion tapped Lynx.

The men’s faces and hands were all he could see, dressed as the workers were in winter clothing. Anzra had initially supposed their skin was red from exposure to the cold, but the rosy color could be due to their continent of origin. One of them rolled a keg of something off the dock and it landed on the foot of another. The injured one roared out a stream of profanity in Orlandian, erasing any doubt as to his land of birth.

Lynx drew a long, deep breath and directed his attention more closely at the vessel, which was screened from Draal’s seaguard patrols by a cluster of fisherboats at its stern. He saw now it was of a type called a hogger, little more than a barge with a bow, commonly used along the shores of Orland to move livestock. Wide of beam and shallow of draft, the ugly three-masted ship could easily transport seventy-five head of cattle and the feed needed to keep them alive for half a thirty-day.

It could just as easily carry two companies of soldiers and whatever supplies they’d need while crossing the Great Kind Sea, as well as a surplus such as that which they were now unloading. Judging from the quantity of foodstuffs being brought ashore in the dinghies, the men were laying in enough to see them through January.

They were Ott’s people, of course. What other of the lesser continent’s kings would have the cruel audacity to send men cross-sea in December on a vessel not intended for open waters? It must have been a miserable trip, indeed.

What was their mission? Lynx supposed they could have weapons stashed in one of the fisherhouses, and they might have a few horses penned in the wood, but to what end? What could such a small company of men hope to accomplish?

Obviously, they were holding the older fisherfolk hostage and sending out the younger ones to conduct the fishing and make deliveries as if nothing were amiss. On the fingers of the few Orlandians who worked without gloves Lynx saw rings with blue stones such as the one the fisherboy wore. But why give the boy a ring? The threat of harm to his family would be sufficient to keep his tongue well-behaved.

And why would common soldiers wear rings? They must have some special significance. What, Lynx could not imagine. He backed away, slowly, quietly, and led Gip along the path beside the track, his mind busy.

The Orlandians were on royal land, between the border of Chaff’s Holdings and the Curlew. Alstin’s spies must surely have told him they were there. And he hadn’t responded. Why? Because their numbers posed no threat?

Lord Wilcher’s conversation with King Alstin would be an interesting one, indeed, and carefully conducted.

CHAPTER 10

Once more attired in velvet and linen, Anzra left Gip at a livery and hired a carriage to deliver him to the royalhouse in Old Irby. He had visited the new city a-building at the mouth of the Curlew, on its south side. Lumber from Chaff’s Holdings was being used not only in construction of the royalcity, but was also being shipped to other locations from the newly dredged harbor. Watching from as close as practicable, Anzra was impressed with the way Chaff’s people worked. Their loadmaster seemed to be well-liked and respected, and the whole crew labored with a zeal not usually found among hiredmen.

Not so satisfied was the mood of the kingdom’s other residents. An undercurrent of discontent flowed through the streets of both Old and New Irby. A healthy "building" tax had gone into effect to be collected each thirty-day, presumably to pay for the new royalcity and royalhouse; but rumor had it that Alstin was using some of the monies to increase the numbers of his royalguards. While most Draals reluctantly agreed that the kingdom would profit by a seaport, they did not see the need for more protection when there was no threat of war from any quarter.

Anzra arrived in Old Irby in mid-afternoon, with enough time to bathe and change clothes before his appointment. The antechamber where he waited validated the king’s decision to build a new royalhouse. The gray stone walls were buffed to a mirror sheen, but the mortar connecting the dressed blocks had gone grainy and smelled sour. Some of the sections of glass in the mullioned windows were milky, and mold had crept in where bits of the lead caming had fallen out. Enough settling had occurred to heave some of the black floor slates. The resultant cracks and depressions had been filled with a mix of limestone, clay and pulverized rock. The irregular patch pattern suggested a giant face. The resemblance was disturbing enough that the page who escorted Anzra into the room surreptitiously had spread his fingers in the sign of the sunburst, Prand’s symbol of the Eternal One.

Anzra, the room’s sole occupant, was seated in one of the half-dozen chairs that lined the walls. The scent of linseed oil emanated from the table thoughtfully provided for those messengers who had papers to assemble or revise before their presentation. Anzra was tempted to draw aside farther the red velvet draperies partially covering the two long, narrow windows and let in the last of the day’s thin winter sunlight.

The outside door burst open at the hand of a tall well-built man of middle years. Thick, dark-brown hair turned under where it met his wide shoulders. His features were strong, marked by black eyebrows that slanted upward, drawing attention to short-cut locks of hair that curled against his temples. His dark eyes smoldered with anger as he tramped with deliberate step toward King Alstin’s audience chamber. He was reaching for the door when it abruptly opened inward. The young page caught a quick breath, then stepped back, collected himself and bowed. "Good day, Lord Vehlashal."

"Vehlashal?" The king’s voice from within the room held a peevish note. "I was expecting Lord Wilcher."

Anzra rose and addressed the page. "And please inform King Alstin I am also present."

Lord Vehlashal shot Anzra an annoyed glance and pushed past the servile, who followed him into the room to do as Anzra had requested.

"Come in, Wilcher, come in," Alstin called. As Anzra entered, he saw that Vehlashal had taken a defiant stance in front of the king. The lord acknowledged Alstin with neither bow nor formal greeting, and Anzra wondered about that as he himself observed the formalities.

"Lord Wilcher, this is my nephew, Vehlashal," Alstin said with an impatient flick of one hand toward the tall, brown-haired man. "Vehlashal, Wilcher."

The action and tone of voice surprised Anzra; Alstin wasn’t predisposed to incivility. At the king’s murmured invitation to do, Anzra sat in one of several large leather-covered chairs grouped around the desk.

Anzra’s presence didn’t seem to bother Vehlashal, whose attention was riveted on Alstin. "I do not appreciate being taxed at the same rate as every other Holdings in Draal," he said tightly. "You allow that so-called Second Loyal a two-percent reduction because of the volume of business he does but don’t confer the same courtesy on your own blood kin."

"I allow Lord Chaff a reduction because he is supplying lumber for the new royalcity, and I consider it an incentive for him to be sure I receive the best."

"You always have an excuse, Uncle." Vehlashal’s tone was cold and his hands clenched into fists at his sides. "What will you do if I refuse to pay this exorbitant increase? Send your royalguards to collect?"

Alstin’s pale face flushed. "I’ve heard that your fieldguard force is now nearly equal to mine, Vehlashal. Tell me, what do you intend to do with all your well-trained people? Storm the royalhouse? I think you might find that to be a very serious mistake."

For a time, the two men glared at each other across the polished birchwood desk. Anzra expected the vapid king to crumple under the younger man’s hostile stare, but that didn’t happen. Had the royal jellyfish developed a spine?

Finally, Vehlashal took a long, deep breath and his strong chin lifted. "I’ll pay, Uncle. But only because I regard it as a long-term investment." He whirled and strode from the room, slamming the door behind him.

Alstin massaged his temples and glanced at the page. "Leave us, but guard the outer anteroom door. I don’t want to be disturbed."

When the sound of two doors closing had assured their privacy, the king gave Anzra a grim smile. "I apologize for the interruption. Vehlashal is the sort of nephew who makes me wish I could locate some of the bastard children I’ve sired."

Anzra was amazed at how much King Alstin’s appearance had changed since their previous meetings. Although his body was still somewhat flaccid, his gray eyes were rock-hard, his demeanor equally so. When Alstin folded his hands in front of him on the desk, Anzra noticed he wore no rings. Though suitably royal, his attire lacked its customary ruffles and frills. His hair, which he’d once worn long and curled, was cut straight across the brow, the back bobbed at above-the-shoulder length. And perhaps most notable of all, there was no goblet of wine at his elbow or decanter of it in sight.

Alstin fixed Anzra with an unwavering gaze. "Let’s not play any more games, Lynx. I’ve been in communication with King Ott. "

Inured by his profession to never revealing surprise, Anzra’s only reaction was a slight movement of one booted foot. When and how had Ott contacted Alstin? The Deltarn king certainly had not revealed any such interchange when Anzra had met with him in November. How like the devious bastard to pretend ignorance of the planned smuggling operation.

A small smile softened Alstin’s mouth. "I know why he wants hardwood. Oak for the keels and stems and knees. Elm for timbers and rails." He leaned forward a little. "Warships, Lynx."

Lynx waited for him to continue, to see if he’d mention the landing party at the fisherfolk cove. When he did not, Lynx spoke. "My assignment as given was to arrange for shipment of all types of logs to Orland."

"Oh, of course," Alstin said wryly. "And if our greedy young King Jeyr doesn’t notice the preponderance is hardwood, so much the better." He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his smooth-shaven chin with the knuckle of one hand. "Within two years, Ott will have built enough warships to attack Prand."

Lynx studied the king with a practiced eye, but could detect no discernible emotion. "And why would you not try to thwart such an attack?"

Alstin abruptly pushed back from his desk and got up. He paced the room without speaking, head bent, dark hair shot with silver falling forward. At length, he paused and turned to face Lynx. "What allegiance do I owe to Prand? Do you think I don’t know that its kings and nobles call me ‘the royal jellyfish?’ That they say I was Yoad’s spittle-wiper, and that now he’s dead Jeyr’s taken his place?" He resumed pacing and was quiet for a time before speaking again. "When the Orlandians take control, they will need men of rank to run their affairs here. King Ott has promised me not only Draal but Veltok as well." He stopped to cast a sardonic smile at Lynx. "Then we shall see which king of Prand has the last laugh."

Lynx did not deem it appropriate to warn Alstin against trusting Ott. Instead, he said, "What of the Loyals? Once they find out what Ott intends to do with his illegal logs, won’t they try to obstruct him?"

Alstin’s pacing had taken him to the window, where he looked out at the gathering nearnight. "King Ott assures me they will be no problem." He returned to his desk and once more seated himself. "As he said, the Loyals’ primary concern is the well-being of the land. They pay little heed to politics. So long as no one makes a move to cut the Eternal Trees or otherwise damage the One’s creation, why should they care who governs?"

The offhand explanation did not satisfy Lynx. Even if Alstin didn’t realize it, Ott would be concerned about interference from Prand’s Loyals. While the Orlandian king did not believe in the existence of magik, he knew what influence the Loyals had with the commonfolk. No, if Ott did not consider King Neel, Chaff and Haehli to be a threat he must have conceived some plan to incapacitate them. The thought bothered Lynx more than he cared to admit, but, of course, it was not something to discuss with Alstin.

"So, then," Lynx said with a dismissive gesture of one hand, "it appears my assignment is completed satisfactorily for all concerned."

"Not completed," Alstin corrected. "Both Draal and Veltok are primarily forested with always-greens. Neither has enough summer-greens to supply Orland’s needs. Lord Wilcher of Shubeck will have to purchase the hardwood for his furniture manufactory from Falshane. Draal will be happy to act as intermediary, of course, having done business with Falshane numerous times in the past."

"King Ott will appreciate your facilitating the transactions," Lynx said. "And will remunerate you well, of course."

Alstin still had not mentioned the Orlandians who had taken over the fisherhouses. Lynx contemplated how to draw him out on that. "As you said, it will take a couple of years for Ott to build enough warships to launch a successful invasion," he mused. "Can you hold off your ambitious nephew that long? Or is he really a threat?"

"Oh, he’s definitely a threat. He’s hired all the fieldguards Chaff dismissed. The ones Yoad had sharpened up. Many of them were killed in the confrontation at the Crown, but the survivors are training new indentures in Yoad-style warfare. They’re even using those massive horses Yoad brought in to haul off the Eternal Trees. Young Chaff made a serious error selling them to Vehlashal. Of course, my dear nephew can be a charming individual when he chooses." Alstin leaned back in his chair, lips pursed. After a moment, he gave a bitter laugh. "But Vehlashal, too, underestimates me." He sat forward again. "Yes, I can defend myself against him until Ott is ready."

Something about his tone of voice, the amused expression in his gray eyes made Lynx think the king didn’t believe it would be two years until that situation occurred.

Lynx shrugged. "Well, then, it’s time for Lord Wilcher to return to his Holdings in Shubeck and make ready for the shipments of hardwood logs that will no doubt be lost at sea between the Curlew and the Barren Lands."

Anzra left Irby with as many questions as answers. Had Ott made special arrangements with King Alstin? If so, what were they? And Anzra still had no idea what the small Orlandian war party hoped to accomplish. Alstin must know they were there, yet he pretended his primary concern was the smuggling of hardwood logs. What had Ott really meant when he’d told Alstin the Loyals would not be a problem? And beyond those pressing questions came a smaller but equally perplexing one: what had brought about the astonishing change in the king of Draal?

CHAPTER 11

After Lynx left, the page rapped softly on the audience-chamber door. "Do you wish me to kindle the fire, Your Majesty?"

"Yes," Alstin replied absently, and the boy entered and set about his task.

With the fire properly drawing, the young servile once more addressed his king. "Do you wish anything else of me, Your Majesty?"

"Send word to Queen Linse that I have one more conference this eve. She may commence the evening meal without me, if she so desires. You will stay at your post outside the anteroom until further notice."

When the boy had sketched his bow and left the room, Alstin propped his chin in his hands and stared at the slow-burning flames. As the shadows of nearnight deepened, the audience chamber dissolved into soft gloom. Time and place metamorphosed. The lines in the dark wood paneling became the trunks of always-green trees; December’s gentle hearthfire became a June-night campfire.

* * *

Alstin sat beside the campfire in the summer forest, feeling empty, lost, defeated. Three physicians had examined him and all had expressed the same sorrowful opinion—there was nothing they could do. The condition that had always made him pale and tired was slowly stealing his life.

He glanced around at the wall of always-greens. It felt good to be camping alone. To have slipped away from the royalhouse and its attendant duties. Only Linse knew where he was, and the vacuous queen had thought his trek a delightful deceit. Of course, he hadn’t told her the true reason for his mission on this warm early-summer eve.

He was on his way to meet his nephew, Vehlashal. They had not been close, had, in fact, hardly ever conversed, but the man was next in line for the throne. Alstin would have this one secret conference, apprise him of the responsibilities, warn him of the dangers. Vehlashal was strong-willed; he would not fall victim to people like Yoad and Jeyr, come to rely on them for advice and thus become their servant.

Alstin drew a flask of brandy from his pack and took a long drink. It burned with an unusual fire tonight, searing his throat, scalding his stomach. He hated himself for needing it, wanting it. He set the open flask in front of him. He should throw the Non’s-own into the flames.

But he must keep some of the liquor for the return journey after his meeting with Vehlashal. He would need its numbing effect to give him the courage to add to it the contents of the vial he carried. He made a little sound of disgust—he hadn’t even the fortitude to end his miserable, pallid life without false bravery.

The other members of Prandian royalty wouldn’t be sorry he was gone. Oh, they’d make the obligatory sad gestures, and comfort Linse with the expected sorrowful condolences, but they—none of them—would truly mourn him.

Alstin shuddered as dread ran a cold finger across his nape. His horse snorted and pulled at its tether. Wild-eyed, the animal stamped and pitched. Alstin stiffened and peered into the darkness. A thiever? Well, a throwing-dagger between his shoulder blades would be a quick death.

Hearing no stealthy movements, he returned his gaze to the fire. Slowly, very slowly, the smoke rising from its center began to take form. Entranced, Alstin sucked in a disbelieving breath. A vaporous shape undulated above the subdued flames, its lower body amorphous, the upper part gradually developing into a Being. Richly dressed in fine garments, it hovered, fat and coarse, its round face split with a leering grin. A grotesque bloated caricature of himself. Heart slugging, stomach gripping, Alstin stared.

The smoke swirled, reformed into a bone-thin, pale imitation of a human clad in moldering hempcloth. The face, now no more than a skull covered with gray skin, still bore the wicked grin. The creature raised a stick-like arm and crooked a skeletal finger at the king.

Come with me. The unspoken words were thoughts carried in chilling wind rustles. Alstin’s mouth opened, and a wail of denial escaped his trembling lips.

Enfeebled by fright, he fought against Death’s beckon. He would die; his physicians had told him so. But not yet. In this final confrontation, he would select the time and place. He would choose the means of departure. And he had a mission to accomplish before he would succumb.

But, oh, Death was so insistent. Alstin felt it sucking away the flesh of his bones, the strength of his soul, the tenacity of his will. He wavered.

"Go with It, ye needn’t," a husky voice said.

For an instant, Alstin did not realize the words issued from a living throat. Then, with great effort, the king tore his eyes from the apparition and looked for the one who had spoken. A small brown-skinned man with bushy black hair stood just inside the circle of firelight. He wore cedarbark clothing and wooden clogs. A woodsprite. A brushbung. Alstin had heard of them, but had never been sure they existed.

The grisly spectre once more commanded his attention. Come with me.

Gripped in the numbing fist of terror, the king turned to face Death. Though Its eye sockets were empty of flesh, they seemed to contain the murky vestige of a malevolent expression. The baleful glare struck through to Alstin’s soul. He writhed in torment and closed his eyes.

"No," he moaned, rocking back and forth, fists pressed to his temples. The odor of rotting flesh filled his nostrils, sickened him, brought thoughts of his own demise.

"My physicians say I’ll soon die," he told the sprite.

"Nay," the brushbung insisted. "Recover, ye will, if listen to me, ye do."

The words, spoken with calm assurance, buoyed Alstin’s will to live for at least a while longer. Grasping at that tenuous possibility he lifted his chin, drew a deep breath and opened his eyes to look upon the writhing apparition. It contorted, shifted, shrank in upon itself, then expanded again. Bony hands reached, clutched at him; the hideous skeletal face clenched its teeth.

Come with me. The word-thoughts echoed hollowly through the still night.

The woodsprite stepped close and laid one hand on Alstin’s shoulder. Strength and warmth flowed from the touch, imbued the king with courage and defiance.

"I won’t go with you!" Alstin shouted at the spectre. "I won’t! Leave me alone!"

The fire flared. Red-orange flames spiraled, enwrapped the sepulchral figure. Sulphurous fumes belched, and the apparition was gone in a puff of bright yellow smoke.

Alstin sagged, so weak he nearly toppled face-first into the fading campfire. Would have, had not the brushbung still gripped his shoulder with one small brown hand.

"Thank you," Alstin croaked. He looked up into the lined face. "Why did you help me?"

Black eyebrows lifted over gray-brown eyes. "Our task, it is. Help ye needed. Sick is your body, sad is your heart and sore is your soul."

Alstin bowed his head. "Yes. Yes. I’m not much of a king. Ask anybody. And I am going to die soon."

"Nay. If liquor ye forego and apple tonic partake, heal your body will. Death ye heard call three times, and Death ye denied three times. Hard to find is more courage than that."

The king sat up straighter. His mind roiled with the events of the past few minutes. He turned his face skyward. Far above the towering trees, stars sparkled more clearly than he’d ever seen them. The branchlets of the cedars laced the night sky, intricate as the finest tatting on any royal tablecover. Alstin’s chest heaved and he drew in air sweet and pure. Soothing as distant harp music came the lisping rush of the nearby rill.

A fierce determination welled up inside the king of Draal. He would live. And he didn’t have to be "sad of heart and sore of soul."

He kicked the brandy flask into the fire. The liquid gurgled out and ignited. With frantic fingers, Alstin dug into his pack and flung the glass vial onto the leaping flames. It shattered from the heat; blue-green lights licked up into the June darkness.

Trembling with elation, Alstin turned to face the brushbung. "All right. All right. Where do I get the tonic you said would cure me?"

"Applemere Fruitfarm," came the immediate reply. "A league east of Irby, it is. The Keepers’ Blend, ye ask for. Three tall glasses a day, ye drink. No more, no less. Six thirty-days it may take, but better ye will be and continue to improve, ye will. Maxwin sent ye, tell them."

"The Keepers’ Blend. Maxwin. Yes, I’ll tell them."

The brushbung stepped away from him, raised one hand in the palm-out gesture of farewell and tramped into the forest. Alstin watched him out of sight, feeling a great peace settle on his heart, a great hope kindle in his soul.

* * *

The tree trunks flowed together, became dark and grainy, like the wood paneling in his audience chamber. The sound of the door closing brought Alstin all the way out of that summer forest, back to the royalhouse, back to the present. The man he’d been on his way to see that night in June now sank into a chair opposite the desk. The dark eyes, which had earlier blazed with anger, were soft now, the slanted black brows lifted a little with concern.

"Uncle? Are you all right?"

Alstin nodded. "I am, Vehlashal."

The brown-haired man smiled. "I thought we played our parts well, didn’t you?"

"I think so. I’m sure Lynx has talked with the good citizens of Draal and is well aware of the tax increase."

The grumblings had, of course, reached the king’s ears. No need at this time for his subjects to know that a good portion of those taxes had gone to pay for Vehlashal’s hiring of Chaff’s ex-fieldguards and the purchase of his horses. The Orlandian spy would no doubt report to Ott that the king of Draal, while having acquired a little backbone, was still prone to greed and vengeance. The clock in the Irby market square began to strike the hour of six. Alstin opened the cabinet door on his desk, withdrew a crystal glass and a matching decanter filled with amber liquid. He poured a glassful, leaned back in his chair and sipped the drink. Almost six thirty-days had passed since he’d started the Keepers’ Blend regimen, and his health was slowly but steadily improving.

Vehlashal got up and lit the glass-globed lamp on the corner of the king’s desk. As the younger man returned to his seat, Alstin regarded him with a fondness he hadn’t felt until these last few months of acquaintance. All the previous years wasted, when he’d dwelt on matters other than family. What a change one night in the woods with a spectre could bring.

"I suspect Lynx has located the men at the fishercove," he said. "He tried to draw me out as to whether I could defend myself against you until Ott’s warship invasion. I hope I was subtle enough in letting him know I didn’t think the takeover would be that long in coming."

It was imperative that Lynx report the forces Alstin and Vehlashal were raising were intended as opposition to each other. He must not suspect they were building an army to defeat that of King Ott.

"How many Orlandians have already landed, by the way?" Vehlashal asked, settling back in his chair.

"About a hundred, if my best operative is correct in his estimation. And another shipload is due in tomorrow. Ott wants to send about two hundred a ten-day, with an eye to having all eighteen hundred in place by March-end."

The Deltarn king seemed to think that would be enough men to infiltrate the royalcities and major Holdings Halls of Prand. His intent was to have them oriented to the continent’s customs and comfortable with its speech patterns by summer, when their coloring would make them almost unnoticeable. Once in positions of trust, they would attack and destroy Prand from within.

Contemplative, Alstin stared down at his desk. "When I spoke with Ott I impressed upon him the necessity of allowing the fisherfolk to carry on their work. I supposed he would hold some as hostages to control the others." He shook his head. "I can only hope they are not being treated too badly." Distress knuckled the king’s conscience. "This is the only way we could have accomplished our goal, isn’t it, Veh?"

Alstin considered his nephew to be an excellent strategist and trusted his judgement in matters of counter-espionage.

"Yes," Vehlashal said without hesitation. "The trap has to be loaded before we spring it. When Ott’s eighteen hundred are at the cove, we’ll move in and destroy them."

Not only would that quell the present threat, but it would serve another purpose. Prand would realize it had been complacent about its defenses, and, hopefully, Orland would be disinclined to try such a covert attack again.

"The one thing that continues to worry me," Alstin said, absently fingering the crystal decanter, "is Ott’s talk about the Loyals. For years, he’s made it plain he doesn’t believe in their existence. Now he not only admits to their existence, but says he can control them. It makes no sense."

"That may have been a ploy to pacify you. He’s no doubt heard how our Loyals saved the world from crumbling and knows you believe it."

"You didn’t see his face, Veh." Alstin gazed toward the dark rectangle of the window as if it were an opening to the past. To say Ott’s arrival in July had been astonishing was an understatement. The Orlandian king had begged audience as a lord from Qwim. His rosy skin had passed the test; he had been accepted by the royalhouse staff as a man active in the southern kingdom’s sun-bright summer weather.

"He’s a crafty, conscienceless bastard who came halfway around the world to assess our resources for himself. He was nearly slavering at what he saw." Alstin held the apple tonic up to the light of the lamp, observed its amber glow, then lowered it and sniffed the fruity fragrance. "And if he’d come a thirty-day earlier he’d have met a different Alstin. One who would have truly groveled at his feet instead of just pretending to do so." He took a sip of the liquid, rolling the flavor on his tongue, savoring its tart sweetness. It had a much better taste than the various liquors he’d consumed for so many years.

"I still marvel at the change in you, Uncle," Vehlashal said, and there was no mistaking the admiration in his voice. "And when Prand learns how you defeated Ott’s attempt at overthrowing the continent everyone will see you as I do."

"That would be a bonus, Veh. But the real reason I’m doing this is because my past frailties have put me in the unique position of being the only one who could entice Ott and ultimately destroy his ambitions."

Vehlashal regarded Alstin with quiet concern. "One slip, one miscue, and all of Prand will believe you invited Orlandians ashore for other reasons. Then…" he shook his head and let the words trail off.

"We can’t let that happen." Alstin lifted his chin, his silver-shot brown hair flowing back from a face set with determination. "I won’t die as a traitor. I’ll hand the reins to you with my head held high."

"Then let us pray that, for once, Lynx has been outsmarted."

CHAPTER 12

Although Prand and Orland did not openly trade, Captain Rennel assured Chaff and the others aboard the Pride that there was enough trafficking going on for sailors to have learned the best routes. Ships crossing east to west traveled the northern routes, while ships crossing the opposite way held to the south. At this time of year, that portion of the Great Kind Sea was more prone to storms. Their northern crossing was going well.

"Tell me, Captain Rennel," Trendarmon asked one day. "Have you ever heard of a Prandian spy named Grohs?"

Rennel’s eyes clouded. "Ah, that one. There be spies and then there be spies." He spat over the side of the ship. "Answers more to the Non than to King Jeyr is my feelin’." He canted his head at Trendarmon. "How do yeh know o’ Grohs?"

Trendarmon shrugged. "I’ve heard stories about him. I just wondered if they were true."

"If yeh heard his favorite kill is an arrow through the eye, that’s true enough. Grohs says it’s a fittin’ way to end a spy’s life." He shuddered and clamped his mouth shut.

Chaff wondered about the conversation but supposed it was natural for Trendarmon to be curious about spies, since their captain was one.

The northern shipping lanes, while calmer, were certainly colder. The four passengers spent nights in the tiny cabin, which could barely accommodate them. The only advantage of the close quarters was that they were reasonably warm while they slept. During the day, Haehli kept the surrounding air temperature pleasant.

"Don’t you find that tiring?" Chaff asked. "I can’t keep my Awareness active all the time."

"This amount of heat doesn’t take much energy. Far less than casting. Creating wind will be another story."

Twice she was called upon to do that when the little sloop’s sails drooped like bed linens on the drying line. If Captain Rennel displayed awe at Chaff’s power, he was in absolute ecstasy over Haehli’s. The gray-bearded man was no match for Haehli’s wit and wiles. He sought her company like a doting uncle whenever Trendarmon took over the helm.

The stubby old sailor fiercely guarded her privacy when she bathed and marveled vocally again and again about how she could heat a bucket of water so quickly. Her domination of the captain was completed the day she persuaded him to take a bath. Afterward, she combed and trimmed his straggly gray hair and beard. When she declared him to be quite the handsome sea wolf, his faded blue eyes took on new color.

Trendarmon scowled and glared through it all. "You can’t act like that on Orland," he told her when Rennel was out of hearing. "Our women are reserved and modest."

"And no doubt repressed and depressed, as well," she retorted. "Anyway, we are at sea, and I’ll not playact until I absolutely have to do so." She fixed the two Orlandians with a steady gaze. "We may as well utilize this time to learn something about your continent."

"I’d heard Prand’s commoners weren’t educated," Kelber said, "but they call one of you ‘princess’ and the other ‘lord.’ Surely you must have had schooling."

Haehli laughed. "Oh, my instructors tried, poor dear things. But I preferred to ride instead of study. Now, if you want to know how to persuade a reluctant horse to jump a stone fence, I can tell you."

Kelber turned an expectant gaze on Chaff.

Although it galled him to reveal his background, Chaff felt compelled to do so. "I spent nine years in an orphan home, then seven more as a servile at the Holdings I now own. Lord Yoad’s wife was my mother. He, of course, didn’t know that and neither did I, at the time. She taught me reading and writing and some geography and history, but she didn’t dare do much more. She was afraid if she showed too much interest in me Yoad would send me away."

"By the One," Kelber breathed, his eyes alight with compassion. "That must have been awful for her. To have you right there and not be able to acknowledge you."

Chaff averted his gaze. He had not been that quick to understand his mother’s feelings. It had taken him a long time to come to grips with the reason why Lady Meave had given him to an orphan home at birth and then later brought him to Yoad Hall as a servile. He knew now that anonymity had been his best protection against the Purists who would have killed him had they known he was the Keeper King’s son.

Chaff flinched as he felt the touch of Kelber’s Awareness. "We don’t intrude on each other’s private emotions without reason," he snapped.

"Sorry," Kelber said. "I just wanted to understand."

"Be patient with him, Chaff," Haehli admonished gently. "It takes a while to learn the rules." Her quick smile lit her face. "And know how to break them subtly."

Trendarmon had listened to the exchange with evident resentment and his tone was hard when he spoke. "If you three have finished your private conversations…"

He let the sentence die and drew in a deep breath.

So the daily education sessions were conducted by Kelber with only an occasional comment from Trendarmon, who took over the tiller while Captain Rennel slept. The four young people sat on the lockers in the cockpit while Chaff and Haehli learned something of the history, geography and politics of Orland and the names of the kingdoms and their ruling monarchs. The only one Kelber spoke of with any affection was Garlesteld.

"I only wish we had four more like him. Nobbik is all right, I suppose. Fair-minded, at least. Noridj and Wem are too busy trying to outmaneuver each other to do much for their people, and Ott…well, he’s in a class by himself.

"And speaking of class, Orland is more structured than Prand. We have three ranks of nobility: high lords, middle lords and low lords. The title is inherited, but isn’t necessarily permanent. It depends upon land holdings, wealth and political influence. Patra was a middle lord."

Chaff shook his head. "Our lords don’t have different titles, but their status is still implied. Yoad would definitely have been a high lord."

"And you?" Trendarmon’s expression was impassive.

"I guess so," Chaff admitted. "My Holdings is the wealthiest in Draal and one of the largest on Prand."

"And I don’t suppose it hurts being the son of the continent’s First Loyal, either."

Uncomfortable with the trend of the conversation, Chaff redirected it toward summarizing the resources of Orland. "From what you’ve told us, it seems your crops, animals, metal ores—everything—are very similar to ours."

Kelber nodded. "Just about."

"I can see why no trade developed. There really isn’t anything to be exchanged, is there?" Yet Chaff couldn’t quite believe the two continents were that much alike. Kelber must be holding something back. He tended to be defensive about Orland.

"The tersak," Chaff went on. "What about them?"

Kelber shrugged. "They’re predators and scavengers. Rather like your scroggies, but much larger. Wing spread six or seven feet. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, well…" Chaff waved a hand. "Some people say they’re mythical, like our giddyn." The image of the huge bear-like animal would be forever engraved on his mind. It had been the first living thing he’d killed with his magik. "But the giddyn aren’t mythical. They’re real."

"So are the tersak," Kelber said.

"And they do serve a purpose." Trendarmon’s contribution to the conversation was almost too casually offered. "They control the fire lizard over-population by preying on the lizards’ eggs and their hatchlings."

Kelber’s irritation at his brother’s comment was evident. "It isn’t likely that Chaff and Haehli will see any fire lizards."

"They might," Trendarmon countered. "We don’t know where our search for King Emmil will take us." He directed his attention at Chaff and Haehli. "The fire lizards live in the openlands, among the vols. They’re ugly gray-scaled beasts about the size of a pony with broad tails twice that long. Their legs are short, but they can outrun a horse over a half-mile."

He obviously intended his description to be alarming, and Chaff obliged by shuddering. "What do they feed on?"

"Anything they can catch."

Kelber scowled. "Rock hares, mostly. Sometimes they get revenge on the tersak by bringing down a young one."

"The only way to kill a fire lizard," Trendarmon continued, "is with an arrow down its throat when it opens its mouth. But don’t worry. Kel and I are both excellent bowmen. We can protect you."

"Or I could stop its heart," Chaff responded, "as I did those of the Purists who attacked my mother." The words were hardly out of his mouth than he wished them unsaid. He had allowed himself to be goaded into boasting about using his magik in a way that still haunted him.

The light of amusement in Trendarmon’s eyes was snuffed out, replaced by the glow of disgust. "If we do cross the openlands, we very likely will meet only the night gleaners. They know how to take care of themselves and we will have no use for your special talent."

Chaff drew an exasperated breath, but Haehli laid a quieting hand on his arm. "Who or what are ‘night gleaners?’"

Kelber glanced at his brother and when Trendarmon didn’t respond, he answered. "When the vols erupt, some of the rocks they throw out have gems in them. Diamonds, mostly, and peridots. People are licensed to glean the gem rocks. By law, they can’t do that until dawn of the day after the eruption. But the night gleaners live in the openlands and they don’t wait. They take their lanterns and go out as soon as the convolsion is over."

"If it’s illegal, where do they sell their gemstones?"

"Oh, come now," Trendarmon said. "Don’t tell me there are no illicit business dealings on Prand."

Haehli made a face at him. "Are you nasty by choice, or are you feeling unwell?"

Kelber chuckled.

Trendarmon stiffened, and his glance darted to his brother. "So, old Rennel isn’t the only one she’s spelled, eh, Kel?"

"Come on, Tren." Kelber seemed more nonplussed than annoyed by his brother’s sharp comment. "You haven’t been yourself for days. It’s not like you to be—"

"Perdition! A black smoker!" Kelber’s words were drowned out by Captain Rennel, who had just come topside.

The two Orlandians were on their feet at once. Chaff and Haehli responded more slowly, exchanging questioning glances.

"Hard a-lee!" the captain shouted to Trendarmon, then to Kelber, "Loose the jib and main!" The nobles leapt to obey the captain, and Chaff and Haehli grabbed for the railing as the little sloop heeled.

Dead ahead, a dark cloud bloomed up out of the sea. Like a giant rotting fungus, it rose taller and wider than the biggest oak tree on Holdings’ lands. A windspin brought with it the sickening scent of sulphur. Disturbed water boiled up around the ship. Its bursting bubbles emitted the same stink. Chaff’s stomach, at best uneasy, began to roll.

"Use your Awareness!" Kelber shouted.

Unsure what he could do, Chaff knew the first step was understanding the problem. He faced the black cloud and drove his Awareness into its Particles. He found chemicals and minerals he’d heard of but never studied firsthand. Copper, lead, zinc, manganese, sulphur—they were of the One’s creation, but in their present form not compatible with human life. If the fumes, hot and acidic, flowed over the little ship, they would kill.

Chaff divided his Awareness and separated the poisonous vapors from the water they had carried up with them. He was astounded by how different the Chemical Particles were from Air, Moisture, Soil or Wood. Their colors were dull yet iridescent, their sounds staccato bursts of strange but not inharmonious chords, their emotions chillingly severe.

All LifeForce Particles Chaff had ever encountered had resisted his efforts to stop their motion—movement was their natural bent. But the Chemical Particles were more evasive than any he’d touched. They tilted, rather than twisted, out of his grasp. It was as if they had planed edges so that they merely had to turn sharply and his Awareness slid past them. Calculating, insolent, brazen, their attack on the ship seemed deliberate.

Nonsense! Chaff’s consciousness cried. They are a part of the Eternal One’s creation. And you are a Second Loyal. A Keeper of the land. They will heed your command!

With determination as grim as theirs, Chaff clenched his teeth and drove into the Particles again. He would not let Kelber, Trendarmon and Captain Rennel die. He would stop the cloud’s movement, turn it aside.

Another Awareness slipped into the harsh mass. Kelber, experimenting. Get out! Chaff screamed in his mind, and the Orlandian quickly withdrew his distracting presence.

Even though the Pride was coming about, the enormous black cloud continued to drift toward them. But Chaff was acquainted with the Particles’ composition now. He knew how to catch them by their corners and hold them. Their colors winked red, purple and violet as they shifted, turned and slid, trying to flip away from him. Each change in position brought a grating new chord of sound, like saw blade against saw blade. Chaff clamped down with his mind and held them. Resentful and surly but respecting his control, they slowed, stopped and finally hung motionless.

Haehli joined him to work with the Air and Moisture Particles, warming some, cooling some. A gentle wind stirred, only a breath to shift the sulky cloud away, not enough to push the ship into it again. Then the Pride slipped across the swells and left the black cloud in her wake.

Chaff pulled back his Awareness, released the Particles and watched them foam up into the sky. He dragged in deep breaths of the cool sea air and slumped against the ship’s rail, exhausted. When he had recovered enough to speak, he turned to Kelber. "What was that?"

"It’s called a black smoker." Kelber’s face was drawn, paled to nearly pink. "A sort of undersea firehill. Most of them are charted, but a new one can pop up anywhere." He glanced over his shoulder. "Like that one just did."

"So you can do something with your power besides show off," Trendarmon said.

"Leave him alone, Tren," Kelber snapped. "You’ve harassed him enough. He just saved our lives."

As usual after using his magik in the proper way, Chaff felt a giddy oneness with all creation. Trendarmon’s words stung, but he knew they were true. "No, it’s all right," he told Kelber. "I was showing off before, chasing that storm. It was stupid and childish. And I apologize for bragging about…well, stopping hearts." He turned to Haehli and put an arm around her shoulders. "Thanks for the help."

"It took me a while to figure out what to do. I didn’t want to create too much wind for fear we’d sail right into that smoker thing. Sorry to be so late in joining you."

For a moment, the Orlandian brothers were silent. Then Trendarmon heaved a deep sigh and started to turn away.

Haehli’s soft voice stopped him. "It’s very difficult being the odd man out, isn’t it?"

Trendarmon’s chin lifted, and his eyes darkened with consternation.

"But you aren’t, you know." Haehli’s usual warm smile curved her lips. Before Trendarmon realized her intent, she stepped forward, embraced him and planted light kisses on both of his cheeks. When she leaned back, her hands at rest on his shoulders, his coloring was noticeably heightened. "We need you," she said, so earnestly there could be no doubt of her sincerity. "Kel doesn’t yet have the blessing of Infinity. All he has to protect him is Chaff and I and his older brother’s love."

Chaff sensed she was suddenly embarrassed by her own spontaneity, and that surprised him. Her hands shook a little as she slid them from Trendarmon’s shoulders and stepped back. Chaff had never seen Haehli flustered, and it amused him. It was evident her physical contact with Trendarmon had stirred emotions she didn’t want to recognize. Chaff glanced at Kelber and saw that he, too, had noticed the reaction, but the noble’s expression was one of disapproval.

Chaff turned away. If the Orlandians wanted to stay aloof, let them.

CHAPTER 13

Once more clad in hempcloth, Anzra urged Gip along the track south toward Wasecha. He had lost time in Draal, where a persistent snowstorm had necessitated overnighting in village inns instead of taking a more direct path. He was ill-equipped to camp out in bad weather and was glad that as he rode south the snowfall lessened.

By the second ten-day in January, he was well into Veltok. He had left the heavily-traveled inland tracks and now followed a faint trail. His only human encounter had been with a Qwim trader who had lost his way and was most grateful to receive Anzra’s directions to a better path.

Under lowering skies, the spy rode into Scallop Cove. He pulled Gip to a halt at the edge of the forest and observed the quiet inlet. Although the trampled vegetation and scuffed gravel gave evidence of recent disturbance, Anzra saw no one. He heard no sounds other than the mutter of winter’s discontented wavelets on the protected shore, and the distant grumble of the open sea.

With practiced eye, he observed the lie of the cove. A casual passerby would not have noticed that the walls of the cliffs descended unnaturally to the rock-strewn strip of beach, would not have realized the mounds of earth were actually mud-caked tarpaulins. Someone had ingeniously "planted" bushes and clumps of grass atop the coverings to help disguise the logs Anzra knew lay beneath.

"What brings you this way, friend?" The voice was warily casual, and Anzra turned to see a slender, well-built man in his mid-years, drawn sword in hand. Anzra had not heard him approach. That stealth and the presence of the long blade instead of a throwing-dagger marked him as someone other than a timber worker, even though he wore a cutter’s canvas clothes.

Anzra saw no reason for subterfuge. The man was obviously one of King Jeyr’s carefully selected crew, and, by his bearing, the person in charge of this operation. "I’m Lord Wilcher and I’ve come to assess the extent of the preparations for the arrival of my associate’s ship."

By this time, the guardsman’s gaze had reassessed rider and horse and his demeanor changed. He resheathed the sword, pulled off his knitted cap and sketched a brief bow. "Milord Wilcher. I’m Sergeant Shab, at your service, sir. King Jeyr said you might stop by."

Anzra looked around. "Wherever your cutters are hidden, I congratulate you." He indicated the hidden logs with a nod. "And that bit of concealment as well."

Shab’s thin face flushed at the praise as he tugged the cap back on over straight dark hair, the ends sticking out from under the knitted edge. "The men are quartered in a cave farther along the cove. Half our logs are ready to load. We were waiting to hear of a ship being dispatched before we brought out the rest." He waved a hand at the cliffs. "There’s a limit to how much we can keep covered."

"I can appreciate that," Anzra said and dismounted. "Have you perchance seen any light signals from the sea?"

"No, Milord. King Jeyr said we might and I’ve had someone posted day and night."

"Ah, well. I had expected a ship to arrive by now. Perhaps winter storms have delayed it."

Anzra followed the sergeant’s lead along the shore of the cove. They approached what appeared to be a thick wall of brush, but Anzra detected the thin cords woven among the limbs and sticks, effectively creating a fence. Shab pulled aside a bramble-bush gate that opened into a corral where two dozen heavy-bodied drayhorses dozed, bunched together for warmth. Anzra unfastened his bedroll and pack and handed them to the guardsman, assuming his role as nobility without conscious thought. He unsaddled Gip and exchanged the horse’s bridle for a halter Shab offered.

The opposite side of the brush corral was snugged against the cliff. A faint odor of woodsmoke drifted to Anzra as the royalguard led him that direction. Shab hesitated before a small opening in the cliff wall. "Tamarack!" he called out, and crouched to enter. He and Anzra duck-walked under the rock outcropping, then were able to straighten as they entered a large cavern.

Two men, royalguards by their stern demeanor and trim frame, stood ready, swords in hand, suspicion in their eyes. Seated around a campfire at the back of the cave, tin cups in hand, were four other men. They resembled each other in age and build—stocky, hard-muscled, strong of face and dark of mood. True to his word, Jeyr had picked only a few of his elite, most trusted guardsmen and cutters to work this job. Each driver would handle a six-horse team, able to drag a turn of logs—seven or eight at least—chained end-to-end.

Even though the fire had been placed to vent through small openings in the cave roof, the air inside the cavern was heavy with smoke. Blinking his eyes against its sting, Anzra glanced around. Two candlelanterns provided enough light to detect wire-bound rolls of meadow hay lining the walls. Supplies, bedding and foodstuffs were piled in one area, harness and chains in another. A brown pottery ale jug sat between the nearest cutters. Remembering he’d seen no hay in the corral, Anzra leveled a cool gaze on the two men.

"You and you, take a roll of hay to the horses," he commanded, "and see to it they have plenty of water."

Both men stiffened. "Who the Non gave you—" one began, but Shab interrupted him.

"This is Lord Wilcher of Shubeck."

The four seated men got to their feet with varying degrees of haste, bowed and mumbled their "Milords," along with the two guardsmen. The cutters who’d been ordered to take care of feeding the animals put down their cups of ale and set to work dragging one of the rolled bales toward the cave opening.

Anzra had long since stopped feeling guilty about his guise as lord. He had purchased his holdings in southern Shubeck with monies from the Orland United Royal Council. He had built a fine hall and bribed his official status from the Secretary of Holdings, and no one had ever questioned it. His property’s greatest asset was a league of pristine sandy beach where the region’s kings had been known to vacation, never realizing that less than two leagues south lay a secluded harbor dedicated to trafficking in espionage.

"Kael, take my place at watch," Shab ordered one of the royalguards, and after the man had snatched up a shortcoat and left, the senior guardsman set Anzra’s pack down beside a hay roll and motioned him toward the fire. "We’re sparing on our rations, Milord, and won’t eat again until dark. But if you’d like something now, I’ll prepare it for you. Or I can offer you ale."

"Tea would be appreciated, Shab, if you have it."

The guards and cutters exchanged glances, and a faint grin twisted the lips of one until he looked into Anzra’s eyes. The spy had long ago learned to emulate the expressions he’d seen on the faces of nobility and royalty. The gaze he leveled on the cutter spoke plainly: You are of less worth than a shoat, and just as easily butchered. The man ducked his head and turned away.

Shab fetched a tin of dried peppermint leaves and a cup to brew them in. The other guardsmen and timber workers again settled around the fire, although scant warmth it offered in the January chill. Anzra asked clipped questions about the weather’s effect on their operation: how much difficulty they’d had laying out a skid in mid-winter, what type of trees they had felled and so on. The answers were brief, not yielding more information than asked for. Whatever the cutters were, they were not loquacious.

"Shortly after the ship leaves carrying out your accumulated logs," Anzra told the sergeant, "a ship under the Draal flag will get lost at sea. It will be bearing a load of hardwood logs bound for my holdings in Shubeck but will end up here in this cove. The logs will be reloaded onto one of my associate’s ships." His cup held between his palms, Anzra waited for the guard’s reaction.

"Hardwood?" The sergeant’s eyebrows lifted, and his thin face tensed.

"Yes. The man owns a large furniture manufactory."

"Oh." Shab relaxed and busied himself adding sticks to the fire. After a few moments, he asked, "How long do you plan to stay here at the cove, Milord?" His voice was studiously casual.

Anzra laughed. "Not long. Only until I can send a message to Orland. Then I’ll be on my way. I have other urgent business in need of my attention."

During the long days he awaited the ship’s arrival, Anzra agonized over the contents of the message he would send. As an Orlandian, he should notify King Ott of the possibility of his plans going awry, even if Ott hadn’t mentioned his secret meeting with Alstin or the landing party at the fisherfolk cove. After playing and replaying in his mind the scene in Alstin’s royalhouse, Anzra had decided the Draal king knew about the landing. Further, the spy had a gut feeling that Alstin and his nephew Vehlashal must be collaborating, building a force to repel Ott’s men.

Yet each time Anzra took up quill and paper to pen the warning, something stayed his hand. From forty years in the past came an echo of Ott’s words, carved into the memory of a ten-year-old boy standing before the five kings of Orland. "Of what possible use could such a freak be to us?"

The "freak" had served long and well, and still it was not enough. At their most recent meeting Ott had again insulted Anzra’s integrity by insinuating he might try to divert some of the smuggling profits for his own use. And beyond Anzra’s personal hatred of Ott lay another fire, smoldering but not flaring brightly enough for him to see what was written in the flames.

To betray Ott was to betray Orland. But, in the end, Anzra compromised. He decided to withhold the information until he could sort out its meaning. He would return to the fisherfolk cove as soon as Orland’s ship arrived.

January stormed its way to a bitter end and February huffed its warmer breath before that happened. Shab’s man caught the flash of light far offshore at near midnight. Anzra immediately arose and went with the senior guardsman to answer it. The lantern was a lead weight in his hands, his cold-stiffened fingers unfeeling as they raised and lowered the shutter to signal the invitation to enter. Before dawn, the trader was in the cove, snugly out of sight behind a floating screen of woven brush.

Anzra recognized the captain. He had thought he might—Ott naturally hired the same men over and over. Zwik was not the typical grizzled old seafarer. He may have been well into his fifties, but his hair was still as black, his skin still as rosy, as a man half his age. He was lean and trim and ferociously loyal to Ott. When Anzra handed him the written message sealed with wax imprinted with a lynx outline, the spy knew the seal would not be broken by anyone other than the king of Deltarn.

With like care the small metal box from Ott arrived in Scallop Cove without a scratch on it. It, too, was sealed and was marked for the attention of King Jeyr. Too lightweight to contain coin or gold, it received little attention from the guardsman assigned to deliver it to King Jeyr’s temporary royalhouse.

Anzra’s message to Ott reported only that negotiations had gone well with Suppliers A and B and that hardwood from Supplier C would soon be forthcoming. As soon as the message was delivered into Zwik’s hands, Anzra returned to the cave to gather his belongings. He was eager to leave the dark, smoky cavern and the company of the ill-mannered cutters and surly under-guardsmen.

Shab helped him saddle Gip and secure his pack and bedroll. "Thanks for the hospitality," Anzra said as he swung up into the saddle. His gaze swept the log-loading in progress. The cutters were working well enough with Zwik’s crew, and the royalguards were posted as lookouts to redirect any curious passersby. "Next time I see Jeyr, I’ll mention your efficiency."

"A good word in the right place is always appreciated, Milord," Shab replied. He opened the brush gate and Anzra left the compound with never a backward glance.

CHAPTER 14

Fog lay on the Great Kind Sea like smoke over burning flax stubble. A gentle wind kept the Pride moving and Chaff’s Awareness guided the ship safely. Kelber and Trendarmon sat in the cockpit with Captain Rennel. Chaff and Haehli stood at the rail a few steps away.

"We’re supposed to make landsedge soon," Haehli said. "Perhaps I should try to dispel this mist."

Chaff shook his head. "No. Don’t use the energy. Besides, I want you to take over for me while I do a little exploring." He glanced up into the fog. "I’ve located some gulls. I’m going to co-mingle with one and fly inland. So far as Kelber and Trendarmon are concerned, I’m taking a nap. If either of them head for the cabin, wake me."

He went below, stretched out on one of the bunks and cast his Awareness. Within moments, he encountered a gull and guided it westward. He bade the bird fly low, and they soon passed over a jumble of small islands and rocky islets. A copse of gnarly junipers filled a small dell on the edge of a gravel beach suitable for a boat landing. Well-hidden beneath the trees was a wooden hut. Chaff detected two men within. He surmised they were the Prandian agents Captain Rennel had said would meet them.

After the gull crossed landsedge the mist thinned, and Chaff encouraged his host to soar higher. Among rocky promontories lay salt sloughs, drab in their winter dress of fallen rushes, where blue-legged herons hunted fish.

Chaff and his host passed through the tattered edge of the fog and flew under a high, thin overcast. Here, farther inland, patches of purplish-green gorse relieved the tan monotony of dead grass. Chaff did not probe deeply with his Awareness, but touched the land enough to know it was inhabited only by deer-like animals, hares, rodents and numerous waterfowl. He found no more humans. And certainly not Orland’s First Loyal.

Far away across the broad, rough expanse, skylands ragged the horizon. That must be the vol country Kelber and Trendarmon had mentioned. Chaff urged the gull to fly toward it. The land became increasingly inhospitable. It was hardly more than rock scrabble, where plants were loath to set root and his seabird reluctant to visit.

An unpleasant sulphur odor came faintly on the cold wind, which also bore minute particles of a gray ashy substance. The gull began to resist its guest’s control. Chaff had never seen terrain like this and wanted to examine it further. He exerted his will on the bird, but the nearer it flew to the cone-shaped hills the more agitated it became. Soon Chaff was directing so much energy at combating the gull that he could not concentrate on his exploring. Miffed, he let the bird turn back toward the sea and felt a twinge of guilt when he sensed its relief.

Haehli called to him. He withdrew from the seabird, and an instant later felt the touch of his sister’s hand on his shoulder. "Wake up, Chaff. We’re nearing Orland." When he had collected his thoughts and sat up, she smiled at him. "Did you find King Emmil?"

Chaff returned the smile. Why did he ever try to fool Haehli? "No. But I can’t cast very far when I’m co-mingled. I’ll try again when we’re ashore."

"Don’t be successful too soon," she said. "I’d like to spend a little time in Orland."

Time in Orland, Chaff wondered, or time with Trendarmon? Perhaps the Orlandians were correct in standing aloof. What could possibly come of even a friendly relationship between people of two different continents?

On deck, Chaff stood ready to offer his guidance for landing, but it was not needed. Captain Rennel threaded through the numerous small islands—many no more than huge rocks—with the use of a sounding pole and knowledge born of experience. Kelber identified the remote site as part of north Bodwyn.

Rennel’s contacts, disguised Prandians, came out to greet the ship. Within the hour the new arrivals had eaten breakfast and Chaff and Haehli had exchanged their clothing for garments made of a material the Orlandians called roughweave cotton. Haehli laughed at her riding breeches. The bottom edges were so wide-cut they gave the impression of an ankle-length skirt. Kelber and Trendarmon donned good quality woolens, suitable for nobility.

"Are yeh sure yeh know the way?" Captain Rennel’s face wrinkled, his concern directed mostly at Haehli.

"We’ve studied the maps," Kelber answered. "And we’ve been to Orland before. We can manage. But what about you? Will you be able to stand off here until we finish the assignment and need to go home?"

"I’ll stand off," Rennel replied and grinned. "Yehr employer paid me well."

He had no way of knowing that his "employer" was Chaff; nor that the two Orlandians, if they so desired, could have them all captured and executed in half a ten-day. Chaff bade the old captain farewell with reluctance. He wished he could climb back aboard ship and set sail for home. While he felt duty-bound to help a fellow Loyal, he feared this strange land; foreboding lay a heavy hand on his shoulder.

Once more he cast his Awareness, let it sweep across the land, searching, searching for a man whose LifeForce Chaff was sure he would recognize at first contact. But there was no such immortal human in north Bodwyn.

The Prandian spies supplied them with food and mounts, hardy skewbalds well-suited for traversing rough country. The four riders left the remote cove and headed south. As Chaff had glimpsed from the air, the land was hilly, hummocky and nearly treeless, the grass a reddish-brown. So far he’d seen no vegetation that was truly green—every growing thing was tinged with red. Other than that, his surroundings reminded him of Bloss, except that Prand’s smallest kingdom had more summer-greens than this place.

Succumbing to his homesickness, he cast his Awareness, this time seeking not a First Loyal but familiar LifeForce Particles. Those he encountered were not exactly like Prand’s, but they had been created by the same Eternal One. The abiding presence of the One eased his mind.

"Take note of the trail," Kelber advised. "Tren and I may not be able to get away to lead you back."

They were riding single file on a narrow path that wound down one side of a rocky gorge and up the other. A quick retort was on Chaff’s lips, but he bit it back, only to hear Kelber voice the thought anyway.

"Oh, I forgot." The nobleman looked over his shoulder. "You can just cast your Awareness and find Rennel."

"Can’t you do the same?" Chaff asked, gesturing around them. "Can’t you feel any of this?"

"I’m a bit leery of trying. The last time I did I was told to get out."

Although Kelber had turned to face forward again, Chaff felt compelled to apologize. "I’m sorry for saying that. I was concentrating on working with the Particles of that black smoker thing. You were distracting me."

Kelber didn’t acknowledge the apology. "Anyway," he said, "there’s not much here to feel. A few wild animals, maybe. It never was a heavily populated area and is even less so since May of last year. The day of Prand’s great storm, this area suffered severe groundshakes. For some reason that adversely affected the quality of the soil."

Chaff sent his Awareness into the earth. It was sterile. His thoughts flashed to the swath of similarly dead land in Veltok. "Where would this piece of Orland be in relation to Prand?"

Twisting around in the saddle, Kelber fixed Chaff with a knowing look. "Directly across the Great Sea from Veltok’s kingcity of Wasecha." He faced forward again. "I made a point of researching it in the university library."

The Eternal Tree’s roots had reached to Orland. And King Neel had followed them with his mind. Was he always able to reach that far, or was it only because he had begged and received the Eternal One’s help on that momentous day?

"So," Kelber said, without looking back, "I guess you haven’t found King Emmil yet."

Irritation flared through Chaff. The noble still doubted his casting abilities. With difficulty, he made his response civil. "No. And I’ve checked all of this area, right up to the firehills."

Kelber did not pursue the topic, and Chaff glanced up at the sky, glad it was overcast. Blue sky would only remind him of Aeslin’s eyes, and he already yearned for her with an intensity that squeezed his heart. He buttoned his jacket and knew it was not Orland’s winter wind that chilled him but a sudden draft of loneliness.

The cove where they had landed was five day’s ride from Maygor Lordshare. Kelber and Trendarmon were eager to get home, and Chaff could well understand that. They rode hard, and it was past noonday before they stopped at trailside to eat. As they unwrapped their breadbits, dried meats and fruits, Chaff viewed their surroundings. In the distance a structure reflected the clouds, and he cast his Awareness toward it.

"That’s amazing!" he exclaimed, impressed with what he found. "I’ve never seen a building made entirely of glass. And there are plants growing inside!"

Kelber followed his gaze and nodded. "A hothouse. We grow crops in there, year around."

"It’s huge. They’re plowing inside with teams of horses." Chaff shook his head at the marvel. "What a tremendous asset." In Prand, the far southern lands grew crops nearly all year, but most of the continent had to rely on storing and preserving of some sort.

"And the heat comes from the vol country." Chaff shielded his eyes with one hand, peering west at the neat-appearing triangles that serrated the horizon’s edge.

"Yes," Kelber acknowledged sharply.

Taking no heed of the tone, Chaff asked, "What other benefits do the vols provide?"

"Death benefits," Kelber snapped. "My oldest brother is now the lord of Maygor lands."

Contrition stung Chaff. He had forgotten how Kelber’s Patra had died. "I’m sorry," he began. "I didn’t think…" Then consternation clamped his lips shut. Men died in such accidents all the time. Their families didn’t blame the sea for drowning them or the tree for falling upon them. But Kelber had hinted of his dislike for the vols before; Chaff should have spoken with more tact.

As they rode south, the land became more populated. They passed through villages and along tracks that divided acres of fields, fallow now but showing signs of crop residue. Although hothouses were scattered around the countryside, the Orlandians evidently also farmed in the conventional way. An occasional whippet of winter wind brought the unpleasant but familiar scent of livestock pens. By nearnight the riders were within sight of another town. They drew rein at the top of a small knoll.

"That’s Lesha," Kelber said, nodding toward the cluster of buildings. "We’ll stay there overnight. Remember, you won’t be expected to say anything." While aboard ship, Haehli had refreshed her Orlandian and Chaff had learned a few key words and phrases but hoped they would not be tested. "You are working-class, not servitors," Kelber went on, "but, still, when you’re in the company of nobility we speak for you. You won’t exactly be expected to wait on us, but you will treat us with a certain respect as befits our higher station."

Chaff glanced at Haehli. If playing a servile role bothered her she didn’t show it. No matter what, he thought, in her heart she’s royalty. Not like me. Though I’m now lord of the wealthiest holdings in Draal, I guess I’ll always be a servile.

But he was a lord, plague take it! He turned a hostile gaze on Kelber, who didn’t notice as he nudged his mount forward onto the trail. "Tren and I will rent the rooms and get the horses stabled," Kelber said. "And you two will be expected to share a room at the inn. Brothers and sisters do that over here."

"Another night minus a bed," Chaff grumbled.

Haehli laughed. "We’ll take shifts. First four hours are mine, second four are yours."

Trendarmon scowled. "Orlandian women don’t laugh out loud, and they don’t look around all bright-eyed."

"But I am bright-eyed," Haehli protested. Her horse stood next to Trendarmon’s, and she smiled as she leaned toward him. "See the gold flecks?"

He drew back, flushing. "You’d best keep your eyes downcast, then."

"No!" Chaff snapped. "Nobody should have to do that."

Trendarmon drew a quick breath, but before he could retort Chaff reined his horse behind Kelber’s. He heard Haehli talking to Trendarmon but couldn’t make out the words. Probably explaining how Chaff’s one-time master had insisted his serviles pay homage to their lord by never looking into his face.

As they rode down the hill toward the village Trendarmon took his place at the lead, with Kelber close beside him and Chaff and Haehli following a length behind.

Lesha’s one main street, surfaced with red grit, passed between flat-roofed business establishments and dwellings. Their outer walls were covered with a white plaster-like substance. Chunks of it had broken off here and there, revealing gray stone underneath. The mounts of inhabitants or customers were tethered to metal rings fastened to anvil-sized rocks.

Without porch or dormer, the buildings squatted plain and ugly, separated from each other by weed-choked openings half a pace wide. Only the shutters and doors were of wood. Chaff wasn’t surprised by the lack of it. The land they’d traveled had been nearly barren of trees.

The town’s ruddy residents, most clad in gray roughweave like Chaff and Haehli, turned curious stares on the young nobles but hardly glanced at the two working-class who followed them.

Smells of cooking meat wafted from dwelling windows. Chaff’s stomach grumbled that it hadn’t been fed proper food since leaving Prand. At least, prospects seemed better for a good meal tonight at an inn.

"What’s that building?" Chaff spoke just loud enough for Kelber to hear. The two-story structure they neared was distinctive for its low-pitched gable roof—the only such roof in sight—and also for its paint color. The bottom portion was the usual gray-white, but the top half was light brown and the clay tile roof yellow.

"Church," Kelber answered, his voice as subdued as Chaff’s. "Every village and most large lordshares have one. The Eternalists meet to worship on the top floor. The priest lives in the lower rooms. The colors represent the eternal elements—earth and sun."

Chaff frowned. No recognition of the Eternal Trees. The people of Orland were not as well-educated as they thought. "But you’re sure there are no Purists?"

"None that I’ve ever heard of."

Still, Chaff thought, your birthaide was convinced someone wanted you dead. If not Purists, who, then? But ever since they had landed on Orland, Kelber had become almost as recalcitrant as Trendarmon, and Chaff did not press the issue further.

They reached what appeared to be the center of the village. People with various-sized jugs were crossing to and from a low-walled, unroofed community well. On each side of the street stood nearly identical buildings, each bearing the sign of a bed painted above their doors. On one, the depiction of the bed also included the outline of a female figure lying on it. Chaff glanced at Haehli and read her expression of mixed disgust and resignation.

A goodly number of horses, mules and donkeys were tied outside that establishment. The nobles turned to the other, less-well-patronized inn. As was expected of them, Chaff and Haehli tethered the horses and collected the saddlebags before following Trendarmon and Kelber into the large room. Warm, moist air carried the scents of cooking food and sweaty bodies. On the right were heavy wooden trestle tables and benches, only a few occupied. From behind swinging doors at the rear of the room came the sounds of pots and pans banging about.

Chaff saw no fireplace, but the room was comfortably warm. Curious, he looked around for the heat source. Not perceiving it, he cast his Awareness, followed the track of warmed Air Particles and found them emanating from two tubes near the floor at the back of the room. He swept along the length of the pipes, and leagues distant found the hot water pool over which they, and many others, were suspended.

It was a clean, efficient way to heat a building, one that did not consume wood and left no residue. He didn’t comment on that to the nobles.

Trendarmon ordered their meal, and they took seats at one of the tables. As Chaff glanced around the room a young woman in a brightly-colored, full-skirted dress entered. She flounced past Chaff on her way to join a companion, smiled coyly and twitched her skirt so that it brushed his fingers. The material was smooth, soft and glossy. He had never touched anything like it. He leaned across the table and spoke quietly to Kelber. "What kind of material is that lady’s dress made of?"

Kelber glanced at the woman. "She’s not a lady, and the cloth is called silk."

"It’s beautiful," Chaff said. "What sort of plant does it come from?"

"No plant," Kelber replied. "It comes from worms."

His resentment flaring, Chaff straightened. "Weaving them must be very difficult."

Trendarmon laughed. Then, his glance touching Chaff’s face, he sobered. "Silk cloth does come from worms. Of a certain kind. They produce a web-like substance, and people spin it into thread."

Unsure if he was being led on, Chaff frowned.

"Use your Awareness," Haehli murmured.

Chaff did, and found that the material’s Particles did, indeed, derive from animal matter. He was curious about the manufacturing process, but at that moment the serving maid brought their meat stew and a round loaf of bread. She set down tankards of ale for the noblemen and a pitcher of water, which the working class were evidently expected to share, as no individual mugs were provided for them.

Haehli cut and served the bread. Only when the two nobles had begun to eat did she and Chaff take up their own spoons. He detected the usual root vegetables in the stew, along with odd-flavored meat chunks and bits of something red and chewy he didn’t recognize. He considered sending his Awareness into the mixture to identify its ingredients, but decided he’d rather not know. Whatever it was, it smelled and tasted good. After the cold dried fare he had been eating, he was too thankful for the hot food to be concerned about unknowns.

The meal finished, he and Haehli again took up the saddlebags and followed several paces behind the nobles as Trendarmon approached the counter to pay for their rooms and their horses’ stabling. Chaff could not hear the conversation between the proprietor and Trendarmon. The gist of it became clear enough when the innkeeper looked over the nobleman’s shoulder at Haehli, grinned, then made a remark to Trendarmon, who shook his head. The proprietor shrugged and handed over the keys. When Trendarmon turned away from the counter, the color in his face was heightened, and his eyes glittered with annoyance.

Haehli pressed her lips together to keep from smiling. As soon as she and Chaff were behind their own closed door, she fought to stifle soft laughter. "Oh, Chaff, I nearly got to share a bed with Tren."

"So I gathered. Luckily, he was enough of a gentleman to not press his advantage."

Haehli crossed to the bed and sat down. "Yes," she said, "luckily he isn’t attracted to me."

Chaff glanced at her. But he is, he thought, and you know it. It’s just that Trendarmon, too, realizes the futility of such a relationship.

"At least Trendarmon is straightforward," Chaff remarked as he knelt on the floor to untie his bedroll. "I don’t understand Kelber at all. He’s defensive of Orland, yet sometimes he seems to almost hate it." He shook out his blanket and spread it on the plank floor. "What’s more, I don’t think he’s searching for King Emmil only because he wants to find his father."

Haehli had removed her outer clothing and stretched out on the bed. "Well, he said from the beginning that he wanted to find King Emmil to confront the Non."

"Yes, and put out the firehills. Can’t he see how much Orland depends on the vols?"

"He’s blind to that, Chaff. All he thinks about is the death and destruction they bring."

"Maybe after he sees his mother and brother and sister again, he’ll be easier in mind." Chaff threw a longing glance at the one pillow on the bed.

Without looking at him, Haehli pulled it from under her head and tossed it to him. "I suppose you’ve cast your Awareness all along the way, searching for King Emmil."

"He’s not in Bodwyn." Chaff rolled up in his blanket and rested his head on the musty-smelling pillow. No need to tell his sister about his fears that King Emmil had been stripped of his powers. If that were true, he wouldn’t be able to give Kelber the blessing of Infinity, would he? And without it, the Orlandian Loyal would be easy victim to whoever sought to kill him. King Neel had been sure Kelber’s father was still alive, but how could a First Loyal just disappear? Chaff wanted to help locate him, but if the mission was pointless…

He sighed. Perhaps he was wrong about King Emmil. Perhaps there was another reason why Orland’s First Loyal hadn’t claimed his son. Perhaps and perhaps… Well, who knew what insights the morrow would bring?

CHAPTER 15

The old servile who greeted them at the door of Maygor Greathouse nearly fell in a faint at the sight of Kelber and Trendarmon. Pale brown eyes awash with tears, he clasped their hands, and Chaff didn’t need to understand Orlandian to know the depth of the gray-haired man’s emotions. Kelber gestured toward him and Haehli. Chaff caught the words "sitra" and "brotra." Whatever else Kelber told the servile had the man babbling to Chaff and Haehli with what could only have been words of thanks.

Inside the receiving hall, other serviles came running, their expressions no less appreciative of the homecoming. While Kelber and Trendarmon continued to accept and return the warm greetings, Chaff looked around. The polished black stone floor met walls of dusty-red fired brick and the ceiling was broad strips of maple. The same honey-colored wood paneled a flight of wide brick steps that curved up to the second floor. It was to the stairs that Kelber and Trendarmon turned, motioning for Chaff and Haehli to follow.

As they climbed the steps, a diminutive older woman wearing a blue gown came to the balcony railing. Her small hands flew to her mouth to smother a cry of joy. Kelber leapt up the last few steps and gathered her into his arms. Chaff understood the Loyal’s exclamation of "Matra! Matra!" but could only guess at his other words.

The black-haired woman, who must be Lady Cosamett, clung to Kelber, weeping, and then released him only enough to add Trendarmon to her embrace. Chaff and Haehli lingered at the top of the stairs, waiting for the reunion to run its course. A tall man—young, but older than Trendarmon—appeared in the doorway behind the lady. Chaff supposed he was Maygor; the family likeness was evident. His elation at seeing his brothers was genuine, tempered with grudging admiration. He stepped forward to clasp their arms. Again, Chaff could only guess at the conversation. He glanced at Haehli.

"The usual ‘glad-to-see-you-home’ greetings," she whispered. "Touch Maygor and see what you think."

Chaff extended his Awareness. While the young nobleman was happy his brothers had returned safely, he was also upset and apprehensive about something unrelated to their homecoming. And Chaff detected a trace of jealousy and resentment toward both Kelber and Trendarmon.

Maygor now noticed the two working-class. He asked a question of his younger brothers, who exchanged glances, then spoke to him and Cosamett briefly.

"Kel and Tren are telling their version of being lost at sea and saved by us," Haehli translated softly. "The same story they gave the serviles. And no doubt for the benefit of those who are still within hearing."

Kelber motioned for Chaff and Haehli to join him and his brothers and mother as they entered the room from which Lord Maygor had stepped.

It appeared to be a study, its most impressive piece of furniture a massive desk of dark wood. Several chairs upholstered in floral-print brocade faced it, and a lie-about covered in the same material was set against one wall. Glass doors on the opposite side opened onto an outer balcony railed in worked iron. A faint scent of tobacco smoke lingered, but Chaff saw no sign of pipe rack or tobacco jar among the neatly stacked documents on the desk.

After one last wave of appreciation at the serviles’ caring demonstration, Kelber closed the door and turned toward his brother and mother. Lady Cosamett had settled on the lie-about and Maygor had claimed his place behind the desk. Trendarmon dropped into one of the chairs, his face carefully impassive, his eyes half-closed. Clearly, he intended to let Kelber do the talking.

The noble positioned himself to observe his mother and oldest brother. Taking a deep breath, Kelber said in a tongue Chaff could at last understand, "We need to speak in Prandian. It is the language of these two, Chaff and Haehli." His gestures indicated them as he spoke.

Lady Cosamett gasped, and Maygor’s eyes narrowed as he appraised the two Prandians more closely. "We’re grateful for your help," he said, but his voice sounded indifferent. He turned back to Kelber. "Why did you bring them to Orland? Surely you realize that if they’re detected they’ll be arrested as spies."

Chaff repressed the anger that surged in him at Maygor’s superior attitude. He should have expected it. The three brothers were noble-born and well-educated.

A slight lift of Kelber’s chin betokened defiance. "They’re here to help Tren and me find King Emmil."

Maygor flung himself back against the chair, brown eyes heavy with exasperation. "That again! I would think after nearly dying at sea you’d have sense enough to realize this whole Loyal thing is a myth."

"It is not a myth." Kelber’s voice was quiet but firm. "Chaff and Haehli are Prand’s two Second Loyals. The ones who helped their father stop the world from crumbling last year when someone cut down an Eternal Tree."

Lady Cosamett moaned softly and swayed as if about to faint. Chaff touched her emotions; she knew what revelation was about to come and she dreaded it. Haehli immediately sat down beside her and wrapped an arm about the older woman’s shoulders. The lady regained her composure and straightened, but she did not pull away.

Maygor’s gaze lingered on Chaff and Haehli. "A wisp of a girl and a halt-gaited boy? They hardly look the part." He spoke in Prandian; obviously he wanted Chaff and Haehli to know how he perceived them. "Why did you let them dupe your brother, Trendarmon? You’re eighteen. Even if Kel is the one who usually has more common sense, I’d think in something as serious as this you’d at least try to intervene."

Trendarmon smiled ruefully. "I did try. But I was overpowered." He gestured at Chaff and Haehli. "By their incredible magik."

"Magik!" Maygor snorted and started to say something else, but Kelber spoke again, his voice barely audible, his gaze on his mother.

"And I have magik, too. I am Orland’s Second Loyal."

Maygor appeared to be struck dumb by the pronouncement, but Cosamett leaned against Haehli, tears forming. Kelber knelt in front of her and clasped her hands between his. "Matra, Matra. Listen to me. I understand. I know that you were chosen, that you obeyed the request of the One."

Remorse scraped across Chaff’s conscience. Why couldn’t he have been that accepting of his mother? His reconciliation with her was too fresh in his mind for him not to feel guilt over the way he had treated her. Kelber offered compassion instead of recrimination. It was Cosamett who suffered, wilting in the face of disclosure of her union with King Emmil.

Maygor had recovered and was on his feet, fists pounding on the desktop. "This is nonsense! Nonsense!" He moved quickly around the desk and strode across the room toward the lie-about. "Get away from my mother!" he roared at Haehli and reached to grab for her arm.

Kelber hardly shifted position but the next instant, Maygor was on the other side of the room, pressed against the glass doors that led to the outside balcony. Chaff touched him with his Awareness, felt the rage that would burst into violent retaliation, and turned his attention to Maygor’s LifeForce Particles. He drove into them, encountered those governing the movement of his arms and legs and commanded them to cease motion.

Unable to move, Maygor stared at Chaff and Kelber, his color fading from rose to pink. "What evil force is this?"

"It isn’t evil," Kelber replied. "Unless you make us use it that way. When you calm down, Chaff and I will free you."

Chaff was a little surprised that Kelber admitted he was being assisted.

Jaws clenched, neck veins enlarged and pulsing, Maygor struggled against his invisible restraints. Sweat beaded his forehead, gathered and trickled down his temples. Chaff held him firmly, well aware of the hostility that burned within the young lord’s mind. He waited for it to peak, for Maygor to regain some reasoning ability.

"All right, I’ll concede that you’ve somehow acquired magik." Maygor’s words grated like an iron wheel on rough stone. "But this Loyal business is pure idiocy. How dare you even suggest our mother had a liaison with that person who calls himself King Emmil?"

"It wasn’t a liaison." Kelber looked again to his mother, who watched him through tear-filmed eyes. "It was a pairing, meant only to bring into being a Second Loyal."

Kelber released Lady Cosamett’s hands, stood and turned toward Maygor. "Don’t let go of him yet," he ordered Chaff as he crossed the room.

Chaff resented the command; he had no intention of loosing a man still in the grip of senseless wrath.

When Kelber reached his brother, he held out his left hand, palm upward so that the underside of his wrist showed. "I bear the Mark of Infinity, a sign of the Loyals. King Neel dimmed the scars that have always hidden it."

Maygor peered at the mark for a long moment, then up into Kelber’s eyes, his own narrowed. "Yes," Kelber said. "That, too, is part of the identification. Chaff, Haehli, King Neel…all have eyes with markings like mine."

"Curse you to perdition!" Maygor swore and struggled against Chaff’s hold. "I won’t believe this until I hear it from Matra’s own lips." He glared fiercely at Cosamett.

Haehli gave the woman a slight hug, and the lady lifted her chin and sat up straight. "What Kelber says is true." Her voice quavered, but she looked at Maygor without flinching. "He is King Emmil’s son." Her mouth trembled. "But I loved your father with all my heart."

"Though not with all your body," Maygor snarled.

His acid words brought Trendarmon lunging from the chair, his arm drawn back to deliver a blow. Without conscious thought, Chaff divided his Awareness and caught the noble in mid-swing, stopping the motion of his arm. Startled, Trendarmon stumbled. He righted himself and shot a look of agitation at Chaff. They eyed each other for a long moment, then Chaff released him, knowing he had regained control.

Cosamett brought her hands up to cover her face. Her shoulders shook with silent sobs and once more she leaned against Haehli. This time, both Kelber and Trendarmon went to comfort her, the younger boy kneeling in front of her, the older sitting down beside her. Trendarmon flung an arm around her and encountered Haehli’s. She drew back and yielded her place to Kelber.

She looked across the room at Maygor, still pressed against the glass doors in an awkward position. "Let him go, Chaff," she said gently. "He’s had a grievous shock. It’s so hard for one of his serious bent to understand."

Chaff released the young lord warily, ready to immobilize him again if he threatened Haehli in any way. Maygor rubbed his arms and flexed his knees, still watching his mother and two brothers. Dazed, he moved slowly to his desk as if seeking comfort in its familiarity and sagged into the red leather chair behind it. His hands stroked the padded arms absently, his expression one of melancholy.

Chaff touched Maygor’s mind. Strong emotions rioted there. Incredulity and intense hurt over his mother’s admission of what he viewed as betrayal, deep sorrow for the loss of his father, awe and resentment toward his brothers, apprehension for his sister. Chaff wondered about that strong element of fear.

As if his thoughts had communicated to Kelber, the noble looked at Maygor. "Matra could use Fye’s comforting touch right now. Where is our little sitra? Gone shopping or gone visiting?"

"Just gone," Maygor replied dully. "She ran away."

"No!" Kelber and Trendarmon spoke as one.

Chaff felt their disbelief and dismay as strongly as if it had been a hand slap. And, beyond that, Cosamett’s deep remorse.

CHAPTER 16

Kelber’s eyes drilled into Maygor’s. If anything was to blame for his sister’s flight, it would likely be one of his older brother’s harsh ultimatums. "What did you say or do to cause her to run away?"

Maygor’s jaw hardened and his eyes darkened, but he said nothing.

"It was my fault," Cosamett moaned. "My fault, Kelber." She plucked at his sleeve. "Har-Larrik asked for her pledge and I consented for her. I spoke in her stead."

Kelber needed no instruction on using his Awareness to read his mother’s heartache. He felt it so intensely that he nearly crumpled alongside her. His own outrage buoyed him. Har-Larrik! That pompous highborn low-life! He choked back recrimination, but Trendarmon spoke it.

"Matra, how could you?" His face was strained, heavy with consternation.

Cosamett tried to blink away the tears. "Your father knew his father…I wanted Fye to marry well…to live nearby…" Her words faded and she bowed her head, sobbing.

"But to pledge, Matra…" Trendarmon began, then stopped and shook his head.

Kelber glanced at the two Prandians, knowing they wouldn’t understand what a pledge signified. And need not, he decided. Haehli’s gaze was already steadily upon him, but surely she would not breach Loyal etiquette by touching his mind with her Awareness.

He turned his attention to Maygor. "When did she leave? Have you sent the lordshare guards after her?"

"A week ago, and, yes, I’ve had the guards combing the entire area. She is not at any of her friends’ homes or in any of the inns or rooming houses within fifty miles. Every day we expand our circle of inquiry. No one has seen her."

Bowing his head, Kelber ran trembling fingers through his hair. Apprehension lay like an icicle on his nape, sending chills trickling down his spine. His thoughts roiled, circling his sister’s image like children playing ring-around-the-conquered. But, no, Fye was not in danger; she had not been stolen—she had run away.

He raised his head and addressed Maygor. "Have you sent searchers into the openlands?"

Maygor frowned. "Only along the fence line. They saw no evidence she’d gone through any of the gates. None of the horses is missing, for one thing. We brought in a houndkeeper, but his dogs couldn’t find a track."

A suspicion nagged Kelber, and he wanted either to quell it or confirm it. Rising, he beckoned for Trendarmon to follow, then chastised himself for his annoyance when Chaff joined them as they exited the room. Leaving Haehli to comfort Cosamett, Maygor fell into step behind them. Most of the servitors had gone back to their duties. Those who were present seemed to sense the urgency of their young masters’ actions and prudently kept out of the way.

In the equipment room, Kelber checked the helmets and outerwear, then whirled on Maygor, his temper flaring. "Didn’t you count these? Didn’t you realize equipment is missing?"

Maygor stiffened. "I’ve put away our father’s things. Everyone else’s is accounted for, including Fye’s."

"No." Kelber flung down the vest he held. "That’s her old outfit. Fye must have worn her new one and replaced it with that one from storage." He did not try to hide his irritation at Maygor’s lack of thoroughness. "If you’d pry yourself away from your ledgers once in a while and ride in Patra’s saddle, you’d know more about the lordshare."

"And if you used your Awareness, you’d know more about your brother." Chaff’s words were soft-spoken, but biting.

"I thought it wasn’t considered polite to intrude," Kelber retorted hotly.

"When it serves the purpose of creating understanding where it is sorely needed…" Chaff shrugged the rest of the sentence away.

Kelber drew a deep breath. He hadn’t really tried to reach Maygor. The emotions he’d felt from Trendarmon while in Norporte and from his mother here at the greathouse had come easily, flooding his mind. Hesitantly, he cast his Awareness toward his oldest brother.

The emotions tumbling through Maygor were daunting. He had been stunned by the revelation that Kelber was a Loyal. His practical mind didn’t want to believe it, yet the magik he’d seen told him it was true. He was shocked and hurt about their mother’s pairing with King Emmil. And he was distraught about Fye’s disappearance.

Guilt-ridden about eavesdropping on his brother’s private thoughts, Kelber withdrew his Awareness. It would take a long time for Maygor to absorb the gut-wrenching revelations he’d just been handed.

Laying a hand on his brother’s arm, Kelber said, "I’m sorry, brotra. I realize you’re doing what you can to find Fye. But I think we’re on the right track now. I think she went to the vols."

Determination lit Maygor’s eyes. "Then we’ll ride out first thing in the morning."

"No," Kelber said firmly. "Tren and I and Chaff and Haehli will go after her." He glanced at the Prandian Loyal and felt his understanding. "You wouldn’t believe the magik this one and his sister possess."

* * *

They left at dawn under clear skies. Kelber chose to ride his favorite mount, Rigga. No need to tell the others why at this time.

"What a handsome beast," Haehli remarked, her expression clearly indicating her appreciation of the large-boned gelding. At least, she hadn’t said "beautiful," as most women would have.

"He’s a pompeer," Trendarmon offered. "They’re bred for strength, endurance and good temperament. Kel entered him in the Royal Horse Games last year and he did well."

Rigga was not the solid smoke gray of most pompeers. He was a dapple, and with his white mane cropped and his white tail trimmed hock-length, he was, indeed, a showy animal.

As Kelber adjusted his mount’s head-protector, he noticed Chaff eyeing the nose coverings of loosely-woven burlap the stablehands had attached to each horse’s bridle. The Prandian didn’t ask their use, it being obvious they were counterpart to the gauze kerchiefs the riders wore tied around their own necks.

His interest in the protective gear irritated Kelber. No doubt Chaff was thinking that riders and horses on his continent had no need for such equipment unless they were going into battle. Projectiles didn’t indiscriminately rain down upon them from the sky.

Pointing at the helmets and padded clothing the servitors had carried from the equipment room, Chaff asked, "Do we really need to wear all this…gear?"

Kelber shrugged. "Wear it or not, as you choose. No vol is smoking right now, but we don’t know how long it will take us to find Fye. An eruption could occur any time."

Fires of anger burned within Kelber. At Fye for running away, at his mother for precipitating it and at himself for resenting the time it would take to find his sister when he wanted to begin his search for King Emmil.

"It’s as easy to wear it as carry it," Trendarmon said of the equipment. "The horses have to."

So, except for the helmets, which they slung from their pommels, they left the stable dressed for the worst. Bows and filled quivers completed the brothers’ gear. Chaff admitted he didn’t know how to handle a bow, and Haehli said the same.

"You never learned to defend yourselves?" Kelber was astounded. He and Trendarmon had been taught archery and swordplay as regularly as they’d been taught academics.

"My brothers learned swordplay," Haehli replied and shrugged. "Of course, we all had bodyguards. Then, when I turned ten-and-six I acquired my magik and…well, I do have the blessing of Infinity."

"Stableboys don’t have need to defend themselves," Chaff said stiffly. "Prand’s favorite personal weapon is a dagger specially made for throwing. The man who’s now my stablemaster showed me how, but I’m not skilled at it."

"Well, no matter, I guess," Kelber said. "Like Haehli, you’re immortal."

"And so will you be, after we find your father," Chaff reminded him.

Which I should be trying to do right now, Kelber thought. He kneed Rigga across the courtyard, the handsome gray’s hoofs sending up puffs of powdery red dust. A pledge, for perdition’s curse! And to Har-Larrik! Matra, how could you? He shook his head and turned onto the lane that led toward the nearest gate to the openlands.

The road passed between vineyards, alongside plowed fields, within sight of subshare houses and their small garden plots. Chaff and Haehli gawked like the visitors they were and that annoyed Kelber. He tried to imagine what they must be thinking and assumed it was all negative. No towering forests, no masses of untamed bushes, no brushy mounds still heavy with winter-withered berries as he had seen in Falshane and Draal.

Following the coast south from their landing site on Orland, they had passed through salt marshes and grasslands and later the lordshares. Acre after acre of trained grape vines, neatly sheared wheatfields and ploughed land lying ready for next year’s seeding of root and leaf vegetables. How pitiful the small, infrequent stands of needletrees must seem to Chaff, whose forested holdings stretched for miles.

Still, the Prandians said nothing until they came to the fence that defined the border between Maygor Lordshare and the openlands. Eight feet tall and built of vertical six-inch boards bound together with fibrerope, the fence had stood for many years.

"With timber obviously in such short supply, why do you build wooden fences?" Chaff asked, his gaze following the structure that wound out of sight in either direction.

Kelber collected himself to deliver a civil reply, but Trendarmon saved him the effort. "The only other material we have is stone and it just wouldn’t stand, so close to the firehills. Like the foundations of the greathouse, each fence post is laid on limbercane. The whole fence undulates during a groundshake."

"I see," Chaff said as they passed through the gate Kelber had opened. "And you need the fence to keep the night gleaners out?"

"No." Trendarmon shook his head. "They don’t steal. It’s the licensed gleaners who have been known to encroach if they think they can get away with it. That’s why the gate is locked and the borderline patrolled."

Kelber closed and locked the gate. Chaff and Haehli were glancing around, no doubt using their Awareness. "If you’re looking for day gleaners, you’re not likely to find any here. Vol Gynra erupted last week and they’ll all be down there, where the pickings are easy. Only the night gleaners actually mine for gems."

The openlands around the vols must certainly seem inhospitable to a visitor’s eye, Kelber thought, as they left the fenced lordshare behind. A faint sulphurous odor still lingered, even though Vol Dorend, ahead and to their left, now lay cold and gray. North stood Vol-Tor and beyond that, Vol-Ferno. In the distance, the top of Vol-Pyga’s cone was visible. The treeless, rock-strewn land bore patches of the red and black cinders that completely covered it nearer the vols. Winter-brown cindergrass and plump-seeded barley stub grew between the patches. An occasional cluster of waist-high sepia-leafed bushes, which in the spring would be a mass of bright yellow blossoms, softened the bleak landscape.

"It has a beauty of its own," Haehli observed, and Kelber shot her a quick glance to see if she meant it sincerely. She seemed to. Then her eyes took on the now-familiar brightness. "It’s just that everything is so obscenely…red."

She struggled to remain innocently impassive, couldn’t contain herself and burst out laughing. Trendarmon scowled, but his lips harbored the ghost of a smile. Secrets between them already? The thought irked Kelber.

He experimented with his Awareness. He found living creatures—rock hares, rodents, birds, numerous insects. No fire lizards hunted nearby. A pair of tersaks, their black-and-gray barred feathers making them indiscernible to the human eye, watched from a crag about a mile away, which seemed to be the limit of Kelber’s range. He tried to encounter the Air, Moisture and Soil Particles as he knew Chaff could do, but was not successful.

"Where are we riding to, anyway?" Chaff asked when they had been on the openlands for an hour or so. "It seems to me we’re just wandering around, without destination."

"That’s what we’re doing." Kelber’s reply was abrupt. "That’s why I rode Rigga. I think the night gleaners will recognize him. Hopefully, they’ll capture us."

"What?" Chaff sawed on the reins, bringing his big gray pompeer to a stone-clattering stop. "You’re deliberately using us as bait?"

"It’s the only way we’re apt to find Fye," Trendarmon explained, reining in his own mount. "The night gleaners know everything that goes on out here in the vol country."

"I think it’s the word ‘capture’ that came as rather a shock," Haehli said, drawing up beside them.

Kelber had walked Rigga back to where the others stood. "Yes, well, perhaps that was a poor choice. ‘Catch their attention’ might be more appropriate."

"What’s wrong with using our Awareness?" Chaff asked.

Irritation flared in Kelber like a lantern flame caught in a gust of wind. "Fye is days ahead of us. And, although she’s apparently afoot, we don’t know if she’s heading north or south." He glared at the lonely red-black-and-gray landscape. "Besides, I’ve tried and I can’t feel anything out of the ordinary."

Chaff nodded. "Nor could I."

What? Kelber thought. The great Caster of Awareness hasn’t found something I overlooked?

Haehli pointed toward an area of numerous stacks of flat black rocks that rose in more or less circular formations to a height of from ten to thirty feet. "Is that a deserted gleaner village?"

"No," Trendarmon answered. "Those were made by venting steam. Dead now, of course. We call them chimneys. They’re hollow inside. I suppose some of them are big enough to overnight in. Fire lizards use them for denning, and the tersak for nesting."

While Haehli’s gaze lingered on the rugged chimneys, Kelber turned Rigga and headed west again. The ever-present slight breeze of the openlands was cool on this January day and Kelber was actually glad he wore the padded vest over his woolen shirt. They rode in silence, unbroken until they passed a small lake.

"Shouldn’t we stop and water the horses?" Haehli asked.

"Not in that lake." Kelber was annoyed at himself that he spoke with such a sharp tongue. But, drecka, couldn’t she see the weathered bones at the lake’s red-rimed edge?

As had become the pattern on this ride, Trendarmon explained for him. "Most of the lakes in the vol country are so heavy with acid that they eat the flesh off the bones of anything that’s unlucky enough to fall in."

Haehli shuddered, and Kelber nudged Rigga far enough ahead that he couldn’t see her face. Prand had nothing—nothing!—so devastatingly cruel as firehills and acid lakes. Why had the Eternal One created Orland if He only meant it to be a place of misery?

The day worried on, and they continued to slow-trot their mounts over the rugged terrain—a faster gait might risk injury to the horses’ feet. When they came upon another lake, this one without skeletal remains, Kelber drew rein. Aware of the two Prandians’ watching him, he dismounted, and Trendarmon did the same. Within a few minutes, they had each found an eft in the weedy plants at the lake’s edge.

"The water is safe," Kelber said and led Rigga toward it. As the sudden realization struck him, he glanced up at Chaff, who was still mounted. "But I suppose you could have touched it with your Awareness and told us that much."

Chaff shrugged. "I felt no Acid Particles. But this is not Prand. Other factors might make water here unsuitable for drinking."

The condescending response grated on Kelber and he turned quickly away to fumble in his saddlebags for whatever the servitors had packed for their meals. They sat down to eat while the pompeers waded into the little lake and drank.

"I’m surprised the night gleaners haven’t spotted us by now," Trendarmon said.

"Well…" Chaff spoke around a bite of dried beef. "Six men on horseback have been following us for the last half-league or so, but keeping out of sight."

Kelber’s smoldering anger flared at Chaff’s off-hand remark. "Why in perdition didn’t you mention it?"

Chaff turned an innocent gaze on him. "I thought the idea was to let them capture us."

Kelber made no attempt to keep the hostility out of his voice. "Since I can’t seem to reach more than a mile with my Awareness, perhaps you’ll be kind enough to let Tren and me know what their emotions are."

The gold flecks in his eyes flashed, but Chaff’s tone was bland as he replied. "The four on our right, wary and a little annoyed at our presence. The two on the left seem…indifferent. What do you think, Haehli?"

"The two on the left have me puzzled," was her immediate response. "If anything, they’re mildly curious, as if they’re following us only because they wonder what we’re doing out here in the openlands. I don’t think they’re habitual residents of the vol country, either."

Kelber fought to quell his envy at their skill, and his irritation that they hadn’t apprised him earlier of what they’d found. He took some satisfaction that he was able to speak with civility. "We’ll eat as if we don’t know we’re being observed and wait for them to act."

He wondered about the Prandians’ perceptions of the two men on their left. The watchers had to be night gleaners. Who else would be out here?

They finished eating without interruption, repacked their provisions and mounted. Kelber turned Rigga toward his left, thinking the two watchers there must be scouts. They had ridden only a quarter-mile when Trendarmon’s explosive oath cut the air. "Perdition! Bluebiters!"

Chaff and Haehli followed his gaze, then looked back at him, perplexed. Kelber knew that all they saw was an immense cloud of beautiful blue-winged butterflies. He had no time to explain that when the creatures swarmed, as they were now doing, their multiple stings could bring death.

Trendarmon whirled his mount and kicked its flanks. "Run!" he shouted over his shoulder.

Kelber swatted Chaff’s pompeer across the rump with the ends of his reins, then caught Haehli’s horse by the bridle and jerked it around to follow Trendarmon. "Ride!"

CHAPTER 17

Chaff leaned forward over the gray gelding’s neck. While it and the other horses struggled to find stable footing over the rough landscape, the advancing horde of butterflies flew with no obstacles in their path. In the distance was a stone outcropping, and Trendarmon led the riders toward its dubious shelter. Chaff gauged the distance and thought they would make it.

"Oh, drecka!" Trendarmon’s shouted oath accompanied his abrupt reining back. The pompeer reared, wild-eyed and squealing. Kelber’s and Haehli’s mounts shied and sidestepped to prevent crashing into Trendarmon’s. Chaff was far enough to one side to bring his horse to an easy stop, all the while wondering why he needed to do so.

An ominous throaty hiss told him. An instant later, he saw the two lizards. They looked just as Trendarmon had described them, except he hadn’t mentioned that their forked black tongues extended half the length of their gray-scaled bodies. Chaff’s heart shuddered. Could he kill these beasts as he had the giddyn in the wood of Falshane?

The creatures had evidently been sheltering under the outcrop Trendarmon had chosen. Now, they waddled toward him and the others at a swift pace. Chaff sent his Awareness into the fire lizards’ LifeForce Particles and found they were not vicious animals seeking only to destroy, as the bear-like giddyn had been. They saw the horses as a food source. Quickly, Chaff turned his Awareness to the blue butterflies that fluttered west across the openlands. He perceived they were normally benign creatures, but now they were in a frenzy. Swarming, they were in a state outside the Eternal One’s influence and were intent upon attacking him and his companions.

"This way," Chaff shouted to the others and turned his horse sharply west. As he did so, he drove his Awareness into the Air Particles above the cloud of bluebiters. He seized the Particles, shifted them, maneuvered them, pressed the Particles against the mass of flying creatures so that they swept lower to the ground and toward the scrambling fire lizards. As Chaff had hoped, the huge reptiles turned toward the easier prey; their long tongues flicked out to gather in the butterflies.

"Kelber! Convey us!" Haehli’s shout was a command.

Chaff caught only a glimpse of the expression of astonishment that touched Kelber’s face before he felt himself pitched through the Air Particles of the One’s lesser continent. When he regained his sense of location, he looked around and beheld slightly different terrain. Apparently no less surprised than he, Haehli drew a deep breath and exchanged glances with Trendarmon.

"By the One!" Her tone held awe. "When your brother conveys, he really conveys!" She shook her head. "Look at this, Chaff. Horses and all! Even Father can’t do that!"

Chaff didn’t need Haehli to point out Kelber’s superior conveying skills. A cloak of envy fell heavily upon him.

Kelber appeared truly abashed by what he’d done. He leaned forward to pat Rigga’s glossy dappled neck. "Well, I couldn’t leave the horses to the fire lizards." He looked at Haehli. "Sorry I didn’t act sooner. I hate bluebiters. When I saw them, all I could think of was running. Thanks for reminding me I have magik." He turned toward Chaff. "And thanks for doing whatever it was you did to cause the lizards to be distracted by the bluebiters. They look like ordinary butterflies, but a swarm can be deadly."

Although the words of gratitude were not enough to remove the jealousy that clung to Chaff, he managed to acknowledge them with a brief nod. He was a bit chagrined that he hadn’t thought to use his magik sooner.

"One positive aspect of all that excitement," Trendarmon observed mildly, "is that it had the desired effect. The night gleaners are heading our way."

Twisting about in the saddle, Chaff followed the noble’s gaze. From the west, the four horsemen approached at a steady pace. They held short bows at the ready, but their minds were filled with awe and admiration, not hostility.

Chaff used his Awareness to touch the two people who observed from the east. The older one was dumbfounded, the younger in a state of excitement bordering on elation. Why the boy was so delighted, Chaff could not guess.

The four gleaners stopped only a few paces from where the three Loyals and Trendarmon stood waiting. One urged his stockily-built brown mount ahead of the others and spoke to Trendarmon in Orlandian. Chaff repressed a grimace. That language problem again. He moved his horse as close to Haehli’s as possible.

Without his asking, she interpreted, her lips barely moving as she softly spoke. "They’re asking why we’re out here among the vols. As Kel hoped, they recognize his horse and know who he is." She was silent for a moment while Trendarmon answered the leader’s questions, then said, "Tren told them we’re trying to find his sister, but I think they know that. See if you agree."

Chaff did. He had already touched the minds of the four men and found them reluctant to reveal information about Fye. They indicated that the others should follow and led the way northwest on a trail only they discerned.

Chaff glanced over his shoulder and extended his Awareness beyond the horsemen who still observed from the southeast. A league behind them lay a gathering of people of diverse personalities. Chaff skimmed it and presumed he was encountering another greathouse such as that of Maygor Lordshare. The riders must be from there, and at least one was probably nobility. While neither of them exhibited animosity toward the use of magik, Chaff wondered about those who would hear their story. King Neel had said Kelber’s birthaide scarred him to protect him. From whom? Chaff didn’t know, but he wished the necessity hadn’t arisen for Kelber to display his prowess at conveying.

* * *

Lewtri lifted one slender hand to brush impatiently at the brown curls on his forehead—the longer-than-customary hairstyle was a rebellion against his royal status.

"Did you see that, Rohmir?" he cried. Excitement, satisfaction and vindication joined to produce his triumph. Less than a half-mile away across the desolate vol country, four horsemen strove to quiet mounts still restive from being pitched by magik from a distant location.

"One of those nobles did that! I’m sure of it!" Lewtri stood in the stirrups and squinted in the direction of the horsemen. "That dapple gray pompeer. I told you I recognized him. He took third at the Horse Games. That must be Kelber of Maygor Lordshare riding him. And the other noble would be his brother, Trendarmon." He sat back in the saddle, dark eyes glowing. "Now, Father will have to believe me. Magik does exist! We both saw it happen right before our eyes, didn’t we, Rohmir?"

The gray-bearded bodyguard nodded slowly, disbelief evident in his blue eyes. "Yes, Your Highness."

Lewtri reined his horse around. "I can’t wait to tell Father. He never did believe a man with magik healed me. Now he’ll have to admit it was true. Magik does exist."

He glanced over his shoulder. The nobles and their servitors were being escorted by the four night gleaners he and Rohmir had observed earlier. It wasn’t cause for concern; those with magik could take care of themselves.

Not like an eight-year-old lost in the vol country. Among the rugged tumble of black rocks he saw again the thin figure with the curly brown hair, his yellow cloak emblazoned with the royal arms of Deltarn soiled and torn. Lewtri once more became that boy; the clear eyes of memory saw that land of seven years ago.

* * *

He trembled with fright. The chestnut mare, lamed by a misstep on a jagged rock, limped behind him, fair game for the fire lizards. Lewtri hoped to make it safely back to the gates of the lordshare before any of the reptiles scented the blood on the horse’s torn pastern. But, of course, the lizards came. Hissing and spitting, waddling faster than Lewtri could run. Scared senseless, he dropped the reins and fled, sobbing, leaving the mare to her fate.

Eyes awash with tears and legs nearly numb with terror, he scrambled across the scoria-strewn openlands. The rough rock tore his fine woolen hose and scraped bits of flesh from his spindly legs, gouged his hands as he sought to steady himself. His heart clutched at the pitiful screams of the dying horse, and at last he could not help but look back. He caught only a glimpse of writhing gray-scaled tails and flailing white-stockinged legs before he fell.

He landed on a large glassy rock with his right arm under his body, then lurched to his feet to stagger forward. After only a few steps, intense pain came. From the lower portion of his right arm, the searing agony swept to his shoulder and engulfed him. His shameless scream was choked by vomit. He sank to his knees, head reeling, and saw coarse black and red cinders rising up to meet him.

Sensation slowly bloomed through the nothingness. His stomach writhed and puckered. Stingers of hurt pricked at his face and hands. He remembered having retched, and ran an exploratory tongue across his lips, only to gag again at the taste of blood and vomit.

"Here," a gentle voice said. "Cleanse your mouth."

A strong arm lifted Lewtri’s shoulders and raised him to a sitting position. He opened his eyes to see a golden-haired man kneeling beside him. The expression on the beautiful face was one of such kindness and compassion that Lewtri could only stare into the man’s eyes. Gold rings circled the black pupil, and gold flecks glittered in the blue-green iris, also edged by gold. They were the most unusual, most magnificent eyes Lewtri had ever seen.

A waterskin touched his sore lips, and he drew in a gulp of liquid, rinsed and spat, then drank again. He raised his left arm and dabbed his mouth with his sleeve.

"What brings you to the openlands without guard, Your Highness?" the man asked softly.

Touched by guilt, Lewtri answered, "I ran away."

Softly curling golden hair swept the man’s shoulders as he shook his head. "That was most unwise."

Tears filmed Lewtri’s vision and he blinked rapidly to clear them away. "Yes. The fire lizards killed poor Neva. And I hurt my arm."

"You broke a bone, actually," the man said. "But I’ve restored it." Lewtri realized the nauseating pain was gone. "Now, let’s take care of these," the benefactor continued. With a gentle touch of his fingers, he healed the cuts and gouges on the prince’s face and extremities as easily as if he’d wiped them away with a damp cloth.

He helped Lewtri to his feet and steadied him with a strong hand. The prince started to turn toward where the lizards still hissed and spat over their kill, but the man gently prevented him from doing so. "You have enough bad memory-pictures to erase."

"Who are you?" Lewtri had never seen anyone with golden hair or such wonderfully strange eyes, but the man had the rosy skin and slender build of many Orlandians.

"I am called Emmil."

"I’ll tell my father what you did, Emmil. He will see to it that you are rewarded."

The man’s smile held a sadness that puzzled Lewtri. "Your father will not welcome my help," he said, and before the prince could dispute that he went on. "Now, I will send you back to Larrik’s Lordshare before any more harm can befall you."

Lewtri’s small body was swept with a strange sensation, like one he’d imagined he would feel if he walked into a whirlwind. After a few dizzying moments, he was staring at the rear walls of High Lord Larrik’s greathouse, where he was visiting with his father and two older brothers. He ran toward the dwelling, thin legs pumping furiously, the reprimand that had sent him sneaking into the openlands forgotten. He had such a great adventure to tell!

* * *

Now, seven years later, Lewtri again approached the same greathouse, his Being aglow with the same exultation. This time he had a witness. This time his story would not be dismissed as childish fantasy.

Ignoring Rohmir’s pleas for restraint, urging the bodyguard’s lagging steps, Lewtri tramped toward the study. His father, King Ott, and his oldest brother, Teb, were there, conversing with Lord Larrik and his son Har-Larrik. He burst in on them and didn’t care that his father’s ruddy face hardened with annoyance.

He stopped in the center of the room and without preamble declared, "We saw magik being used." King Ott stiffened. Larrik and his son exchanged glances of derision. Teb set down his wineglass and looked ceilingward.

"So," Lord Larrik drawled, "the youngest son brings us a revelation."

Another time, his mocking tone might have intimidated Lewtri, who disliked the two Larriks with equal intensity. Today, his attention remained riveted on his father. "We saw it, Rohmir and I." He related with detail how they had observed the two nobles and their servitors being attacked by bluebiters and fire lizards. How the butterfly swarm had mysteriously swooped into the jaws of the lizards, and how the four horsemen had suddenly disappeared, only to reappear a mile from where they had been.

Lord Larrik and his son listened without comment, their only reactions expressions of scorn, which deepened as Lewtri spoke. Teb reclaimed his wine and sipped at it in resignation. Ott trembled with barely-controlled rage.

"I would suggest that in the future you stay out of the openlands," he said tightly. "Something about the vols seems to affect your intelligence. Last time, as I recall, you brought back some preposterous story about having a broken arm healed, when you hadn’t a scratch on you. Why do you continue to embarrass me with this commoners’ nonsense about magik?"

"It isn’t nonsense," Lewtri returned hotly. "Rohmir saw it, too." He whirled on the bodyguard, whose face had paled to pink. "Tell them!"

Rohmir’s gaze darted among the four listeners. "Well…we did see something strange, Your Majesty. I felt a little dizzy, though. There could have been vol fumes…" He let his words die and cast an imploring look at Lewtri.

The prince was dumbfounded. The man was afraid to admit what he’d seen. Anger roughened what was left of Lewtri’s composure. He grabbed Rohmir by the shoulders and shook him. "Tell them, curse you! Tell them!"

Teb sprang out of his chair and wrested Lewtri away from the bodyguard. "Calm down, brotra. This is no way for a prince to act."

Ott had also risen. "Or for a boy with even moderate intelligence. Get out of my sight!"

Rohmir grasped Lewtri’s arm. "Please, Your Highness. Come along."

It was useless, Lewtri realized, to pursue his claim. Trembling with anger, he jerked away from Teb and Rohmir and stalked out of the room.

"If you’ll excuse me…" He heard his father begin to beg leave of Larrik’s company.

Lewtri ran up the steps to the second floor guestroom he’d been assigned while at the greathouse. Rohmir followed him quickly and quietly.

"Why didn’t you support me?" Lewtri demanded when the bodyguard had closed the door behind himself.

Rohmir’s eyes filled with anguish. "I could see His Majesty was not going to believe you. I hoped to ease you out of a most unpleasant encounter." He extended his hands in a gesture of helplessness. "I’m sorry, Your Highness. It was all I could think to do at the moment."

Lewtri strode to one of the windows looking out toward the vols. Within him, resentment burned as hot as the fires smoldering inside those bleak cones. "It’s not your fault, Rohmir," he said at length. "It’s my father. He’s hated me ever since I ran away and met King Emmil."

He turned, went to the wardrobe and dragged out one of the leather satchels he’d brought along. While Rohmir watched wide-eyed, he began to pull clothes out of drawers and wardrobe and stuff them into the bag.

"What are you doing?" Rohmir asked.

"Running away. This time for good."

"But you can’t do that! Where would you go? You are only fifteen and ill-prepared to fend for yourself."

"I have money." Lewtri continued to pack clothes into the satchel. "When it’s gone, I’ll find some kind of work."

Rohmir shook his head. "And what would that be? You haven’t the strength to labor dawn-to-dusk, and roughweave garments would chafe your skin. In one night your palace table holds food enough to last a commoner’s family for a month. You can’t imagine how bad it is to be working-class. No, Your Highness, no. Such a thing is unthinkable."

He crossed the room and gently but firmly took the bag from the prince’s grasp. Lewtri sank down on the bed, despondent, buffeted by confusion. "I don’t know what to do, Rohmir."

"Last it out," the bodyguard advised. "When you are eighteen, your father will grant you some kind of title and some land to govern. Then you’ll be on your own."

"And still the laughingstock of Orland," Lewtri said bitterly. "And all because I believe in something that I know really does exist."

"Rest, Your Highness," Rohmir said. "I’ll go to the kitchen and ask Larrik’s cook to prepare a posset for you."

Feeling drained and defeated, Lewtri sighed and flung himself back across the bed as Rohmir left the room. The last rays of afternoon sun fanned through the window, reflecting off the slanted surface of the open transom opposite. Larrik’s greathouse was the only one Lewtri had ever seen that had such panels above the interior doors, their function to facilitate the flow of heated air piped in from the openlands.

He heard a stealthy tread in the hall, sat up and cocked his head to listen. After a moment he went to the door, opened it a crack and peeked out. Rohmir was entering King Ott’s room a few doors away.

To intercede for his young royal charge? Plead for him? A flush of gratitude warmed Lewtri. What would Rohmir say? The prince crept down the hall to listen.

CHAPTER 18

It was late afternoon before the night gleaners drew rein at the rim of a narrow valley. Its sides were composed of a hard rock so glassy it reflected the sun’s dying rays. On the more-or-less flat floor was a huddle of low buildings built of stacked stone, resembling the vent chimney formations Chaff had seen earlier. A sparkle caught his eye; a small spring bubbled out of the black-and-puce-striped rock just beyond the last hut.

As the group picked their way down the trail into the gleaner village, Chaff noted that the east valley floor was of scoured rock, much smoother than the rough terrain over which they had traveled most of the day. More of the scrubby brown horses Kelber had identified as "toughs" were confined inside a rock-walled corral. Other similar pens held milk cows, chickens and pigs. The west end of the valley opened out toward the vols and appeared to at least have surface dirt, for a few stubbles of wheatstalks were still visible.

A dozen or so black-haired, rosy-brown-skinned children of various ages came running to meet them. Boys and girls alike were clad in tunics and ankle-length breeches of roughweave cotton, and their feet were shod in heavy leather boots. Chaff could not understand what they were saying, but was sure their chatter and the quiet comments of the more-reserved adults concerned the strangers who rode into their midst.

Those who were sitting around a central campfire came to their feet to watch warily, and others stepped out of their huts or leaned out of the windows. Although his Awareness seemed less sensitive than usual, Chaff detected a mix of suspicion, curiosity, acceptance, apprehension. None of the gleaners offered a smile, but their expressions were not threatening.

As Trendarmon and the Loyals dismounted, some of the children caught the horses’ bridles. Chaff waited to see if Kelber would resent relinquishing his pompeer to people who obviously had no such fine animals, but the noble seemed unconcerned about it. The gleaners motioned for them to follow, and Chaff had just turned to do so when Trendarmon stopped walking and drew a quick breath.

He spoke a few words and Haehli interpreted for Chaff. "The fire child." Chaff followed Trendarmon’s gaze and saw a girl of about his own age staring at them from the window opening of one of the stacked-stone dwellings. In the fading sunlight, her hair glowed bright red and her skin was almost as white as his and Haehli’s would have been if not dyed. He touched the girl with his Awareness and found surprise and curiosity. And anxiety. Why their coming had upset her, Chaff couldn’t guess. Perhaps not many strangers came to the gleaners’ village.

He heard Haehli sigh, and he glanced at her. Her gaze was not on the pretty, red-haired girl, but on Trendarmon. Jealousy was not an emotion that Haehli’s sweet nature would permit, but she was clearly affected by Trendarmon’s reaction. Chaff’s heart hurt for his sister. In spite of her determination not to, Haehli had fallen in love with the handsome Orlandian nobleman.

* * *

Kelber noticed Haehli’s expression as she beheld his brother’s interest in the girl. So, Haehli did have special feelings for Trendarmon. Well, nothing could ever come of such a relationship. As surely as she was bound to Prand as a Second Loyal, Trendarmon was bound to Orland as Lord Maygor’s son.

They tramped past the "fire child." Kelber had heard that the night gleaners sheltered a white-skinned girl, but he’d dismissed the stories as rumors. She certainly did exist and she was captivating. He looked straight ahead and tried to ignore her, but the image of her delicate, heart-shaped face lingered and wouldn’t be dispelled.

Resolutely, he followed the gleaners to the dwelling of the doyer, as they called their leader, a man of about sixty whose given name was Sevak. Like the rest of his clan, he was short and stocky, his red skin browned by prolonged exposure to the sun and outdoor air. He spoke briefly with his men, cast a startled glance at Kelber and his companions, then dismissed the gleaners with a wave of his hand. Turning, he bade his guests be seated on the hide-covered cushions strewn about the smooth rock floor of the hut.

As he sank down on a cushion opposite them, his intense gaze raked over Chaff and Haehli. "Your disguises are excellent," he said to them in slightly-accented Prandian, "but I think that you are not from Orland. I have heard that on Prand there are humans called Keepers who possess such magik as my men tell me was used in the openlands today."

Kelber tensed, wondering what Chaff would say.

"You are very perceptive, Doyer Sevak," Chaff replied. "My sister and I have come to Orland on a mission, which, for the present at least, we prefer not to discuss. But it has nothing to do with contacting the night gleaners. Kelber will tell you the reason for that."

Obviously honoring the Prandians’ desire to keep their business confidential, Sevak shifted his attention to Kelber. "My men have said that you seek your sister, the lovely young lady called Fye. She of the smoke-gray eyes."

Like the herons that inhabited the sea marshes, Kelber’s hopes lifted slowly. Many people knew about Fye. The gleaners might or might not have actually seen her. "You can help us then? Tell us where she went?"

Doyer Sevak nodded, straight black hair falling forward in a spray over his brow. "We have seen Mistress Fye. Tell me, why do you seek her? Do you know the reason she no longer resides at Maygor Greathouse?"

Much as he hated to divulge what tormented him, Kelber felt compelled to be honest. "My mother accepted a pledge for Fye that my sister did not choose to honor."

The doyer’s black eyebrows lifted in surprise. "And you believed that was what brought her to the vol country?"

Kelber frowned. "Well, yes. What other reason could there be?"

"I do not know. I thought you might. I know only that she went with the Diviners."

The weight that descended upon Kelber crushed him, nauseated him. The Diviners! One of them had pretended to be birthaide to his mother, had scarred his wrists to keep him safe, King Neel had said. If the Diviners had taken his sister, it must mean that they were trying to protect her. But—from whom? And why would anyone seek to harm Fye?

* * *

Lewtri stood outside the door to his father’s room. As he had hoped, the two men’s words came clearly through the open transom. Rohmir was apparently answering a question put to him by King Ott.

"Yes, Your Majesty. There’s no doubt. It was magik." His tone was direct, positive.

The prince caught a quick breath. Why hadn’t Rohmir admitted this sooner? He must have been reluctant to speak in front of High Lord Larrik and his son.

"And you agree with Lewtri’s identification? They were Maygor’s sons?" Something about his father’s coldly impersonal tone raised the hairs on Lewtri’s nape.

"Yes. Kelber and Trendarmon. I’m sure Kelber is the Loyal. The others were obviously congratulating him on what he’d done."

"That one." Ott’s voice was hard. "He came before the council last November ranting about petitioning King Emmil. I should have suspected something then. I never considered our dear First Loyal might have sired an offspring. The boy has to be eliminated. I didn’t go to all the trouble of trapping Emmil only to have his hedge-born whoreson crop up and spoil things."

To Lewtri, the shock after shock of his bodyguard’s betrayal, his father’s orders to kill Kelber, the admission of having captured King Emmil—all were tremors, groundshakes. They preceded the violent eruption of realization that his father had always believed in the existence of magik, of King Emmil. All those years of humiliation, disparagement and vilification Lewtri had suffered had been by design.

Rage gripped him with such intensity that his heart labored, his limbs atrophied, his hearing dimmed. The voices came to him as if through a speaking tube.

"But aren’t Loyals immortal, Your Majesty?"

"Only after they receive the blessing of Infinity from their father. That can’t have happened with Kelber. No, the spleeny little upstart is quite vulnerable, Rohmir."

For a moment neither of the men spoke, then King Ott’s voice came again, gritty with agitation.

"Curse it to perdition! Why did this come at a time when I have so few men with me? Well, you’ll just have to do the honors, Rohmir. Take Fleg with you. He’s a good bowman. You do know where the night gleaners’ village is, don’t you?"

Rohmir must have nodded for the king asked, "How long will it take you to get there?"

"About three hours, Your Majesty."

"Then find Fleg and leave as soon as possible."

"What about Prince Lewtri, Your Majesty?"

The king’s voice turned impatient. "We have to keep the bleating little sheepwit suppressed until I can convince Larrik he was hallucinating."

"I’m on my way to get him a posset. I can add a dash of sleeping powder."

"Will he take it?"

"Oh, yes, Your Majesty. He trusts me implicitly."

Lewtri gritted his teeth. I did, Rohmir, fool that I am. Well, he would not play that part anymore. He’d show the bodyguard and his father he was not the sheep-brained coward they thought he was. He’d warn the nobles.

The sounds of movement within the room brought the prince out of his stupor. He would not be able to get back to his room before Rohmir exited King Ott’s. Instead, Lewtri backed up a few steps, then walked forward toward his father’s room, reaching it just as Rohmir stepped out.

The bodyguard’s eyes lit with surprise.

"I want to talk with Father," Lewtri said sulkily and made as if to brush past Rohmir.

The man put a hand on Lewtri’s arm, and it was only with great restraint that the prince refrained from jerking away.

"Please, Your Highness," Rohmir begged. "He’s still very upset. As you are. I beg you, let the issue rest until you’re both in a more congenial frame of mind."

Lewtri hesitated, as if considering.

"I was on my way to get your posset when your father hailed me," the bodyguard went on. "With your permission, I’ll go on down to the kitchen now."

Feigning resignation, Lewtri rubbed his forehead. "All right." He regarded Rohmir with a troubled expression. "We did see magik, though, didn’t we, Rohmir?"

The man sighed. "We saw some sort of phenomenon, Your Highness."

"Yes. Well…" Lewtri turned toward his room, and Rohmir headed for the servitor’s stairway to the kitchen.

By the time his bodyguard returned, Lewtri had formulated a plan. In a room illuminated only by the gray twilight, he accepted the pottery cup of wine-laced hot milk and carried the drink into the privacy alcove. He had already dampened a cloth with water from the pitcher atop the washtable. Now he poured the posset into the wash basin and refilled the cup with water. Stepping back into Rohmir’s view, he sipped the water and pressed the cloth to his forehead.

"Do you think my father will ever relent? Ever admit that there’s even a possibility that magik exists?" He took a generous swallow of the water, dabbed his forehead again and tossed the cloth back onto the washtable.

"I don’t know, Your Highness." Rohmir’s expression was one of appropriate concern. "Your father is such a practical man. It’s very hard for him to accept something so abstract."

Lewtri finished the drink and set the cup on the windowsill. He loosened the ties on his riding tunic. "Be sure to wake me in time to freshen up and change clothes before dinner. I don’t want to embarrass my father and brother any more than I already have." He congratulated himself on just the right amount of sarcasm in his tone.

As soon as Rohmir was gone, Lewtri poured a little of the milk drink into the cup and threw the rest out of the window. He mussed the bed and left the room carrying his doublet, without extra clothes, without the pouch of coins. Anything to confuse those who might search for him later.

He thought he had made a clean escape down the back stairs until he met a girl servitor coming in from outside. She bobbed a curtsy. "Prince Lewtri." In the pale glow of a wall sconce, her expression showed only mild curiosity at their encounter. Sometimes it served well to be considered moody.

"I want some time to myself," Lewtri told her. "I’ll expect you not to mention having seen me."

"If you want to avoid the other two, Your Highness," she offered, "they went for a ride in the openlands."

"Then I shall venture in the opposite direction," he said and brushed past her.

He avoided the stablemen with ease, since the presence of each was marked with a lighted lantern as they performed their assigned tasks. He did not try for stealth, but strode with a purpose; and the yard dogs, which he had befriended earlier that day, paid him no attention. The blooded horses were stabled, but the scrubby, brown toughs were loose in an enclosure. Lewtri selected one, threaded a rope through her halter in such a way as to provide reins of a sort and climbed onto her back.

Rohmir and Fleg were far enough ahead of him that he dared kick the little mare into a gallop when he was out of hearing of the greathouse. Stacks of lumber, pale rectangular shapes in the deepening darkness, loomed on either side of the track. It didn’t really surprise Lewtri that Larrik was a hoarder of that precious commodity.

When the prince reached the border fence he found Rohmir and Fleg had left the gate closed but unlocked for their re-entry. Out in the openlands, he drew the mare to a halt and strained to hear any sound of movement. A gentle night wind blew toward him and brought a faint clicking across the emptiness—horseshoes striking stone. He eased the tough forward. Now and then he could see the riders, moving blacker patches against the vol country blackness. The night was moonless, and from time to time a cloud would obscure the stars’ faint light. Blessedly, the fire lizards were not nocturnal; the only danger of riding at night was the treacherous terrain.

Time passed. It seemed to Lewtri that he’d been riding for hours. Sometimes he lost track of the sounds, and, in spite of the cold, sweat beaded his forehead until he once more picked up the clicking noises. Rohmir had taught him to read the stars, but little good that did, without his knowing where the gleaner village was located.

Dinner must have started at Larrik greathouse by now. Would the lord inquire about the prince’s absence? Perhaps not. King Ott would probably admit he’d ordered a sleeping powder for his excitable youngest son. The one who had been only a ploy to facilitate the king’s public aspersion of King Emmil. Starlight spun into silvery webs through Lewtri’s tears.

He scrubbed at his eyes with his sleeve. Most likely, Teb would be the one to discover him gone. King Ott often commented that while his oldest son was capable enough, he wasn’t sufficiently tempered, hence his inclusion on every business trip. Yes, it would be Teb who would check on Lewtri, but not until morning.

Ahead of him the prince saw an orange glow in the night sky. Rohmir and Fleg headed for it, but at a more cautious pace. Within another mile, Lewtri determined that the light was from a campfire reflecting off a low-hanging cloud. It must be the night gleaners’ village. Kelber and Trendarmon would be sitting around that fire, easy targets for men loosing arrows out of the dark.

Lewtri decided he would circle to the north and approach from there to warn them. In the rugged vol country the toughs were superior to blooded horses. He thought he would be able to reach the gleaners’ camp before his father’s men.

He turned the mare and kicked her in the flanks. She moved at only a shambling trot. Impatient with her caution, he kicked her harder, but she refused to increase her pace. Finally, they came to a valley, and the tough picked her way down its side. When they reached the bottom Lewtri could make out by starlight that this was cropland.

Atop a bluff he caught a glimpse of a man’s upper body silhouetted against the sky. Afraid now he would not get to the village in time, Lewtri dug his heels viciously into the tough’s ribs. She took a few long strides, then grunted as one leg went out from under her. When she regained her footing, she was limping.

Panic seized Lewtri. He flung himself from the mare’s back and charged headlong toward the campfire.

CHAPTER 19

The three Loyals, Trendarmon and Doyer Sevak sat as a group in the circle of night gleaners who surrounded the campfire. Its flames were fueled by a substance that gave off an unpleasant greasy odor. Chaff missed the crackle of burning sticks and the familiar woodsmoke smell. In honor of the four visitors, the doyer had called for a pig roast and it cooked on a spit as they watched.

Its entrails had been carried some distance from camp and a pair of tersak squabbled over the offal. The throaty mutterings of the scavenger birds sounded so nearly human that Chaff had cast his Awareness at them more than once.

"Another service they perform," Kelber said. "You’ve probably noticed there are no dogs in camp to eat butcher leavings. Keeping the chickens and farm animals fed is chore enough for the gleaners."

The noble spoke as if distracted, and Chaff followed his gaze to the red-haired girl. She had joined the circle and sat a little farther around its irregular curve. Unlike the other gleaners, who eyed the visitors with shy curiosity, the girl ignored Chaff and his companions. Why did their presence bring her such obvious unease?

A man of about two ten-years sat close beside her, his thigh touching hers. Chaff smiled. Timra—if Chaff remembered his name correctly—no doubt felt threatened by the appearance of two handsome, young, unmarried nobles. He wanted it understood this girl was spoken for. The man’s name and the girl’s, Megedehna, were about all Chaff had been able to understand of the evening’s conversation.

The twenty or more women of the group had positioned large blue-skinned tubers around the outer edges of the firepit and turned them often with forked sticks. About thirty men hunkered or sat around the circle and passed a jug of fermented fruit beverage they called perry from hand to hand, the women as well as the men each taking a gulp of its contents. It had passed Chaff twice already and he had taken a polite mouthful. Like the wine he’d tasted at Norporte’s royalhouse, it didn’t please his tongue.

Outside the circle of seated adults, the children played some sort of touch-and-run game. Their shouts had rung regularly in the clear night air, so their first cry of alarm went unnoticed by the gleaners. Its heightened emotion, however, caught Chaff’s attention at once. He leapt to his feet, his Awareness spinning out across the dark landscape.

One of the children had ventured too close to the feeding tersak. Great gray beaks snapped vicious warning. Black-and-gray barred wings flapped and whipped. Barely visible in the campfire light, taloned feet clawed the air frighteningly near a little girl’s head.

Chaff’s Awareness found no malice; the birds sought only to protect their food. But he couldn’t let them injure the child in doing so. With cool deliberation, he drove into their LifeForce Particles, encountered the energy flows that moved their wings and legs and commanded them to stop. Squawking with terror, their hearts pumping furiously, the huge birds fell and flopped around on the stony ground.

The gleaners rushed to snatch the little girl to safety. One of the men carried a long-handled hatchet and swung it at the defenseless tersak nearest the child. As quickly as he had immobilized the bird, Chaff stayed the hand of the gleaner. It wasn’t right to destroy one of the Eternal One’s creations for behaving in its natural way.

While the man cursed and fought his sudden paralysis, tersak and offal disappeared from the range of vision of Sevak’s people. Chaff followed with his Awareness and found that Kelber had set the creatures and their meal down a half-league distant. He turned to the Orlandian. Their gazes met, and a new understanding passed between them.

The incident with the tersak dulled the children’s enthusiasm for games, and they gathered around the campfire with the adults. The girl who had interrupted the scavengers’ feeding huddled in a woman’s lap. Wary and watchful of the four guests, the hatchet-bearer rubbed his arm, once more restored to its mobility. Expressions in the circle of faces had changed from idle curiosity to awe and trepidation.

Now the night gleaners knew for certain that the visitors were more than they seemed to be. And since no Orlandian humans except King Emmil possessed magik, they must also have surmised that Chaff and Haehli were Keepers from Prand. Chaff touched Sevak with his Awareness. The doyer thought Haehli had helped remove the tersak from the area. Chaff saw no reason to admit otherwise. Nor to enlarge upon his and Haheli’s special Keeper status.

"Your identities are no longer secret, I fear," Sevak said. "Like me, my people wonder why two Prandian Keepers are here in Orland."

What should I tell him? Chaff thought. That Orland’s First Loyal is missing? That I fear the Eternal One has stripped him of his powers? No, he could not impose such a burden upon these kind people. And so he said nothing.

The doyer drew a deep breath, his expression reflecting mild aggravation. Then he exhaled slowly and murmured, "I bow to your wishes."

After a moment, he collected himself and nodded toward the red-haired girl. "For a time we tried to disguise Megedehna, but it became very tiring to keep dying her hair and skin. We finally decided to let her be as the Eternal One intended. So came into being the rumor of the ‘fire child,’ the one with the flaming hair."

Kelber had listened with obvious interest. "Her red hair and white skin is not an odd happenstance of nature?"

Doyer Sevak shook his head. "No. She is not a clan aberration. Our Megedehna came to us twelve years ago. One of our gem buyers found her near dead on the shores of Deltarn. She was about three years old and knew only her name and a few other words, long since forgotten. Because of her coloring, the buyer feared for her safety. He thought she would be best protected with us here among the vols. Even at that time there were people in Orland who had begun to fear or despise those with light skin."

"Thanks to the attitudes fostered by the great king of Deltarn," Kelber muttered.

The perry jug came around again. Sevak took a drink and passed it to Chaff and Haehli, who each took a small sip.

"Why are you telling us this?" Haehli asked quietly as she handed the jug to the gleaner beside her.

Sevak laughed. "Ah. One Keeper perceives a motive for my revelation." His face sobered, and his brown eyes narrowed slightly. "Megedehna should be with her own people. Where she can come and go as she pleases and not fear death at any moment. I ask that when you finish whatever mission you are bent upon, you come back here and take her to Prand with you."

So that’s it, Chaff thought. Megedehna has sensed what strangers in camp might mean. He knew the girl was not Prandian, but before he could communicate that to Sevak, Trendarmon spoke. "Are you sure it’s best for her to be taken away from the only home, the only people, she’s ever known?" The noble glanced at the red-haired girl. "It appears a certain young gleaner has an attachment for her."

The doyer sighed. "Yes, and that is another reason why I think she should leave as soon as possible. Timra is pressing her to mate with him. I do not think that would be wise. If she bears a child by him, she will be forever bound to this place, this life." He gestured around at the vol country. Dark cones and chimney-stacks roughened the deep blue of the night sky. "For us, it is home." His face saddened. "But it is not the right place for a delicate being like Megedehna."

Chaff’s Awareness told him how much that decision had torn the night gleaner’s heart. He loved the "fire child" as if she were his own, loved her enough to send her away.

"Chaff and Haehli will be going back," Kelber said. "They’re the ones who will have to consent to take her."

Chaff felt trapped. She’s not Prandian, he wanted to say, but Prandian or not, she would certainly fit in better on the larger continent than here. "Of course, we’ll agree, but don’t you think she should be consulted?"

The doyer tilted his head as if that thought had never occurred to him. "No. The young—especially the young females—need to have decisions made for them."

"It seems to me that such decision-making is what brought us to the openlands in the first place," Haehli said. Firelight set the gold flecks in her eyes glittering. "Something about a ‘pledge,’ as I recall."

"You spoke of such earlier." Doyer Sevak shook his head and spread his hands in a gesture of puzzlement. "But what is wrong with a pledge?"

"Fye’s mother made one for her, and she obviously didn’t approve of the choice." Haehli was angry enough not to be her usual tactful self. She glared at the two nobles. "Why don’t you be honest and define ‘pledge’ for the benefit of Chaff and me?"

Kelber sucked in a deep breath and looked to Trendarmon, who shrugged. "They could probably read your mind and find out," the older noble said.

"They can’t read minds," Kelber mumbled, and turned to Haehli. "A pledge means that a woman will live with a man as if she were his wife for six months. At the end of that time, they typically marry."

"‘Typically?’ " Haehli’s icy tone demanded explanation.

"If they aren’t compatible, the woman goes back to her family," Kelber added stiffly.

"I see. And is she then considered as desirable by other men as she had been before she fulfilled this ‘pledge?’"

When Kelber pressed his lips together and did not respond, Trendarmon spoke, his voice harsh. "She is considered damaged goods and rarely marries well." He exchanged glances with his brother. "And Kel and I both felt Har-Larrik was the kind of man who would not follow the pledge with marriage. That’s why we were so angry with Matra. And why she herself is sorrowing. She knows she made a mistake and drove her daughter away."

"Fye didn’t exactly run away, Tren," Kelber said quietly. "The Diviners came for her. They convinced her to leave with them." He looked at Doyer Sevak. "How many were with her?"

"Four," Sevak replied. "Hard to miss them in their white robes, out here on the openlands."

"White robes." Kelber frowned. "Then the mission was important enough that they sent four Pristines."

At Chaff’s questioning glance, Trendarmon explained. "The lesser members of the Order wear gray robes. Only the Pristines, the women who are truly pure of heart and thus supposedly able to see into the future, wear white."

"And what did they see that caused them to come after Fye, Tren?" Kelber’s slumped shoulders betrayed his despair. "Who or what are they protecting her from?"

"It may not have anything to do with you," Haehli said.

Kelber’s eyes flashed. "Stay out of my mind, Haehli."

She wrinkled her nose. "I don’t need my Awareness to know what you’re thinking." She flicked a glance at the gleaners sitting nearby, lowered her voice and spoke rapidly in Prandian. "But, remember, the Diviners took your sister before you arrived back in Orland. She knew nothing of your status."

"The Diviners did," Kelber replied, also in Prandian.

"Yes, but no one else knew. So why would Fye be in danger because of that?"

Somebody besides the Diviners now knows Kelber has magik, Chaff thought, remembering the two riders in the openlands. Those watchers would doubtless have attributed the magik use to the noble being congratulated—certainly not to the working-class riding with him and his brother.

Sevak had been following the conversation between Haehli and Kelber with interest, and a realization had dawned in his eyes. He suspected that Kelber, too, was more than he seemed to be.

"I think," Haehli continued, "that, for some reason, the Diviners didn’t want Fye to pledge with that Har-Larrick person."

"I wonder how they got her out of the greathouse without being seen," Trendarmon said. "And without even leaving tracks."

His expression still thoughtful, the doyer shrugged. "They have certain powers."

Chaff’s thoughts flashed to the night he and Dowvy had thieved Lady Meave’s mare from Yoad’s Holdings. The little brushbung had deepened the stablehands’ sleep and had illusioned Chaff and the horse from a guard. Perhaps the Diviners had that kind of magik.

Memories of Dowvy, home and Aeslin crowded his mind. He hadn’t realized he was twisting the gold band on his left middle finger until Sevak spoke, his gaze on the ring. "You miss the one who warms your bed?"

"I miss the one who warms my heart," Chaff responded. "Do all Orlandian men think of their women only as suppliers of physical pleasure?" he added tartly, remembering the recent conversation about pledges.

Sevak’s black eyebrows rose. "Indeed, not. Although I admit we do not always demonstrate our affection."

Chaff was still irritated. "Perhaps you should try it. An embrace for love alone is a gratifying experience." He glanced around. "You have no wife, Doyer Sevak?"

Once more, sadness filled the night gleaner’s eyes. "My mate died many years ago. I have not found another who could take her place."

Chaff felt properly humbled. He was glad the gleaner women chose that time to begin cutting the meat and pulling the blue tubers from the fire. Along with the pork and vegetable, served on metal plates, were broad leaves of some sort of lettuce and small round pears. The gleaners no doubt bought from hothouses such as the ones he had seen on the way south to Maygor Lordshare.

The meat was juicy and tender, the unusual vegetables and fruit not so different-tasting from those of Prand. The gleaners ate without utensils, and when he had finished his meal Chaff excused himself to wash his hands at the spring. Haehli and the two nobles joined him, kneeling on the smooth rock alongside the small stream.

As they finished their ablutions, Haehli suddenly tensed. Alerted, Chaff, too, felt a hostile presence nearby. Instantly, he cast his Awareness and found two men not thirty paces away. Evil was in their hearts and it was directed at Kelber. There was no time to ascertain why. Chaff knew only that the noble was in danger.

Chaff swung one arm and slammed it against Kelber’s chest, knocking him backward. Haehli twisted and flung herself atop Trendarmon. At the same moment, the twin hisses of two arrows whispered through the night air.

Chaff felt an arrow pass through his LifeForce Particles, sent his Awareness back along its flight path and caught the bowman with his mind. He read his foul thoughts, saw the ugly colors of his soul, heard the discordant sounds of his Being. This man did not seek to kill only because ordered to do so. He reveled in taking another’s life.

Rage slammed the doors on Chaff’s compassion. He drove his Awareness into the heart that pounded with such malevolent exhilaration and commanded it to stop beating. Within seconds, the man’s LifeForce ceased to exist. Just as quickly, Chaff sought the second bowman, read him, found only a thin thread of humanity binding his spirit and ended his earthbound ties. Let the Eternal One take care of their souls, if they were worthy of consideration.

Momentarily paralyzed, the night gleaners remained crouched around the campfire. Keyed to a near-panic state, Chaff searched the immediate area with his Awareness and found no more bowmen. Confused and agitated, Kelber struggled to right himself. Haehli got to her knees, then leaned over Trendarmon.

"The arrow that went through me sliced Tren’s shoulder," she told Chaff, "but I think it’s only minor. Did you kill both of the assailants?"

"I did," Chaff said and glanced toward where the dead men lay. "And now I wish I hadn’t. One of them had enough conscience that he might have answered questions truthfully. I should have let him live long enough to find out."

The night gleaners, recovered from their shock, leapt to their feet. The women herded or carried the children to the safety of the huts, while the men snatched up their weapons and dispersed to search the area. Chaff could have told them what they would find: two of their own dead—killed silently while standing guard—and the bodies of the men who had loosed the arrows at Kelber and Trendarmon.

Once more he cast his Awareness and wondered why he was having difficulty achieving any distance. Then, not far away to the north, he perceived a lame horse and a moving human being. He sent his mind into the human’s LifeForce Particles. He would not kill this one, but he would make him suffer.

CHAPTER 20

Chaff had intended to constrict the passage of air into the intruder’s lungs, let him experience the mind-numbing terror of not being able to breathe. Instead, as his Awareness entered the other’s LifeForce Particles, Chaff read such anxiety and anguish that he knew at once this individual was not a threat. The whistle from the night guard had called the gleaners’ attention to the boy, who now ran stumbling toward the village.

Knowing they would fall upon him with their weapons before asking questions, Chaff whirled on Kelber. "Convey him!" he commanded. For an instant, Kelber seemed too dazed and confused to comprehend, then his eyes cleared and Chaff felt the disturbance of Air Particles.

A thin boy dressed in fine woolen garments appeared before Chaff. The boy crouched, his arms flailing to ward off the attackers he had so recently seen racing toward him. Chaff restrained him. "It’s all right," he soothed, sure that one so obviously highborn would understand Prandian. "You’re safe now. Kel and I will protect you."

The boy ceased struggling. His large dark eyes lit with momentary relief, then extreme agitation. He addressed Kelber in Orlandian with a cry that could only have been a warning, then gripped the noble by the shoulders, all the while looking around wildly as if for a place to hide. When he saw Trendarmon lying wounded, Haehli kneeling at his side, the boy moaned and slumped. Chaff caught him before he fell and lent healing strength.

"They’ve already tried," Kelber said grimly, speaking in Prandian, the words obviously in response to what the boy had said.

The gleaners who had run to intercept the intruder surged back into camp, their expressions registering anger and disbelief at having their quarry whisked away from them. Sevak, at their head, commanded them to halt, then he stepped forward. His eyes widened. "Prince Lewtri! I hardly expected our attackers to be led by you!"

The doyer also spoke in Prandian, perhaps for Chaff’s and Haehli’s benefit. Startled by Sevak’s identification of the boy, Chaff waited for Lewtri to respond. When he didn’t, Kelber spoke for him. "The prince came to warn us. He just didn’t get here in time."

Lewtri’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. "I didn’t know the way…the tough went lame…I jumped off and ran…" The broken sentences faltered.

Chaff touched Lewtri with his Awareness and found such a turmoil of emotions that his heart ached for the prince.

Other gleaners returned to camp, carrying with them the bodies of their two night guards and the two assailants who had killed them. At sight of his father’s men, Lewtri sucked in a deep breath and the tears that had threatened came. Chaff steadied him. "You know these men?"

"That one," Lewtri mumbled, pointing. "Rohmir’s been my bodyguard for as long as I can remember. I thought he cared about me, but he…he…" The prince broke off, mouth working, chin quivering, as he fought to regain composure.

"I would like to hear the whole story, Your Highness." Sevak’s voice was respectful, though not cordial. "But in the privacy of my hut, lest we unnecessarily alarm my people." Haehli and Kelber helped Trendarmon to his feet, and Chaff steadied Lewtri as they followed the doyer toward his dwelling.

The women and children had returned from hiding and joined their menfolk around the fire. The flames lit their faces and showed mixed expressions of awe, anger and resentment. Chaff touched the doyer with his Awareness and found the same emotions.

In Sevak’s hut, Chaff laid a hand on the prince’s arm. "The gleaners have lost two of their people," he said gently. "They need to know why."

Lewtri drew a deep breath. "They weren’t after the gleaners," he said to the doyer. "They were after King Emmil’s son." His nod indicated Kelber.

Sevak’s startled glance flashed to the young noble, and then to Chaff and Haehli, but he made no comment.

Haltingly, with many a nervous gesture, Lewtri related what he had overheard at High Lord Larrik’s greathouse.

At the revelation that King Emmil still lived, Chaff’s heart leapt with gratitude. His fears had been unwarranted. He was confident Orland’s First Loyal could be liberated. Kelber would be reunited with his father and receive the blessing of Infinity.

As Kelber listened to Lewtri’s report, his expression registering his growing bewilderment. "King Ott has captured my father? How can that be? How can a mortal overcome a Loyal?"

"I don’t know," Lewtri replied. "They were speaking only to inform each other, not me."

"Then you don’t know where he is being imprisoned?" Kelber persisted.

"No!" Lewtri cried. "I told you all I overheard."

"He’s telling the truth," Chaff said wearily. "Use your Awareness."

Kelber flung up his hands in frustration. "I can’t. I was hardly able to convey Lewtri that short distance. Now I feel…drained."

"I know what you mean," Haehli commented. "It took me much longer to heal Tren than it ordinarily would."

"I was able to stop their—" Chaff broke off abruptly. He had been about to say "hearts" but now modified it. "—attack, but only because they were so close. My Awareness should have detected them long before they reached camp."

Haehli frowned. "There must be something here in the vol country that affects magik. I haven’t felt this ineffective since I became a Loyal over a year ago."

Sevak had listened to the conversation with ever-increasing surprise, and now exhaled a long breath. "Loyals," he said, looking from Chaff to Haehli to Kelber with staring eyes. "Three Loyals. Our village is indeed honored." Gone was his resentment and anger; only the awe remained, accompanied now by veneration.

Chaff saw no need for any more deception and spoke frankly. "About one-and-a-half thirty-days ago, Kelber and Trendarmon came to Prand to ask King Neel’s help in finding King Emmil. My father sent Haehli and me in his stead. When we reached Maygor Lordshare and found Fye missing, Kelber wanted to see her safely home before continuing on our original mission. I guess things have changed, now that we know King Ott has imprisoned your First Loyal."

At a little whimper from Lewtri, Chaff glanced at the prince and touched him with his Awareness. Along with anguish about his father’s actions, Lewtri felt sorrow over the death of his bodyguard. Chaff wished again he hadn’t been so quick to act in anger. If the man had elicited that much feeling from Lewtri… Well, it was done and in the hands of the Eternal One.

For several moments, all were quiet. Kelber stared out the hut’s open doorway, across the dark, bleak openlands. Trendarmon rubbed absently at his healed shoulder.

"Perhaps," Haehli mused, "we should go back to Prand and consult Father."

"Go, if you wish," Kelber said. "As for me, I’m staying here to search for Fye."

"You…you must leave." Lewtri’s voice was unsteady, but he spoke with conviction. "My father won’t give up. He’ll keep sending his men out after you." After a moment, in only a whisper, he added, "Orland needs its Loyals. Don’t let my father kill you."

Compassion squeezed Chaff. Somehow King Ott had hurt Lewtri terribly, yet the prince still felt a strong emotional tie. It was extremely difficult for him to speak out against his father.

Kelber must have felt the boy’s anxiety, too, for he took a deep breath, then agreed. "All right. Tren and I will sail for Prand with Haehli and Chaff—just as soon as we find Fye." He once more addressed the doyer. "I presume the Diviners took her to their sanctuary in Hynagarla?" At Sevak’s nod, Kelber went on. "It’s almost dawn. We’ll leave as soon as we have enough daylight to travel."

"I’m going with you," Lewtri said, with a finality that seemed to startle even himself.

"You cannot do that," Sevak said. "You are a prince. Your father will send men to search for you as soon as he realizes you are missing."

"Only a few of his personal guards," Lewtri said bitterly. "He won’t embarrass himself by publicly admitting that his giddy-headed son has run away. And I told a servant girl that I was riding east." He glanced around at his listeners, his expression imploring. "I can’t return to the palace. I can’t live with a man who…who does bad things."

Sevak eyed him with renewed respect. "Many kings do bad things," he said softly.

"Then I don’t ever want to be king." Lewtri brushed at the brown curls on his forehead. He gestured toward the Loyals and Trendarmon. "I’ll sail with them. I’ll beg exile in Falshane."

Chaff smiled. "And Falshane’s king will grant it," he said, his thoughts on Aeslin’s big, bluff grandfather.

"But what about your mother, Prince Lewtri?" Haehli asked. "Surely she will be broken-hearted if you run away."

"My mother traded her life for mine." Lewtri’s lips were again trembling. "A poor exchange, I’m afraid."

The despair in his voice made Chaff resolve to see to it that the prince had a healing session with King Neel as soon as possible.

"Then the matter is settled," Sevak said and got to his feet, as did the others. The doyer’s demeanor took on the air of authority. "But we have some changes to make. Kelber, your horse is too easily recognized. And, anyway, the pompeers are not suited for traveling across the openlands. We will take them to Maygor Lordshare." He quirked a dark eyebrow at the nobles. "With a message to Lady Cosamett, if you so wish.

"We will replace your mounts with our own toughs," he continued. "I thoroughly dislike keeping another man’s horses, but we cannot let Larrik’s animals go back to his lordshare. For the sake of your safety and ours, it is best if Ott does not know exactly what happened to his men."

Lewtri frowned. "I can’t pay for the horses. I left my money behind."

"I have Prandian gold full-falcons, Sevak," Chaff said. "If you have a way to convert them to Orlandian coin."

"I do, although no payment was expected."

"Thank you, but kindness and generosity such as yours should not go unrewarded."

For a moment, the doyer met Chaff’s steady gaze, then he smiled suddenly. "As you wish, Loyal Chaff. Now then," he said, briskly businesslike again, "my people already suspect that you and Haehli are Keepers. All they need to know at this time is that you are on a mission, and that Kelber and Trendarmon are assisting you. They do not need to know that your attackers were sent by King Ott. And, most assuredly, I will not tell them that our First Loyal has been taken captive." He gestured toward the door. "Come along, all of you. The fine garments that some of you are wearing will have to be replaced with roughweave. Some of our young men are of a size with you."

He led the way outside and approached the campfire, where the gleaners waited. After giving them his abbreviated explanation for the night’s events, he beckoned to Timra.

As the gleaner rose, Sevak’s mouth twitched and sadness shadowed his blunt features. "Megedehna, you, too, please."

Hesitantly, she got to her feet. With obvious trepidation, she joined Timra.

The doyer silently regarded the red-haired girl for a long moment. When he spoke, his words were choked, as if he pushed them out only with great difficulty. "For twelve years, you have lived among us and we have protected you."

Megedehna tensed and drew a quick breath. Timra, face pinched, eyes hard, put an arm around her.

"Chaff and Haehli are from Prand, the land of milk-skinned people, like you. You need to go there. To be with those who look like you. Where you can live freely and not be in constant fear of your life."

Megedehna’s eyes filled with tears and her mouth trembled. "You—you do not want me any more?"

"Of course, we want you!" Sevak cried. "But look around you, child. This is no place for you!" His voice softened. "Prand is a land of green forests, of sweet waters, of clear skies. It is where you belong, Megedehna."

Tears tracked the girl’s cheeks, and her red curls fell forward as she bowed her head. "I—I do not want to go."

"You must." The doyer sighed. "Tonight’s attack on our camp has proved how vulnerable we are. Those who seek to kill the Keepers also seek to destroy all Prandians."

Sobbing, the girl leaned against Timra, who tightened his half-embrace. "You cannot make her do this!" he cried. "We are to mate as soon as she is sixteen."

"I am sorry, Timra," Sevak said. "This is best for her, and as time goes on you will see it is best for you."

"It is not!" Timra’s face contorted with distress and defiance. "I will not let you send her away! I love her!"

"If you do, then you will understand that she cannot continue to live here."

Chaff felt the rage burning within the gleaner and wished he knew how to quell it. As usual in moments of great emotional stress, Haehli stepped in.

"It’s very difficult to relinquish someone you love," she said, and Timra’s glance darted to her, hope joining the anger that burned in his eyes. "But," Haehli went on, "perhaps you misread Megedehna’s feelings for you. Perhaps the mating would not happen, even if she stayed."

Chaff was astounded. His attention had been so riveted on Timra, he hadn’t touched the girl with his Awareness. He did so now and knew Haehli was right. Megedehna cared for Timra, but she did not love him.

The gleaner turned his head and with his free hand lifted the girl’s chin so that he could look into her eyes. "Is this true?"

Megedehna blinked back the tears and tried to speak, but could not.

Stricken, Timra dropped his arm from around her and stepped away. "I am sorry, Doyer Sevak," he said stiffly. "I spoke out of turn." His chin lifted and his dark eyes became impassive.

"We need roughweave for the nobles," the doyer said. "And for the prince, who wishes to accompany them for a while. Please arrange for that."

Without a backward look at Megedehna, Timra strode away. Haehli took his place at the girl’s side.

"He’s very hurt just now," she told Megedehna, "but, eventually, he will realize you didn’t love him and could not have been happy mated to him."

Megedehna’s words were choked with sobs. "I—I still…do not want to leave."

"I know," Haehli soothed. "Perhaps one day when all this foolishness between continents is resolved you can come back."

Weeping, the red-haired girl buried her face against Haehli, who wrapped her in a sheltering embrace. For a long time they stood, Haehli’s cheek against Megedehna’s forehead as the younger girl struggled with her despair. Beyond them, the night gleaners watched, faces expressing their sorrow at having to say farewell to one they had come to cherish.

Finally, tears standing in his eyes, Sevak rested a hand on Megedehna’s shoulder. "Come, little fire child. We have to dye your hair and skin before you can ride out among the Orlandians."

CHAPTER 21

The six riders left the gleaners’ camp as soon as it was light enough to travel. Kelber feared that what seemed like morning mist was, in fact, smoke from a firehill upwind of the camp—north, the direction in which they must go to reach Hynagarla.

The three Loyals and Trendarmon wore their padded outerwear and carried their helmets. Lewtri had none and the gleaners had none to give. They wore no protective equipment, trusting in their knowledge of vol activity to enable them to get out of harm’s way. Their only deference to the power of the vols was the kerchiefs they tied around their necks to pull over their faces and filter the noxious fumes.

The head coverings and caparisons worn by the pompeers were much too large and cumbersome for the small, brown horses. Unprotected except for the burlap nose covering each one wore, the toughs carried their riders away from Sevak’s camp.

Megedehna’s hair was now glossy black and her skin rosy-brown. Memories of her parting from the gleaners haunted Kelber’s heart as he followed the girl across the sullen openlands. Along with many others of the clan, she and her foster family had wept bitter tears. When she had said goodbye to Timra, she had held his hands and whispered, "I’m sorry." How those words must have cut. He had been too shaken with emotion to refrain from taking her into his arms and giving her a long, passionate kiss.

That picture, more than any other, hovered in front of Kelber, and he hated himself for not being able to dispel it.

Megedehna rode in the lead. Visibility was poor, and she was the only one who could readily find the path. Besides that, the task gave her a purpose, something to think about other than being torn from the home she had known, the people she had loved, for the last twelve years. Chaff and Lewtri followed a few paces behind her. The Prandian Loyal and the prince had taken an immediate liking to each other and tended to stay close together. Behind Kelber, Haehli and Trendarmon rode side-by-side, chatting. The little group had been riding for several hours and Kelber wondered if the two following him were aware that their voices, perhaps enhanced by the moisture in the air, carried forward very well.

"Megedehna seems very dejected," Trendarmon observed.

Kelber, too, had noticed how the girl’s shoulders slumped, how her head drooped.

"Are you sure she didn’t love Timra?" Trendarmon pressed. "She certainly seemed to enjoy his kiss."

That was what Kelber had been thinking, and he waited for Haehli to respond.

"She didn’t love him in the way he wanted her to. And every woman enjoys an expression of devotion. Perhaps you should try it sometime." Haehli’s tone was teasing.

"I’m almost nineteen," Trendarmon replied. "I’ve met with young women a time or two."

"I don’t doubt that. But I spoke of ‘devotion,’ quite a different emotion than the one you obviously refer to."

"Don’t tell me you’ve never—" Trendarmon’s heated retort broke off so quickly Kelber could imagine his brother’s heightened color.

Haehli’s calm response indicated no discomfiture. "My father came for me when I turned ten-and-six. For more than a year I’ve lived with him in his cottage at the Crown. When I haven’t been occupied with his teachings, I’ve been happy riding the skylands…mountains, to you."

"I know how you kissed your father and brother…and me…on the cheeks. Have you never shared a real kiss?"

"And what is a ‘real’ kiss, Trendarmon?" Haehli’s tone now revealed agitation. "Do Orlandian men think it only precedes a bedding? Is there nothing more to it than that? Chaff loves Aeslin with his heart and soul first and his body last. The way a man and woman should love."

Silence fell, broken only by the clip of the toughs’ hoofs on stone. After a moment, Haehli said, "That’s the kind of devotion I want. It’s what I must have, or I’ll have nothing."

A low, distant rumble rolled over the land. Chaff turned his horse and, Lewtri following, rode back toward Kelber, Haehli and Trendarmon. "That didn’t sound like a typical drumboom to me," he said. "Was it?"

Kelber lifted his head and tested the air like a hound on the scent. The rotten-egg smell was very faint, but it was there. "No," he answered Chaff. "A vol is about to burst." He strained his eyes through the persistent mist. "We’d be within range of Vol-Pyga, don’t you think, Tren?"

Trendarmon had drawn up alongside Kelber and Chaff. He nodded. "I’d say we’re far enough north." He frowned. "Pyga is known for her glowing avalanches."

He stood in the stirrups and called to Megedehna, who pulled her tough to a halt and turned back toward them.

"Define ‘glowing avalanche,’" Haehli said.

"It’s like a flood of red-hot stones, ash and heavy gases. It flows close to the ground."

Megedehna had reached them. Speaking with little expression and as if doing so only because they expected her to, she explained. "Differing from ash clouds and noxious fumes thrown into the air by some extravasations, or the molten rock that sometimes slops over the caldera’s rim like red gruel from a cook pot." She nodded toward the firehill. "With Vol-Pyga, the groundshakes will most likely not come until the last minute, just before the avalanche. She usually grumbles a long while before she blows."

"Do you think we have time to make it safely past?" Trendarmon was already unfastening his helmet from the pommel.

Megedehna shrugged. "Probably."

Kelber wasn’t sure if he trusted her judgement, considering her present state of discomposure.

"Can’t we move a little faster?" Chaff asked.

"No," Lewtri put in quickly. "We might lame the toughs."

Chaff removed his helmet and vest and handed them to the prince. "You need these more than I do. I’m immortal."

Lewtri took them slowly, awe lighting his dark eyes. "Immortal," he breathed.

"And Megedehna can have mine," Haehli said.

"Gleaners don’t wear them."

"I know, I know." Haehli nodded. "You stay out of the way of falling rock. But this time we may not have the luxury of nearby cover. Take them, Meg."

Moving as if intolerably weary, the girl donned vest and helmet. She lifted the kerchief from around her neck to cover her nose and mouth. The other members of the group did the same while Trendarmon dismounted long enough to insure the toughs’ burlap nose covers were properly tied.

Once more they followed Megedehna’s lead as she prodded her tough into a slow trot.

"How many vols are at the Crown of Orland?" Chaff asked, keeping pace with Kelber.

"Hundreds. But only eleven are currently active. There are smaller cinder cones in between, too. But they are not in a circular clump, like the Eternal Trees of Prand. The vols are in a sort of oval."

"What’s in the middle? Of the oval, I mean."

Kelber shot an appreciative glance at Chaff. He was one of the few who had ever expressed interest about that. Kelber himself hadn’t known until he had researched it at the university library in Nylsar.

"For obvious reasons, it isn’t very well charted," Kelber answered. "But the general consensus is that there’s an acidic lake inside the oval of the vols."

"Such as the type we passed yesterday?"

"Yes, only much larger. This one is supposed to have an island in its center."

"Do night gleaners live within the oval?"

Kelber shook his head. "No. Only in the openlands around the outer flanks." He gestured with one hand. "If you think this is rough, you should see the country up close to the vols. Mile after mile of nothing but jagged rock."

It was obvious now that the "mist" was smoke, and the air became increasingly odorous as they went on. They had ridden perhaps another hour when the ground shook under them, sending the toughs dancing with little squeals of terror. The accompanying thunderous boom momentarily deafened the riders.

"Watch for the flow," Megedehna shouted.

"We’ll see it in time?" Chaff shouted back.

"You’ll see the glow, like flowing fire," she returned. "As to whether or not in time…" She let her words fade.

Small rocks began to patter around them. "Chaff!" Kelber called. "Can you stop their motion?" Too fresh in his mind was the rock fall that had killed Patra.

He felt the change in the surrounding Air Particles. Chaff had split his Awareness and was meeting the rocks as they fell, holding them until the riders had passed under before releasing them. In spite of Chaff’s magik, Kelber hunched over the pommel, his nape crawling with the expectation of being struck by falling rock. Rather than urging his mount on, he actually had to restrain the nervous tough.

I should help, he thought. I should convey. But he knew he couldn’t. Not six horses and six people. And who could he leave behind? If he took only the humans, they would be stranded out here in the vol country. And where would he set them down? He might misjudge and land them all in the middle of the flow. Frustration pummeled him.

The echoes of the eruption died away, leaving only a grumbling roar as the glowing avalanche of hot rocks and gases swept down Vol-Pyga’s flanks. Kelber could hear it, but it wasn’t yet in sight. Moving at a rate faster than a horse could run on flat ground, it soon would be.

The tough staggered as another groundshake rolled under them, then light blossomed through the smoke to Kelber’s left. Preceded by a rush of stinking hot air, the flow came, brilliant red-orange and half a mile wide. It surged and leapt as the hot rocks met obstacles, throwing a spray of fiery foam into the smoke.

"To the chimneys!" Megedehna shrieked.

The others reined their horses the way she led. Through the sulphurous smoke, Kelber saw a cluster of vent-chimneys, the largest perhaps thirty feet tall and broad-based. Foregoing caution, the riders let their mounts set their own panicked pace across the openlands. Behind him, Kelber heard the crackle of bushes bursting into flame from the superheated air. Rock hares, ground squirrels and other small creatures screeched in terror, their cries snapped off as they were overtaken by the ash flow.

Although most of the heat boiled straight up, some warmth drifted outward, encompassing toughs and riders. As if he stood too close to a campfire, Kelber’s garments lay hot against his skin. Grunting in terror, his horse increased its speed.

The riders reached the chimneys, and the toughs scrambled up the steep, rocky talus. Chunks of flat rock chips slithered under their feet. The horses heaved themselves upward, their feet digging in until they were nearly on their knees. When they reached the vertical portion of the chimney they had no choice but to halt, muscles quivering, sides heaving. The riders looked back.

The glowing avalanche spread across the openlands. Hissing and spitting, a pair of fire lizards waddled toward the chimney, slanted eyes squinted against the heat. The horses quivered and snorted. Kelber shot a quick glance at Chaff. The Prandian sighed, and the fire lizards collapsed, unmoving. Kelber knew Chaff hadn’t killed them out of fear they would frighten the horses, but out of pity; the reptiles could not have outrun the avalanche. In moments, their bodies were buried under tumbling hot cinders.

The speed of the ash flow slowed. It oozed around the base of the vent-chimney against which they sheltered. The horses coughed and wheezed; eddies of putrid hot air spiraled up to the riders. Kelber thought of the old sharehand he had met at the palace in Nylsar, the one whose grandson had been killed by the death wind. But the deadly gases accompanying this discharge were heavy and ground-hugging. Their flow warped the image of plant and landscape, shimmered them into unreal waves of writhing red-gray. Another groundshake rattled the stones around the riders and sent loose ones clattering into the frothing mixture that oozed past not twenty feet below them.

Chest aching to draw a clean breath, Kelber wiped sweat from his face and glared at the firehill, now faintly visible in the smoky sky. Once more, hatred consumed him as surely as the glowing avalanche consumed every living thing in its path. He would find King Emmil. He would find his father, and together they would kill these loathsome beasts of nature.

* * *

Chaff wondered how far he would have to go to find fresh Air Particles. He thought he could locate them; his Awareness strength had returned almost to normal since he’d left Sevak’s camp. Whatever had diminished it there was not in such abundance here. He cast his Awareness and searched. The smoke rose high into the sky, but he felt a gentle north wind. He reached beyond it and found Air Particles that were not pure but were at least better than those the group now breathed.

As he had once coaxed rain clouds in Prand, he now urged and tugged at Orland’s Air Particles. He brought them through the massive fume-filled cloud and distributed them around the horses and people who clung to the chimney’s sides like ants to a storm-swept snag.

Kelber shot him an envious glance, but said nothing. Chaff knew why the Orlandian Loyal hadn’t conveyed riders or mounts away from the avalanche. If you didn’t have some idea of where you were going, the movement of LifeForce Particles could be disastrous. He hoped the others understood Kelber’s dilemma.

For a few moments, horses and humans did nothing but suck in the fresher air and expel the tainted. Then Lewtri expressed aloud what must have been foremost in all the riders’ minds. "What now?"

"I think…" Megedehna edged her horse a few steps around the side of the chimney and stood in the stirrups. "Yes. We’re almost to the bridge over Pyga Gorge." She settled back into the saddle. "It’s too deep a trench to ride in and out of, so the gleaners have built a bridge…well, sort of a bridge…across it. I think if we follow the base of this cluster of chimneys, we can reach it without getting into what’s left of the flow."

The others exchanged glances. "Do we have another choice?" Trendarmon finally asked.

"We’d better lead the horses," Haehli said, gazing down at the churning mass so near their feet. She dismounted and took hold of the chinstrap on the tough’s bridle.

Megedehna had already done the same, and now led her mount slowly down the sloping rock scrabble of the chimney they were on. Where it met the talus from the adjoining chimney, the avalanche flow was only a few paces below them. The tough rolled its eyes and snorted, but the fire child kept a firm hand and urged the animal up the next slope.

Slowly, carefully, the line of people and horses moved from the broad base of one column of stacked rock to another and then another. At length they came down the side of the last one and saw the gorge and bridge Megedehna had described. It was twenty-five or more paces across, and the outer edge of the oozing, hot ash-rock mixture had funneled into the steep-walled depression. Two halves of a log, set side-by-side, spanned it. Beyond lay openlands devoid of flow.

Even though the tree was much smaller than those on his holdings, Chaff wondered where the gleaners had found it. Each half-log was about a pace wide, suitable for people but not exactly ample for horses, not even the game little toughs. The ash flow, now a dull orangey-gray, crept sluggishly a few handspans below the halved log, the rounded undersides of which were beginning to steam from the heat.

"We’d better move fast," Trendarmon said. "That bridge doesn’t look as if it will last long."

Haehli eyed the rock sludge. "I can cool the Wood Particles of the bridge, but not for long. The heat is tremendous." She turned to Kelber. "Whatever has been blocking my magik is not in evidence around here. Do you feel your conveying strength is still compromised?"

He shook his head. "I feel all right. But not so confident that I’d want to try conveying more than four horses and riders at the same time."

"Do you think you can, then come back for two more?"

Kelber hesitated and frowned in frustration. "I don’t think I should risk it. I might set them down right in it."

Haehli didn’t disparage him for his honest assessment of his abilities. "All right, then. You convey yourself and the others. Chaff and I will cross the bridge."

"No!" Lewtri said sharply. "The Loyals have to survive. I’ll cross the bridge."

"And I." Megedehna began to walk forward. "If I lose my life, it’s of no import."

"Wait, you two selfless young souls," Haehli cried. When they turned to her, she smiled. "You forgot. We Loyals, Chaff and I, are blessed with Infinity. We can cross the bridge without concern, except perhaps for losing the horses." While Lewtri and Megedehna exchanged awed glances, Haehli looked again at Kelber. "Ready?"

He nodded and drew a deep breath. Chaff hoped the Orlandian Loyal could manage to move eight collections of LifeForce Particles. That other time, he had been under stress. Now, the move was to be deliberate and planned. And although Kelber’s magik strength must be increasing with familiarity it might still be somewhat inhibited by the negative forces they’d felt earlier.

The disturbance of Air Particles began. In an instant, four toughs and four people disappeared from Chaff’s sight, only to reappear across the chasm. He sighed. He’d never be able to convey as well as Kelber, yet for some reason his cloak of envy was now thin—and losing more threads each time they worked together.

Haehli sent her Awareness into the logs. Within seconds, the steaming ceased. The two loyals unfastened the toughs’ burlap nose coverings and tucked them through their bridles as temporary blinders, then stepped out onto the bridge. The logs, not well placed, shifted under their feet. The toughs snorted and pranced.

"If one of them slips over," Chaff said, as he struggled to control the animal he led, "convey yourself the rest of the way and don’t worry about me. I can manage to get myself that far."

"Hang tight, little brother," came her quick response. "We need the horses. We don’t want to lose them."

The log halves seemed to stretch on forever. Chaff’s arms ached from restraining the frightened tough. Every time one of the halves tilted, the horses would snort and shy. The bridge wasn’t wide enough for such movement. Finally, Chaff’s horse stepped too far afield and one hind foot slid off the log. Without conscious thought, Chaff stopped motion, caught the foot with his mind and held it. He coaxed the animal forward gently, letting it lurch ahead on three legs until it was safe for him to release the paralyzed one.

"Close," he breathed, aware of the sweat now beading his forehead in spite of Haehli’s cooling magik. They were a little more than halfway across the bridge. Beneath it, the steaming flow of rocks and ash writhed like a monstrous snake. Wondering about the gases that Megedehena had said accompanied it, Chaff explored with his Awareness. The searing, poison-laden Air Particles rode a handspan or more above the mass, then gradually dissipated.

But there was nothing out there to cleanse them. No always-greens, no summer-greens. Not even brush or expanses of grass.

Wanting only to escape the vile avalanche, Chaff drew in his Awareness and re-directed it into the brain of the terror-stricken horse he led. Like ants in a disturbed nest, reaction pulses raced wildly through the animal’s mind. Chaff encountered them and slowed their motion. Immediately, the little tough calmed.

Chaff split his Awareness and made the same adjustments to Haehli’s horse. It, too, became docile. Chaff chastised himself for not quieting the toughs sooner. Awareness worked better when complemented by common sense.

They crossed the remainder of the bridge without incident. The other riders waited for them at a safe distance from the smoking gorge. Chaff glanced at Haehli as they stepped down onto solid ground. "I know we’re supposed to be immortal, but…well…wouldn’t being burned hurt just a little bit?"

Haehli gave him her bright smile. "I have no idea. Luckily, we didn’t have to find out. Now, wake up my horse, Chaff. It’s still two days’ ride to Hynagarla."

CHAPTER 22

Hynagarla, Kelber had said, lay the required fifteen miles from the nearest firehill. Unlike the villages Chaff had seen in the landsedge areas on the way south, the city boasted businesses and dwellings built from a variety of materials. The newer ones were of firedbrick and stone, but the staid older ones were of wood. He recognized cedar and fir, and that reminded him of something he’d been wanting to ask the Orlandians.

Since Lewtri was nearest—the others riding by twos ahead of them—Chaff put the question to him. "Is all of Orland as treeless as Bodwyn?"

The prince nodded. "None of the kingdoms have many trees left. Oh, a few like these." He gestured to the leafless maples that lined the broad cinder-surfaced street. "And, of course, the fruit orchards. But no big forests anymore. They’ve all been cut."

So, Kelber hadn’t been entirely truthful when he’d said Orland had no reason to trade with Prand. It seemed to Chaff that the larger continent had a product very much needed by the lesser one. Surely there must be something Orland grew or mined or produced that could be traded for Prand’s logs. When the immediate problems were resolved, he’d talk to Kelber, King Emmil and Lewtri about it.

He gave his attention to the city and its people, who seemed to be prosperous and healthy. Garments of fine wool in bright colors were as commonplace as the drab roughweave he had seen in the poorer villages. Chaff also saw a few men and women wearing the lustrous fabric called silk. He had thought that only the prostitutes wore it, but, apparently, under proper circumstances, it also was considered suitable material for the well-born.

Sections of cedar-planked streetside walkways still remained; rotted portions had been replaced with paving stones of lava rock. Urns of flowers—bright-yellow trumpet-shaped blossoms on tall stems—alternated with tether blocks of dressed black stone. The toughs and skewbalds were nearly outnumbered by pompeers and other blooded horses. Lewtri had said no street vendors were allowed, so the scents that rose to meet Chaff were of horses, leather, earth and flowers.

On several establishments Chaff saw signs depicting what appeared to be a water basin with wavy lines rising from it. Some showed a large gold ring hanging above the basin, and some the outline of a female form. He could have swept the businesses with his Awareness and found out what the symbols meant, but he’d learned a lesson about that in Norporte. The sights, scents and sounds of the city had overwhelmed him, battered his senses, staggered his emotions until he’d felt faint and out of control. No, he would ask Lewtri. The prince was much more amiable than Kelber and Trendarmon.

"The ones without the halos are hot-water baths where you go to soak and relax," Lewtri responded to the question. He had reined his horse close and leaned toward Chaff to be heard above the crunch of hooves and wheels, human voices and dray animals’ grunts and snorts. "The ones with halos have been blessed by the Eternal One. They have medicinal properties. When you drink the water or bathe in it you feel better. The ones with the girl outlines are—"

"I can guess what they are," Chaff interrupted. They rode without speaking for a few moments, then Chaff could not refrain from asking, "Have you ever…um…visited one like that?"

Lewtri regarded him with puzzlement. "Why would I need to? I live in a palace. There are always girls around."

"Oh." Although Chaff was secure in his own relationship with Aeslin, he had wondered how other young men viewed such physical encounters. "Then I guess you’re experienced."

Lewtri grimaced. "Well, Teb and Durran, my two older brothers, tease me so much every time they find out I’ve asked for a girl, that…well, I don’t ask very often."

"But…without love, without any kind of emotional attachment at all…what meaning can such an experience have?"

"‘What meaning?’" Dark eyes thoughtful, the prince considered the question for a long moment. "I don’t think it has any, other than satisfaction of an urge." He shrugged. "It’s just what people do."

Other people, Chaff decided. Not Loyals. Not himself, or King Neel or Haehli. And probably not Kelber, either.

The number of conveyances and riders steadily increased, as did the noise, and Chaff presumed they were nearing the city’s center. The broad streets teemed with wagons and carts of every description drawn by animals of no less variety. Polished carriages, enclosed and open, carried customers to and from the hot-baths and other establishments. Many of them were accompanied by stern-countenanced, uniformed men armed with swords shorter and broader of blade than those carried on Prand. Except for the absence of street vendors, it was very like Norporte. Chaff thought when he got home he would suggest to his mother that flower urns might be a nice addition to the streets of Falshane’s royalcity.

He had noticed and appreciated Hynagarla’s cleanliness, and now beheld two men with shovels tramping along the crowded thoroughfare behind an ox-drawn cart. Heedless of stamping hooves and crunching wheels, they adroitly scooped animal droppings into the cart.

"Dungmen," Lewtri said, anticipating Chaff’s question. "They sell the ordure to those who farm inside the hothouses."

They passed what appeared to be a public well, judging from the activity around it. Steam rising from the low-walled opening indicated it held hot water.

"All this comes from the openlands?" Chaff asked. "Like the air you use to warm your hothouses?"

Lewtri nodded. "Hynagarla is the most famous curative-bath city on Orland, but there are others." He canted his head to one side, the way Aeslin often did. Chaff experienced a pang of loneliness so intense that he felt ill.

"Where did you see hothouses?" Lewtri asked.

"On the way south from where we landed."

Kelber had dropped back to ride beside them. "If we’d known then that Fye was here, we could have saved ourselves riding down to our Lordshare and back. We passed by about a day’s hard ride to the east."

"Where is this Diviners’ sanctuary you’ve talked about?" Chaff asked. The city was built on flatland and he saw no large buildings rising out of the maze of streets.

"We’re headed in that direction," Kelber answered.

Like a straggle of commoners, they followed the winding streets. At last, on the outskirts of the sprawling town, they came to a complex of buildings made of sepia-colored firedbrick, surrounded by an eight-foot-high wall of the same material. A stout man in a black uniform stepped out of a guardhouse as they approached the arched gateway. His right hand rested on the hilt of the sword at his belt, and in his left hand he held a silver whistle.

Chaff and his companions dismounted, and Trendarmon walked forward to talk with the guard. After a brief conversation, the man raised the whistle to his lips and blew three shrill chirps, then gestured for the group to enter the compound. It appeared to be an entry court; through an opening in the end wall, Chaff saw another similar but larger enclosure. Three girls, all of about a ten-year and all wearing ankle-length gray robes, came hurrying to take charge of their horses. The girls exchanged glances and their expressions betrayed their curiosity, but none of them spoke. With some trepidation, Chaff watched them lead the toughs into the adjoining courtyard.

A dormitory-like building with several round-topped windows and doors formed one side of the entry court. Quick footfalls sounded from within the building, and a woman wearing a long white robe opened the door nearest the visitors. She greeted them in Orlandian, and Chaff sighed.

She shot him a puzzled glance before escorting them through the doorway and into a long corridor. From it, they entered a room about ten paces square that smelled of blended sweetspices and was lighted by numerous candlelamps in niches along the whitewashed plaster walls. A round rug made of strips of vari-colored cloth braided together covered the center of the stone floor. A dozen or so padded bent-leg stools faced a beautifully-carved desk.

Behind it, fingertips at rest on its polished surface, stood an elderly woman dressed in a white robe. She surveyed her visitors through eyes of the most unusual blue Chaff had ever seen. They were not the flaxflower of Aeslin’s, or the cyan of Kelber’s or the nearnight of Trendarmon’s. They were like crystal spring water and her gaze seemed to pierce to Chaff’s soul as it met his.

The younger white-robed woman bobbed her head in a gesture of obeisance to the older one and returned her attention to Chaff and his companions. She spoke to them briefly in Orlandian and left the room.

Chaff couldn’t have guessed the age of the one whose crystal gaze once more touched each of theirs. "Three Loyals," she said in Prandian, "and two highborn, and one from a faraway land of snow." A faint smile touched her lips at their quick intakes of breath. "I am the Supreme Pristine of the Order of Diviners and I know all of you."

"Then, Your Supremacy," Trendarmon said quietly, "you must know why we are here. We’ve come to speak with Fye. To take her home."

Perfectly curved white eyebrows lowered just a bit over the white-lashed blue eyes. "You may speak with Fye, but she will not leave the sanctuary. This is now her home."

"No!" The word burst from Kelber’s lips.

"Raised voices are not acceptable in the sanctuary." Although her tone was mildly rebuking, the Diviner’s expression was sweet, enhanced by the soft white curls that framed her face, which seemed not so much rosy as glowing.

"I apologize," Kelber said tightly, but softly. "It’s just that we have come far, have suffered great anxiety, to reclaim my sister. We’d like to see her."

"And you may." The woman lifted a small bell from the desktop. Its ring brought immediate response from the doorway, and Chaff had the feeling the younger white-robed woman had been waiting just outside.

The Supreme Pristine spoke Orlandian when she gave instructions to her assistant, and the only word Chaff knew was "Fye."

In the uncomfortable minutes of waiting, Chaff considered touching the Pristine with his Awareness but decided against it, thinking she would surely know. He glanced up to see her watching him with an amused smile, and embarrassment tweaked him.

A slightly-plump, black-haired girl dressed in a gray robe came running into the room. With a little squeal of joy, she flung herself first into Kelber’s arms, then Trendarmon’s. Chaff hadn’t felt her presence before she burst into the room and that bothered him. He glanced at Haehli. Her brows were drawn into a slight frown; Chaff suspected she hadn’t been aware of Fye’s LifeForce, either. Feeling the Supreme Pristine’s gaze upon him, he turned to meet it. Let her read what troubled him, if she really was able to do so.

Fye, her color heightened by excitement and pleasure, continued to converse with her two brothers. Finally, Kelber said, "We need to speak in Prandian. Chaff doesn’t understand our language."

"Oh?" The girl’s glance flicked over him, confusion clouding her eyes before she once more looked at Kelber. She fingered a blue-stoned pendant that hung around her neck on a fine gold chain.

"King Neel couldn’t leave Prand," Kelber said. "He sent Chaff and Haehli to help us. They’re Prand’s Second Loyals." At Fye’s soft exclamation of wonder, he added, "We started out to find King Emmil, but wound up hunting for you instead."

"I’m sorry," she said, her expression begging forgiveness. "I had to leave, you know. However did you find out where I was?"

"We contacted the night gleaners," Kelber replied. "We thought if anyone knew what had happened to you, they would." He caught hold of her hands and regarded her fondly. "You don’t have to stay here, Fye. Matra is truly sorry she pledged you. You can come home now."

"Oh, but I can’t. I won’t." She pulled away from him, her large gray eyes bright with determination. "By prophecy, I have to stay here with the Diviners until the right person comes to claim me." Her gaze swept over Chaff, took in the wedding band and leapt to Prince Lewtri. "Perhaps you are the one," she teased.

Lewtri took a step back, blinking.

"Fye," Trendarmon said. "You’re so…so…animated. You’ve never been like this."

"I’ve never been free. Truly free. No one within the sanctuary reprimands or belittles me if I laugh or sing or speak my thoughts." She hugged Trendarmon again and flashed a warm smile at Kelber. "Would you really rather see the girl who went into hysterics every time a firehill convolsed just so you could sneak outside and watch it with Patra?"

Kelber seemed puzzled. "But—but, Fye, you’ve always been so dependent on Matra."

"No, Kelber." She gave a merry, tinkling laugh. "She has been dependent on me. Why do you think she wanted to pledge me to Har-Larrik? Just so I’d be no more than a half-day’s ride away, that’s why."

She suddenly became serious. "But, no more, dear brotras, no more. I was in such a state of turmoil, with both of you gone. Maygor wanted Matra to break the pledge, but she was so sure it was the right thing. Then one night while everyone in the greathouse slept—very, very soundly," she tossed an impish glance at the Supreme Pristine, who had resumed her seat behind the desk, "the Diviners came for me. And her Supremacy has told me I must stay here until a certain plan set forth by the Eternal One is accomplished."

As if mention of the One prompted him to say what he must have been avoiding, Kelber spoke. "Fye," he began, hesitated, and plunged on. "I am Orland’s Second Loyal."

She gasped, then hugged Kelber to her with unconcealed delight. "I always knew you were special." She turned to Trendarmon. "Not that you aren’t wonderful, too."

As realization dawned, the animation fled her face. Her eyes darkened, her full lips parted and she shook her head slowly. "But that means Matra…" She looked at the Supreme Pristine and reached out a hand toward the older woman, as if begging alms of understanding.

Perhaps she received them, for as she sank onto one of the padded stools tears silvered her eyes. "Oh, Matra," she said, "now I know why you needed me so." Kelber and Trendarmon each knelt beside her, and she looked from one to the other of them. "She loved Patra so much, and all these years her heart’s been torn apart because…" She raised a hand to touch Kelber’s cheek. "What she did was selfless," she whispered. "I marvel at her courage." She brushed away her tears with a smooth, plump hand. "I can only pray that whatever the Eternal One intends for me I can accept it with equal grace and valor, for accept it I must."

"Then we will honor your choice, little sitra," Kelber said, his eyes misted with tears.

Fye rose unsteadily and her brothers stood to support her. Without using his Awareness, which still hovered outside his consciousness, Chaff knew the girl was pulling up her inner courage. She took a deep calming breath and lifted her chin. When she spoke her voice was firm. "Are you going back to the Lordshare?"

"No," Trendarmon replied. "We’re sailing for Prand as soon as we can. We’re going to consult with King Neel and hope he can help us figure out how King Emmil is being held captive." He nodded toward Megedehna and Lewtri. "The young lady is going home and Prince Lewtri is…well, I guess you’d say he’s going adventuring."

Fye started. "Prince Lewtri? Oh, Your Highness, please forgive my earlier rash remark. I didn’t know…" The blush that darkened her pretty face made her even lovelier.

Lewtri, too, flushed. "It’s all right. Like you, I will be happier when I’m delivered from criticism and ridicule."

The Supreme Pristine rose. "You will all come back to Orland one day," she said. Her gaze traveled the group. "Three to stay. Three to come and go again. One to come once and then once more." Chaff thought the crystal blue eyes lingered on him when she spoke those last words.

The white-haired woman addressed Fye. "You have been asking if you could let your mother and oldest brother know where you are. Now, you may." She held out her hand. "You must send your pendant to your mother along with your message. It is important that you do so."

Slowly, Fye lifted her hands to unfasten the chain, then stepped close to the Supreme Pristine to put the gemstone in her outstretched palm. When Fye stepped back Chaff was startled that he now felt the presence of her LifeForce. The Pristine’s eyes were on him as she placed the pendant into a small box she took out of the desk drawer.

"I’m sorry," she said softly, turning to face Kelber and Trendarmon, "but your farewells must be brief. A ship lies waiting for you and you must sail within the week. Another from Orland is sailing also and your paths will cross." An expression of sorrow shadowed the crystal eyes for a moment. She rubbed her smooth forehead with slender fingers. "It is all in the Eternal One’s plan."

Chaff felt a feather-stroke across his mind and looked quickly at Kelber and Haehli, only to realize neither of them was responsible. He glanced at the Supreme Pristine. When she next spoke, her words seemed addressed to all of them.

"Maintain your Faith. It will be sorely tested in the months to come."

CHAPTER 23

February’s first ten-day was half over by the time Anzra approached the lane that led to the fisherfolk cove in northern Draal. Plagued by snow squalls, icy downpours and strong headwinds, his ride from the landing site of Ott’s log ship had taken longer than it should have. The skewbald was tired and so was Anzra. But he was determined to spy on Ott’s men and learn their mission.

He had passed Chaff’s Holdings during the darkness before dawn. Now, in the gray light of a misty February earlymorn he eased Gip down the lane, his gaze sweeping the thick undergrowth for any sign of movement. Seeing none, he dismounted and secured the patch-marked horse behind the same mound of skyberry vines he had used as a screen before.

He crept down the lane and had just come within sight of the fisherfolk houses when he sensed another presence. Instantly, he dropped into a deeper crouch and heard the whisper of air as an arrow passed over his left shoulder. He whirled on the assailant, throwing-dagger in hand. He caught a glimpse of a figure close behind him and the knife left his hand in a silver flash.

Even as he released it, he saw not the face of a grizzled sergeant, but that of a young private. Dark eyes wide with fright and awakening pain the bowman staggered forward, then sagged into Anzra’s arms.

Remorse clutched Anzra’s heart, and he lowered the boy slowly to the ground. The soldier was no more than fourteen, too young to have been called to serve, too young to die so far from his home and family.

Eyes glassy with agony looked into Anzra’s. The boy’s lips worked, trying to frame words. "Tell…my father…I served…with honor." He spoke in Prandian. Although he had the presence of mind to use a language he thought his enemy would understand, he didn’t seem to realize how unrealistic his request was.

Still, Anzra could not deny him. "I will," he replied. "What is your father’s name and where might I find him?"

The youthful face contorted in pain, the dark eyes closed. For a moment, Anzra feared the boy had died, then he rallied enough to speak. "Lenyor. Village of Onsig."

"I know of it," Anzra lied. Then he did the one thing an operative should never do: he asked the boy his name.

"Brel," came the whispered reply.

Anzra raised his face to the gray morning mist and looked skyward, beyond the towering trees. Rage consumed him. Rage at a society that sent young men to die for another man’s greed. At himself for being a part of it. At the Eternal One for allowing it to happen.

Distressed beyond reason, Anzra bent over his victim to examine the boy’s wound. Because the soldier had moved, the dagger had missed its intended target at the base of his throat and entered just below his right collarbone. His roughweave shirt was soaked with blood, which still seeped out around the dagger. If the blade were removed, there would be an even greater loss of blood.

What am I to do with him? Anzra cried inwardly.

Facing the possibility that the boy might live if he received treatment in time, Anzra could not leave him alone here in the wood. Nor could he take him to the fisherfolk cove and bring certain death upon himself. Chaff’s Holdings, then? He’d heard the Second Loyal had a gifted healer at the Hall. But would Brel—for Anzra had started thinking of the boy by his given name—survive the trip? It was a chance Anzra felt compelled to take.

He lifted Brel, carried him to a large moss-covered log and laid him there while he reclaimed Gip from the skyberry bush. Holding the boy in his arms, Anzra managed to step from the log onto Gip’s back.

The skewbald rolled his eyes at the unaccustomed distribution of weight, but mercifully he stood quiet until Anzra had settled in the saddle. The boy had lost consciousness sometime during the carrying and lifting. The dark-haired head hung limply as the spy nudged Gip down the lane. Anzra stared at the thin face, the rosy skin now pale with the trauma the body was suffering. A fierce resolve filtered through the spy’s being; he would not let Brel die.

With many a backward glance—for he did not know when the private’s term of guard duty was supposed to end, and another soldier would come to replace him—he urged Gip along the track as fast as he dared.

Chaff’s Holdings was just awakening as Anzra rode through the gates of the Hall courtyard. Dogs in a pen set up a furious yapping, and a tousle-haired stableboy came running to meet him. No more than a ten-year, the boy had the good sense to assess the situation at once. He caught hold of Gip’s bridle and led the horse toward the Hall.

A black-haired servilewoman of about three ten-years opened the doors to his frenzied pounding. As soon as she saw Brel draped in Anzra’s arms, she ordered the stableboy to fetch someone named Rehnata, whom Anzra supposed was the healer. The black-haired woman called over her shoulder and within moments, other houseserviles appeared. They lifted the young soldier from Anzra’s arms and carried the boy into the Hall.

By the time he was placed on a bed, an old woman had arrived. A thick gray braid fell over one shoulder as she bent to examine Brel. She gave a grunt, then snatched scissors out of her apron pocket and began to snip away the boy’s shirt.

The younger woman had shooed the other serviles out of the room, yet Anzra thought he felt a presence other than hers and that of the healer. "Yes, very bad," the old woman said, and her words sounded as if they were in response to a question rather than voiced as an observation.

Drained, exhausted, Anzra trembled. The servile assisted him to a chair. A scar marred her otherwise beautiful face. She must be the one people said Lord Yoad had owner-marked, the one who had warned Prand’s kings of Yoad’s plan to cut the Eternal Trees. Her touch was gentle, her dark eyes as filled with concern for him as for the boy who lay near death on the bed. Grateful to be seated, Anzra sank down and watched the healer ease the dagger out of Brel’s body. Miraculously, no blood flowed.

Sweat sheened the old woman’s wrinkled brow as she moved her hands around the wound, muttering what Anzra supposed were prayers, or perhaps incantations, of some sort. She had magik. He was sure of it. She was more than a healer. She was a Keeper. It didn’t surprise him that Prand’s Second Loyal had one among his staff.

Inside his mind, his own prayers rose to the Eternal One, asking Him not to take Brel’s life. A wry smile curved Anzra’s lips. The boy had tried to kill him, yet now his intended victim petitioned for his life.

Finally, the old woman sighed and straightened her back. "Finished," she said to no one in particular. "Now his body needs to recover from the shock. For that he must have rest and nourishment." Dark eyes smoldering with anger, she picked up the dagger she had put aside and held it out to Anzra. "Yours, I believe."

He could not make himself take it, and, after a moment, she put it down on the bedside table. "Has Milady been notified of this incident?" she asked the servile.

"She has, Rehnata," the black-haired woman replied. She turned to Anzra. "Lady Aeslin is waiting to speak with you. Please come with me."

He rose stiffly and followed her down the hall and through wide-flung doors into what he supposed was Chaff’s study. A young woman, little more than a girl, sat behind the oak desk, dwarfed by its size. The servile curtsied. "The traveler, Milady," she said.

Lady Aeslin rose. "Thank you, Tevony."

"Would you like me to stay, Milady?" the servile asked.

The girl’s blue gaze seemed to look past Anzra, and he once again had the feeling of another presence. "No, Tevony. You may go," she said.

As Tevony left the room, the girl moved from behind the desk and stood in front of it. Light from wall sconces on each side of the specklestone fireplace caught at her brown hair, setting copper strands aglow.

Anzra bowed. "Lady Aeslin," he said.

"And whom do I address?"

Anzra did not hesitate. He was clad in hempcloth, but nobility often wore such when traveling. "Lord Wilcher, of southern Shubeck."

The girl’s eyebrows rose. "How did you happen to have a confrontation with the boy?"

"He attacked me in the wood," Anzra replied.

Aeslin nodded. "A thiever, then. It was very kind of you to seek to save the life of one who tried to harm you."

Anzra shrugged. "He’s so young." So far—probably because of the boy’s pallor from being wounded—no one had noticed he was Orlandian. "He told me his name is Brel."

"You look tired, Lord Wilcher. May we offer you our hospitality?" Her gaze swept his bloodstained garments. "I’m sure you would appreciate a change of clothing and a hot meal before continuing your journey."

"I would, Milady." Another thought had occurred to Anzra. If he could stay with Brel until the boy regained consciousness, he could interrogate him. Perhaps he could get the information he desired without endangering his own life spying on Ott’s landing party.

He had hesitated long enough that Aeslin looked at him questioningly.

"Milady," he said, "I feel a certain responsibility for the boy. I reacted to his attack and threw my dagger before I realized his tender age. I deeply regret having wounded him so grievously. With your kind permission, I would like to stay with him until I’m sure he will recover."

Guilt nudged him at the shine of tears in the girl’s eyes. "Of course, you are welcome, Lord Wilcher. I will have Tevony order a guestroom prepared for you across the hall from Brel’s. You may stay as long as necessary."

In the five days that followed, Anzra wondered if she had come to regret her generous offer. Brel was recovering but was not yet fully conscious. Rehnata struggled to spoon chicken broth into his slack mouth. She thought his near-comatose state was the result of other than his physical injury. "Sometimes the mind is more needful of rest than the body," she told Lady Aeslin, who often came to check on the boy.

Anzra had come to know many of the Holdings’ staff, from the lovely Tevony, to Rehnata, to Winky the stableboy, who picked branches of budding Marchrose for forcing so that his Lady would have flowers in her room.

It was only Brel’s lack of nourishment that kept his skin from turning the rosy hue that would reveal his continent of origin. But Rehnata was getting suspicious. As she left his room after bathing him one day, she met Anzra in the hallway.

"I think your little thiever is not Prandian," she said. "Perhaps your kindness has been misplaced."

Anzra felt the words were a test. A Keeper would not speak thus. He pretended surprise. "An Orlandian? I thought his face and hands to be only windburned. But wherever he’s from, Brel’s only a boy. He deserves life, not death."

He could tell his answer had pleased Rehnata and knew it would be reported to Lady Aeslin. Impatient to find out what Brel knew, the spy did not stray far from his bedside, lest he awaken and talk to someone else before Anzra could question him. Luck favored the spy, and it was late one night after the Hall serviles were in bed that Brel awoke.

Anzra moved quickly to his side. The large, dark eyes went wild with fear when the boy beheld the one who had wounded him. He tried to sit up, and Anzra gently restrained him. "You’re going to be all right, Brel. You’ll see your father and tell him yourself that you served with honor."

The boy’s gaze darted around the room, lit only by a candlelamp on the bedside table. "Where is this place?"

"Chaff’s Holdings."

Apprehension was quickly followed by resignation, and Brel slumped back on his pillow. "I’m a prisoner, then? Why did you bother to save me?"

Anzra smiled. "You are not a prisoner, and you are far too young to die for a king who uses his men only for his personal gain."

Brel’s expression became hostile. "What do you know of my king?"

"More than you, my young friend." Anzra tapped the boy’s blue-stoned ring with one finger. "Why do you and your companions wear these?"

The young Orlandian jerked his hand away. "To ward off evil spirits." The answer came too quickly.

"Talismans from a king known to vehemently deny the existence of magik? I think not."

A soldier determined to serve that king, Brel clamped his mouth shut and averted his gaze.

"Did you know Ott is smuggling logs out of Prand to build warships?" A tightening of muscles around the boy’s mouth indicated he hadn’t known. "But," Anzra continued, "it will take several years to build enough of them to launch an attack on Prand. And even then it would certainly be ill-advised. All of Prand’s kingdoms have contingents of royalguards. Also, many lords have fieldguards dedicated to serving their king when necessary."

Brel kept his face steadfastly turned toward the wall. Anzra studied him thoughtfully and pondered how to break Ott’s hold. "I suppose," he said gloomily, "all the fisherfolk are dead."

"No! Only one man whose wife was being…" Brel broke off and closed his eyes. "That is the way of war," he mumbled.

Anzra’s thoughts went to the two fisherchildren in the cart, and he saw again their haunted expressions. Sickened, he consciously steadied his voice. "Do you perceive the fisherfolk at the cove to be your enemies?" he asked. "And me? I brought you here to safety even after you attacked me. Chaff’s serviles have labored over you for half a ten-day to restore your health. They have tended your wound, fed you, bathed you, prayed for you. Prandians are not your enemies, Brel."

Tears squeezed out from under the dark lashes of the closed eyes. "I just want out of it," Brel whispered.

Anzra ached to console the young soldier. "And you shall be, if we can neutralize whatever Ott has plotted. Tell me, what is the mission of your companions?"

The words came dully as if drawn across grinding despair. "Next summer we are to infiltrate your palaces."

"I see," Anzra murmured. That explained why someone so young had been recruited. Brel could fit in easily as stableboy or storeskeeper assistant. "And the rings?"

"Corundum," came the brief reply.

Anzra was mystified. "For what purpose?"

Brel turned his head toward the spy, his solemn expression revealing the struggle going on within his mind. Anzra’s gentle gaze did not waver. "If you don’t want to see more women and children suffer, Brel, you must tell me."

"It—it renders magnets useless. Everyone knows that the Loyals use magnets to perform their so-called magik."

Ott’s work again. Of course, he’d had to fabricate some reason for bringing in the corundum. Anzra did not allow his expression to either confirm or deny the boy’s statement. Little was yet known about ferromagnetism. Some said minerals possessing it could be put to greater use than only compass needles. But just as Anzra was sure rutilated corundum would not affect magnets, he also knew Brel and the other soldiers believed what they’d been told.

"Then the rings will keep the Loyals from finding you?"

"Yes. The rings and the rocks. We’ve been putting rocks full of corundum around the outer walls of the Holdings Hall." The boy frowned. "But the first batch disappeared. So we’re waiting for another ship to come in with more."

Anzra nodded. He wondered what had happened to the first load of rocks, but felt he could check into that later. Right now, he had other more urgent business. "Then I’d best see if I can stop this mission before anyone else gets hurt." He gestured at the blue-stoned ring. "I’d like to borrow that for a while." The boy’s hand twitched, and Anzra offered a wry grin. "To ward off evil spirits."

After a moment’s hesitation, Brel tugged off the ring and handed it to Anzra.

"I have to leave for a while," Anzra said. "Already the healer suspects you are Orlandian. When Lady Aeslin questions you, admit it." At Brel’s startled intake of breath, Anzra continued more urgently. "You don’t have to tell her about the men in the cove. Just say you stowed away aboard a spy ship. That you were on your way to seek asylum in Falshane when you ran out of money and tried to thieve it from me."

He stood and looked down at Brel for a long moment. Of late, he had begun to wish more and more that he led a normal life. That he could wed, and have a son such as Brel. "Your father raised a fine son," he said. An expression of—what?…anguish?—flashed across the thin face. The boy must be homesick indeed. "Please," Anzra continued, "wait here for me until I return from my mission. I promise I’ll see you safely home to Orland."

* * *

Anzra left the Holdings the next morning, his relief over Brel’s recovery evident. "I’ll resume my interrupted trip to Old Irby," he told Aeslin, "but with your kind permission, I’ll look in on the boy when I pass this way on my return to Shubeck."

"Of course, Lord Wilcher," Aeslin agreed. "Do you have any idea of when that might be?"

Anzra considered. "Perhaps one-and-a-half ten-days."

"We shall be expecting you," she responded.

Outside the Holdings’ gates, Anzra slipped Brel’s ring onto his little finger. A pleasant, late-winter sun lighted the hair-fine, bright lines within the blue stone. "Now we shall see what this is good for," Anzra said and turned Gip’s head east, toward the Crown.

CHAPTER 24

The three Loyals, Trendarmon, Megedehna and Lewtri arrived at the hidden cove in northern Bodwyn at January-end. The Pride was skillfully concealed under a canvas-covered framework of woven willow branches. It appeared to be nothing more than another huge boulder in a nest of them along the shoreline. The two Prandian spies still occupied the dwelling hidden under the scrubby needletrees.

Frowning, one of them eyed Lewtri. "You look familiar," he said. "Have we met?"

"Not unless you grow turnips in North Juledwi."

Kelber was surprised at Lewtri’s quick response, delivered with just the right amount of unconcern. The young prince might not have talked much at the palace in Deltarn, but he’d obviously listened well.

Captain Rennel was dismayed he had gained two more passengers. His forehead wrinkled and his eyes narrowed as he peered at the party of six. They had already decided Lewtri’s true identity should not be disclosed—the less Rennel knew, the less danger he would be in if ever questioned. So, the prince became Eyom, a popular name among Orlandian commoners.

"I never saw so many young spies," Rennel grumbled and nodded to the two newcomers. "Magik, yeh have, too?"

"They aren’t spies." Kelber spoke for them. "They’re fleeing Orland for personal reasons. And, no, neither has magik."

"Cabin’s goin’ to be crowded," Rennel grumped. "Best get a good sleep tonight. It’ll be yehr last for two ten-days." His gaze went to Haehli, and admiration darkened the faded blue eyes. "Unless the lady once more hastens us."

Haehli’s face lit with her warm smile. "If we get becalmed, rest assured I shall. We sail the southern route on our passage east, don’t we?"

"We do," Rennel said, clearly pleased that she remembered. "And it’s stormier, yeh know."

"But we must take it?" Chaff asked.

The old captain shrugged. "The sea be like a thousand rivers. Some flow one way, some t’other. Yeh can beat across ’em, if yeh want, but it’s easier to go with ’em."

"We’d like to leave early in the morning, if possible," Kelber said. "Will the tide be right?"

"Aye. At an hour past dawnlight. So sit yehrselves down and have a bite to eat." He gestured east past the maze of massive rocks and small islands that reduced the sea’s proud whitecaps to tattered lappets of froth-laced blue-green water. "Tomorrow we sail for home."

* * *

Megedehna sagged against the aft rail and looked back on Orland, tears falling unchecked. Chaff went to her and slipped an arm around her shoulders. Just recovered from a bout of seasickness, Kelber stood farther forward on the Pride’s deck and glowered at them.

"There stands Prand’s Second Loyal, wedding band aglow in the sunshine, embracing someone other than the wife he professes to love so very much."

"Your angry stomach is prompting angry speech," Haehli said, one dark-dyed eyebrow lifting. "You know Chaff feels solicitous toward anyone who’s emotionally upset." She smiled. "I’m sure he’d be agreeable to letting you take over consoling the fire child."

The gold flecks in Kelber’s eyes flashed. "You think I don’t have the ability to draw up healing magik?"

"I think you’re afraid to get that close to her." Haehli’s eyes took on their mischievous sparkle. "It seems to be a common failing in Orlandian men."

She did not look at Trendarmon, but Kelber knew his brother was included. "Bana, you’re irritating. Do you know that?" He rose abruptly and lurched down the rolling deck to join Chaff and Megedehna.

"Your sister needs to talk with you," he told the Prandian. The half-smile that touched Chaff’s lips did nothing to soothe Kelber’s irritation.

Still, when he and Megedehna stood alone, he admitted to himself that he was hesitant about touching her. She turned to face him, hazel eyes tear-dimmed. "Do you not feel sadness about leaving your home? Fye and your matra and brotra?"

"I do," he replied, surprised at the gentleness in his voice. "But I leave for a cause."

"And you will come back one day. I will not."

Awkward with embarrassment, Kelber wrapped his arms about her. Her hair smelled of the black dye. He was sure that when it was its natural red it would bear the scent of cinnamon. "Remember what the Supreme Pristine said, Megedehna? Three of us will return to Orland to stay. One of those could be you."

"No," she said sadly. "It will be you, Trendarmon and Lewtri."

She trembled within the circle of his arms. Her own slid around his waist and she rested her head against his shoulder. The touch of her body to his felt comfortable and right. An emotion he hadn’t known before brushed across his heart, feather-soft. It had to do with her closeness, and he marveled at its awakening.

"But I, I am the one from a faraway land, Kelber." She drew back at his murmur of protest. "No, hear me. I’ve always known I would have to leave the gleaners one day. Each time a stranger rode into the village, I feared. And the time came when my fears were realized."

She pulled away from him and once more faced the sea. He regretted the loss of her intimate touch and took a deep calming breath. This overwhelming sensation of oneness with another human being—was that what Chaff and Haehli meant when they talked about love? It certainly was a more profound experience than any he’d felt with girls he’d held in his arms before he became a Loyal.

Addled though his thoughts were, he managed to respond to Megedehna’s words. "If you aren’t from Prand, where else might your origin be? Our maps show only the two continents."

The girl shook her head. "I think there’s another. The Lesser Sea is uncharted."

Kelber considered that, frowning. "The Prandians call it the Lesser Cruel Sea with good reason. Haehli told me that her grand-uncle, King Wyeth, lost a son to that sea about forty years ago. Most ships that have tried to venture out onto it have not come back."

She sighed. "Nevertheless, I think another continent is out there, Kelber. The Supreme Pristine spoke of a land of snow. I think it’s where I belong."

He put an arm around her shoulders, realizing he hadn’t tried to lend her his healing strength. He did so now, all the while wishing he had good reason to pull her into his embrace as he had done before. "You’re distraught, Meg. Perhaps that’s why you feel lost. I’ve read about Prand. Some parts of it have snow. It’s a beautiful continent. As green and sweet and pure as Doyer Sevak said. No firehills, no acid lakes, no acres of black and red rock. You’ll like it, Meg."

She seemed more at ease as she leaned against him. "I want to believe that."

Kelber’s thoughts tumbled. And why do I not want you to stay there? Why do I wish you would come back to Orland? A Loyal was not supposed to have such selfish thoughts. But, try as he might, he could not push them away.

* * *

They traveled south well offshore of Orland and, when they reached the access current, turned east. Rather than suffering becalming, they encountered storm after storm. By the time Captain Rennel determined they should start sailing north Chaff was spent from combating Air and Moisture Particles and dodging sharp-light bolts.

With fewer than an estimated five days of travel left they were close enough to Prand to sight an occasional trading ship plying north or south along landsedge. Captain Rennel held the Pride outside the shipping lanes and shamelessly flew the flag of Falshane, so they were not approached by the occasional seaguard patrols they saw.

Because the tiny cabin could sleep only four comfortably, the six passengers had taken to drawing lots to determine which two would stay above deck while the others slept. When chance put Lewtri and Chaff together one night the Loyal was glad. Like a razor cut, guilt still stung his conscience over killing the prince’s bodyguard. He wanted to talk with Lewtri about the man and pondered how to broach the subject. The opportunity presented itself with surprising ease.

The prince lay on his back, arms folded behind his head, and stared at the dark, clear sky. Chaff sat cross-legged at his side. The night was still, broken only by the creak of the Pride’s woodbones and the slap of waves against her sides. Presently, Lewtri said, "We’re heading north-northeast."

"You can read the stars?" Chaff was impressed at the prince’s familiarity with them.

"Rohmir taught me."

"I see." Chaff groped for words to draw out Lewtri’s inner reflections. "What else did he teach you?"

"Oh, about the different parts of Orland I hadn’t seen. Little tricks about archery and swordsmanship. How to handle a horse and ride well." He was silent for a moment, drifting on his memories. "Even about my body’s change, and its reaction to women."

In short, Chaff thought, all the things your father should have told you. "It sounds as if he did care for you, Lewtri."

"Perhaps." The prince turned his head toward Chaff. "But not enough to protest my father’s demeaning words." He looked skyward again. "Not quite enough for that."

"You have to realize that Rohmir was in your father’s employ. He owed fealty to his king." Chaff’s thoughts went to Yoad’s men, those who had been blindly committed to carrying out their lord’s commands to fell an Eternal Tree. "I think he tried to take care of you as best he could and still not jeopardize his relationship with your father."

"I’d like to believe that," Lewtri said softly. "I’d like to think the man I confided in, shared my innermost feelings with, wasn’t just performing his job."

Chaff drew a long, deep breath. "Lewtri, before I… killed…Rohmir, I touched his soul. I did find a remnant of decency there. It was overlaid with his desire to please his king, to end the lives of Kelber and Trendarmon. But I think that thread existed for you."

In the starlight, Lewtri’s eyes were shiny with tears. After a long moment, he murmured, "Thank you, Chaff."

Chaff stretched out on the deck, hopeful he’d alleviated the prince’s mental pain and wishing anew that he could better control his own quick reaction to attack.

* * *

The Pride was nearing landfall when it was overtaken and boarded during the night. Kelber came awake at the nudge of a sharp-toed boot to his ribs. He opened his eyes to see a tall, slender man standing over him, drawn sword in hand. Instinctively, Kelber sought to convey himself away from the holder of the weapon. The magik wouldn’t come, and panic seized him. What was wrong? What was inhibiting his magik?

The sword-bearer’s accomplice lifted the lantern he held, and in its light, Kelber saw Haehli holding Megedehna in a protective embrace. Beyond her, Chaff struggled futilely against the grip of two muscular dark-haired men. The other Loyals’ magik, too, somehow had been rendered useless.

Kelber’s thoughts flew to Trendarmon and Lewtri, who had drawn sleeping space on the deck. Had they already been killed by these attackers?

The tall man, who was obviously their leader, smiled. "Well, well," he said. "I’d been informed that Loyals Chaff and Haehli had ventured abroad, but I didn’t expect to catch two more." He glanced at his men. "We’ve hit a rich vein this time. Four Loyals for trading stock, and two young and tender bodies for our own personal use."

Even as Kelber’s mind groped to remember where he’d heard that voice before, he wondered about the mention of four Loyals. "What are you talking about?" He spoke in Prandian, as his captor had done. "We’re bound for Falshane, seeking asylum. If you dare to harm those who sail under a neutral flag, all of Prand will hunt you down."

"Brave words for a man at swordpoint. Get up. Let’s have a look at a Loyal."

He lowered the sword’s tip, and Kelber got slowly to his feet. Heart hammering, he nonetheless met the man’s gaze firmly with his own. "Why this continuing nonsense about Loyals? If I were one, I could immobilize you easily."

"Really?" Sharply arched dark eyebrows lifted over the man’s cold black eyes. His lips parted slightly in the pretext of a smile. "Not with a pouchful of this at my belt." He patted a bulging leather bag tied at his left side.

The burly man holding the lantern in one hand and a dagger in the other had a similar bag depending from his belt. So did the two men restraining Chaff. And all of them wore blue-stoned rings.

"That’s right, Loyal Kelber." The sword-bearer chuckled. "Rutilated corundum. King Ott is not the only one who has discovered its wondrous properties."

Kelber’s thoughts flashed to his conversation with Chaff and Haehli after leaving Hynagarla. They had both commented on not feeling Fye’s LifeForce until after she had removed her corundum pendant, but neither of them had afforded it any great significance. Now the extent of its effect on their magik was all too apparent.

"Take them topside," the tall man ordered his underlings.

"Aye, Cap’n Grohs," one of those holding Chaff responded.

Grohs! Kelber started. This was the counterspy who had put an arrow through the eye of Captain Vant, the old sailor who’d given his life for Kelber and Trendarmon.

"Uh, Cap’n," the man continued, "can I be second after you with her?" He nodded toward Megedehna.

Shockwaves of rage engulfed Kelber. Once more, he called for his magik; it stirred, but would not come.

"Why, Veerg." Grohs said. "I was saving the boy on deck for you. I thought he would better suit your tastes." He gestured toward the ladder with the sword. "Up, all of you."

Kelber gave Megedehna a hand of assistance as she and Haehli got up to follow him. The fire child’s fingers were cold, and his heart wrenched. She had left those she loved because they feared for her safety, and only a few days later faced greater peril than she’d ever known.

Dawnlight filtered through the mist that hung over the sea; the gray shadows on deck became Trendarmon, Lewtri and two more of Grohs’ men as Kelber approached them. He felt a momentary surge of relief at seeing Captain Rennel lashed to the tiller. He had feared the old man had been killed in the same manner as Vant.

Lewtri sat against the aft rail, knees drawn up, face buried against them, shoulders trembling. Beside him knelt Trendarmon, hunched forward, arms clenching his abdomen, face contorted with pain.

"Do you want ’em bound, Cap’n," one of the men on deck said. "This one shows some fight." He kicked Trendarmon’s side and the noble doubled over, gasping. His abuser’s scraggly-bearded chin thrust toward Lewtri. "The young one pissed his britches. No matter. They’ll be off ’im soon enough, anyway."

Chaff’s anguished moan echoed Kelber’s feelings of frustration and dismay.

"No need to tie the Loyals, Drask. They’re weak as sucklings without their precious magik." The spy’s gaze raked Chaff and he laughed. "This one’s even lame." He gestured toward Lewtri and Megedehna. "As for them, we like a little resistance, don’t we?"

He ordered Kelber, Chaff and Haehli to sit beside Trendarmon. Veerg wrenched Megedehna from Haehli’s grasp. The fire child cried out, then slumped in a faint.

Eyes blazing, Grohs delivered a hard blow to the man’s shoulder with the broad side of his sword. "You’re second, Veerg, remember?" With a grunt, Veerg released the limp girl, who once more fell into Haehli’s arms.

"Aye, Cap’n Grohs," he muttered.

At mention of the name, Trendarmon’s head lifted. In the silvered light of the mist, his eyes were midnight blue, his expression so cold that Kelber shuddered.

Grohs, his thin face once more twisted in the near-smile, stooped and laid his sword on the deck in front of the Loyals. He stepped back, leaned against the rail and crossed his arms on his chest. "One of you is supposedly able to move things. Let’s see you do it."

"All right, Grohs," Kelber said tightly. "With those bags of corundum, you’ve managed to catch all four of us Loyals at once. What now?"

Lewtri raised his head. "Four?"

Kelber shot him an annoyed glance. "Yes, he’s found out about Trendarmon." He re-directed his hostile stare to Grohs. "Who told you about him?"

The mist was thinning, and Grohs’ eyes glittered in the lightening morning. "Why, your dear King Garlisteld let it slip. He’s a friend of Emmil’s, I understand. Even Ott doesn’t know about the fourth Loyal."

"Ott?" Lewtri’s voice was hardly a whisper.

Grohs’ hard gaze fell on him. "Who is this commoner who speaks in monosyllables?"

"Eyom," Lewtri said at the same time as Chaff said, "Prince Lewtri." The boy clenched his teeth, then bowed his head as tears leapt to his eyes.

Kelber didn’t need his Awareness to read the prince’s emotions. After the unfortunate incident with the released urine, Lewtri wanted desperately to regain control of what dignity he had left. He would rather die with Megedehna than receive mercy because of his royal status. But Kelber also knew Chaff spoke to save Lewtri’s life. He was now too valuable a ransom source to be killed.

"Really?" Grohs’ attention, and that of his five men, was temporarily directed at the prince.

In that instant, Trendarmon sprang from his crouch, swept up the sword on the deck and had it at Grohs’ throat before any of them could act. The young lord’s eyes were almost black with hatred. His hand was rock-steady as the point of the blade slit the spy’s milk-white skin.

Grohs moved to raise his arms, and Trendarmon drove the blade a little deeper. The flow of blood increased and trickled down under the spy’s open shirt. Trendarmon’s voice was deadly calm. "Tell your men to take off those bags of corundum and throw them overboard. And if they make one move to use their weapons, you’re dead, Grohs."

As the spy hesitated, the blade probed deeper. Grohs’ face reddened with anger. "Do what he says," he croaked. When the men did not obey at once, he raised his voice. "Veerg, Drask, all of you, do it!"

Kelber had leapt to his feet when Trendarmon made his move. Now he slipped the dagger from Grohs’ belt sheath, cut loose the leather bag and flung it as far out to sea as he could. He still sensed no real fear in the spy and that puzzled him.

"The rings, too," Trendarmon ordered, never looking away from Grohs’ face.

The rings and bags disposed of, Chaff quickly immobilized the five men, then went to untie Captain Rennel. Lewtri still huddled on the deck, his eyes blank, his face drawn. Haehli knelt beside Megedehna and stroked her forehead gently. The girl revived and began to thrash, but Haehli’s soft-spoken words quickly calmed her.

"So, now," Grohs said, eyes half-lidded. "What do you intend to do with us?"

"Kill you," was Trendarmon’s immediate reply. "Slowly."

"But you won’t do that." The spy’s voice was confident, even smug. "You’re Loyals. Committed to preserving life. You never kill anyone except in the heat of battle, and as you can see, we aren’t fighting you."

"He’s right, Tren," Kelber said. "We can’t kill them."

The crafty gleam that came into Trendarmon’s eyes concerned Kelber. He touched his brother with his Awareness and gasped in shock. The hatred that filled Trendarmon’s heart, mind and soul was a dark, ugly, screeching thing.

Speechless, confused, he listened to his brother’s voice, the words falling like chipped ice. "Every flock has its black sheep, Grohs. I’m the one in this family of Loyals. Kelber cannot kill in cold blood. But I can. And I will." The point of the blade went deeper into Grohs’ throat, and the spy leaned farther back over the rail to escape it. For the first time, fear tracked across his thin face.

"Tren! Please! Don’t do it!" Kelber cried and made a move toward him.

But Captain Rennel had already lunged forward. His hands were clenched together in one tight fist, and he slammed them upward against the hand in which Trendarmon held the sword. The slender blade drove through the spy’s throat and exited at the base of his skull.

Grohs’ eyes showed a flicker of surprise before the force of the thrust carried him backward over the rail. The dispassionate sea opened its arms to receive him just as it had the body of Captain Vant a few months earlier.

With a soft moan, Megedehna again collapsed into Haehli’s arms. Hands covering his mouth, eyes filled with revulsion, Lewtri gagged and tried to keep from retching, but could not. Rennel caught at Trendarmon and pulled him back from the rail. Both men were spattered with blood. Trendarmon turned on the old captain, rage still darkening his eyes, then his gaze flashed to Megedehna and Lewtri.

Kelber felt the anger flee from his brother’s Being, felt it replaced with shock. Trendarmon clutched at Rennel. "I wanted to kill him," he cried. "By the One, how I wanted to kill him."

"Help him, Chaff," Haehli commanded. Just as quickly, she turned to Kelber. "You take care of Megedehna." He flung her a questioning glance, and she flashed her bright smile. "I have some work to do with Lewtri."

CHAPTER 25

Less than a ten-day after leaving Chaff’s Holdings, Anzra came within sight of King Neel’s cottage. When he reached the outer perimeter of the Crown, he loosed the reins and let Gip find the way through the maze of close-set Eternal Trees. Their magnificence overwhelmed him, their size cowed him, their serenity engulfed him.

The thought that had been hovering behind him like an over-eager servile stepped boldly forth. The world needed the trees. Not just the Eternal Trees, whose roots held it together, but all trees. Who could deny that their beauty in all seasons lifted up the heart, soothed the soul, eased the mind? But even more astounding, their needles and leaves purified the air. Without them, all life would cease to exist. Anzra wondered at this sudden perception, but ascribed it to the Trees. He felt himself to be naught but a speck in creation; his soul cried out to be embraced by the Eternal One’s unending love.

And so, his emotions roiling, he stared at the small wooden dwelling. It wasn’t too late; he could still ride away, be allegiant to the continent of his birth, notify King Ott that his plans to despoil Prand were going awry. Yet, he hesitated. Then the opportunity was gone, for King Neel stepped out of the cottage and regarded him across the open area with quiet understanding.

"Welcome, friend," the king said.

Anzra nudged Gip forward until he could look down into the gentle countenance, the gold-flecked brown eyes. Knowing that the course of his life was now forever altered, Anzra dismounted and faced the silver-haired man.

"I did not feel your presence until you approached Crown Centre," King Neel commented.

It was not a question, but Anzra felt he must respond. He held out the hand on which he wore Brel’s ring. "It’s the blue stone," he said. "The rutilated corundum."

The First Loyal reached out and touched the ring’s stone with one finger. "Yes," he said softly. Then, "Please, come in. You need to talk about it."

Of course the Keeper King would know he needed to unburden himself. Anzra followed him into the cottage and they sat across from each other at a small wooden table. The king folded his hands loosely in front of him. "Tell me," he said.

Strangely, Anzra found himself not beginning his story with the discovery of Ott’s men at the cove, but rather with the scene from forty years ago when his father had sold him into service as a spy for Orland. He told of his first assignment on Prand at age fourteen. "A few years later, the Orlandians gave me money to buy a Holdings in Shubeck. From there I processed documents, spies and ships. Last year I began cultivating Jeyr’s friendship, and recently have discussed timber-smuggling operations with him."

The First Loyal’s gaze never wavered from Anzra’s, and the words continued to spill from the spy’s mouth. "King Ott of Orland is the driving force behind the smuggling project. Your own King Alstin is supposed to be a part of it, too, but somehow I feel sure he and his nephew, Vehlashal, are uniting against Ott."

With effort, Anzra looked away from the Keeper King. "While spying on Ott’s men, I encountered a young soldier and wounded him." He drew a deep breath. "The ring is his. He’s the one who told me that the corundum will render useless the magik of the Loyals, although he didn’t know the truth of how it works. The men at the cove all wear rings like his."

"Ah," King Neel said. "That is why I did not detect them with my Awareness."

Anzra raised his gaze to meet the king’s. "But, in quantity, the corundum must affect Loyals much more strongly. Ott’s men are placing the rocks around the perimeter of Chaff Hall. I believe Ott’s intent is not to make war on Prand but to capture its Loyals."

"As he already must have done with Orland’s." King Neel sighed, unclasped his hands and turned the left one to reveal an odd-shaped birthmark on the left underside of his wrist. As he looked at the figure eight, sorrow shadowed his features. Anzra knew this immortal man had faced many kinds of pain.

"I had a birthmark like that when I was a boy," Anzra commented. "It gradually faded and by the time I was sixteen or so, it was entirely gone."

The animation returned to the Keeper King’s face. "May I see your wrist?" he asked.

Puzzled, Anzra complied, and King Neel brushed his fingers lightly across the spy’s white skin. Anzra was astounded when the faint outlines of the old birthmark reappeared.

The First Loyal’s lips curved into a smile. "How could you have done anything else except come to me?" He turned his face upward. "I thank Thee, Eternal One, for this, Thy gift to Prand."

He stood. Anzra followed suit, nonplussed at the Keeper King’s words.

"We have to contact Alstin and Vehlashal," King Neel said. "The rutilated corundum must be removed from the cove. And the best people to do that are seasoned troops."

"All right." Anzra nodded. His senses felt numbed. His voice sounded bemused. "I know you have the ability to move yourself with magik. Do I need to dispose of this ring to enable you to do that?"

The Keeper King shook his head. "That amount of corundum does nothing more than block my Awareness of the one who possesses it. Nevertheless, I would be more comfortable if you left it here while you accompany me to Vehlashal’s Holdings."

"But I’ll be days behind you—" Anzra began.

"No." King Neel smiled. "Somehow, I feel that I will be able to convey you along with me. Prepare yourself, Anzra, for a new experience."

* * *

"New" was hardly the word Anzra would have used to describe the feeling of being conveyed. "Profound" would have been closer to the truth. He felt his very self disassembled and propelled through the air. In the process he caught instantaneous but vivid impressions of the Eternal One’s creation. The infinitesimal parts of it became one with him for those moments of transition before he found himself in an elm-paneled study, standing before Lord Vehlashal.

Appearing hardly less shaken than Anzra, the nobleman dropped the quill he held and rose slowly to his feet behind his desk. King Neel raised a hand, palm out in greeting. Anzra called upon his inner will and instructed his limbs to cease trembling, lest he crumple upon the fine, burgundy-colored carpet.

"To what do I owe this surprise visit, King Neel?" Vehlashal’s slanted black brows lifted, his dark eyes questioned as he regained his composure. His glance flicked to Anzra and recognition flared. "And why in the company of this man? I believed him to be in the employ of the kings of Orland."

"As he recently was," the Keeper King said, "but no longer."

The look he turned on Anzra seemed to touch the spy’s very soul. His allegiance now was—perhaps had always been—to a higher power than mere kings.

"We come in response to the situation at the fisherfolk cove," King Neel went on.

Vehlashal sighed. "We might have known you would sense the presence of Ott’s men." He indicated his visitors should be seated. The spy was relieved to settle into the support of the wing chair. "How long have you been aware of them?" Vehlashal asked, resuming his own place behind the desk.

"Actually, I am not," the First Loyal replied. "Anzra told me about them."

Vehlashal’s expression showed increasing distress as King Neel revealed the information Anzra had given him. "Uncle and I didn’t know about the corundum." Agitated, he raised his hands and ran fingertips through the soft dark curls at his temples. "Ott bragged to Alstin that he had a way to control the Loyals, but we couldn’t imagine how."

Anzra detected true distress in the man’s demeanor. The Draal noble and his royal uncle had not been cognizant of Ott’s true plans when the spy had met them in Old Irby.

"Are your fieldguards ready to do battle?" King Neel asked. "I understand from Anzra that Ott has landed a sizeable force at the cove."

"About six hundred at last count and another ship due in on the morrow. And, yes, my fieldguards as well as Alstin’s royalguards are ready. Ott had planned to send in eighteen hundred men. We were waiting for the net to be filled before we closed it and disposed of its contents."

"Obviously, Ott was misleading you about the mission of his landing party. Their true purpose was to bring in and distribute the rutilated corundum. In view of that, I do not think we need to wait for more men to arrive." King Neel tilted his head a little, his eyes thoughtful. "Tell me, did another of Ott’s ships bring in more of the corundum-bearing rocks?"

"Yes," Vehlashal replied. "But the odd thing is, the stuff disappears almost as soon as they strew it about. The Orlandians are, to say the least, flummoxed. Talk is beginning to arise that Chaff’s Holdings is protected by magik spirits." He darted a glance at Anzra. "Especially so since one of their guards vanished without a trace."

"The boy is well." The defensive words leapt from Anzra’s mouth. He clamped his lips shut and envisioned Brel recovering at Chaff Hall to supplant the memory of the young soldier lying wounded in his arms.

"If you send a courier cat to Alstin today, how long will it take him to get his forces to the cove?" King Neel asked.

Vehlashal considered. "Half a ten-day, to get them in place and ready to attack."

"And yours?"

"About the same. I have a less well-traveled track to follow, but I’ll instruct my men to leave at once."

"What about Chaff?" Anzra asked the First Loyal. "Some fisherchildren told me he was gone. Do you have any idea when he’ll be back?" At that moment, he realized he hadn’t seen Haehli at the Crown, and it was common knowledge she lived there. He assumed she was with her brother and that their mutual absence had to do with protecting Prand.

King Neel was not reluctant to disclose his son’s whereabouts. "I located him this morn. He, Haehli and four others are passengers on a ship sailing north along Prand’s landsedge. Strong emotions indicated they had met and subdued some negative force, but all aboard are well."

Awe widened Anzra’s eyes and lifted his chin. What a magnificent gift the First Loyal had! To reach out across land and sea, find his children and their companions and read their distress and its alleviation. Somewhere in the depths of Anzra’s mind a gentle stirring began, a longing for something that should be a part of him but drifted just beyond reach of his consciousness.

CHAPTER 26

Haehli walked along the deck to where Lewtri huddled, face hidden, shoulders shaking. Chaff watched as she leaned down and laid a hand on the prince’s bowed head. So intense was her compassion that Chaff actually felt the surge of her magik. He glanced at Kelber, whose eyes widened as he, too, sensed what Haehli was doing. After a moment, Lewtri struggled to his feet, his expression puzzled.

Memory of his lack of self-control was gone, Chaff knew, as surely as the damp stain on his breeches. "Are you feeling better?" Haehli asked gently. "It’s no wonder you got sick. You took a wicked kick to the stomach."

Lewtri looked down at the spatter of vomit at his feet, then up at Haehli. "I—I don’t remember…" he stammered. "My stomach doesn’t hurt."

"I healed it," Haehli replied. "Now, why don’t you take Megedehna and go rest in the cabin while Chaff and Kelber and I figure out what to do with these Non’s own."

The prince glanced at the five men, still held immobile by Chaff’s magik, then went to help Megedehna. Kelber had revived her enough that, with Lewtri’s assistance, she was able to negotiate the steps into the cabin. Chaff suspected the need she felt to sleep was not a natural reaction to the violence she had witnessed.

Releasing Trendarmon from his calming touch, Chaff walked aft to join Haehli, the two nobles following. "How much did you erase?" he asked when he reached her.

"Only two very personal reactions," she answered. "And after Meg awakens from her healing sleep, I’ll make sure she never reminds him. Both will remember everything else."

Love for his sister and appreciation for her skill and caring filled Chaff’s heart. He reached and drew her into a warm embrace. She returned it, and when he released her she darted a glance at Trendarmon. "See how easy it is?"

His rosy coloring darkened and he scowled.

"Well, I guess the corundum is more disabling than you and Haehli thought," Kelber said, addressing Chaff. "Sevak probably had some of it around, and that’s why we had trouble with our magik there."

Chaff nodded, remembering his feeling of diminished Awareness when he’d first entered Sevak’s camp. "I can’t believe a gemstone could have that much of an effect."

"It’s the rutile in it, I suspect," Trendarmon said. At the others’ questioning glances, he added, "The rutile. The mineral that gives the cut stone its star."

"Do you suppose," Haehli mused, "that if Ott got enough rutilated corundum in one place it could have immobilized King Emmil? His Awareness wouldn’t have told him anyone was sneaking up on him, and he wouldn’t have been able to defend himself with his magik."

Chaff looked at her in astonishment. "I think you’re right, Haehli."

"None of us felt Grohs approaching," Kelber said. "And I certainly couldn’t call up my magik." He looked at the five men struggling against Chaff’s hold, their faces contorted with mixed fear and hatred. "If I’d been able to, those Non’s-own would have been dead long ago."

Chaff was taken aback by the vehemence of the usually temperate Orlandian. The gold lights in the blue-green eyes fairly crackled with outrage.

"What are you going to do with them?" Trendarmon asked. "Is it true that you Loyals won’t kill them?"

"Not true," Kelber said. "Chaff killed the two men who attacked us at Sevak’s camp, remember?"

"That’s right." Trendarmon’s gaze flicked between Chaff and Kelber. "And I would have killed Grohs without Rennel’s help. Why did you two want to stop me?"

A memory drifted before Chaff—a portrait sketched on the mist that swirled over the ship’s deck. A man’s dark eyes stared up at him, begging; folded hands lifted toward him, entreating.

If Trendarmon had been expecting a sharp retort, he was disappointed. "We Loyals can see into a person’s Being," Chaff said slowly. "We can read him, tell if he acts only on orders or if he actually wants to obey them." He looked away, then back at Trendarmon. "I once killed a man without reading him. I stopped his heart, Tren, and I still don’t know if I should have."

"There was no doubt in my mind about Grohs." Trendarmon’s voice revealed his malice. "Nor about them." He motioned at the five who writhed under Chaff’s spell.

"Kelber, Haehli, how do you perceive them?" Chaff asked, his own mental touch reaching toward Grohs’ men. He withdrew his Awareness quickly, shuddering at the black void where their consciences should have been. Their souls were warped almost beyond recognition, not even a hair-thin shred of decency remaining. Some evil force had scoured their minds and hearts of all humane emotions. The Non’s work?

Haehli’s Awareness brushed past Chaff’s, followed by Kelber’s. She tensed and sucked in a quick breath. The gold flecks in her eyes shrank to pinpoints. "They have to die." Chaff could hardly believe it was Haehli who spoke with such bitterness. Gone was the sweet gentle presence that had so recently nurtured Lewtri’s tortured ego.

At the same moment, Kelber’s face paled. His hands clenched at his sides and the muscles in his throat worked. He uttered a vile oath, his voice, like Haehli’s, thick with revulsion.

Without apparent effort, Kelber tore the five men from Chaff’s grasp and flung them aboard their own ship, which lay at anchor nearby. Before they landed amidships, Haehli set fires fore and aft. Cursing, the men scrambled for water buckets. For each flame they doused two more arose, until the vessel’s rigging roared with them. Chunks of burning canvas that should have been borne away by the rising wind fell instead on the screaming men.

Chaff’s Awareness seemed held in thrall. Bewildered, he fought to free it. What’s happened to me? Why am I not preventing what Haehli and Kelber are doing? Why do I feel the desire to assist them?

When Grohs’ men realized the ship could not be saved, they jumped into the sea. Kelber conveyed them back onto the burning deck. The stench of seared flesh and singed hair blended with the acrid odor of wood, tar and canvas. Shrieks of terror became screeches of unbearable pain as fire caught at hempcloth garments.

In an agony of frustration, Chaff looked at Haehli and Kelber. Their faces were masks of cold calculation. In their expressions, Chaff found the answer he’d been seeking and knew what he must do. He sent his own Awareness crashing into theirs, shattering their concentration. "Haehli! Kelber! Stop!" he screamed. "It’s the Non!"

Startled, Haehli and then Kelber looked away from the grisly scene they had created.

"What?" Haehli whispered numbly.

"The Non," Chaff repeated urgently. He grasped her arm with one hand and laid his other hand on Kelber’s shoulder. He felt the two Loyals’ true consciousness rallying, then Haehli sagged against him, trembling. Appearing equally shaken, Kelber stared at Chaff, his gaze questioning.

"Well, not the Non, really, but his presence," Chaff said. "In them." He nodded toward Grohs’ crew. "For a time, his negative force overpowered you."

Freed from Kelber’s magik, their clothing afire, the men had once more abandoned the ship, only to be encircled by a school of sharks. Within moments, the sea boiled with pink froth. Gagging, Haehli turned away and clung to Chaff. As if transfixed, his fingers gripping the ship’s rail, Kelber watched until the last flash of white underbelly disappeared, until the sea calmed.

"How did you know?" he rasped. "I mean, about the Non."

"I fought him last May-beginning," Chaff answered. "I saw how he possessed the men who cut the Eternal Tree." No need to tell Kelber how persuasively the Non had sought to corrupt Prand’s youngest Second Loyal. Even King Neel had never had the personal contacts with the Non Chaff had experienced.

Still ashen-faced, Haehli straightened. "Kelber and I …well, we sensed what those men had intended for Meg and Lewtri." She swallowed hard. "Grohs’ crew deserved to roast." Before Chaff could voice it, she added, "But I know that decision is the Eternal One’s."

"It is," Chaff said.

"And He chose differently," Kelber breathed, his face drawn as he finally turned away from the railing.

"They be dead, and good riddance," Captain Rennel said sourly. "And I’ll not apologize for my part in it." He took hold of the tiller. "Haehli, girl, create some wind for the sails and take us away from here."

Haehli sighed. "I’ll try, Captain Rennel, though I am rather tired."

To Chaff’s surprise, Trendarmon stepped up beside her, put a hand under her elbow and guided her uncertain steps past the little cabin, toward the forward deck.

Kelber watched them. "Guess there’s more than one kind of healing strength," he said, and Chaff detected a note of resignation in the noble’s voice.

* * *

Chaff guessed it was near midnight in February’s last ten-day when their ship approached that part of Draal’s landsedge that was near his Holdings. He had felt his father’s mental touch several days earlier, answered it and sent similar pulses of reassurance to Aeslin, enhancing those with love. But it was two more days to New Irby and he’d have to ride south from there, or perhaps ask Kelber to convey him.

He wanted to see Aeslin now, even if only through the eyes of a gull, and he intended to do so at dawnlight. He didn’t particularly want to invite Kelber or even Haehli along, but felt it would be impolite not to. He waited until he chanced to find the two of them together, the other three passengers having retired for the night.

"You can do what?" Kelber cried when he told him. The moonlight was just bright enough that Chaff could see his expression of incredulity.

Chaff explained again how he could co-mingle his LifeForce Particles with those of the gulls, fly with their wings, see through their eyes.

"That’s astounding." Kelber was quiet for a long moment, then said slowly. "The gull that came when Tren and I were lost at sea—it was you, wasn’t it?" At Chaff’s nod, he said, "You never said anything. Why not?"

Chaff shrugged. "We weren’t getting along too well, at first. Mostly my fault, I guess."

"Not yours alone," Kelber said softly. "Back there, at Sevak’s camp, that’s when you started calling Tren and me by our shortnames."

Chaff frowned. "Oh." He hadn’t realized that. "Would you rather I didn’t?"

"No, that’s fine. We’re all Loyals, and Tren is an honorary Loyal, I guess. At least, according to what Grohs said, King Garlisteld seems to think so."

"I wonder where he got that idea. Do you suppose there really is a fourth Loyal? But, then, how would Garlisteld know. Is he that well acquainted with King Emmil?"

"When I met with the kings at council, I got the impression that Garlisteld is a true supporter of my father. But he certainly didn’t look at me as if he thought I was anyone special."

"Thank the One he didn’t, with King Ott there."

"Ahoy." Rennel’s voice was a coarse whisper. "We need to heave to. There’s a ship ahead and we don’t want to o’ertake ’er. Chaff, steady the wind. Kelber, take the helm for a bit."

Chaff immediately sent his Awareness into the Air Particles, and Rennel scurried to backwind the jib and tighten the main. Apparently, Trendarmon had noticed the stealthy movements on deck, for he came topside.

"What’s happening?" he asked, speaking softly.

"Ship ahead," Chaff answered. "Haehli and I are going to investigate." He glanced at Kelber. "Would you like to join us? I can show you how."

"Well…" Kelber hesitated. "Yes. Of course. If you think I can learn."

"I know you can. The important thing is, don’t be afraid. It’s a union of Being Particles only. It doesn’t affect your physical form or the gull’s. And you can pull free whenever you want to, without harming yourself or the bird. Ready to try?"

Kelber drew in a deep breath, then nodded.

"All right. Gulls are the most receptive birds to co-mingle with. Cast your Awareness and find one. I’ll accompany you and tell you what to do." Chaff directed his attention to Trendarmon, who had followed their conversation with ever-increasing awe. "We’re going to co-mingle LifeForce with the gulls. But our physical bodies will still be here." He grinned at the bemused noble. "Just don’t throw a bucket of cold water on us."

He cast his Awareness and felt Kelber’s joining his. He found a gull and co-mingled with it. Sensing Kelber’s attempt to do the same, he split his Awareness and guided the Orlandian Loyal. As with Chaff’s own first attempt, Kelber’s bird rebelled. But Kelber persisted, and within moments his host was flying alongside those of Chaff and Haehli. Rather than envy, Chaff felt pride.

The sea was like a sheet of lead beneath them, the small whitecaps everchanging etchings across its smooth face. To their right, the dark landmass that was Prand rolled away to meet the slightly lighter blue of the moonlit sky. They coasted on silent wings over the two-masted vessel. It was considerably larger than the Pride, but too small to be carrying cargo. It sailed without running lights, marking it as a probable spy ship.

Chaff tipped his bird’s wings and glided close to the forward deck. Kelber’s gull flew past the bow, no doubt looking for identification; then he folded the gull’s wings and alighted on the rail. Haehli guided her bird farther aft and settled on the boom. Chaff joined her.

The few men on deck moved stealthily. Sounds carry well across water and no chink of chain or scrape of metal on metal could be allowed. The sailors were Orlandians; their faces not white enough in the moonlight to be Prandian. After a few minutes of observation on deck revealed nothing of import, Chaff swooped out to sea and returned to alight on the cabin roof. From there he coaxed his bird host into hopping down onto the deck where he could peer through the ports into the cabin. Light shone through curtains heavy enough to conceal its occupants.

Disappointed, Chaff took wing just as Haehli and Kelber set up a furious squawking on the boom. The hands on deck swatted at them, cursing under their breath, but the gulls shifted away, squabbling loudly. In a few minutes, a dark figure loomed through the companionway. "Get those cursed, offal-eating birds out of here!" the man grated.

As one of the sailors grabbed a mop and attacked, Kelber and Haehli shrieked their displeasure and soared into the night sky. Chaff followed. Moments later, he withdrew his Awareness and rejoined his physical self aboard the Pride. Kelber and Haehli were already there, Kelber sagging against Trendarmon, exhausted.

"Bana," he gasped. "That takes some getting used to. I feel sick."

Remembering how tired he had been after his first try at co-mingling, Chaff sympathized with Kelber. "You did very well," he said.

"But did you learn anything?" Trendarmon asked.

"Not very much," Chaff admitted.

"I did." Kelber’s tone not only was positive but also was filled with loathing. "That man who came out of the cabin was Ott."

Chaff drew a quick breath. "Are you sure, Kel?"

"Hard to miss that broom beard of his, not to mention the arrogant tone of voice."

"Fah!" Chaff ran impatient hands through his chopped, black-dyed hair. "What do we do about Lewtri? If Ott’s here, that bodes a confrontation between his father and mine." He felt a fierce desire to protect the prince from any more hurt.

"I—I didn’t try to read Ott," Kelber said. "After that recent experience with Grohs’ crew, I didn’t want to." He frowned. "I was afraid of what I might find."

Chaff understood his hesitancy. Haehli had certainly been shaken by the experience. "I didn’t know who the man was and didn’t think to touch him," Chaff said. "Did you, Haehli?" He realized now she had been very quiet since their return from Ott’s ship.

When she spoke, there was no mistaking the sorrow in her voice. "Yes," she said and tears glimmered. "Poor Lewtri. His father is as corrupt as Grohs’ men. Just in a different way." She reached out to lay a hand on Chaff’s arm. "His sole intent is to capture Prand’s Loyals as he has King Emmil. He’s furious that something has gone wrong in his plans. That’s why he’s here."

"At dawnlight we’ll take to the skies again," Chaff said. "We’ll track his ship and find out where he intends to land. Then let Father know what’s going on."

"You talk with King Neel across the distance?" Kelber’s voice held a wistful longing that stirred Chaff’s empathy. "I wonder if, when we find my father, he and I will be able to do that."

"It isn’t always in words," Chaff said. The few times he’d heard his father’s voice clearly had been in moments of urgency. "It’s usually more like the Awareness. We just know what’s in each other’s minds."

Haehli sighed. "I wish Lewtri had someone he felt close to. I know he cared for Rohmir, and in spite of the man’s betrayal I think Rohmir cared for Lewtri."

"Yes, I think so, too," Chaff agreed. "I’ve told Lewtri that."

"I’m glad," Haehli said. "I have the feeling that before long our young prince is going to need every scrap of past security he ever had."

CHAPTER 27

At dawnlight, Chaff woke Kelber, who slept with a protective arm around Megedehna. The Orlandian eased away so as not to waken her and cast a quick glance at Lewtri, who stirred but went back to sleep. On deck, Captain Rennel viewed the rolling sea ahead with an expression of trepidation. Trendarmon supported Haehli, whose vacant expression told Chaff that her Awareness already sailed on white wings.

He and Kelber joined her. Ott’s ship had continued north during the night, as had the Pride at a slower pace. Judging from its course, the spy ship was headed for the fisherfolk cove north of Chaff’s Holdings. Chaff set the gull’s wings into a long glide and swooped over the inlet.

He was astounded at the number of men gathered on the beach and in the small clearing, awaiting the arrival of Ott’s ship. They were not in uniform—most of them wore the roughweave cotton of Orland, a few had acquired the hempcloth garments of Prand—but they were soldiers. Each carried a sheathed sword and most also had bows slung over their shoulders and arrowsacs at their sides. Some seemed too young to have had much seasoning. So far as Chaff could tell from the air, all wore blue-stoned rings.

The three birds skimmed over the forest surrounding the fisherfolk houses and found an encampment of daunting proportions, but only a dozen or so horses. Whatever the Orlandians were planning, it was not a whole-scale invasion. Chaff wondered what their purpose could be. While Haehli and Kelber settled on the small boats that rocked alongside the dock, he flew in search of the fisherfolk.

As he had feared, they were imprisoned, held in a large storeroom, now emptied of all goods and without furniture or even mats for them to sleep on. Chaff instructed his host to alight on the ledge of the barred window so he could peer in. The older people were emaciated, bloodied and bruised. The younger ones were in better condition only because, Chaff suspected, they’d had to carry on the catching and delivering of fish in order to maintain the impression of normalcy at the cove.

They huddled against each other in the filthy room, the stench coming through the barred window so vile that even the bird was filled with repugnance. It gave a raucous cry that stirred the fisherfolk, who turned startled eyes on the gull. Without Chaff’s conscious consent, his Awareness reached for them. And met nothing.

Using the bird’s excellent vision, Chaff scanned the group of fisherfolk. The hands he could see bore blue-stoned rings. Of course! Without the rutilated corundum to block King Neel’s Awareness, the First Loyal would have felt their distress and investigated the cove long ago. Chaff sent his host aloft and went to join Kelber and Haehli on the dinghy along the water’s edge.

* * *

Kelber peered into the bright eyes of Chaff’s bird host. Beyond its shallower perception, he saw that the Loyal’s sensibilities had been shaken. Whatever Chaff had seen on his observation flight had disturbed him greatly.

The spy ship had docked. Preceded by two men-at-arms with drawn swords, King Ott came down the gangplank. He wore red silk garments and a yellow cloak emblazoned with the wolf-and-sword emblem of Deltarn. A jeweled crown rested in his bristly iron-gray hair and his straight-cut beard looked fresh-combed. Clearly, he wanted to intimidate his men, and he succeeded. To a man, each dropped to one knee with bowed head.

Ott had hardly set foot on the dock when he roared a command. "Sardo! Present yourself!"

A short, beefy man shouldered his way between the soldiers as they got to their feet. He crossed the beach with a firm step and halted a few feet from the end of the wooden dock. Exhibiting neither eagerness nor apprehension, he faced his king, right hand at rest on the hilt of the sword at his hip.

Ott’s evident displeasure and Sardo’s defensive stance confirmed Haehli’s observation that something must have gone amiss with the king’s plans. Something important enough that he had crossed the Great Sea to rectify it.

"Your Majesty?" Sardo’s voice was tightly controlled, respectful but not obsequious.

"What is this lunacy about the corundum disappearing? Are the men under your command such pap-brained dizzards that they can’t even scatter rocks?"

Kelber guessed at once where the corundum-bearing rocks were to have been placed. Chaff Hall lay too nearby for Ott’s choice of landing site to be coincidental. The gull hosting Haehli shifted and rearranged its wings. Chaff’s bird remained quiet; the Prandian could not understand the Orlandians’ conversation.

Sardo did not flinch under his sovereign’s verbal assault. "The distribution was carried out according to your instructions, Your Majesty. But as we sought to fortify the first circle of rocks with more of them, we found the earlier-placed ones were gone without a trace."

"And I don’t suppose it occurred to you to post men to watch and see what was happening to them?"

"Yes, Your Majesty," Sardo replied. "We watched, but saw nothing. Yet, in the morning, the rocks were gone. Since we anticipated another shipload, we replaced those yet again with the ones we had stockpiled here—"

"You did what?" Nostrils flaring, dark eyes blazing, Ott brushed between his two men-at-arms, who followed as he tramped off the dock and advanced on Sardo. "You left the cove unprotected?"

The soldier stepped back, and for the first time exhibited discomposure. "We—we still wear the rings, Your Majesty. And we knew another shipload was due…" His voice faltered. Then he gathered his resolve and spoke the words that Kelber knew would end his life. "We think Chaff Hall is magik-protected, your Majesty."

"Do you?" Ott snarled. With surprising speed he snatched a blade from one of his men-at-arms and drove it into Sardo’s abdomen. The man shrieked and fell to the sand, writhing in the blood that poured from the fatal wound.

Kelber’s disgust was so fierce that the gull his LifeForce Particles occupied lifted off the dinghy and hovered, fluttering, before settling again with angry squawks. Chaff and Haehli were no less affected, and their bird hosts reacted much the same.

Muted gasps and muttering rose from the assembled soldiers, and they moved away from the dying man as if to distance themselves from the unwise decision he had made. Ott’s hard gaze swept over them.

"Does anyone else think Chaff Hall is magik-protected?" When no one responded, the king prodded the now-still form of the soldier with the toe of his boot. "See, Sardo. No magik. Only inferior endeavor."

He lifted his head, broom-bearded chin outthrust. "Another ship is on the way. When it arrives, I myself will see to it that the corundum is properly placed." He turned to his men-at-arms and gestured at the fisherfolk houses. "Select the best one for me and have it suitably prepared. As quickly as possible. I have before me the tedious task of selecting a replacement for Sardo."

* * *

Back aboard the Pride, Kelber paced the deck, shaking with outrage. Lewtri and Megedehna watched in silence. Trendarmon self-consciously offered a shoulder for Haehli to lean on and she accepted, her face drawn, her eyes sad. Chaff’s gaze leapt between the two Loyals with some degree of consternation.

"What was said?" he asked. "All I could understand was that Chaff Hall was mentioned a couple of times."

"The corundum rocks have been disappearing from where the Orlandians placed them around your Hall," Kelber replied. "The man in charge of the troops made the mistake of mentioning ‘magik.’ That’s why he was killed."

"Oh," Chaff murmured.

"Who killed him?" Lewtri’s eyes were filled with sympathy for a man he’d never met.

"One of his superior officers," Kelber muttered.

"I didn’t realize anyone else hated magik as much as my father does," Lewtri said.

Fearing a telling gap in the conversation after that comment, Chaff said, "I found the fisherfolk locked in a storeroom. They’re in pretty bad shape. We have to get them out of there as soon as possible. I’m going to contact Father right now and let him know exactly where we are."

"He knows, Chaff," Haehli said. "I’ve already been in touch with him." She, who always leant strength to others, seemed reluctant to move away from Trendarmon. "A battle is brewing." Her gaze swept the group. "On my way back to the Pride I took a little side flight. Father, King Alstin and his nephew, Vehlashal, and a man named Anzra are on their way right now to the cove with contingents of royalguards and fieldguards. They’re only a half-day’s ride away. By this afternoon, I’m afraid, the bloodshed will begin."

"What will be expected of us Loyals?" Kelber asked.

"Nothing," Chaff replied. "We are not supposed to take part in human wars. Our sole purpose is to protect the land, defend it against despoilers."

Kelber shook his head in disbelief. "But we have the power—"

"Yes," Chaff interrupted. "Which is exactly why we aren’t allowed to interfere. Father explained it to me. We can’t know the Eternal One’s plan, so it isn’t up to us to influence who wins or who loses a particular battle." His thoughts on King Ott, he was hard-pressed to keep from looking at Lewtri. "Or who dies and who lives."

"That’s crazy. Why shouldn’t we help?" Kelber glared at Chaff. "I certainly will if I get the opportunity."

Remembering his own ill-placed "help" at the fight at the Crown, Chaff sighed. "And you may wish you hadn’t."

Trendarmon looked at him with puzzlement. "But what about Grohs’ men and those at Sevak’s camp…"

"We are allowed to defend ourselves and those we love," Haehli said. "As for what Kelber and I tried to do with the men at sea…well, those actions were influenced by the Non. We have to guard against that ever happening again."

"Well, I intend to be at the cove this afternoon." Kelber’s tone was defiant, his eyes hard.

"Yes," Chaff said thoughtfully. "You need to be there. As do my sister and I."

His face pinched with concern, Trendarmon tightened his half-embrace around Haehli. "Isn’t there anything the rest of us can do to help?"

Since the prince happened at the moment to be looking away, Chaff made a slight gesture toward him. "No, it’s best if you stay here with Lewtri and Megedehna."

Trendarmon understood and nodded.

Chaff walked to the Pride’s starboard side and gazed out at the Prandian landsedge. At midday, the great green forest rose up healthy and vibrant, the sky a lovely clear blue. Suddenly, Chaff remembered using his Awareness to touch the gases of the avalanche flow, remembered thinking how there was no growth in the openlands to cleanse them. That was what was wrong with Orland.

Its air was not pure and clean because it no longer had enough trees to filter out the noxious gases and poisonous fumes. But that could be remedied. The Orlandians could plant trees. They could grow them like a crop, as they grew their fruits and grapes. When this confrontation at the cove was over, when King Emmil was released from imprisonment, Chaff would suggest tree cultivation to the Orlandians.

The idea pleased and excited him. He wanted to share it not only with Kelber, Trendarmon and Lewtri, but also with Aeslin. He longed to see her, but not in his present state of anxiety. He didn’t think he should touch her with his Awareness, either. She had become so sensitive to him that she would feel his apprehension. So, he steadfastly kept his Awareness in check and waited for the call from his father that he knew would be coming.

* * *

It came late in the afternoon. Haehli heard it, too, and rose wearily from Trendarmon’s side. Kelber glanced up. "Time to convey?" he asked.

"Yes," Chaff answered. "You’ve seen the cove. Have you picked a spot to set us down?"

"To the north of it, I think. The beach and clearing will be fully occupied, I suspect."

Trendarmon clung to Haehli’s hand, looking from her to Chaff. "You won’t forget that Kel’s not yet immortal?"

"We won’t forget," Haehli reassured him.

Kelber knelt in front of Megedehna for a moment and took her hands in his. His throat muscles worked but produced no words. She seemed to understand his feelings and reached out to brush her fingers through his hair. "Take care, Loyal Kelber," she said softly.

Chaff longed to say something comforting to Lewtri. But what would it be? I hope I won’t have to protect myself against your father? With aching heart, he laid a hand on the prince’s shoulder, then gestured to Kelber to convey.

The scene at the cove was much as Chaff had thought it would be. Ott’s troops were skillful enough with sword and bow, but the attack on them had been unexpected. As Kelber had predicted, most of the men had been caught in the opening or on the beach. King Alstin himself was in the melee, and Chaff was surprised at the man’s skill. He was no longer the pale, flaccid individual whom nobility and royalty alike had once derided. He fought with a grim determination, as if he sought to slay other enemies than the soldiers who opposed him.

Chaff recognized the younger brown-haired man who rode with the saddle mat of Draal. He was Alstin’s nephew, Vehlashal, the one to whom Chaff had sold the massive draft horses Yoad had brought in for hauling out the Eternal Trees. Vehlashal had turned the huge brown beasts into chargers. Their height placed their riders well above a convenient sword-strike level, and Vehlashal had equipped the animals with heavily padded protective wear. Their size alone was intimidating, and Ott’s men made haste to elude the great iron-shod feet. More than one man did not move in time, only to fall screaming with crushed bones as enormous shag-shrouded hoofs beat him down.

King Neel’s Awareness touched Chaff with a message of love and encouragement, but Chaff could not spot him in the churning mass of humanity. Kelber’s Awareness brushed past him and Chaff followed it with his own. Three of Ott’s men had isolated one of Alstin’s. In an instant, the three were gone and the astounded royalguard stood transfixed. He did not even lift his sword in self-defense as another of Ott’s men ran him through. The soldiers who had been conveyed fared no better. Like Alstin’s guardsman, they staggered from the effects of being suddenly transported, and while they hesitated Vehlashal’s fieldguards took them down.

Kelber turned anguished eyes on Chaff, who didn’t need his Awareness to know that Kelber now saw his folly in trying to intercede in the battle.

While Haehli rested a comforting hand on Kelber’s shoulder, Chaff sent his Awareness in search of King Ott. He hoped to separate the king from his men, immobilize him and save him from death. Even as he planned that, he admitted to himself he was doing it only for Lewtri’s benefit. From what he had observed that morn, Ott deserved to die.

It was only after minutes of futile searching that he realized he would not be able to locate the king with his Awareness. Ott would be wearing a rutilated corundum ring. Chaff turned to Kelber. "Convey me behind the fisherfolk houses, Kel. I want to see if I can find Ott."

He would have been able to convey himself that short distance, but Kelber needed to take part in a non-violent way. A moment later, Chaff was among the always-green trees behind the dwellings. Fighting went on there as well, but not with the same intensity as in the clearing. Unmindful of arrows that came his way and passed through his LifeForce Particles, Chaff ran from window to window of the fisherhouses. He found the one whose rooms had obviously been prepared for the king’s use, but Ott was not there.

Chaff conveyed himself into the limbs of a nearby fir and watched the conflict raging below him, wondering where a man like Ott might hide. The answer came to him so quickly that he drew a breath of exasperation at his own lack of wits. The least likely place you’d think he’d be, of course. The next moment, Chaff was in the storeroom where the fisherfolk prisoners were being held.

Still in his royal finery, Ott stood near the door, his two men-at-arms flanking him, swords drawn. The fisherfolk, beaten, ill and cowed, huddled in a far corner of the room. However, the sounds of the battle raging outside had kindled lights of hope in their hollow eyes, and at Chaff’s sudden appearance a cry of joy went up.

Ott’s face darkened to near purple. "You!" he spat. "King Neel’s crippled bastard." He held out his right hand, flashing the large blue-stoned ring. "I don’t fear you. Without your magik, you’re nothing. There’s not a maggot-white Prandian alive who can best an Orlandian."

"Are you sure, Ott?"

The soft voice came from Chaff’s left. A slender Prandian stood there, and Chaff’s glance darted to the still-locked door. Had Kelber conveyed this sober-faced man with the brown hair and pale green eyes?

The King of Deltarn was startled for only a moment. Then his dark brows veed and his lip lifted in a sneer. "Certainly not you, Lynx, you pseudo-Orlandian freak."

Lynx’s eyes flared with cold hatred. Without looking at Chaff, the man said, "Can you disable his guards, friend Loyal, so the king and I can engage in a fair fight?"

"He can’t," Ott snarled. "They’re wearing corundum. And so are all those quagging, stinking fish-gutters."

"No," came a choked voice from the far corner of the room. "We saw the gull-omen. We threw the rings away."

Chaff flung out his Awareness and reached for them. He felt all too intensely the pain and sorrow the fisherfolk had suffered at the hands of Ott’s men. The horror of it hung in the room, as surely as did the reek of filthy clothing, unwashed bodies and unemptied chamber pots.

Chaff was sure the amount of corundum in the rings Ott and the two guards wore would not severely limit his powers. The arrogant king did not carry a bag of stones.

Still, Chaff hesitated, remembering the Loyals’ mission. Would the Eternal One construe his disabling the guards as interfering? Yet, there was something about the green-eyed man that spoke of the One’s will.

"I can," Chaff said in answer to Lynx’s question.

He sent his Awareness into the guards, who sensed what he was doing and lunged toward him. Two sword blades pierced his body and passed through his LifeForce Particles. The men staggered against him and carried him backward amongst the fisherfolk. Cries of disbelief rose from them and from Ott’s men.

Chaff regained his footing, worked his Awareness around the corundum and rendered the guards unconscious. As they fell, he turned. Ott had flung off his cloak and crown and drawn a long-bladed dagger from a belt sheath. His face set in a mask of hate, he crouched to meet Lynx.

They stepped and thrust and feinted, each sizing up the other’s courage and skill. Ott, heavier and with a longer reach than Lynx, seemed to have the advantage. But the slender brown-haired man was quicker on his feet. Mentally, Chaff weighed the challenger’s chances. While Lynx appeared to be composed and completely self-confident, the king was cold and cunning. He would take quick advantage of any misstep, any instant of inattention.

From outside came the shouts of soldiers, royalguards and fieldguards, screams of the wounded and dying, squeals of frightened or injured horses, pounding of hooves and boots. Inside the room there was only the hushed breathing of the watching fisherfolk and the sharp-drawn breaths of the circling combatants.

Lynx’s toe caught on a bit of rag on the floor. As he corrected his footing, Ott struck. The swift movement carved a long gash on Lynx’s left arm as he raised it to deflect the dagger. Ott’s eyes flashed their contempt; his broom-bearded chin lifted. Secure in his skill, the king of Deltarn lunged forward again. Too late, he perceived he had been tricked. Lynx writhed away and drove his own dagger to the hilt under Ott’s breastbone.

Enraged, seemingly unfeeling of his mortal wound, Ott charged blindly at the slender man. His wicked blade sliced Lynx’s cheek as the king fell against him, dying. Lynx pushed him away, and Ott slumped to the floor.

With an animal-like howl, half fury, half anguish, Ott watched his life’s blood pour out onto the gray stones. His mouth twisted into a grotesque grin. Chaff knelt beside the fallen monarch. In spite of the man’s black soul, Chaff hoped for a last kind word from him about his youngest son.

"I know where Lewtri is," Chaff said. "Do you have a message for him?"

"Yes." Ott’s voice was thick but understandable. "Tell the slubbering little cull he was right about the magik." There followed a few more barely intelligible curses directed at Lynx and Alstin, then the king’s mouth went slack above the broom-like beard, his hate-filled eyes rolled back and Lewtri’s father died lying on the filth-covered floor.

The fisherfolk collapsed against each other, the women and children sobbing with relief, the men murmuring words of thanks. Within moments, rage swelled and washed over their gratitude. They fell upon the immobile soldiers, kicking them, beating at them with their fists, snarling like ravening wolves.

Sick at heart, Chaff stood up, collected the room’s Air Particles, formed them into a wall and forced the fisherfolk away from the helpless men. "They are prisoners," he cried. "Let King Alstin deliver their punishments."

He called out to Haehli with his mind and she came. Quickly assessing what was needed, she cloaked the fisherfolk with her soothing Awareness and they calmed. A boy of perhaps ten-and-four, followed by a girl a little younger, timidly breached Chaff’s barrier, and he let them. They both paid obeisance to Chaff and Haehli. Then, to his surprise, they did the same to the green-eyed man before stepping back to rejoin their companions.

Lynx’s wounds were not beyond Chaff’s ability to heal. While Haehli continued to work with the fisherfolk, he went to Lynx, touched his face and healed the gash there, then took the man’s left arm in one hand. As he passed the fingers of his free hand along the dagger wound, he saw the faint outlines of an elongated figure eight on the underside of the wrist. A rush of elation bloomed from his Being and spread its warmth through him. So there was a fourth Loyal!

Yet even as he looked up into the pale green eyes, he sensed that something was amiss. He felt a closeness with the brown-haired man, but a subtle wall of difference separated them. Chaff smiled at Lynx and determined to discuss this encounter with King Neel.

He knew before he unlocked the door and stepped outside that the battle of the cove was all but over. At the sea’s edge, some of Alstin’s royalguards still hacked and slashed at the handful of Ott’s men who refused to yield. Other guards were afoot, rounding up those prisoners able to stand. The brushbungs and the Keepers knelt beside the wounded, working their healing magik.

The scent of blood, the stench of death, fouled the air. Moans of the dying stilled the birdsong. Mutilated bodies littered the beach, the clearing and the surrounding forest. Chaff saw his father walking slowly among the fallen and knew the Keeper King’s touch brought merciful death to those who could not be saved. Heart wrenching, Chaff joined him.

CHAPTER 28

"We have to let Lewtri say goodbye to his father." Chaff stood beside King Neel and Lynx and looked out across the sea, where the white sails of the Pride marked the sloop’s presence. The grim after-business of the battle went on behind him; Alstin’s and Vehlashal’s men were digging a mass grave along one side of the cove for the fallen Orlandians. Prandian casualties would be taken to their various home villages for burial. What few prisoners there were had been locked in the storeroom. The little brushbungs were busy healing the fisherfolk and those combatants, both Orlandian and Prandian, whose wounds were treatable.

Chaff had insisted that King Ott’s body be laid on the wooden dock, his cloak covering him, his crown at rest on his chest. He had asked Kelber to convey himself and Haehli back to the Pride to break the news to the prince that his father had fallen in battle. Chaff waited for Lewtri on the dock beside the king’s body.

The prince’s thin face, when he stepped off the Pride, was stiff with tightly controlled emotion. Chaff went to him and draped an arm around his shoulders. Followed by Kelber and Haehli, they walked to where the king lay, rosy face, paler now in death, turned up to the Prandian sky. Lewtri looked down at him for a long time and Chaff felt the boy’s trembling.

"Did—did he have any last words for me?"

"Yes," Chaff answered truthfully. "I told him I knew where you were and he said to tell you that you were right about the magik."

Lewtri’s startled gaze leapt to meet Chaff’s, the large dark eyes questioning, hopeful. "He said that?"

"Yes." No need to mention the vituperative words that preceded the admission.

As Lewtri swayed and then dropped to his knees beside his father, Chaff darted a glance at Lynx, whose solemn countenance gave no evidence that he’d heard Ott say anything else. With one accord, Chaff and the others moved away to leave Lewtri alone with his grief.

When Lynx’s gaze shifted to Kelber, recognition flared in his green eyes and his mouth curved in a small, satisfied smile. Chaff wondered where the two had met before and under what circumstances. The brown-haired stranger became an even greater enigma.

"Do you think it’s really advisable to let Lewtri mourn such a miserable excuse for a father?" Haehli asked.

"Lewtri knows what he was like," Chaff replied. "But this thing about the magik…well, he knew that his father did believe. But I thought Lewtri should know that his father finally admitted it to him, even if the prince wasn’t actually present when he did."

King Neel touched Chaff’s arm. "I thank the Eternal One for thee," he said softly.

* * *

Nearnight had settled over Chaff Hall when he and his guests arrived in the study courtesy of King Neel’s and Kelber’s conveying skills. Aeslin ran to meet him, eyes shining with tears of joy. He clutched her to him, stroking her hair, reveling in the warmth of her body against his. Oblivious to the onlookers, he kissed her again and again until they were both breathless, trembling with the love that flowed between them.

"By the One," he whispered, his lips touching hers. "I missed you so much. Wanted you, needed you."

"Dear, sweet Chaff. Dear, sweet Chaff," she murmured over and over, as if unable to get beyond that endearing phrase that truly said all that needed saying. Someone’s slight cough reminded Chaff of his guests and, still holding Aeslin close, he looked over her shoulder.

Tevony stood before the oak desk, hands clasped in front of her. "I’ll tell Cook to expect seven more for dinner, and I’ll have guestrooms prepared. You will be staying again, won’t you, Lord Wilcher? Brel has been asking about you."

Lord Wilcher? Brel? Chaff wondered who they might be but couldn’t escape his euphoria to ask. With his arm about Aeslin’s waist, they walked to the lie-about that stood against one wall. The others settled wherever they found seating as Tevony left to take care of guest preparations. Dowvy lounged beside the specklestone fireplace, his expression one of unabashed pleasure.

Chaff leaned into a corner of the lie-about and Aeslin pressed against him, her head on his shoulder. "Why didn’t you let me know you were nearby?" she asked. "The last time you sent a touch, you were still far out at sea."

"There were too many things going on, sweet love," he replied, nuzzling his face into her hair. "I’ll let Father tell you all about it."

He only half-listened as King Neel explained about the men who had invaded the fisherfolk cove, how they had not been discovered because of the rings they wore, how King Alstin and his nephew, Vehlashal, had battled them. When the Keeper King mentioned that the disappearance of the rutilated corundum had precipitated Ott’s coming to Prand, Chaff heard Dowvy draw in a quick breath. He glanced at the sprite, whose eyes registered surprise, then mirth, then consternation. Sure that Dowvy was illusioned from most of those present, Chaff said nothing. He would question the little brushbung later. His arms tightened around Aeslin.

Much later Chaff lay staring at the ceiling of the bedchamber. His soul, his heart, his body were blissfully at peace, but his mind roiled. Longing to be alone with Aeslin, he had suffered through dinner and the interminable conversation afterward, but he remembered well what he and the others had discussed. The words echoed in his ears. And the conclusion was that he would once more have to leave Prand and Aeslin.

"With King Ott dead, we may have a difficult time learning where he imprisoned my father," Kelber had lamented, picking at his food.

"You spoke of an acid lake inside the oval of the vols," King Neel had mused. "A lake with an island in its center. I believe that’s where King Emmil is."

"Of course!" Kelber cried, excitement lighting his face. "He probably lives there, just as you do at the Crown." He frowned. "But how did Ott’s men trap him?"

"If they were carrying rutilated corundum, he wouldn’t have sensed their presence," King Neel replied.

"But how did Ott’s men get to the lake?" Trendarmon questioned. "Meg told us it’s impossible for even the toughs to cross that terrain."

"Wait a minute," Megedehna said, one hand lifted in a silencing gesture. She had managed to get the dye out of her hair in her bath. Her bright curls shone in the candlelight as she leaned forward earnestly over her meal, her expression more animated than Chaff had ever seen it. "About two years ago, Larrik built a wooden track into the oval, between Vols Ferna and Pyga. The gleaners thought he was trying to find more gemstones, but he might have been taking corundum in instead of bringing gems out."

"The time would be about right," Trendarmon observed.

Kelber nodded. " Yes. And Ott must have been in collusion with someone whose property bordered the openlands. Deltarn has no access. How friendly was your father with Larrik, Lewtri?"

The prince’s eyes were shadowed; he still mourned the father who didn’t deserve his son’s grief. "They’ve been doing business together for years. Since I was a boy." He paused and drew a long breath. "Before I met King Emmil."

"But if Emmil is on the island, surrounded by so much corundum that he can’t escape it, how can you help him?" It was the green-eyed man who asked, the one King Neel called Anzra and Aeslin called Lord Wilcher and Ott had called Lynx. Chaff studied him across the table and felt again a surge of comradeship.

"The night gleaners," Kelber said. "If we let them know what Ott’s done, they’ll help us remove the rocks."

"Is the track still in place, Meg?" Haehli asked.

Megedehna shook her head. "No. Larrik dismantled it after a week or two. But you can tell where it was. His men had to sledge off the tops of some of the rocks so the boards wouldn’t shift around so much."

"We could rebuild it, I suppose." Trendarmon took a sip of wine. "But we’d have to take a shipload of Chaff’s lumber with us."

"The boards are already there," Lewtri said. "I saw them stored at the back of Larrik’s Lordshare that night I came to warn you." He brushed at the brown curls on his forehead. "Only, I don’t know how you’d persuade High Lord Larrik to let you use them. Unless maybe the night gleaners could…well, borrow them."

Megedehna’s chin lifted, and her eyes flashed. "The night gleaners are not thieves!"

The prince’s color darkened. "I said ‘borrow.’"

"You’d just need a few good wide planks." It was the first time Brel had contributed to the discussion, and Chaff’s glance went to the young Orlandian soldier. He was a pleasant-faced boy with large dark eyes and a shock of unruly brown hair.

"Why only a few?" Chaff asked.

"Well, you just keep relaying them, putting one ahead, then the other. We have a bog that cuts our farm in two and that’s how we cross it with the oxen. We can’t leave the boards down. They’d rot."

"Could the horses you spoke of earlier, the toughs, cross such a track?" King Neel asked.

Chaff and Haehli exchanged glances, and Chaff smiled, remembering the log bridge over Pyga Gulch. "You’d be surprised what those little horses can do."

"When properly conditioned," Haehli added.

"Then I take it we’ll sail as soon as Captain Rennel can re-provision the Pride?" Trendarmon asked, and suddenly laughed. "He’ll be more than a little agitated to find himself with seven passengers."

"Since King Alstin is sending home what’s left of my company, I’ll go back with them," Brel said.

"No, you won’t," Anzra disagreed with a vehemence that startled not only the boy but Chaff and the others. "I didn’t save your hide to have it battered by a pack of Non’s own."

Brel bristled. "You can’t tell me what to do. You’re not my father."

"No, but I promised you I’d deliver you safely home to him. I’m not the sort who goes back on a promise, Brel. I mean to keep it."

Brel maintain his fierce defiance for only a moment before he dropped his gaze, and Chaff had the impression the boy was secretly glad for Anzra’s determined stance.

"I’ll accompany my father’s body," Lewtri said. "Teb and Durran will make the arrangements for a state burial." He looked at King Neel. "And I thank you again for whatever it is you did to preserve his body for transport." He lowered his gaze. "Teb will make a good king. He’s not so…opinionated." He took a deep breath, then glanced around the table. "I wish all of you could come to his coronation."

Trendarmon grinned. "Kel and I will, of course." He gestured at Chaff and Haehli. "And you never can tell about those two."

Haehli had laughed, but Chaff had merely nodded. Once King Emmil is freed, he had thought, I’m never leaving Prand again. Now, lying here with Aeslin in his arms, he silently repeated that vow, yet wondered if he could keep it.

* * *

Dawn’s gray light was seeping through the gap in the window coverings of his room when Kelber awoke. For a time, he lay gazing at the pine-board ceiling, watching the play of light on the wood’s grain. Today, he and the others would leave for Orland. He should be eager to do so, and he was. Yet…

A small but persistent ache began in his heart, and it had to do with Megedehna. He shunted his thoughts from her to Timra and felt a surge of empathy with the young gleaner. Kelber cared for Megedehna more than he wanted to admit, and, like Timra, he would have to say goodbye to her. He wished he could do so in private.

Without conscious effort, his Awareness sought her out. He wasn’t as skilled at casting as Chaff, but sensitive enough at such short range to know she was awake, sitting in front of the fireplace in the guestroom she occupied. Her mind seemed to call out to him, and the next instant he stood beside her.

She glanced up at him, looking less startled by his sudden appearance than he was by his unintentional conveying.

"I’m sorry," he blurted, feeling the warmth flushing his face. "I didn’t mean to intrude. I was just thinking about you and—"

"It’s all right, Kelber," Megedehna said. "I was thinking about you, too." Her lips curved in a gentle, sad smile. "Evidently strongly enough to draw you to me."

She was stunningly beautiful sitting there before the fire, its glow echoed in her hair, lighting the lines of her heart-shaped face. Her white nightgown, trimmed at the neck and wrists with tatted lace, made Kelber conscious of his half-naked state—his bare chest and the tan cotton sleeping breeches.

To hide his discomfiture, he crossed to the window, lifted aside the drapery and looked out on the palely-lit garden. "Will you be staying here at Chaff Hall or going north to Norporte? Of course, you’re as safe here as you’d be in the royalhouse. And you don’t really need to beg asylum in a neutral kingdom. You’d look completely at home anywhere on Prand." He was prattling; he caught his lower lip between his teeth to still his errant tongue.

"Aeslin has assured me I’m welcome as long as I choose to stay. She’s planning to school the servile children and would be happy to have my help. I’ll assist her until Chaff returns, but after that…" Her voice drifted away and Kelber turned to look at her.

She sat, head bowed, eyes downcast. "After that, I’ll go in search of my home."

He went to her and knelt at her feet. Before he could speak his protest, she raised her head, clear hazel eyes meeting blue-green. "I must find my father, Kelber, just as you must find yours."

Her words struck a truth he could not refute. All he could say was, "But you don’t know where to begin."

"I think King Neel does."

"Then I’ll come back and go with you wherever we must. After Orland is safe, after my father and I quell the firehills."

She smiled faintly. "You’ll put the gleaners out of business, Kelber."

He knew her words were meant as a distraction and deflected them. "Only the day gleaners. The night gleaners will continue to mine as they’ve always done." He clasped her hands and peered intently into her eyes. "Meg, promise you’ll wait. Promise you won’t go on your quest without me." The thought of not seeing her again loosed a hurt that swelled until it filled all his senses, consumed him, choked off disciplined words. Through eyes misted with tears, he tried to read the expression in hers. "May the One help me," he whispered, "I love you, Meg. Please…please don’t look at me and say, ‘I’m sorry.’"

"I won’t, Kelber." Her voice was soft, caressing. "Because I’m not sorry that I’ve fallen in love with you." She leaned forward to touch her lips lightly to his.

He entangled his fingers in her hair and gently held her mouth warm against his. Never had any girl’s kiss kindled such a glow in his Being, set such fires of pure sweet delight. It was so very different from—so abundantly richer than—the mere physical responses he had felt before.

Chaff was right. This kind of love did transcend any feeling he’d ever known. Kelber was glad he was kneeling, for he surely would have collapsed had he not been.

"I won’t give you up," he said fiercely when he trusted himself to speak. As reality gripped his shoulders and shook him, he sank back onto his heels. Moaning, he ran both hands through his black curls. "But I can’t leave Orland, and you aren’t safe there."

"No." She leaned back in the chair and regarded him with sorrow, her mouth trembling. "What are we to do, Kelber?" She sprang up, ran to the window and pulled aside the draperies. The sky had lightened with the coming of a fine March morning. "Eternal One," she cried, "what do you ask of your Second Loyal and me? Heartache?"

Kelber went to her, turned her to face him and drew her close. Her hair smelled of cinnamon as he had thought it would—or perhaps he only imagined the scent. Her tear-damp cheek pressed against his bare chest. She trembled within the circle of his arms, as she had done that day on the Pride.

Haehli had teased him then about being afraid to embrace Megedehna. And he had been. Afraid to abandon himself to this delicious new emotion—this strange, wonderful elation that lifted a relationship from the commonplace into the exceptional. He couldn’t imagine such a phenomenal experience occurring more than once in a lifetime. No, he couldn’t give her up. Surely, the Eternal One would not expect him to.

"I will come back to Prand." His voice was firm with determination. "We’ll find your home and your family. Perhaps by that time Haehli’s prediction will have come to pass and Prand and Orland will be at peace with each other." He tightened his arms about her. "We’ll find a way, Meg." He kissed her again, wrapping them both completely in the tender love his heart spun out. "Dearly beloved fire child. We’ll find a way."

CHAPTER 29

The Loyals had decided to re-provision and sail from the fisherfolk cove rather than spend time traveling to New Irby. After breakfast, they conveyed themselves and Trendarmon, Lewtri, Anzra and Brel back to the cove. King Ott’s ship awaited them, as well as the Pride and the hogger that had brought over Ott’s men, each vessel loaded with some of the supplies sent by the Orlandian king.

Chaff was sorry to say goodbye to Prince Lewtri. He’d grown very fond of him, and it hurt to think he might never see him again. He clasped the prince’s arm in a firm grip. "Lord Wilcher assures me that the next ship leaving from Scallop Cove will be carrying a hold full of burlap-wrapped seedlings rather than a load of logs." He forced a grin. "Every time you look out the palace window at your little forest of fir, hemlock and cedar, you’ll remember me. And I won’t let it stop at only a few acres, Lewtri. I’ll keep sending seedlings until all of Orland is covered. Before you’re a man of middle years, old King Jeyr will be smuggling logs out of Orland for Prand."

"This is not goodbye, Chaff," Lewtri said, his eyes glistening with tears. "If you won’t come to Orland, I’ll come to Prand. In the summer, when no one will notice. I’ll bring bolts and bolts of silk. Lady Aeslin will be the envy of the land."

He raised his hand in the Prandian farewll, then turned and hurried down the dock to board his father’s ship. Chaff watched as it sailed out of the cove, followed by the slugging hogger with its cargo of wounded and dejected men.

The Pride also was ready to sail, all but Chaff already aboard and waiting. But before he left on this mission Chaff had some questions he wanted answered, and he put them to his father now. "Father, about Anzra. He has the Mark of Infinity. It’s very faint, but I saw it when I healed his arm. His eyes are an unusual color of green, but they don’t have the gold markings. So he’s not a true Loyal, yet I feel an odd sort of kinship with him. Who is he?"

"I knew you’d wonder." King Neel’s expression grew pensive. He was quiet for so long that Chaff began to think he wasn’t going to answer. "He is the son of King Emmil," the Keeper King finally said, and at Chaff’s quickly indrawn breath, put a hand on his son’s arm. "But you must not tell Kelber. It is not your place."

"I understand," Chaff said. "But if Anzra is King Emmil’s son, why isn’t he truly a Second Loyal?"

"Because his mother was not chosen by the Eternal One." At Chaff’s persistent gaze of inquiry, King Neel sighed and went on. "When it came time for Emmil to mate, he rebelled against the fact that the Eternal One would make the choice as to who that mating partner should be. Emmil came to Prand, found a girl he deemed suitable and mated with her."

"Just ‘a girl?’" Chaff asked. "Not someone he really cared about?"

King Neel shook his head. "He had no special feeling for her. And by the time Anzra was born, Emmil realized what a serious mistake he had made. He begged the Eternal One’s forgiveness, but many years passed before he was led to Kelber’s mother."

"Are you saying First Loyals can communicate?"

"No, they merely know of each other through a universal Awareness. For whatever reason, the Eternal One chooses to let the human inhabitants of each continent develop on their own. King Emmil came to Prand, however, and I met him then."

Haehli waved impatiently to Chaff from the deck of the Pride, but he had more questions for his father. "Anzra says he grew up on Orland as the son of a sharehand. Why did his father never claim him?"

"Emmil felt remorse for his actions and took his firstborn son to Orland. As to why he did not claim him as his own, I do not know. Perhaps because when Anzra turned ten-and-six he was living in Prand. As he has most of the time since then. You have guessed, of course, that Anzra has been a spy for Orland for many years."

Chaff nodded. "Kelber and I figured that out. He remembered seeing Anzra at the United Royal Council chambers in Nylsar. What will Anzra do, now that he’s the same as betrayed Orland by not notifying Ott about Alstin and Vehlashal?"

"We Loyals are the only ones who know that Anzra was aware of Ott’s soldiers before he sent his message to Orland from Scallop Cove. So far as Alstin, Vehlashal and Brel are concerned, Anzra did not find the men until after returning from overseeing the smuggling operation."

Chaff felt an inquiring brush across his mind from Haehli but ignored it. "What about the fisherfolk who saw Anzra kill Ott? What if some of them happen to let that slip?"

King Neel smiled. "Somehow, when I touched them to heal their hurts, their memories were slightly affected."

"I’m glad you protected Anzra. I like him. But, considering that we Loyals aren’t supposed to interfere in human battles, I’m surprised you conveyed him to the storeroom."

"Ah, but I did not," King Neel said.

Startled, Chaff gaped at his father. "Then who did?" he finally managed.

"That is the Eternal One’s mystery," King Neel replied. "And not as easily solvable as the disappearance of the corundum-bearing rocks Ott brought over from Orland."

Again Chaff felt the tug of Haehli’s desire to convey him. He waved distractedly. "I suppose you know what happened to them."

"I do. But that is a story for another time."

A sudden fierce appreciation for his father’s range of knowledge seized Chaff, and he reached out to grip the king’s hands in his. He sensed his father’s pleasure at his expression of heartfelt devotion. Then he released himself to Haehli’s urging and the next moment was beside her on the deck, waving goodbye to the silver-haired man who now occupied such an important place in his life.

* * *

The crossing was going well. The weather continued decent, if not exactly pleasant. The skies did nothing more than glower and threaten. The late-winter wind snuffled and huffed and Rennel used it with the skill of an artisan.

Like Haehli and Trendarmon, Brel and Anzra were unbothered by the wave action. Again, it was Kelber and Chaff who were uncomfortable. So it was that as they neared the shores of Orland on a calm March morn Chaff was dozing in a near-lethargic state.

Brel’s excited shout brought him awake. "Marblebacks off starboard bow!"

Following the actions of his shipmates, Chaff lurched to the starboard side of the little ship to behold the whales. They were not, in fact, marbled, but their gray skin was patched with white barnacles and orange-brown parasites that gave it that appearance. Chaff had sensed whales on their previous crossing, but none had come close enough for him to see them. He sent his Awareness into the animals and felt Kelber’s and Haehli’s presence there. Like him, they were awed by the enormous creatures, which were nearly as long as the Pride. Chaff suspected that some of the whales weighed more than the ship.

He read their emotions, felt their oneness with the Great Kind Sea. As with the creatures of the wood, they were content with their destiny to live, produce young and die. They were not a threat to the Pride.

Watching them rolling gracefully alongside the ship, Chaff was lulled by the rhythm of their rise and fall. Now and then one of them would lift its enormous bulk entirely out of the water, with the bounding joy of a spring colt in meadow grass. A twist in the air, then it would fall back into the sea with a tremendous splash. A strange but not unpleasant clicking and keening sound filled Chaff’s senses as the animals communicated with each other. He drew in long, deep breaths of the sweet salt air and felt so at peace with the Eternal One’s creation that his throat constricted and his eyes teared.

He felt the movements of their great fins and flukes against the currents, knew the depths they achieved in their dives, enjoyed their elation when they breached the surface. He knew that at times they glided through waters which continually chopped and heaved, cavorted amid Hall-size chunks of ice off faraway landsedges or lolled in warm waters shelved with golden sand.

He was about to withdraw his Awareness when the mood of the creatures suddenly changed. They had been feeding on the myriad of very small animals riding just below the sea’s surface. Now Chaff sensed other presences nearby, and the whales had reacted to them with fury. Gone was the serenity of their peaceful foraging.

Chaff split his Awareness and touched the invaders. Killer whales, and they clearly meant to attack the young of the group of marblebacks. While Chaff was repulsed by their vicious intent, he also knew this was part of the Eternal One’s plan. Just as foxes preyed on hares, and hawks snatched up rodents, some animals of the sea fed on others.

The gray whales were only defending themselves. While some of the monstrous creatures circled to protect their offspring, others dove to thwart the attack. In moments, the sea around the Pride was a roiling mass of sharp-painted black-and-white and marbled gray. The surges of animal life under the water sent the sloop skittering like a drop of water on a hot skillet.

"Haehli!" Captain Rennel screamed. "Wind!"

Her Awareness responded with such intensity that Chaff felt its collision with the natural elements. But little good wind did, with the enormous bodies thrashing beneath the ship’s hull. The Pride bounced and tossed, its woodbones screeching their protest at the ill treatment.

Chaff drove his Awareness into the LifeForce Particles of the two groups of whales. All the combatants’ Particles shrieked obscenely. Their colors blazed with such brilliance that Chaff was nearly blinded; their emotions were so savage it sickened him. He had never worked with LifeForce Particles of creatures of this size, let alone those with such an impelling lust to kill.

Already, the creamy froth on the waves had taken on a pink tinge, and blood ruddied the troughs through which the Pride ploughed. Bits of flesh flecked the sea surface; screaming gulls swooped to snatch them and lift away. Revolted by the grisly display, Chaff closed his eyes.

With grim resolve, he sought to stop motion in those animals in close proximity to the ship. As with all LifeForce Particles, they resented his intrusion. But Chaff knew he must impose his will upon them; the Loyals’ mission must be completed.

He set his mind against the whales’ LifeForce Particles and commanded them to stop motion. As he did so, the sea around them began to freeze, except for the narrow path the Pride followed. Haehli was using her gift not only to create wind, but also to cool the sea’s Particles.

A whale, its thought processes panicked by the sudden change in temperature, launched itself out of the water. It rose gracefully into the air, its arc directly in line with the Pride. It would land on the sloop’s forward deck, where Anzra and Brel crouched, watching the unfolding scene in gape-mouthed amazement.

The two looked up, paralyzed with fear, as the enormous black-and-white body descended on them. Chaff gripped the Air Particles beneath it and commanded them to stop motion. As they bent to his will, he split his Awareness and ordered the whale’s writhing to cease. In the instant it took for his power to be realized, the great weight fell to within inches of the huddled man and boy. Then the beast hung there, unmoving, on a cushion of condensed air.

The strain on Chaff’s mind was tremendous. He didn’t know how long he could control the Air Particles. Some of them were protesting, breaking away.

Kelber’s Awareness shot past him, snatched the whale and conveyed it back to the ongoing battle area. By this time the Pride, under billowing sails, had swept free of the churning mass of sea creatures and left them to settle their disputes in the way the Eternal One had ordained.

Exhausted, Chaff withdrew his Awareness and sagged against the rail. Haehli and Kelber exchanged glances of satisfaction, then Kelber stepped forward and laid one hand on Haehli’s shoulder, the other on Chaff’s arm. Chaff felt a tremor of appreciation and, yes, affection. He returned it and sensed Haehli’s identical response.

Trendarmon had lunged toward Anzra and Brel in an involuntary reaction to try to snatch them from under the falling whale. He stopped now and turned in time to see the three Loyals and their unspoken communication. Chaff saw the flicker of hurt on the Orlandian’s face before he once more faced away.

Haehli drew a quick breath and moved to follow him. Kelber squeezed her shoulder. "He needs words of love, not pity," he said softly.

The bright smile flashed, and Haehli went quickly to Trendarmon’s side. He stiffened at her touch; but whatever she said had the desired effect, for after a moment he relaxed and slipped an arm about her waist. Heads together, they leaned against the rail and looked out across the sea.

Kelber’s expression saddened. "Another impossible relationship," he murmured.

"Have faith, Kel," Chaff murmured back.

On the forward deck, Anzra had assisted the young soldier to his feet. With one arm draped about the boy’s trembling shoulders, he gestured with the other toward the Loyals. "See, Brel," he said, grinning. "No magnets."

CHAPTER 30

At dusk three days after the Pride landed on Orland’s shores, Kelber and his five companions rode into Doyer Sevak’s camp. The weather had become typically March-like; rain showers persistently re-soaked garments Haehli had just dried. Bedraggled though they were, the gleaner guards recognized them. Timra, his controlled expression betraying only a trace of the anxiety Kelber knew he felt, came forward to meet them. He seemed now to occupy a position of some authority—he, alone, escorted the visitors to the doyer’s hut.

The small living area was lit by a single lantern suspended from a metal hook in the stone ceiling. When Timra followed them through the doorway Kelber cast a questioning glance at Sevak, who had risen to greet them. The doyer smiled. "Timra will stay. I have taken him into my confidence. You may speak freely in front of him."

Kelber guessed why Sevak had chosen Timra to be his confidant. The doyer had no sons, and the young gleaner possessed the necessary qualities to become clan leader someday. Kelber, secure in Megedehna’s love, felt no ill-will toward Timra. Yet he was glad when the gleaner positioned himself at the rear of the hut when Sevak bade them all be seated.

The doyer leaned forward, his expression eager. "Our Megedehna. Is she well?"

"She is," Kelber replied. "She and Chaff’s wife, Aeslin, took an immediate liking to each other. Meg is…" too late he caught himself using her shortname, so he plunged on…"quite comfortable at Chaff Hall."

"Ahhh." Sevak pressed his broad, square hands together, as in a gesture of thanks. His eyes were a bit shiny as he continued. "We have been so concerned about her. Now I see there was no need to be." He drew a long, deep breath and released it slowly before asking, "And these guests are?" He motioned toward Anzra and Brel.

Kelber made the introductions, adding, "They will continue from here to the village of Onsig, in Deltarn, Brel’s home." Kelber hesitated a moment, then went on to tell Sevak about the death of King Ott and how Lewtri was accompanying his father’s body home. "In a few days, Lewtri’s oldest brother, Teb, will be crowned king."

"Deltarn…and Orland…will be better for that, I think," Sevak said.

"Were there repercussions concerning the disappearance of the prince and Ott’s men?" Trendarmon asked.

The doyer shook his head. "He may have ordered a secret search, but did nothing on a grand scale. He could not, since he had let it be known that the unstable young prince, accompanied by his bodyguard and one other, was seeking restoration at a curative-bath city."

"The prince will be much less ‘unstable’ now that his loathsome father is dead," Chaff declared with such vehemence that Sevak cocked an eyebrow at him. Chaff lowered his gaze and mumbled, "Lewtri is a special person."

A moment of silence followed before the doyer once more spoke. "So," he said, "have you resolved the question of how Orland’s First Loyal was taken prisoner?"

"We think so," Kelber replied and told the doyer about the corundum and how it negated the Loyals’ powers.

Sevak’s eyes widened. "Then that is why you felt weakened while here in my camp. I had a shipment of gemstones waiting to be taken out and a goodly quantity of rutilated corundum was among them. Too bad we did not discover its disruptive properties at that time."

"Haehli and I sensed it when we met Fye," Chaff said. "She was wearing a corundum pendant. But we didn’t realize how disabling it could be until we ran into Grohs’ men." He briefly described the encounter with the Prandian counterspy and then went on to tell Sevak about Ott’s plan to distribute corundum around Chaff Hall and capture Prand’s Loyals.

"Father feels sure that’s how Ott has King Emmil imprisoned," Haehli said. "He believes Emmil is on the island in the acid lake inside the oval of the vols. It certainly seems the most likely place. Meg said Lord Larrik built a wooden track into the oval two years ago. We think that instead of taking out gemstones he took in enough corundum to trap King Emmil."

"Yes," Sevak said thoughtfully. "That is possible. We watched him for several days and saw nothing suspicious. But then two vols erupted and our attention was directed elsewhere."

"We plan to duplicate the track," Kelber said. "If you gleaners bring out the corundum, my father can, in fact, free himself. It’s only the gemstone that’s keeping him bound."

Doyer Sevak nodded, then finger-combed back the black hair that fell forward. "We can do that, of course. But where do you plan to get the boards for the track?"

"From Larrik’s Lordshare," Kelber answered. "Lewtri saw stacks of lumber there. Brel says we need only a few wide boards. We can keep re-laying them."

"Yes," Sevak said musingly. "You could crowd two of the toughs on a ten-foot length of plank. And you’d need to remove only enough rocks around the lake to breach the line of obstruction. Four pack animals could probably handle that."

"And each one could carry two planks?" Kelber asked.

"Oh, easily. That would give you several extra lengths to place ahead as you go." The doyer glanced over the Loyals’ heads at the gleaner who sat silently behind them. "Timra, you will accompany this group."

Kelber half-turned to look at Timra. At this moment, he saw no animosity in the dark eyes, no resentment reflected on the square-jawed countenance, but he disliked the thought of riding in Timra’s company. He hardly heard the rest of Sevak’s orders. "Select eleven of our most reliable toughs and make sure they are properly shod. I want them trail-ready by dawn tomorrow." As Timra rose to do his bidding Sevak added, "Oh, and tell Nandra to make up seven packs of provisions."

When Timra was gone, the doyer glanced around at the three Loyals and Trendarmon. "Timra has suffered greatly since you took Megedehna away. I think this trek will help to ease his heart, to make him understand it was the right thing to do."

Kelber could not meet Sevak’s gaze. Nor will I be able to meet Timra’s, he thought.

* * *

Dawnlight found Chaff mounted on one of the brown toughs as it picked its surefooted way across the openlands. Kelber rode beside him, with Trendarmon and Haehli, Anzra and Brel behind and Timra leading the way. The rain had ceased, but the clouds clung close to the ground as if loath to leave it. The air smelled of wet rock and soaked earth, and Chaff was thankful not to detect the stink of sulphur. The vols must be quiet at this time.

When the tall fence of Larrik’s lordshare came into sight, the gleaner halted and motioned Chaff and Kelber forward. Chaff cast his Awareness, searching for guards. Finding none, he sought the lumber stacks. He was familiar with the different trees and their Wood Particles, Kelber was not, so his Awareness merely accompanied Chaff’s. The Prandian found planks which he assumed had been special sawn; they were about three handspans wide, easily four times that long and thick enough to bear a tough’s weight. He indicated their whereabouts to Kelber.

"Can you convey eight of them, Kel?"

"Bana, why not?" Trendarmon asked. "Are they heavier than a whale?"

Haehli laughed, and Anzra and Brel exchanged amused glances. Timra scowled.

"I’ve never tried inanimate objects before," Kelber said. "I mean, clothing and saddles were attached to live creatures."

"Well…," Chaff shrugged and gestured in the direction of the fence and the lumber he’d found behind it.

"All right." Kelber tensed with concentration; his brows drew down and his eyes narrowed.

In front of the riders, two planks appeared, then another, and another, quickly followed by four more. The successful maneuver brought an expression of satisfaction to his face, and he and Chaff exchanged grins. They were getting to be quite a team.

Timra’s gaze slowly lifted from the pile of planks to the noble whose magik had brought them. Resentment smoldered in Timra’s dark eyes as surely as resignation dwelt in the lines of his downturned mouth.

"I’ll come along if you like," Brel said as they all dismounted to secure the planks to the pack animals. "To help lay the boards."

"Thank you, Brel," Chaff said, "but Timra knows the approximate location where the old track starts and says it will take a while to get to there. Besides, it’s west, and your way lies south."

"I know." Brel tied a knot with practiced skill. "I could go with you, though. I’m not in a hurry to get home."

"What about your mother, Brel?" Haehli asked. "Won’t she be worried about you?"

The boy shrugged. "My mother ran off when I was three or four years old. I don’t even remember her."

"Ah," Anzra said. "Well, all the more reason to get you safely home. Your father’s suffered enough grief."

Brel looked into Anzra’s eyes for a long moment, his face studiously impassive. Abruptly, he turned and remounted his horse. "Let’s go, then."

Chaff watched them ride away, Brel in the lead, Anzra following. Chaff touched the boy with his Awareness and felt such anxiety, sorrow and loneliness that he nearly called the two back. "He really doesn’t want to go home," he said.

Haehli smiled. "Have some faith in Anzra, Chaff."

He looked at her, startled. Did Haehli know about Anzra? That he was King Emmil’s son? He felt the warmth rising in his face and was glad for the rosy-hued dye that covered his natural coloring. Of course, Haehli would know. She was as skilled at subtly using her Awareness as Chaff was at casting it over great distances. Still smiling, she turned away.

By mid-morn, the clouds had loosed their grip on the land and lifted, held up, it seemed, by the numerous cinder cones. The tops of the nearest two vols, Pyga and Ferno, were still shrouded in the mist. Chaff cast his Awareness to search the openlands for any sign of humans. He found none. There were only the small animals, two fire lizards far enough away to be no threat, a lone tersak and a few other birds. He listened intently, but heard no bird song, or even the humming of insects. A warm, wet wind fussed with the clumps of purple-brown cindergrass, ruffled the top leaves of an occasional bush, squeezed itself through narrow rock fissures with a long, low moan. The morn wore on.

It was Timra who found the first rocks that showed sledge marks. Upon sighting them, the five dismounted. They untied and lowered into place the planks that the pack animals had carried. Chaff could see that from here on they would certainly need them. There wasn’t a level inch of ground for horse or man to put a foot down. Ragged rock, copper-toned with lichen or purple black with mineral content, stretched away into the distance.

Crossing the terrain with the plank bridge was laborious and time-consuming. Again and again Chaff thanked the One that Larrik had carved the original path through the roughlands. At least they had only to place the boards, not create niches for them to fit into.

Even though Sevak had provided them with the thick-soled leather boots the gleaners wore, clambering over the scoria to drag the boards ahead every twelve paces chewed at footwear and clothing alike. Their heavyweight roughweave breeches were soon torn at the knee, and only the three Loyals’ expertise at healing kept the skin beneath from becoming equally as torn. By late afternoon, the fingertips of their gloves were worn and threadbare. When they came to a particularly rough section Kelber would convey the planks, but Chaff and Haehli had discouraged him from over-using his magik for fear he would exhaust himself.

"We might need your strength to lift us out of real trouble," Chaff said.

"Where would I lift us to?" Kelber asked, glancing around at the bleak landscape. "One pile of rocks is just as vile as the other." The gold lights in his eyes flashed with antipathy.

Chaff had not failed to notice that Kelber resolutely avoided any interaction with Timra. While Chaff guessed the reason, he also knew such actions only made obvious what the gleaner no doubt already suspected. Chaff foresaw a confrontation between the two and hoped it wouldn’t hamper their rescue of King Emmil.

It seemed to Chaff they had covered very little distance, but through the persistent mist he now saw not only two vols, Ferno and Pyga, on either side of them but also the tops of other firehills steepling the terrain.

"By this time tomorrow, One willing, we’ll be at the lake’s edge," Timra said.

"I hope our luck holds," Kelber responded. "None of the vols has convolsed for a while."

Chaff looked around at the imposing masses of rock, some porous as black sponge, some slick and shiny as greased ax blades. "I don’t like this mist." He’d tested it with his Awareness and found only ordinary Moisture Particles, but he would have preferred sunlight.

"I agree with you," Haehli said. At the moment, she was helping him move a plank. "Have you touched the other Particles? Everything is…I don’t know, watchful, wary. It’s almost the same feeling as right after Yoad’s men cut the Eternal Tree. Like everything is waiting for something terrible to happen."

"Nothing like an encouraging word," Chaff mumbled.

Haehli flashed a smile. "Sorry. It won’t be anything we can’t handle. Remember what Father says, ‘The Eternal One’s love is infinitely stronger than the Non’s hate.’"

How well Chaff remembered King Neel’s words. They had been his lamp, the guiding light that had let him penetrate the Non’s evil darkness during last year’s enormous May-beginning storm. He took a calming breath and silently asked the Eternal One to grant him and his fellow Loyals the power to defeat the Non, for surely that conscienceless entity would seek to keep Orland’s First Loyal restrained.

Nearnight was upon them as they exited the roughlands and once more entered an area of more open ground. They would no longer need the plank track. They had passed between Ferno and Pyga. Now, north and south, they could see other vols in the oval that scarred the center portion of Orland.

While the Loyals and Trendarmon ate breadbits and cheese, washed down with perry, Timra fed and watered the toughs. The clump grass and lichen was not plentiful enough to nurture the animals and he had brought some cakes made of grass seed, honey and tallow. He portioned out water, one bowlful for each horse and when they had drunk returned to the campfire to eat his own skimpy meal.

Chaff caught Timra’s surreptitious glances at Kelber and touched the gleaner with his Awareness. Timra was in awe of the Orlandian Loyal’s magik. At the same time he was resentful and jealous; he had, of course, guessed the reason for Kelber’s discomfiture. The negative emotions bothered Chaff to a degree that he consciously thought was unreasonable, but the feeling persisted.

As they prepared to bed down for the night, Chaff turned to Kelber. "I feel uneasy out here. I think we should take turns standing watch. How far can you cast?"

"I’ve extended it to about fifteen miles," Kelber replied. He grimaced. "But due west I run into a block. The corundum around the lake, I suppose."

"Yes," Chaff agreed. "I’ve noticed that, too. But the area you can cover is sufficient. I’ll take first watch, then Haehli the second two hours and you the last two, if that’s all right."

As the others curled into their blankets he thought, There was a time when I’d have smirked at Kelber’s puny ability to cast; I can reach easily twenty times that distance. He smiled. But I can’t convey myself for much more than a third-league and he can convey a whale that far!

He looked forward to meeting King Emmil. The powers Orland’s First Loyal had bequeathed his son were different from those of King Neel. The thought of his father sent a longing echoing through Chaff’s soul, quickly followed by an even more intense longing through his heart. By the One, how he missed Aeslin. His arms ached to hold her, to pull her warmth against him, to feel her love pulsing with her every breath.

"Soon, love, soon," he breathed, and looked with impatience at the distant black triangles rising into a sky dimly illuminated by a rind of moon. On the morrow, King Emmil would be freed and Kelber would receive the blessing of Infinity. Orland would be protected by father and son.

What would come of Kelber’s relationship with Megedehna? Or Haehli’s with Tredarmon? Chaff sighed, deeply thankful for his own good fortune in finding Aeslin, and wondered how the One would resolve His other two Second Loyals’ problems of the heart.

* * *

The play of yellow-orange light across his eyelids woke Chaff. He flung his blanket aside and sat up. Kelber, whose watch it was, stood facing west, fists clenched at his sides, face grim in the eerie sulphur glow. Haehli and Timra were just struggling out of sleep and Trendarmon, who happened to be facing south, mumbled and thrashed.

"Perdition!" Timra swore. "Two at once! That hardly ever happens."

Chaff got to his feet, his gaze riveted on the two firehills. Billows of bright smoke rose from their tops, and even as he watched, the ragged edges of a third vol’s caldera began to turn red-violet.

A sleep-heavy voice came from behind him. "Non’s Realm!"

Chaff turned and saw Trendarmon on his knees staring at Vol Ferno. That firehill, too, was flinging handfuls of pale sienna dust into the blue-black sky.

CHAPTER 31

"That’s where it originates," Chaff said bitterly. "Non’s Realm. Can’t you feel him, Haehli? Kelber?"

"Yes." Kelber shuddered. "It’s like an echo of what I felt in Grohs’ men."

"More than an echo," Haehli said. "And I’m sure it will get worse."

"How do we fight him?" Kelber asked.

"With love." Chaff’s reply came quickly. "It’s the one thing the Non can’t stand. He’ll try to manipulate your mind, make you feel discouraged, sad, angry. Any negative emotion he can dredge up." He reached out to lay his hands on Trendarmon’s arm and Timra’s. "This doesn’t affect only us Loyals. Each of you must also steadfastly cling to positive memories. Kind deeds you’ve observed, personal sacrifices you’ve known were made for the common good. You must concentrate on thoughts of those who love you, and those you love."

"I’ll think of Megedehna," Timra said. His chin lifted, his dark eyes fixed on Kelber’s.

"As will I," Kelber returned, meeting his gaze.

Chaff felt jealously flare in the gleaner’s mind. His fingers tightened on Timra’s arm. "No, I said! No negative emotions! That’s what the Non feeds on." He commanded the gleaner’s attention. "Do you understand, Timra? This is extremely important."

Timra bowed his head. "Yes."

Though not entirely confident of Timra’s commitment, Chaff released him and turned toward the horses. "Then, since we have enough light, let’s ride."

As he fastened the burlap cover over the tough’s muzzle, Chaff found himself wishing beasts and riders had better protective gear. He had no doubt that at least one of the vols would disgorge rocks. He swung up on the horse’s back and looked around. The bleak landscape was bathed in unnatural color combinations, shifting patterns in dark hues. Black shadow pockets became mahogany, then sepia, then russet. Like wind-whipped ribbons of dyed gauze, rags of titian, magenta and puce slid across the face of the openlands. The air was already fouled with the stink of the vols’ breath. A low roar, like that of a distant sea, troubled the silence.

"What are the firehills’ names," Chaff asked Timra.

"From south to north, Vols Renet, Daska and Nargen," Timra replied. "And Vol Ferno, behind us."

Chaff glanced at the vol. He could not see the gases contained in the dust that rose from the firehill’s mouth, but his Awareness told him they were there—a massive cloud of putrid Chemical Particles leaping, colliding, shifting. At present they hovered over the caldera but could at any moment fall, to plunge down Ferno’s shale-strewn sides.

The nine toughs minced and shied, tossing their heads as the five riders doggedly urged them in the direction of the three glowing firehills. Chaff debated about calming them as he had done the two horses when crossing Pyga Gorge but decided against it. He didn’t want to use his gift until the need was great. He didn’t know how the Non would attack them. His presence was there, hanging over them as they rode.

"I almost wish he’d just go ahead and do whatever it is he’s planning," Haehli said, scowling at the firehills. "This waiting is nerve-wracking."

"As the Non wants it to be," Chaff responded. "Don’t let him wear you out with worry before anything actually happens. We’ll just take advantage of his strategy and make it benefit us. Maybe we can get at least some of that corundum out of the way before the Non strikes."

Daylight came, filtered through clouds of apricot-colored dust; the sun was no brighter than would have been a full moon. Chaff had kept his Awareness on the land and felt the corundum obstruction getting ever nearer. It was Timra who corroborated his suspicion that their destination was close at hand.

"I think that’s the lake." The gleaner reined his horse to a halt and stood in the stirrups.

Ahead of them lay an area where a bluish-yellow mist rose from what appeared to be flat ground. As a windspin spiraled its way across the surface, Chaff saw dark blue water where the mist was pushed aside. He leaned low over his horse’s neck, his gaze searching the ground for rocks that appeared to be different from the now-familiar black, gray and red ones.

The rest of the riders followed suit as they rode slowly forward. Chaff had expected Timra to be the first to recognize a corundum-bearing rock, but it was Trendarmon who called out. "Isn’t this what we’re looking for?"

Timra verified that it was and dismounted, as did the others. The gleaner showed them the fist-sized rock and pointed out its differences from those of the lava. It was neither as rough and dull as the fissured ones nor as smooth and shiny as the hard-surfaced kind, but rather a combination of the two. As he turned it in his hands, the diffused light caught at a glimmer of dark blue. "This normally would be much more noticeable," he said, touching one finger to the spot.

Chaff reached with his Awareness and found nothing. It was as if the rock Timra held was not there. "If I could just feel its presence, I could find the rocks quickly."

"Does it leave a void?" Trendarmon asked. "I mean, can you locate it by what’s not there?"

"Good thinking, Tren," Chaff answered. "But, no." He shook his head. "We’ll have to find them by sight." The ground shuddered and the toughs jerked at their reins and pranced. "The Non’s losing his patience. We need to start collecting right now."

"Don’t expect them all to be as big as this one," Timra advised. "Ott and Larrik would have chipped off all the unnecessary rock they could in order to transport the most corundum with the least amount of weight."

As the gleaner had said, the rocks varied in size from the one Trendarmon had found to those no larger than a walnut. Ott’s men had placed them in a line roughly paralleling the lake’s edge. Leading the riding and packhorses, the three Loyals, Trendarmon and Timra walked north shoulder-to-shoulder. Once their eyes were trained to recognize the distinctive rocks, the corundum was not hard to find. The leather carrysacs slung over the pack animals’ backs began to bulge.

All the while, the four vols continued to grumble and spit tainted orange-gray dust or oven-hot fumes. The air became increasingly oppressive, heavy as a woolen blanket that had been dipped in heated water. Sweat glossed the searchers’ foreheads and upper lips; dust mixed with it and striped their rosy faces with swatches of grime. With the corundum so close at hand Haehli could not create wind to carry the soil fragments away, and Chaff could not bring in fresh air. The five had no defense against the dense sulphur-laden air except the cotton kerchiefs that covered their noses and mouths.

"Drecka," Kelber muttered. "Do you know how hard it is to maintain positive feelings in the midst of this abomination?"

"Think about seeing your father," Chaff suggested. "On how the two of you together will overcome the firehills." He didn’t look at Kelber as he spoke; his concentration was bent on locating as many rocks as possible before the Non struck. Somehow, Chaff felt that would happen when their mission was nearing success. The Non would delight in tormenting them as long as possible.

Haehli faltered, gasping for breath. "My lungs feel like they’re on fire."

"How far do you think we’ve come since we started gathering?" Chaff asked Timra.

The gleaner considered. "About four miles."

"It seems like that should be a wide enough breach," Chaff mused. "But maybe the disimprisoning number is five." Frustrated, he pushed impatiently at hair strands that stuck to his sweaty forehead. "Timra, Trendarmon, I want you two to keep going north with the pack horses, picking up the corundum. Kelber, Haehli and I will ride back south. As long as we’re this close to those bags of corundum, we won’t be able to do anything when the Non attacks, and I’m sure he will." The three Loyals remounted, and Chaff glanced over his shoulder at Timra and Trendarmon. "Remember what I said about positive thoughts."

Above the grimy kerchiefs masking the lower parts of their faces, Trendarmon’s eyes glowed their acquiescence; the expression in Timra’s was unreadable.

Chaff nudged the tough into a trot, letting it choose its own path among the scattered rocks. Sweat stained its shoulders dark brown and its ears swiveled unceasingly. He touched its mind with his Awareness and found fear, but it was not yet unmanageable.

Haehli and Kelber followed a few paces behind. Chaff hipped around in the saddle. "I’m not much good at judging distance," he said. "When you think we’re about in the middle of the space we’ve cleared of corundum, counting the distance Timra and Trendarmon have covered since we left them, let me know. We’ll make our stand there."

Both Loyals nodded and Chaff faced forward again. They had ridden for what he perceived was less than a third-league when he felt an ominous change in the LifeForce Particles around him. The Non was getting ready to attack. Too soon, Chaff thought, and urged his mount forward at a faster pace. He heard the snorts and grunts of Haehli’s and Kelber’s horses close behind him.

To the west he now saw the vol that Timra had identified as Renet begin to spill a thick red liquid down its steep slopes. The silent sludge crept along like a giant red-and-black snake’s tongue, reaching and testing as it crawled. Held in dreadful thrall, Chaff could not look away.

A booming like the pounding of a thousand drums began in Vol Daska’s belly directly across the lake. In his mind’s eye, Chaff saw the churning mass of fiery rocks boiling upward inside the firehill’s throat. It spewed its deadly disgorgement; scarlet projectiles half a handspan thick arced across the smoky sky. Chaff cast his Awareness to intercept them as they descended.

Abject fear seized him. This was worse than the rockfall that had preceded the glowing avalanche. The rocks were much larger and had been hurled with a vindictive force. Weak with terror, Chaff sought to stop their motion.

All he could do was slow them. He hadn’t yet traveled far enough from Trendarmon and Timra and the rock-laden pack animals to be able to utilize his full power. Kelber’s Awareness joined his. Chaff sensed the great effort the Orlandian Loyal expended as he deflected the rocks and sent them spinning to fall a few paces away. Awe and appreciation for Kelber’s gift flitted across Chaff’s mind.

The Loyals had barely escaped the rockfall when Haehli’s horse squealed. Chaff glanced back at her. The tough had misstepped and gone down, pitching Haehli over its head. Before she hit the ground, Kelber conveyed her to a position behind him on his mount. As the lamed tough lurched to its feet, Chaff sent his Awareness into the minds of all three animals and calmed them, wishing he had done so sooner.

With the limping horse following, Chaff and Kelber reined their now-tractable mounts forward at a more reasonable pace.

"Here!" Kelber shouted after they had ridden another third-league. "This should be the middle. We should have about two-and-a-half miles on each side of us."

Chaff drew rein. Bowing his head, he whispered, "Please, Eternal One, let that be far enough that Thy Loyal serviles may use the full power of the magik Thee has given us."

He lifted his head and looked at Haehli. Blood stained the lower portion of the kerchief covering her nose and chin and soaked the left sleeve of her shirt. "How bad?" he asked.

"Minor," was her quick response. "I’ve taken care of it. Were you able to divert the rocks from Tren and Timra?"

"Kelber was," Chaff answered, then groaned as his Awareness perceived the advance of the Non’s presence.

It washed over his consciousness in dry scouring waves and came amidst Vol Nargen’s Ash Particles. Shrieking like an ungreased axle, they burned vermillion inside his mind. Chaff countered them with his Awareness and found them to be like tiny burrs. Each of their many minuscule projections stung with the poison of the Non. They scraped across his mind as he tried to manipulate them, leaving gouges and striations filled with monstrous evil.

His soul wrenched with agony; he looked to Haehli and Kelber and saw them no less affected. Gray ash coated their hair, eyebrows and lashes. It grimed their faces, caked in brow furrows, silted the line where sweat-damp skin met soiled kerchief. But Chaff knew the true danger lay not in the veil of choking gray Particles, but in the suffocating essence of the Non.

He began to meet the Non’s attack by pulling up mental pictures of his mother. He dwelt on the depth of her love as she protected him from the Purists. He remembered Dowvy straining to stay awake to keep his illusion from failing so that the Purists could not harm her. He thought of gentle Idehla helping to heal her. Other memories rushed forward of all the times someone had done some kindness for him or for someone he knew. His father became part of the skein of thought as the Keeper King strove with his great unending love to save the world from crumbling. And through it all ran the broad unifying thread of Chaff’s love for Aeslin.

Haehli’s memories burst forth, bright and true as the mind that brought them forward. They were of her mother and King Drelbyn, and of King Neel and of Trendarmon. Of her concern for Prince Lewtri and the dedication of Fye to the will of the Eternal One.

Kelber presented images of an old ship’s captain giving his life to protect two young nobles at sea. His thoughts leapt from there to a gull that guided the Lovey to Norporte. And Chaff felt the Orlandian’s love for his patra and the other members of his family and for Megedehna.

Into the mix came memories and emotions from Trendarmon and Timra. Not only expressions of love for their family members and friends and for the red-haired fire child, but an abiding devotion to the land, the Eternal One’s creation.

We’re winning, Chaff thought. The Ash Particles were shunting away from the Non, returning to their own form. The spiny prickles on their surfaces dulled, retracted, softened. Their screeches mellowed to sad wails. Their colors dimmed to carnelian, then pale rose.

Suddenly the Ash Particles closed in around them again with renewed vengeance, scraping, suffocating, scorching. Someone was feeding the Non with negative thoughts. Chaff’s mind staggered under the onslaught. No! Not now! Not when we were so close to overcoming him!

It had to be Timra with jealous thoughts of Kelber. Chaff sent his Awareness screaming toward Trendarmon. Aeslin could recognize Chaff’s messages; perhaps the Orlandian also would. Trendarmon and Timra were still seeking and finding the corundum. Chaff entered the noble’s consciousness with an order: Disable Timra. Blank his mind. Stop the flow of negativity!

Heart laboring, Chaff held his breath, waiting for the change to occur. It snapped off with a suddenness that left a vacuum, quickly filled with Kelber’s seeking Awareness, his reaching for the father he wanted to find, wanted to know. Chaff breathed a silent thank you to the Eternal One and returned his full attention to calming the Ash Particles, stopping their frenzied motion, redirecting them to their point of origin.

Once more Kelber and Haehli joined him. Kelber picked up masses of Particles and conveyed them into the skies far overhead. Haehli manipulated the Air Particles and created a gentle breeze to sweep the surrounding openlands clean of the sulphurous fumes.

Chaff pulled down his kerchief and sucked in a long breath of fresh air. Vol Nargen’s ash cloud boiled into a yellow-stained sky. Molten rock continued to ooze over the edge of Vol Renet’s caldera—like red gruel, as Megedehna had once described it.

Chaff did not fear its flow; it was far away, beyond the acid lake. The Non had ignited it only to frighten them, to make them misdirect their energies, to show his power. Not like the very real danger of the rocks thrown by Vol Daska at the beginning of his attack, or Vol Nargen’s smothering ash cloud. Behind them, Vol Ferno cut off their retreat with torrid gases that shimmered the roughlands into undulating patterns of red, black and gray.

The three Loyals and their two companions were trapped in a pocket of isolation; the four vols continued to rumble and spew their fiery destruction all around them. They were safe only for the moment, only until the Non was able to recover.

Chaff looked toward the lake and felt the intensity of Kelber’s longing beside him. Had they been wrong? Was King Emmil not there?

A figure appeared at the near side of the lake’s edge. A slender man of medium height stood there, his golden hair falling in curls to his shoulders. As they watched, he lifted his arms in a sweeping gesture. "Enough!" His voice resonated across the barren openlands.

Immediately, the molten rock ceased flowing over Vol Renet’s caldera rim, the glow over Vol Daska’s cone died and Vol Nargen’s ash cloud separated itself from the cooling firehill and drifted lazily upward. Chaff glanced over his shoulder; Vol Ferno’s heat flow was gone.

The golden-haired man turned slowly toward them. Kelber’s gaze was riveted on the slender figure. Gold flecks flashed in his eyes and his dry lips parted in a single word. "Father."

CHAPTER 32

The elation that lifted Kelber’s soul, gladdened his heart, left him almost too weak to dismount. He kept a firm grip on the pommel as he stood beside the tough, waiting for his father to join him and the two Prandian Loyals. As he had anticipated, King Emmil conveyed himself.

Golden curls framed a handsome face with well-formed nose, high cheekbones and round chin. Gold rings and flecks highlighted the boundless joy in the blue-green eyes. Strong arms opened to welcome him, and Kelber went into his father’s embrace.

His mind flooded with memories of Patra, the good, caring man who had raised him from infancy and who had often held him in the same way Orland’s First Loyal was now doing. He loved them both and his meeting with the one would avenge his parting from the other. For a long moment, he rested his cheek against King Emmil’s shoulder, hearing the king’s heartbeat through the roughweave cotton of his tunic.

Blinking back tears, he pulled away a little to convey Trendarmon and Timra. His brother arrived looking only mildly surprised. The gleaner was gasping and wild-eyed. Kelber felt Haehli’s touch reach to soothe the young man.

As Timra straightened from his defensive crouch, Kelber saw the swelling red mark on his jaw and guessed what had happened. His glance shot to Chaff. "It wasn’t him," he said. "Timra didn’t compromise the attack on the Non. I did. Just for an instant, I lost control of my hatred for the vols."

He stepped away from King Emmil and faced the gleaner. It was on his lips to say, "I’m sorry," but he knew those words would bring unhappy memories. Instead, he said, "I apologize for causing you hurt."

"And I, as well." Chaff frowned. "I was too distracted by everything to sense who initiated the negative thoughts."

"It’s all right. In truth, I was having a difficult time keeping them at bay." Timra spoke as if entranced, his gaze steady on the golden-haired man. Then, his eyes filled with reverence, he slowly sank to one knee and bowed his head.

King Emmil stepped forward and touched the crown of straight black hair. "You need not pay homage. Your actions alone prove your faith."

When Timra looked up, the swelling on his jaw was gone. Unspeaking, he accepted Kelber’s assistance in rising.

Chaff and Haehli had dismounted. They stood beside Trendarmon, who appraised King Emmil with quiet resignation.

Kelber touched his brother’s emotions. In spite of the certainty that Kelber was a Loyal, Trendarmon had fought the fact of the relationship, had wanted to believe that he and Kelber were full brothers, had been sired by the same man. Now, facing King Emmil, there was no doubt that Orland’s First Loyal was Kelber’s father.

It saddened Kelber a little to be a step removed from his brother. Yet he felt the universal love that Chaff and Haehli had spoken of and knew it applied to Trendarmon. And Timra. He put an arm around each of their shoulders and gave them a half-embrace.

"Come, Kelber," King Emmil said, motioning to him. "It is long past time for you to receive the blessing of Infinity."

Kelber drew a long steadying breath and again approached his father. King Emmil took hold of Kelber’s left hand, turning the wrist to the sunlight. The golden rays brightened the king’s hair and face as he traced the elongated loops of the figure eight and spoke the words. "By the grace of the Eternal One, I bless thee with Infinity."

Nothing Chaff could have said would have prepared Kelber for the tremendous upsoaring of his spirit. Like a long-caged wren, it flashed into the sunlit skies, swept across the barren openlands, skimmed the salt marshes a hundred miles away. It knew all that was on Orland—every creature that breathed the continent’s air, every tree that graced its surface, every lake that filled its hollows.

His spirit was one with the two seas, and it was aware of Prand and of the Eternal Trees that held the world together. For a breathless moment Kelber was among them, seeing their magnificent boles, stroking their barkskin of tan and white and brown and rose, relishing their great outpouring of endless love.

He swayed on his feet and was held upright only by the king’s gentle strength. Other visions flashed before him of faraway lands—sparkling snowfields ringed with brilliant green, golden sandplains dotted with crystal fountains, narrow reefs of black-sand beaches edged by creaming froth. It was all there and so overwhelming that Kelber could not begin to comprehend what it all meant.

But he was part of it, as he was part of the Eternal One and King Emmil and King Neel and Chaff and Haehli. He sensed others who should be in this circle of oneness, but their identities were not yet supposed to be revealed to him; they were other bright shadows of the Eternal One, and he would know them when the time was right.

Exhausted, he leaned his head against his father’s shoulder. Golden curls mingled with black as he drew deep breaths and tried to calm his racing heart. After a long moment, he raised his head to look into the blue-green eyes so like his own.

"Now we can avenge Patra’s death. You and I can quell the firehills." He swept one hand in a broad gesture to include the vol country. "These ugly black cones will be covered with snow. The scoria of the openlands will soon deteriorate into fine soil for crops. Where there is now only bleakness and death, there will be beauty and life." He placed his hands on the king’s shoulders, admiration filling his heart. "You stopped them with one word. You can teach me how to do that and together we’ll relieve Orland of the curse of the firehills."

King Emmil’s brows drew down, and his eyes reflected bewilderment. "But they are not a curse, Kelber." He lifted his hands to grasp his son’s arms. "They exist to fulfill a purpose. One that the world cannot live without."

"What!" Kelber cried in disbelief. "What do you mean? The vols destroy. They killed Patra and they killed a three-year-old boy. And probably many others I don’t know about."

"Yes." King Emmil nodded. "But people die every day in collisions with nature. They drown at sea. They are crushed by falling rock, struck by lightning, smothered by mudslides."

Incredulous, Kelber pushed himself away from his father. "Are you saying you won’t quell the firehills? Won’t stop their devastation of Orland?" His heart shuddered as he looked into his father’s face, knowing what the answer would be before the king spoke.

"I cannot put out their fires, Kelber," King Emmil said gently, as if speaking to an unlettered child.

Dismay stripped Kelber’s limbs of flexibility. Woodenly, he backed away as his father went on speaking. "The vols eject an element that plants need in order to grow. It is what they must have to utilize the sunlight so that they can make use of the nourishment the earth provides. Without this element, the trees and other living green things could not purify the air for humans and animals to breathe. Without the firehills the world would sicken and die."

The words beat like hammers against Kelber’s mind. "I was taught by the finest tutors," he said curtly, "and they never mentioned such an element."

"Mortals do not know all of the Eternal One’s creations. Only His Loyals know."

"I don’t. And moments ago, I was among the Eternal Trees of Prand. I felt nothing such as you speak of." He whirled on Chaff and Haehli. "Do you know of this element?"

Chaff shifted uncomfortably. "Actually, no. But I’m not as familiar with things like that as Haehli is. She might…" He broke off as she shook her head.

Stricken, Kelber looked back at King Emmil. "You’re like Patra. You’re fascinated with the power of the vols. Can’t you see how the Non affects them? That he makes them evil?"

The king shook his head. "No, Kelber. It is not nature’s fury enhanced by the Non you need to fear, but the actions of some men whose souls are twisted by his presence. While the Non was able to affect the eruptions today because I was imprisoned, he is not normally able to do so."

"You defend the vols." Bitter disappointment hardened the pitch of Kelber’s voice as he spoke. "Those hideous firehills that belch fumes and vomit fire. You defend them." Dismay devoured his senses like the glowing avalanche had consumed the creatures of the openlands. All those weeks of yearning, of hope, of expectation, wasted. Days and hours of planning and envisioning, expended for nothing. The firehills would live on, raining destruction on the land, killing all they touched, because his father chose not to oppose them!

Kelber turned to flee and stumbled into Trendarmon, who put one arm around his shoulders as if to protect him from the terrible hurt that stabbed at him like a thousand daggers. He sagged against his brother, clutched at his shirt with trembling hands.

"You were right, Tren." His voice sounded unnatural and thin. "Patra was my father."

"Kelber. Please." King Emmil’s eyes filled with tears as he moved toward his son, one arm outstretched.

Kelber flinched away from the touch. "No! You may have beguiled my mother, but you won’t mislead me. I won’t help you manage your world of rock and fire."

So weak with anguish that he needed Trendarmon’s assistance to do so, he dragged himself up on the tough’s back. Before reining the horse east, he looked only once at his father. The image etched itself on his memory: a golden-haired man, one arm outstretched with hand open to clasp his, tears in his eyes, his body draped with such despair that Kelber did not need his Awareness to feel his depth of sorrow.

King Emmil’s voice was choked with grief. "Is there nothing I can say, nothing I can do…"

"Yes," Kelber replied stiffly. "You can convey me away from these obscenities of nature."

The king’s sob tore at Kelber’s conscience, yet he was so immersed in his own despondence that he could not bear the burden of another’s. After a moment he felt the familiar disturbance begin in the Air Particles surrounding him. He would soon be removed from the presence of this immortal man who had fathered him. For hundreds of years, King Emmil had been the lone keeper of Orland; he would be its lone keeper for hundreds more.

CHAPTER 33

Anzra awoke at dawn, an unnatural disturbance clawing him from sleep. Without knowing why, he looked north, then sat up abruptly as he saw an orange glow in the pale sky.

"Perdition," he breathed, his stomach knotting. "The cursed firehills."

Beside him, Brel stirred. The boy first pulled his blanket tighter about himself but after a moment, blinking sleep from his eyes, rolled over to look at Anzra.

"What is it? What’s wrong?"

"An extravasation," Anzra answered. "Actually, more than one, from the look of it."

Brel struggled to a sitting position, his expression registering his alarm. "We should be there, helping Chaff and Kelber and the others."

"What could we do?" Anzra growled in frustration. "We don’t have any magik powers."

"All the same…" Brel broke off. After a moment, he said, "You could turn back. You don’t need to go with me."

Anzra looked away for fear the boy would see the hurt in his eyes. No, he did not need to go with Brel. It was only that Anzra cared for the boy and he wanted—had—to see the man who would meet him at the end of this journey. And if Lenyor wasn’t a kind and just father, what then? "I promised—"

"I know what you promised," Brel flared. "But you needn’t feel obligated to keep a pledge you made because you thought you’d killed me."

The words tore at Anzra’s heart. Yes, he had grievously wounded this boy. This one whose head had bent in resignation above his horse’s crest today, whose eyes were shuttered when they met Anzra’s, whose thin young face could not conceal all its sorrows. "I’ll take you home," the spy said quietly.

Brel leapt to his feet, the blanket falling in folds around his legs. "I don’t want to go home!"

Hope flaring, Anzra looked up at him. "But you wanted to tell your father…"

"That I served with honor." Brel’s words came in choked half-sobs. "That would mean everything to him. Fealty is all-important. He was a kingsguard before he got crippled."

Tear tracks shone on the boy’s cheeks and Brel scrubbed at them with his sleeve. "When Ott contacted my father about volunteering one of his sons, I was the one he picked. I’m only fourteen! But out of five sons he picked me." He dropped to his knees on the crumpled blanket, head bowed. "He doesn’t care if I come home. And neither do I. You should have let me die."

Anzra wanted to reach out and clutch Brel against him. He wanted to protect him, guide him, instruct him. Let him be the son he’d never had. The boy’s father would never know; he would think Brel had died on Prand. But the boy had said only that he didn’t want to go home. Nothing more. Anzra drew a long, steadying breath. "I suppose, then, it doesn’t matter if I accompany you or not."

In an agony of uncertainty, Anzra waited for Brel’s response. The man heard nothing, saw nothing, felt nothing but the boy’s presence. The minutes ticked by. The stars continued on their unending journey. The eastern sky lightened almost imperceptibly. Why didn’t Brel say something? Anguish squeezed the spy so tightly he could hardly breathe.

The words, when they finally came, were so subdued, so soft that Anzra could hardly hear them. "I thought…I hoped…maybe you’d let me stay with you."

Waves of paternal devotion washed over Anzra. His voice unsteady, his hand no less so, he reached out and touched Brel’s shoulder. "I would like that very much."

Brel toppled forward, sobbing, his bowed head coming to rest on Anzra’s chest. His eyes glittering with tears, the spy wrapped his arms around the trembling boy. "My son," he whispered, "he whose life was bequeathed me through the mighty grace of the Eternal One."

* * *

Anzra and Brel rode north as fast as they dared without risking a lamed horse. After passing Larrik’s Lordshare they relied on Anzra’s ability to track. His practiced eye noted a disturbed stone, a rock with an almost invisible horseshoe nick, an occasional partial print of a shod hoof. In the distance, the firehills flung their fire and ash into the sky. By the time the riders neared the point where openlands became roughlands, the sun was barely visible through the cloud of yellow-gray ash.

"Four vols," Anzra said. "The Non has a hand in this, all right." He stared across the scoria. "Perdition! I wish we had some way to get over that."

Brel’s face creased with concern. "This means the Loyals weren’t able to free King Emmil, doesn’t it?"

Distress toyed with Anzra’s confidence. "Give them time, Brel. They had a large quantity of corundum to gather."

The two riders dismounted and got out the tin bowls to water the horses. Neither Anzra nor Brel felt like eating, but each took a drink of the perry before settling on the ground to await with unease whatever outcome the One had decreed. Although the sun was obscured, the air was warm. Unmindful of—or perhaps inured to—the distant grumbling of the vols or the slight groundshakes, the creatures of the openlands continued their business of survival. Brown rock wrens alit and hopped among the boulders, searching for grass seeds. An occasional blue butterfly passed, its erratic flight recorded by the efts, as evidenced by the pivot of their black-bead eyes.

With a suddenness that brought Anzra and Brel to their feet the activity of the vols ceased. Euphoric, Anzra clapped Brel on the back. "The Loyals did it!" he cried. "King Emmil is free!"

The boy’s eyes filled with wonder as he watched Vol Nargen’s ash cloud, pinched off from its source, rise and drift east. The rim of Vol Renet’s caldera turned black again; the red flow no longer surged over its edges. The ominous glows over the other two vols dispersed, replaced by wispy white clouds of steam.

Too agitated to sit quietly, Anzra began to pace, his stride often broken by the rock obstacles. Brel grinned. "You’ll wear out your boots."

"I don’t care. The Non has been defeated, King Emmil is free and…" he paused and turned to look at Brel, mentally adding, and I have a son.

He felt a disturbance in the air, and Kelber appeared, mounted on a curvetting tough. For a moment the Loyal’s attention was taken up with calming the animal, then the boy acknowledged the presence of Anzra and Brel with a curt nod. His face was so devoid of emotion that no surprise registered at seeing them.

A finger of fear tapped Anzra. He grasped the horse’s bridle and looked up at Kelber. "What’s wrong? Isn’t your father free?"

"King Emmil is free," Kelber replied, and Anzra did not miss the emphasis on the first two words. "The others will be along shortly, I suppose. As for me, I’m heading back to Sevak’s camp, and as soon as Haehli and Chaff join me, we’ll be on our way home to Prand."

"Home?" Brel echoed with puzzlement and began to say more but fell quiet as Anzra’s eyes flashed warning.

Kelber had heard the query however and turned a lifeless gaze on the boy. "Yes, Prand. I don’t belong on Orland." With that, he reined the tough east and urged the animal forward.

When he was out of hearing range, Brel hesitantly put a hand on Anzra’s arm. "I don’t think he should ride alone."

Anzra nodded. He had once told Brel that his father had raised a fine son. He now thought that Brel’s sense of decency, honesty and kindness must have been inherited from his mother. One day, Anzra decided, he and Brel would return to Orland and find her. Perhaps she hadn’t "run off." Perhaps she had been driven away.

He mounted his horse, as did Brel, and side-by-side they followed the Orlandian Loyal.

* * *

King Emmil stared after his son. Slowly he lowered his arm, his tear-dimmed gaze on his empty hand. Chaff wanted to comfort the man, to say words of consolation. While he hesitated, unsure, Haehli acted.

She went to King Emmil, kissed his cheeks and embraced him. "King Neel will talk to Kelber," she said as she stepped back, taking his hands in hers. "He still grieves for his second-father. His goal to avenge his patra’s death, to quell the firehills, has motivated all he’s done these past weeks. He’s not thinking clearly just now. Please, be patient."

"Yes." King Emmil drew a long breath. "It’s just that I’ve already lost four months we should have spent together. If only I could have come for him on his sixteenth birthday…If only I hadn’t been imprisoned…" His words trailed away. He composed himself and addressed the four who stood before him. "How was that accomplished? With rutilated corundum?"

"You know about it?" Chaff blurted, then flushed. Of course, Orland’s First Loyal would be familiar with every Particle on the continent.

"Yes, I know of its properties. But I did not think anyone would go to the length of collecting it to use against me." He sighed. "The Non must have influenced someone to a great degree. Who?"

"King Ott," Haehli answered. She slipped her fingers free of his and gestured with both hands. "He distributed masses of it around the edge of the lake."

"Ah, yes. King Ott. He has never been a friend to me. But I did not realize the depth of his hatred. Where is he now?"

"Anzra killed him," Chaff replied and waited for King Emmil to ask clarification of the spy’s identity. Instead, he saw a tensing of the other man’s already-drawn face.

"Is Anzra well?" the king asked softly.

"Very well. Right now, he’s riding south in Bodwyn to escort home an Orlandian boy wounded on Prand."

Immediately, Chaff felt the brush of King Emmil’s Awareness sweep past him. After a moment, a small sad smile touched the king’s lips. "In fact, Anzra and the boy have returned and are now accompanying my son to Sevak’s camp."

Chaff smiled. Haehli had been right, as usual.

"We’ve picked up quite a bit of corundum," Timra said. "About three miles north, we have four pack horses loaded with it. The gleaners will gather the rest. Doyer Sevak will find a way to dispose of it."

"Yes," the First Loyal said absently. "Sevak will take care of it." Part of his Awareness was still with Kelber, Chaff thought.

"What will you do now, King Emmil?" Haehli asked.

"I must inspect my land. Perhaps I can repair some of the damage it has suffered during my imprisonment."

"Then I guess Haehli and I can go home," Chaff said. "Our task here on Orland is finished."

The king stepped forward to embrace each of them in turn. "Words cannot express my thanks to you. King Neel is indeed blessed to have two such gifted and loving children."

"As you have," Haehli said, smiling. "Even if they don’t know it yet."

For a moment, King Emmil appeared taken aback, then he collected himself. "I will convey you two Loyals and your mounts back to the openlands. However, I cannot convey the toughs carrying the corundum. Timra and Trendarmon will have to lead them out."

As Haehli walked toward her horse, Trendarmon caught hold of her hand. "Will you wait at Sevak’s camp until Timra and I return before you leave?"

She stopped abruptly and drew a quick breath. She must not have come to grips with the fact that Trendarmon would not be sailing with them to Prand. "Yes," she said, forcing a brightness that Chaff knew she did not feel. "Of course."

* * *

They spent the night at the gleaner village. In spite of their elation over the release of King Emmil, the gleaners felt the tension among the Loyals, and supper was a subdued affair.

"It is a sad thing when a son does not honor the work of his father," Sevak observed to Chaff out of Kelber’s hearing.

"Kel doesn’t fully understand it yet," Chaff replied. "The One will find a way to reunite father and son."

"Your faith is commendable," Sevak said. "Do you also have hope for the relationship between your lovely sister and Trendarmon?"

"What is to be, will be," Chaff replied. But when Timra and Trendarmon arrived the next day, Chaff noticed how casually indifferent Haehli and Trendarmon were toward each other. When he got the opportunity he drew the noble aside. "Why are you doing this to Haehli? She loves you."

Trendarmon shook his head. "She experiences the universal love for all humankind."

"I think in your case, it’s quite a bit more specific."

"She hasn’t said as much. And we are of two different worlds. Isn’t it enough that Kelber is torn between his love for Meg and his love for Orland?" At Chaff’s frown, he went on. "Oh, yes. Kelber will return one day. He’s as much a part of this land as I am. I can’t leave Maygor Lordshare and neither can he. Matra and Maygor and Fye need us. Kel will come back."

Chaff thought about that for a moment, his mind roiling. "If he does, he’ll bring Meg. Counting Lewtri, that will make the three the Supreme Pristine said will return to stay. That means you will go."

Trendarmon’s eyes darkened with consternation. "Chaff, don’t make this decision harder for me than it already is." His voice choked and he quickly turned his head away until he had regained control. When he looked back his eyes were misty. "I thank the Eternal One for the time she and I have spent together."

That night, as Chaff and Haehli prepared to bed down in the hut they shared, Chaff brought up the subject.

"What’s wrong with you, Haehli? I know very well you’ve read Tren and can sense what he’s feeling. So, why don’t you respond to it? Why are you two so stubborn?"

Haehli’s smile was sad. "You’re right, of course, Chaff. I have touched Tren. And found nothing but confusion. He doesn’t know his own heart at this time. He loves me, but his conscious mind tells him such a relationship is impossible. He feels a certain dedication to the lordshare, to his patra’s land, his legacy. And to his family."

Chaff would not tell her that Trendarmon had told him much the same; she would not have appreciated his talking to the noble about it. "Still, it might not hurt to tell him how you feel."

"In his heart, he knows. It would confuse him all the more for me to speak it. He will resolve everything in his own time. I only hope the final decision will include me."

* * *

Sevak held the reins of Trendarmon’s mount, and the other gleaners looked on from a short distance away.

"I know I’ll see you again," Trendarmon said as he released Kelber from a fierce embrace. "You won’t be able to stay away from Orland."

"Maybe someday, Tren," Kelber murmured, blinking back tears. "Maybe someday."

Trendarmon turned to grip hands in turn with Chaff, Anzra and Brel. "For us, I guess this is goodbye."

"Goodbye sounds much too final," Haehli said with a forced smile. "So, I’ll leave the way open for meeting again and say ‘Safe track and fair weather.’" She stepped forward, placed her hands on Trendarmon’s shoulders and kissed him lightly on both cheeks. She lingered a moment before stepping away.

His arms moved involuntarily toward an embrace, then he drew a quick breath and clenched his hands at his sides. "I wish the same for you, Haehli. Always, wherever you may be." His voice was husky and he turned quickly away.

Tears softened the gold flecks in Haehli’s eyes as she watched him ride out of sight. Come back to me, Trendarmon. Her words were heard only inside Chaff’s mind, and he reached out to take her hand and lend healing strength.

* * *

Chaff stood on the deck of the Pride, staring down into the rolling waters. Haehli leaned on the rail beside him.

"I marvel at the strength of King Emmil’s Awareness," she said. "Five days over water and it just now faded."

"King Emmil’s Awareness? What do you mean?"

"A part of his Awareness has been with Kelber ever since we left the vols. Haven’t you felt it?"

"No," Chaff replied, gazing at her in wonderment. "And I don’t think Kel has, either."

She shrugged. "Probably not. His mind isn’t receptive to his father’s touch at this time." She gave him one of her sudden bright smiles. "Or maybe it’s just that, being a girl, I’m more sensitive to expressions of love."

"I’m glad to see that you’ve regained your good spirits."

"Well, little brother, I’ve been thinking about what the Supreme Pristine said. I believe Trendarmon will be the one who will leave Orland. He will come to me. It’s only a matter of time." She touched the Mark of Infinity on her wrist. "And I have more of that most people."

Kelber had joined them as she spoke. "As I now do." His tone was bitter. "I am immortal, but Meg is not. What sort of ‘blessing’ is that?"

"One we have no choice but to accept," Chaff responded quickly, but his own heart clenched with the knowledge that he would one day lose Aeslin. He had persistently kept that thought at bay for…for how long? A year?

"What is this day that’s about to end?" he asked, gesturing at the sun which already dipped its bottom edge into the sea.

"March thirty, I think," Kelber replied sullenly.

"March-end?" Chaff said, and began counting backward. "Then, we were fighting the Non on March twenty, my ten-and-seven birth-remembrance day! No wonder I didn’t think about it!"

Kelber shook his head. "Seems like more than a coincidence that the Non should attack on the anniversary of the day you became a Loyal."

"No matter!" Chaff cried, "We’ll celebrate belatedly this eve with an extra ration of Sevak’s perry." He’d grown to rather like it. "Then, when we get home we’ll have a grand party at Chaff Hall."

He leaned back to call out to Anzra and Brel, who sat on the aftdeck talking with Captain Rennel. The captain lashed the helm and the three came forward. Chaff told them of his plans.

"You’re invited, of course. You’ll meet all the people who run the Hall. And Kormek and Parl." He hesitated a moment, his thoughts flashing as to how he could arrange for Parl and Tevony to confess their love for each other. "And Aeslin’s family and King Alstin and Queen Linse and Vehlashal—is he married?—and the fisherfolk—"

"Chaff, wait," Haehli cried. "The Hall is big, but—"

"If it isn’t big enough, we’ll use the courtyard, too. I won’t let it rain." His enthusiasm swept through the others and nudged even Kelber out of his dark mood.

They turned to watch the sun slip beneath the waves. A moment later a green flash blazed across the horizon.

"An omen," Captain Rennel said. "All we just wished for will come true."

Chaff lifted his gaze to the peaceful sky. "Please, One," he whispered. "Let it be so."

CHAPTER 34

Party preparations were proceeding apace. Tevony had everything well in hand. Invitations had gone out via courier cat and runner. Kelber and Megedehna were spending much time talking and Chaff could see a gradual lessening of the Orlandian Loyal’s tension. When he was ready to listen, King Neel would talk with him.

Haehli had gone home for a visit with Queen Mehna and King Drelbyn. Before leaving, she had told Chaff she needed to talk with her mother about her love for Trendarmon. But she would return for the celebration and bring her mother and Gehris. He was the youngest of her three older brothers, and the only one of them who did not disparage Mehna for her mating with King Neel.

It was the afternoon of April mid-thirty and a pleasant spring day, with the scent of Marchrose and lacewillow seeping in through the open windows of Chaff’s study. The Keeper King sat in one of the wing chairs, and Chaff and Aeslin occupied the lie-about. It seemed he needed her constant touch to reassure himself he wasn’t at sea or riding in a land of flaming firehills. Kelber and Megedehna, hands clasped, sat on the padded bench in front of the windows that opened onto the courtyard.

They were discussing Vehlashal’s forthcoming coronation. At that time, he and Alstin would announce the revocation of the tax Alstin had instituted for the sole purpose of funding his and Vehlashal’s guards to fight Ott. As a now-much-respected member of Prandian royalty and with head held high, Alstin would hand the crown to his nephew.

A timid rap on one of the open doors interrupted them. "Milords?" Winky gave a deeper than usual bow, then straightened, his gaze on King Neel.

"Ah, yes." The gold lights flashed in the Keeper King’s eyes and he smiled. "It is time for Chaff’s birth remembrance surprise to be revealed, is it not?"

Winky grinned, and King Neel glanced at Kelber. "Help me convey. I’ll show you where." Kelber’s brows lifted in puzzlement, but he nodded. In an instant, all who had been in the study were in the pasture, where they were joined by Dowvy. The little brushbung had chosen not to illusion himself, which brought startled exclamations from Kelber and Megedehna.

His eyes alight, Winky grasped Chaff’s hand. "This way, Milord." His little fingers were hot and sweaty, persistent in their tugging. Accepting and returning the devotion the touch brought, Chaff walked beside his young servile, the others following.

Winky led them toward the stile and, once across, bade Chaff to close his eyes. Complying, he let the boy lead him across the loamy ground. A delicate rose scent sweetened the air and he felt branches of some kind brushing at him as he passed between them. He was told to stop.

"Now, look!" Winky said, and Chaff opened his eyes.

Before him, nearly encircled by a spreading Marchrose, stood a high-backed bench of neatly mortared rocks. Earlymorn sun found the blue gemstones each one held and polished them to a nearnight glow. An occasional eager ray struck gold lights among the blue.

At sight of the rutilated corundum, memories flew up like a bevy of flushed quail. Chaff saw again Grohs and his men, leering, fingering the bags of the gemstones at their belts. Felt the sweltering heat, the suffocating Ash Particles, the Non’s oppressive force at the acid lake’s edge. Once more, he saw King Ott striking down one of his men who dared profess a belief in magik.

It hadn’t been magik that had removed the corundum-bearing rocks from the perimeter of Chaff Hall. It had been one devoted little servile, one black-haired stableboy. Chaff squeezed Winky’s hand, too overcome for a moment to say anything at all.

"Do you like it?" Winky asked anxiously.

"It’s beautiful," Chaff breathed. "Truly, truly beautiful. However did you do it, Winky?"

"Well…" The little boy hesitated and glanced at Dowvy. "I found some of the pretty rocks and after that Dowvy came with me to collect them."

Of course! That was why Ott’s men had never seen anyone picking up the corundum—as a matter of habit, Dowvy had illusioned himself and Winky. Chaff looked with gratitude at the woodsprite, who shrugged slightly, his brown face crinkling in a near-grin.

"But I built the bench all by myself," Winky continued proudly. "A place for you and Lady Aeslin to come and be alone together." He plucked at one of the arching Marchrose branches, still pink-patched with a few remaining blossoms. "I can prune these back a little, if you like."

Chaff glanced at his father, who gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. As Chaff had suspected, for reasons unknown, some property in the makeup of the Marchrose counteracted the negating power of the corundum.

"No," Chaff said. "Leave it exactly the way it is." He slipped one arm around Aeslin’s waist. "It’s perfect, and in spring it smells of roses." He kissed his wife gently, then dropped to one knee if front of Winky.

"One day, perhaps, I’ll be able to tell you how much this gift means to me. For now, all I can say is ‘Thank you.’" He wrapped Winky in a tight embrace and relished the feel of the boy’s arms hugging him in return.

As the group walked back toward the Hall courtyard, two riders came into view. "Kormek! Parl!" Chaff shouted.

The men reined toward them and dismounted as Chaff hurried forward. After the usual pleasantries had been exchanged, Chaff laid a hand on Parl’s arm. "I’m glad you’re here a little early. Tevony has some chores that you can help her with."

Parl flushed. "Oh, well, I should help Kormek stable the horses and say hello to Callum and Jarlan and—"

"And Rehnata and Graig and…" Chaff interrupted himself with laughter. "Later, Parl, later." With a wink over his shoulder at Kormek, he guided Parl toward the Hall. "You won’t believe what happened on the Great Kind Sea on our way home from Orland. We saw the green flash. You know what that means. We all get our wishes, and I had more than one."

Walking beside him, Aeslin smiled and shook her head, setting alight the copper glints in her brown hair. Tevony was in the grand hall, directing the hanging of garlands.

"Tevony!" Chaff called. "I’ve brought extra help."

The black-haired servile turned. She caught a quick breath at sight of Parl, then approached him with measured steps. But the hand she stretched out in greeting trembled.

"Well, I’ll let the two of you discuss what needs doing," Chaff said.

Grinning, he slipped one arm around Aeslin’s waist and walked with her toward the study.

"You think you’re so clever," she chided.

"I am clever," he replied. "I married you. And just wait until you hear the other wishes that were in my heart at the moment of the green flash."

He stopped walking, pulled her against him and kissed her with tender longing. "Love, sweet love," he murmured, his lips brushing hers. "Just wait until you hear."

* * *

Kelber caught hold of Megedehna’s hand, restraining her as the others went forward to meet the men Chaff had identified as Kormek and Parl. "Let’s not go in just yet."

He looked around them at the great forest. It was beautiful, yet it overwhelmed him, seemed to suffocate him with its greenness. There was so little open space. Just the pastures and the croplands, small by comparison with the vast expanses of tilled land on Orland. From what he had seen of Falshane and Draal, there weren’t even any salt marshes—the trees crowded to the very edge of sand beach.

Kelber stared at the stone bench Winky had built. Sevak had promised him the gleaners would dispose of the gemstones; they would be distributed amongst the many acid lakes so that no one else would ever be able to gather enough to imprison Orland’s First Loyal. "At least, my father will never have to worry about the rutilated corundum again," he muttered.

"You called him ‘my father,’" Megedehna said softly.

Startled, Kelber turned to face her. "Did I?" Had his inner Being actually accepted the golden-haired man as his true father? He thrust the thought away. No. A father would not drive such an aching wedge of disappointment into his son’s heart.

"Well, he’s the one who sired me, but the man who cared for me as his own died at the whim of a stinking vol. I’ll never forget Patra, never stop loving him."

"King Emmil wouldn’t want you to. He just wants you to accept him as he is."

"I can’t do that, Meg." Tears stung Kelber’s eyes and he blinked them back. "But, bana, how I miss Orland."

Eyes warm with devotion, Megedehna raised one hand to caress his cheek. "We’ll go back, Kelber. After I find my family and am satisfied that they are well and happy, I can give my whole self to you. And we’ll go home."

Kelber wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. He breathed in the faint scent of cinnamon, its spicy fragrance like a restorative that soothed his soul and eased his heart.

"Yes," he whispered. "One day, we’ll go home."

About the Author

Frances Evlin has lived in the Pacific Northwest nearly all her life. Her home is surrounded by a dozen cedars. When she travels, photographing and making notes about the trees and terrain occupy much of her time. While at home, she reads fantasy and historical fiction, and researches locales for other books. Her fantasy novel The Eternal Trees of Prand is currently available through RFI West, while the sequel, The Firehills of Orland, is her second RFI West release.

RFI West

B o o k s W i t h o u t B o u n d a r i e s™

Offering Quality Genre Fiction And Nonfiction In A Variety Of Electronic Formats

Romance	Science Fiction
Fantasy	Mystery & Suspense
Paranormal	Historical
Horror	Action/Adventure
Western	Young Adult
Biography	Mainstream

Selected Titles Now Available In
Trade Paperback

RFI West, Inc.

http://www.rfiwest.com