Brendan's Song

By Lazette Gifford

Prelude
"So many far places to see," Tristan suddenly said. He reached into the pouch slung over his shoulder and retrieved their single piece of the Kiya. Tristan felt the excitement of adventure, and it proved contagious -- Tristan's own little madness, to go so willingly into the unknown.
Neither Tristan nor Aubreyan spoke aloud the fear that they'd never come back to Ylant.
Tristan held the fragment of the Kiya in his left hand and caught tight hold of Abby with the right. Abby held the Janin. The staff sang her song softly, feeding magic through them into the piece of Kiya. She understood. A wind came up as light encircled them. Ylant began to fade, looking strangely unreal.
The journey began. 
***
The world became ethereal as Abby watched, and slipped away on the wind. He wanted to reach back and grab it, to hold to reality and the world... 
But Tristan soared. He had never felt so much magic around him; he had never felt so alive! He'd been afraid for a moment, but now he reached out with his soul and let the magic sweep through him...
In the seductive swirl of energy -- in the moment when he felt magic that made him more alive than he'd ever been -- he almost forgot Abby. He could have let himself become part of the power, and he could have lost himself forever in it; but Abby anchored him, pulled him back. Abby didn't feel the magic the way Tristan did. For Abby it only tingled along the edge of his consciousness, a knowledge that they moved...
Abby's hand tightened on his friend's arm. He could feel them being pulled along, and the gods knew where they would end up.
I'm with you, Abby. 
And that helped...

Part One: The Tune
One

A howl rose through the woods behind him, bringing Brendan up short against the damp, moss-covered tree trunk. Silence followed. He couldn't hear the drone of an insect or the chirp of a frog. Even the owl he had heard in the trees a moment before had gone silent and still. Nothing moved through the underbrush to draw the attention of the predators, awake now and hunting.
Brendan held his breath, standing as still as everything else in the night. Then, he heard the baying -- two of them this time, and much closer. He felt a tingle along his spine and up his neck, like the touch of a cold winter breeze in the midst of summer. The wild dogs of the woods had caught his scent after all. They would be coming quickly now.
He had understood the risk he took when he chose to travel the Julis Woods by night. Brendan knew the tales about the wild dogs -- he probably knew them better than anyone else, that being his usual work. But he had still chanced the journey, since he had little choice if he wanted to enter Esse unobserved. Even with his unusual powers, he would not have dared to try the gate, even in disguise. Too much depended on his ability to reach Lady Shafara without being seen.
The howl came again, and he sensed a different note in the wild cry. Confusion? Brendan rested against the moss and calmed the wild thumping of his heart. Yes, the dogs had scented him and were wary of coming nearer. The wild creatures always knew what men only vaguely sensed--that he was not quite human.
They held back for the moment, whining rather than howling. A distant sound--he still had a chance to reach the city before they caught up with him.
No time for subtlety. Brendan stepped away from the tree and darted into the shadows. He moved easily past the dark forms of the trees and bushes, even with one hand protecting the hard leather case at his side. All in all, he still considered the harp more important to him than the gold or the sealed parchment in his pack. She had served Brendan well from the day he took her from the wall of a crumbling ruin. He hated to risk her in a place like this, even for so great a need.
Even now, he could feel the warmth of her magic, a slight fluttering in his mind at the realization of the danger they faced. A single, plaintive note, dulled by the case, sounded in the night.
Three nightingales sprang panicked from the bush to his left. Behind him, he heard a howl and the quicker rush of paws, closer now. He dared to look up through the trees, wondering if he could climb to shelter. Perhaps the sudden flash of blue from his eyes disturbed what rested in the boughs. The branches scraped and rattled in its haste to get away.
He could sense the city -- closer, just beyond the narrowing band of trees. Hiding in the trees would not get him to the lady with the message he carried. And how long could he stay there, anyway? All night? Tomorrow? The next night? He remembered one tale of a wayfarer who attempted it. The story didn't end well.
One dog bayed, confusion replaced with challenge. Predators often sensed when something wild and dangerous walked through their territory.
Brendan looked up again, but he could barely see the sky beyond the trees and caught no glimpse of the moon. He wouldn't gain help there tonight. Just as well. A use of magic would draw Lady Shafara's attention; and though he traveled to see her, he didn't wish to be so blatant in his arrival. Shafara knew powerful magic, and might not take the time to listen to his message if she sensed a danger to her charge.
No. He'd try his best to get into the city quietly tonight; and if that didn't work, he would go through the gate in the morning, playing the part of a minstrel again. He would find a way to reach Shafara afterwards. Lord Falrick had even given him leave to be blatant if nothing else worked.
The dogs drew nearer. A sudden sprint carried him lightly through the underbrush, though without any chance for silence. The dogs knew his location. If he could outrun them, he might yet make the city wall and safety for a few hours.
When Brendan started to slow, he finally gave in to the inevitable. Lifting his head and taking a deeper breath, he allowed the part of him that moved with ease through the forest to take over. The ability came as a gift from his mother, she who had been born of the dark and the wilds and the night.
Vision changed and senses became more acute as he opened up to the world around him. He didn't dare do this in the human world. Though he did not change in body, they could still see it in his eyes. And, besides, he had learned young that being wild in a crowd of humans only led to madness. He confined his wild runs to the night....
Yes, the night, though rarely ones as dark as this, where the clouds, fog and trees obscured the power of the great moon. His left arm held the harp's case closer while his right hand fell to his dagger. While he didn't have claw or fang to take on the wild enemies, he did have a weapon that helped even the odds. 
Unfortunately, he didn't know the woods; and that played against him. He reached the edge of a ravine. For a moment he considered leaping, and then decided that a broken leg would not help matters. He backtracked, even though he couldn't afford the loss of too much time.
Brendan knew he must get the message he carried through. Lady Shafara hadn't sensed the danger in the capital; and besides, Lord Falrick sent answers that even Shafara might not find with her magic.
Most people would have been surprised at how hard he worked to help the Lady and the prince she protected. After all, as a famous bard he could survive well under any regime. It seemed only wise to Brendan that he work to make life better if he could. Happy people were never chary of their coins. 
And, he thought, the world might not be quite so bad with a few less wild dogs. He had run as far as he could without growing dangerously winded and weak. He slowed, and as they closed in he stopped in a circle of trees that offered some cover. 
Brendan spun and pulled his dagger, slashing as the first animal leapt. A great huge beast fell backward, howling with more surprise than pain. He didn't have time to distinguish the dogs one from another. He suspected there eight or nine, all of them eager for the kill. Large dogs, lean and hungry. They doubtless found little fresh meat of his size wandering around in the woods these days, having already killed everything they could catch.
Two lunged, and he stabbed with his dagger and then slashed as he drew it back. One fell away, whimpering, and would die quickly. The other caught hold of his jacket sleeve and nearly shook the dagger free. He put his back to a tree and kicked, surprise knocking the animal away.
Eyes flashed as they watched him, barely visible in the faint, diffused light of the night. Two of the beasts growled over the no longer whimpering body of their fallen companion while the other five sulked about Brendan, the circle growing smaller.
One snapped at his leg. He kicked, doing little damage; but she yipped and looked wary now. The others held their place for a moment, muttering low growls that he knew to be the prelude to a joint attack. Brendan moved first, swinging his blade so that it cut through the neck of the nearest dog. The awkward move nearly cost him his left arm as one leapt forward and bit hard. He swung back with the knife, cutting at her exposed underbelly; but even mortally wounded, she held tight, teeth grinding against bone. He could only shake her off after she had died.
Fiery pain surged through his left arm. He held the dagger tightly in his right hand, the palm perspiring as shock began to overcome even his strongest instincts. He put down two more of the animals while adrenaline still overcame pain and growing weakness. But the others closed in, even more intent on the kill now. Brendan put his back hard against the tree and let his bleeding arm hang free. They dared to come nearer; but when he bared his teeth and snarled, they backed away again. Not human, and not one of their own. They knew it.
It didn't hold them back for long. Two lunged; and he swung wide, but ineffectively, as one finally got past his guard and leapt at his throat. Teeth dug deep slashes even as he stabbed and killed. The animal fell away.
Still too numb to feel the wound, Brendan only sensed that he half-choked for air that wouldn't entirely come. His legs began to buckle, and he knelt rather than fall before the enemy. The last two dogs kept their distance, wary at last.
His dagger became too heavy, and the bloodied tip rested against the ground. The dogs still didn't near. He watched them as warily as they watched him. They'd wait now. When he grew too weak, they'd be quick to move in.
Well, he had a trick or two left, and dared not worry about Shafara's response now. Survival depended on what he did, and he couldn't deliver the message if he didn't stay alive.
His left arm hung useless, the fingers brushing at the ground, sending waves of agony that made his head spin. He forced the right arm up, the dagger still in hand. His fingers touched his neck and felt dampness there as well as an ache that made breathing difficult. He tried to ignore it as he sought past the jacket and embroidered shirt. His fingers found the golden chain with the familiar and heavy weight at the end. He pulled it up; and his fingers brushed against the edge of the disk, feeling it throb with the power of his own life, a part of him and his magic.
When he pulled it free, the crystal caught the faintest reflection of the obscured moon and flashed with a sudden brightness that seemed like lightning in the dark woods. The dogs scattered, yowling. He had seen men do the same. For a moment, he watched them go, willing himself to keep to consciousness.
Shafara would have sensed that flash of magic, so near her city. She might very well think the magic meant danger, and if so... But he lived through a half-dozen gasping breaths. Neither the sorceress nor anyone else attacked. 
Brendan dropped the dagger, unable to wave a ward of protection with it in hand. He hadn't much strength left. He could not cling to the world much longer as the blankness of a dreamless sleep edged closer. He couldn't be certain that he would awaken again.
He leaned against the nearest tree, as comfortable as he could manage, and turned the crystal to catch the little bit of moonlight. The words of the ward, when they came, were a harsh whisper that tormented his throat. His eyes swam with tears that were half pain and half fear for the injury done to his voice. He was Brendan, the old king's bard; and his voice had been likened to the sound of silver bells on the wind. Now, he heard the sound of toads in the night.
An injury. It would heal; it would pass.
As the glimmering dance of blue lights came up around him, his hand left the disk and fell to the harp case. It felt intact. With that reassurance, he let the darkness come to him.
He was the keeper of the song; and if his voice was gone, at least he could still play the tune.

Two

Mistress Faraday nodded politely to the cloth merchant from Parlin, looking over his samples and avoiding the delicate brush of his hand over her fingers. The man never gave up, which made him pretty much a fool. She'd never done anything to encourage him in the idea that they might have anything but a business relationship.
Sandy, stacking bales of cloth at the other end of the table, smirked. Kalis managed to touch her arm in that moment of inattention glancing at Sandy cost her, and she had to keep herself from jerking away and growling...or chanting. Kalis didn't understand the word no, either in business or personal matters.
She made some quiet comments about the cloth and asked to keep the samples overnight. He did have some lovely pieces here, and she thought she would like to buy some of the pale-blue linen chambray. And perhaps some of the taffeta, as well.
"We could take them to the tavern down the street," Kalis said. He cast one dark look at Sandy, as though he somehow thought the boy was the cause of all his problems. Shafara hid her smile and tried to come up with some polite way to say no to the man one more time.
The answer came quite unexpectedly with a surprising surge of magic. She lifted one hand; and she knew she had gone pale, expecting an immediate attack.
"Mistress Faraday! Are you all right?" Kalis asked, daring to put a hand right on her arm with genuine concern. She welcomed it at the moment -- because the last thing she wanted was for the man to look at Sandy and notice him looking quite as shocked and dismayed as she did.
"I'll be fine," she said softly. "Just too many very long days. I fear I'm just not up to going anywhere but to my room."
"Certainly! Boy, run up and make your mistress some tea! I'll get her up the stairs!"
"The shop," Sandy protested, looking around with a little confusion.
"It's all right, Sandy. You can come right back down and let Kalis out and lock up," she said, lifting her chin.
He gave a quick little bow and darted away. She wanted him up those stairs, where she'd made stronger wards. Sandy went without being ordered -- he knew when to obey her without question.
She let Kalis lead her up the stairs because that suited her purpose as well, right now.
"No, I'll be quite all right," she said, moving slowly upward as he mumbled about her health. "It's just been far too long of a day. I need rest."
"I understand," Kalis said. He slowed a little midway. "I admit to being tired myself, now that I think about it. I fear that I depart first thing in the morning. I'll leave the cloth samples with you, Mistress Faraday. Perhaps we can talk business when I return in ten days."
"Yes, that would be wise," she said. "I like that chambray piece very well, and I think the cream ratine has a lovely texture. We'll discuss it then."
He had looked hopeful for a moment, but she disengaged her arm as they reached the door to her private rooms. She would not invite him in, though she did push the door open so he could see Sandy preparing her tea.
"I look forward to our next meeting," he said, giving her a little bow. "Sandy? Can you come down and lock the door?"
Shafara gritted her teeth to keep from telling the man that it was not his place to order her assistant. Sandy, knowing what was proper very well, looked at her. She nodded. There had been no feeling of danger. The magic had not been an attack; and the sooner they were done with Kalis, the better.
The boy slipped past her as she went into the room. However, tea was the last thing she had on her mind. Or rest, for that matter.
First, and before anything else, she had to make sure of Sandy's safety. She pushed the door closed so that Kalis, who kept looking back, couldn't see her. And then she cast a quick and simple spell, watching her apprentice to make certain nothing tried for him.
"Now, be certain she rests, boy," Kalis said, a hand on Sandy's shoulder, his fingers gripping too tightly. "You understand, don't you? A woman should never have to do all the work."
"I understand, sir," Sandy said, somehow maintaining that mild apprentice sham he had learned to do so well. It couldn't have been easy, not the way the man continued to lecture him, as if Sandy had shown some sign of not understanding the language.
But...no magic around. Except for that jolt, which she pinpointed now as having originated in the forest, she could feel hardly more than a ripple, and even that felt calm. Magic held the emotions of the wish it delivered; and while some very powerful magicians could learn to control their emotions and send a death wish in an innocuous wave of happiness, this was not the case. The first spurt of magic had been wild, panicked and, while strong, nowhere near focused. She tested what she felt now, tasted a little blood and panic and then hit a shield. Ah. Some fool in the woods attacked by the dogs. Some powerful fool, but he would be no danger to them tonight. 
Familiar? She couldn't think of a single person who might have that kind of power, though perhaps someone had come late to the art. She had been out of the capital for a long time, and away from any but occasional contacts.
She looked down into the shop again to find Kalis standing at the open door and still lecturing Sandy. A day would soon come when Kalis learned the truth about her apprentice. She wished she could be around to see his reaction.
Right now, though, she needed him gone. Shafara kicked up a little debris in the street, whispered the idea of a storm and the need to get to his housing for the night. Even then, Kalis persevered for a dozen more heartbeats before she hit him in the back of the head with a rather large stick.
"I'm sorry, sir. I must get the door closed before the cloth takes damage from the dirt and rain," Sandy said. He gave a polite bow. "And I'm sure the Lady wonders what keeps me. Time for her dinner, you know."
"Oh, yes. Of course. Go, boy."
Sandy pushed the door closed, threw the lock in place and hurried to do the same with the shuttered windows. She saw Kalis looking in one, but Sandy didn't notice, being so intent on the work.
In a moment, he bounded back up the stairs and into the room, closing the door so quickly he looked as though he thought Kalis might still somehow follow.
"Practice for dealing with the nobles of court," he said, repeating it like a mantra a second time. Then, he shook his head. "What happened? I've never seen you go so white. Another magical door?"
"No, just a bolt of such pure magic I thought we must be under attack." 
She waved Sandy into the chair across from her. He'd abandoned the act he maintained for the cloth merchant, and worry etched lines around his eyes and shown in the set of his mouth. He'd learned to take the threat of attack seriously at a very young age.
"From what I could glean, someone found themselves in the woods and very likely facing the dogs."
"Someone powerful."
"Yes, but untrained. Well, mostly untrained," she amended. "He's under a shield for the night; and that's where we'll leave him while I make certain nothing else is out there, and he's just a distraction or a lure. Can you make dinner tonight, Sandy? I'm going to inspect the area and reexamine my wards on the building."
He nodded and stood, heading toward the cupboards. He was a good boy. She suspected he would make a good king as well. Shafara hoped so. She had done her best to keep him alive so he could prove himself better than...
Well, she wouldn't think ill of the dead. King Baran had been kind to some, but willful and obtuse with others. His ability to turn a blind eye even on the rebels living at his own court was the reason his son now lived in hiding.
Not for much longer. Prince Sandryn Kell Kami would turn eighteen in half a year. She intended for him to celebrate his birthday with his coronation.
But for now... 
Well, he'd learned to turn out a good brisket and peas. He'd not starve. 

Three

Brendan awoke at sunset the next day, too weak to keep the shield in place any longer and grateful he had sense enough to force himself to consciousness before it dropped. The blue lights fell like stars before his eyes; and he blinked and sighed, aching in every muscle. The dead dogs, what was left of them, still lay close by. He turned his head and saw the dagger just out of reach. He knew he should have it.
The feeling of danger swept down on him so quickly that he scrambled to his knees as the world suddenly tilted. He started to fall forward. A hand caught his shoulder, though he could see no one around.
"Go easy, Brendan. The dogs are gone."
The touch and the voice panicked him. He grabbed for his dagger; but just as his fingers touched the metal, it slid away as though on water.
"Brendan, Brendan. So uncouth for a bard to reach for a weapon."
Sanity returned with recognition of that mocking voice. He didn't reach for the dagger again as he sat back on his knees. A slow turn of his head showed nothing but trees and the shadows of falling night. The birds sang somewhere else.
"Show yourself, Shafara," he said, the words hardly more than a faint, harsh whisper. He heard the sound of tinkling bells and the sigh of a distant wind.
Shafara had started to kneel even before she appeared, a look of concern on her slim face. "Brendan -- I didn't realize the injury! Gods, what made you walk these woods --"
"A message -- Lord Falrick --" He painfully tried to reach for the pack. "The Prince -- danger --"
"Easy. Be still," Shafara said. Her cool hand caught Brendan's arm -- he hadn't noticed that most of the jacket had been torn away. The comforting touch of magic moved from one wound to another, one arm to another. Shafara bowed her head and closed her eyes when she finally touched Brendan's neck. Warmth enclosed the wound, and the ache eased but didn't entirely subside.
Shafara sat back and shook her head, sudden weariness in her face. Brendan knew she had put considerable power into that spell for it not to have completely worked. He shivered at what that might mean for him.
"Tonight, when the moon rises, I'll work a real spell, Brendan," she said and smiled. "Don't worry. After all, am I not the greatest sorceress of all time?"
"So I've heard," Brendan whispered. His voice didn't sound as bad, at least. "And so I've sung. Now, we'll see if it's true."
"Save your voice," Shafara said, and still smiled. "I may give you a song or two new to sing."
Brendan smiled, feeling a great weight lifted from him. He'd never been trained as a messenger, skilled in horses and running. He was the King's Bard, a man whose face was known better than any in the land since the old king's death eight years before. He had traveled with Baran for two years prior to the man's death, and sang at each fair and village commons. The people remembered him afterwards and always would. It was part of his gift.
Shafara stood, her long silk robe rustling in the breeze. She looked around the woods with sudden interest, her nose wrinkling at the scent of dead dog and blood -- and maybe at something more.
"The message --" Brendan said. He started to stand, and discovered he was weaker than he had expected. Shafara took him awkwardly by the arm, her attention still elsewhere.
"I'll read it when we get back to my home," she said and started to urge him away from the area. "I sense something else about in the woods, and I fear your ward and my open use of magic may have drawn it to us. If the prince is in danger as you say --"
"He is, my lady," Brendan said and stumbled along with her as she started away.
"'My lady,' is it?" Shafara said and laughed. "Ah, you've not said that to my face in the last ten years."
"And I've not seen you in eight. Those last two years were... interesting."
"You always were cheeky for a former slave, Brendan," Shafara said and chuckled. "I remember --"
The world began to shift more swiftly around them, and to blur and spin. Very powerful magic, and Brendan marveled that Shafara could continue the conversation while controlling it. Ah, such was the difference between an adept and a master.
"-- when the king and I first heard you sing as you walked the road, chained and shackled to a hundred others. Just a boy, anonymous in the dirt and rags. We didn't understand the words you sang, but we were both moved. Did you know the gift you had, Brendan? Did you know?"
The world grew solid. Brendan blinked and found himself walking along a busy street, unnoticed -- no, unseen, now that he could perceive the haze of magic around them. He saw people heading for home, the shops closing, the market dismantled down a side street. They had slipped safely inside. Safe.
"Brendan?" Shafara said.
He pulled his attention back to the conversation, to the world. He didn't think he could walk much farther, but he looked up at the lady and gave her a little smile.
"Nicely done. And, yes, I knew, my lady sorceress Shafara. I had been told I had a gift."
"In your own land?"
"I had no land," Brendan said. Strange to be telling Shafara his story after so long, but he saw no use in keeping any secrets. She hadn't asked about the use of magic yet, but he knew she soon would. He steeled himself for the tale.
"I was a pirate captain's son by a native woman from some uncharted island. She taught me to sing."
"Your mother," Shafara said. "Well, some have said you were taught by the gods. I confess I'm relieved to hear otherwise. Although --" Shafara tilted her head as she looked at him again.
They turned down a quieter street where buildings rose up above them, some tilting precariously forward, as though they would touch and close off all sight of the sky. Shafara stopped between two darkened shops, a cobbler and a bookbinder.
"Brendan, I never doubted your loyalty to the old king, and never had reason to question any deed or word -- or song. But now there are things I must know before I bring you to the prince."
"I've done nothing for you to question my loyalty, my lady."
"No, nothing obvious. Your pardon, but the prince's safety is more important than the loss of companionship from one old friend. I must be certain."
Friend?
"Don't strain your voice. Just answer my questions. From where do you get your magic?"
There, finally, the expected question. "Another gift from my mother."
"The magic came from her, too?" She looked surprised. "And I never felt it before. Interesting. And that trinket about your neck --"
Brendan's hand clasped the crystal, a surge of panic finally whispering through his calm.
"Ah, you did forget it. When it catches a ray of moonlight, I feel as though my magic is little more than a child's first attempt to walk. Where does it come from? No, don't say it. An uncharted island, a mother who taught you to sing and taught you magic -- and fashioned this for you." Her hand hovered an inch before the palm-sized disk. "Its power would burn me, and yet you wear it without any trouble. Brendan, I have always sensed something in you that made me uneasy. You are not wholly human, are you?"
He hadn't expected that one, especially if it was a question Shafara had harbored for so long. "I am...something different."
Shafara stood her place, weighing him in a gaze that took in everything from feet to head and ended on Brendan's eyes.
"I still have never given you reason to doubt my loyalty."
"There are old legends about the other-folk. Do you know them, Brendan?"
He blinked and looked away from that stare. "I am a bard. Of course, I know them."
Shafara laughed and brushed at her clothing again. Even in exile she would not forgo style and luxury. Brendan judged from her demeanor that she had accepted his answers but still had more questions. She would ask them -- later.
"We've only half a block to go. Mind the cobblestones -- they're badly pitted and in need of repair. Did I tell you I play at cloth merchant now? And that the prince is my servant? Surprised? Well, who would look for him here, among the cobblers and the bookbinders."
She turned to a shop door, and Brendan saw her hand move to dismiss the magical locks. That reassured him, knowing that he would be within those walls soon and Shafara's magic would keep them safe. He felt very tired.
"Business has been good, though a caravan I helped finance into the North Country is a month overdue. No need to worry yet --" The door came open, silent even on old hinges. Shafara smiled and waved him inside. "Though I had hoped to have the furs before winter set in."
"How can you live so openly -- the greatest sorceress of our land? How do they not know you and realize your companion is the prince?"
"We magicians don't sing to every villager as you do, Brendan. Our faces aren't known."
They crossed a shop filled with cloth-covered tables, some piled so high Brendan couldn't see over them. All the colors looked muted in the dark, but he imagined rainbows here. At the far end of the room, Shafara held back a long curtain that led to a small hall and a set of stairs leading upward.
"People only see us when we need to fight a battle. I fought my battles young."
Brendan nodded and bowed as Shafara waved for him to start up. Light showed bright through the cracks of a distant door at the top. That looked like a place of safety; and Brendan, still in pain and weak, felt the sudden need of such a place. He half-stumbled as he went upward, and felt Shafara's hand on his wounded arm. He bit his lip to keep from crying out.
"There is rest at the top," Shafara said softly. "And an ease to your pains."
Brendan willed his tired and aching body to go up the last few stairs. Shafara kept hold of him, obviously aware that he could collapse at any moment. The door seemed miles away, but she finally pushed it open and led Brendan inside the small room. He barely glimpsed a familiar glow of golden hair and sharp features -- so like his father! -- before Shafara brought him to a chair by the table.
"I found our ripple, San," Shafara said.
"Isn't that -- isn't that Brendan?"
"My prince," Brendan said, his voice weak and gruff. He started to bow, but Prince Sandryn caught him even before Shafara did. They pushed him into a chair.
"What has happened, Shafara?" the prince asked. He watched as the sorceress threw open a cupboard and began to pull out small vials and set them on the table. "What was he doing in the woods? Surely, he knew about the dogs."
"He did, Sandryn. Take his pack off his back, will you? We need to make him comfortable. Oh, and he's brought some message for us. It must be gods important for him to have risked what he did."
Shafara mixed two vials that emitted a sweet smell.
Although still weak, Brendan still had the wits to catch the prince's hand as he pulled the small pack free.
"Forgive me," Brendan said, letting of the boy. Prince. The words came as hardly more than a hiss of sound between his lips. "The sorceress --"
"Shush. Quiet, Master Minstrel. Lady Shafara and I share all news."
"No--"
"Be calm, Brendan." Shafara put a hand on his shoulder while he still tried to reach for the pouch -- "Ah. It's spellbound, is it? Only I may open the seal or it will be destroyed. We forget such things, using so little magic here. Drink this, Brendan. It will at least ease the pain."
Relieved that she understood, he took the little vial in a shaky hand and watched as Shafara took the parchment roll from his pack. Afterward he drank quickly and laid his head back, closed his eyes and listened as Shafara broke the seal and began to read.
"It's from your uncle, Lord Falrick. ‘To Sire, Prince Sandryn, Heir of the land and the most Gracious all Powerful’ -- This must be serious! – ‘High Mage Shafara.
"’I must be brief in my greetings. That which I have to report is most grave news. I have entrusted our Minstrel Brendan with your whereabouts and this dispatch. Pray trust him as I have with the safety of the prince. Brendan's loyalty has never been questioned, and I fear he may now be the only one who can get through without notice.’"
Brendan wearily lifted his head and found Shafara intently looking at him. If Shafara judged him wanting in loyalty, Brendan knew he would never walk the world again.
"Peace, Brendan," Shafara said, reading too much in his look. "I've not judged you badly."
Brendan nodded. She would still ask other questions; but he would not die for them, not yet. A glance at Prince Sandryn showed he had sensed something amiss, but did not pursue it. Shafara turned back to the message.
"’Now to that which is most important," she read. "At sunset last night, on the eve of the High Moon, I was visited in my high tower by a powerful mage. Yes, Shafara, he swept past the wards you placed for my safety as though they did not exist. And he demanded the power to rule over all the land. Should I not agree he said he would put me to death? A trifle that, but he said he would beat our people into submission with his powers.
"’Shafara, oh mighty sorceress -- I believe he could.
"’I have been given to the next full moon to present him my answer. Thus far the mage doesn't seem to know that I only hold the power for the prince. Peculiar, isn't it? How far has this one come, that he doesn't know even that about our land?
"’Please make me some reply in haste. I fear that this Tabor shall stir up the forces here at the capital; then the Black Circle might move against the prince.
"’Double your protections, Shafara. And beware of assassins.
"’My love to the prince and my thanks to Brendan. Falrick, Lord of the Castle, Keeper of the Crown.’"
Shafara carefully put the parchment down on the table. The ends curled with a rustle, the loudest sound in the room. Sandryn and Shafara didn't move; and Brendan watched, imprinting the scene on his mind. He might have reason to remember this moment, later. He felt a brush of strangeness in the world, and he suspected there would be tales to tell of these days. He would make the songs to fit the deeds.
"We must move swiftly to insure our survival," Shafara said. She looked around the room until her eyes again fell on Brendan. "We need to leave here soon, Brendan. I could take us some distance with magic, but the night is misty and the moon is not full. My powers wane, and I fear what I just read about this Tabor and his magic. I don't want to face him without as much power as I can manage. We'll stay here for the night, at least. I must make preparations."
"Don't remain on my ac-count --"
"Don't speak. My elixir will do no good if you continue to strain your voice. It is better, Brendan, if we don't disappear in the middle of the night. We want no attention drawn here, even after we've gone, because it would be too easy to trace us from here. I'll make some excuse for us in the morning." She stopped and nodded. "The lost caravan. I did fund it heavily. You, Brendan, will be a messenger from the north --"
"No," Prince Sandryn said. He leaned against the table. "From the capital. He's too well-known to pretend to be just a messenger; and besides, there's often news sent to the castle before it reaches any of the rest of us."
"True. And it does settle that problem of him being recognized. People will know him, unless we use magic that none of us can afford to waste right now."
Brendan nodded. He found it amazing that he felt so at ease with both the sorceress and the prince. Perhaps it helped that she knew his secrets now, and trusted him still.
He hadn't known the prince well back in the days when the old king ruled. Sandryn had been kept among the tutors and hardly seen, except on the Holy Days and at official ceremonies. Now, it seemed that Sandryn had outgrown both boyhood and his aloofness. He didn't stand apart and watch the conversations. He took part in them -- though he apparently didn't try to control them.
He was unlike the old king in that, at least. King Baren had been tall and robust, and overbearing. The boy -- the prince -- stood half a head shorter than Brendan, who was hardly more than average height. The king's hair had been gray going to white when Brendan first met him; but Sandryn's hair shown like a golden mane of loose waves, curling around his face and framing blue eyes. In all, he had a charming, boyish look, though not a very commanding one.
Still, Brendan could see the royal blood. He thought it a wonder that no one questioned his status as a servant, let alone not recognize him.
"Sandryn, help me cut away the sleeves of his shirt. We'll cleanse the wounds and see what magic can do."
Sandryn leaned forward and began to work at the sleeves, but Brendan didn't think the prince should do such work. With his good hand, he tried to gently dissuade him.
"No, sire --"
"Brendan, I fear you still see me as my father's pampered pet. I've been away for seven years and I've lived as my people do. I was never really what my father wanted me to be. I don't think you knew, but sometimes I climbed out my window at night and crawled along the ledge between our rooms. I'd huddle on the wall outside your window and listen as you made your songs. That was the only time of freedom and anonymity allowed to me."
Brendan knew he most have gone from pale to white. Sandryn looked worried and caught hold of the minstrel's hand with anxious fear. Even Shafara bent close, looking concerned.
"Gods, Prince -- if you had fallen --"
"All boys are half-cat, Brendan," she said with a reassuring smile. "And he didn't fall. Let us worry about tomorrow and not yesterday."
"You could have come to me, Prince," Brandon said. "I'd not have turned you away."
"My father forbade it."
Brendan felt shock. He looked at Shafara with silent questioning this time.
"He forbade the boy to spend time with me as well, Brendan. Kings always distrust magicians, even when they court their favors. Perhaps he feared your music for the same reason, since it's half magic as well. And maybe he saw more in you than the rest of us did. At any rate, the king had every right to limit who his son saw."
Shafara stepped in and continued cutting at the sleeves. Brendan wasn't entirely sure having her at the work was any better.
"But for all of that, he never sent us away, Brendan -- even after I won his wars and you made his legends. Now, let me take the harp. Yes, I know she's precious. I was there when you found her."
"This is she?" Sandryn asked, taking the leather case carefully in his hands. Brendan could see the scratches and bites along the edges, but he knew the harp had taken no damage. He would have felt that in his heart. "This is Dove, herself?"
"Yes. Be gentle and place her on the shelf." Shafara did nothing until after Sandryn had put the case in the safe place. "Now, let's get the shirt off, Brendan, so I can see the wounds more clearly. No, I'll cut it away -- there's not enough left here to save, anyway. Put your head back. Close your eyes." 
He did as she told him and heard a whisper of words, faint and melodious. Brendan tried the tune in his mind even as he felt the tug of magical sleep carrying him away...

Four

Shafara stood back from the minstrel and dabbed at the perspiration that had formed above her eyes. She hadn't worked that hard in years. If she hadn't learned so much about the musician today, it might have worried her.
"Is he finally asleep?" Sandryn asked softly.
"Yes, finally," she said and sat on the edge of the table, looking at their visitor. In all the years she'd known him, she couldn't remember ever seeing him asleep before. That should have told her something about his lack of trust, if nothing else.
"He'll be easier to work with now. He fights me every time I use magic, though I doubt he knows it."
"Fights you? Then is he a mage as well as a bard?" Sandryn asked, giving Brendan another startled look.
"He has power, though he's not really a mage," she said, though even in that she couldn't be entirely sure. Shafara went to cabinet and brought out more supplies then walked to the window and the moonlight. She wished the fog had dissipated by now, but she still drew a little power back. 
Sandryn had begun to gently clean the wounds, wincing when Brendan made any sound of pain. He kept at the work, though. That had been his father's influence -- to do what must be done, to stand firm in the work.
Shafara stepped away from the moonlight and back to the chair. For a moment, she studied Brendan again, trying to see more in him than she had in the years they'd shared the same castle.
"Shafara?"
"His powers come to him by nature, though that crystal seems to help focus them."
"Natural powers?" Sandryn looked down at Brendan, his eyes going wide. "How? What is he?"
"He is Brendan the minstrel, whatever that has always been," she said and put her fingers over his throat again. That wound, more than the others, needed healing. She whispered, and stopped again, magic drifting from her hand to heal--easier this time, but still not as good as she had hoped. "He's the son of a pirate captain, he told me today. And his mother was some wild native woman who gave him music and magic. Brendan hardly seems to know what he is; but he keeps the music well, doesn't he?"
"Yes," Sandryn said and smiled. Then he shook his head. "How bad are the wounds? His voice?"
"I'll heal that wound, though it's going to take more than one try. I'll not fail. I listened too often at the window myself."
Sandryn smiled and looked back at the musician one more time. "He's so caught up in the protocol --"
"He's only five days out from the capital. And he's always held to what is proper."
"Is it true he was a slave?"
"Yes," Shafara said and looked at the prince, a little surprised by the question. "Why wouldn't you think so?"
"I thought it just a legend about him," Sandryn said and looked a little guilty. "I've heard so many things at the castle and on the streets. I never knew him well enough to know the truth."
"He was a slave. And a pirate's son." Shafara's finger flicked the gold earring in Brendan's ear, and she shook head. "I thought he wore that only for show, but now I realize he did it as a sign of his linage. You'd best go get some rest, Sandy. We'll be off early tomorrow."
Sandryn started to protest and stopped. He'd learned not to argue with her, since Shafara wasn't above using magic to send him to sleep if need be. Shafara watched as he crossed the room to his little alcove and settled down the mattress.
Shafara worked on Brendan, slow, monotonous spells that obviously proved as dull to watch as to make. When she looked up a little later, Sandryn slept soundly.
Good. He needed the rest.
Tomorrow would bring change. She realized her ward hadn't fully understood the importance of the message Brendan brought them. Someone challenged Lord Falrick for the throne; and that meant they challenged Sandryn's right to rule, whether this stranger realized it or not.
She stood and stepped back from the chair, leaning against the table again. A few more hours work, and she might have completely healed Brendan; but she couldn't afford to expend any more power tonight. The gods knew what might be lurking out there, following the trail of magic the two of them had used.
Closing her eyes, she felt out the wards around the building and reinforced them again. They'd slipped in the last year. She had gotten careless.
Their life here would end soon. She regretted that. The years as a cloth merchant had been the best she remembered in a long time, and for a while she'd allowed herself to forget that it would all end.
Ah, but going back to Senonia wouldn't be entirely bad. Servants to cook the meals, dressmakers -- though, by the gods, she would take some of her best cloth back with her!
She almost laughed at that, but stopped for fear of waking either of the two. Brendan didn't look comfortable in the chair, his head back and neck turned at an odd angle. No, that would not do.
"Brendan," she said softly, leaning close to his ear. "Wake up a moment. Time to get you to a more comfortable bed."
His eyes blinked open--blue, deep blue like the ocean, she thought suddenly. He moved slowly, obviously in considerable pain; and when his hand moved to his side he panicked.
"Careful," she said. "You're alright."
"Where," he said softly, and then stopped; and his eyes sought out the case on the shelf. "Ah. I...need her to be with me tonight."
Shafara almost asked questions, but she really didn't want him to wake up that much. Instead, she crossed the room and pulled the case down and brought it back to him. He wrapped his uninjured arm around it like a child might hold a favorite pet they thought they had lost.
"Come now," she said, and gently helped him to his feet. "You sleep in my bed tonight -- oh, don't blush. I won't be there with you. There's work I need to do, and I must be in the moonlight to do it."
He bowed his head, and she thought he laughed a little. Good. She hadn't any trouble getting him into the bed. He placed the harp beside him, his hand on her case. Shafara wondered if he had ever slept without her close in all the twelve years since he found her. Probably not. That bond held magic as well.
"Sleep, Brendan. Tomorrow we have work to do."
He nodded, his eyes moving until he found the prince. She wondered what he saw there in that moment before he forced his eyes closed again.
Shafara blew out all the candles but one, and then moved back to the window, quietly carrying a chair over with her. She sat and leaned back, closing her eyes and feeling the moonlight on her face. Yes, there would be work tomorrow, but she had a little to do tonight, as well. After all, they hadn't squirreled the prince away in this cloth shop just for a change of scenery.
The royal house of Senonia had very powerful enemies, and Sandy's father died while the boy was still in his minority. The power of the Black Circle had grown, even while Falrick tried his best to weed out the court supporters. Assassinations were still rampant on both sides, and taking a young prince back into that environment had never seemed wise.
Sandryn wasn't completely cut off from the capital, and he'd had his hand in more than a few of his uncle's proclamations. They kept in touch with Falrick by magic rather than messenger. Though he had been wise enough not to send a message by magic this time, not with the trouble around.
Tabor, whoever he was, appeared to be an entirely new entry into the field. She didn't think he had associations with the Black Circle, but it wouldn't hurt -- she hoped -- to test the waters.
Shafara opened her eyes, looked around at the two young men sleeping soundly and lifted her hand into the moonlight, preparing for a very long journey -- in mind, if not in body.

Five

Shafara stood back from the minstrel and dabbed at the perspiration that had formed above her eyes. She hadn't worked that hard in years. If she hadn't learned so much about the musician today, it might have worried her.
"Is he finally asleep?" Sandryn asked softly.
"Yes, finally," she said and sat on the edge of the table, looking at their visitor. In all the years she'd known him, she couldn't remember ever seeing him asleep before. That should have told her something about his lack of trust, if nothing else.
"He'll be easier to work with now. He fights me every time I use magic, though I doubt he knows it."
"Fights you? Then is he a mage as well as a bard?" Sandryn asked, giving Brendan another startled look.
"He has power, though he's not really a mage," she said, though even in that she couldn't be entirely sure. Shafara went to cabinet and brought out more supplies then walked to the window and the moonlight. She wished the fog had dissipated by now, but she still drew a little power back. 
Sandryn had begun to gently clean the wounds, wincing when Brendan made any sound of pain. He kept at the work, though. That had been his father's influence -- to do what must be done, to stand firm in the work.
Shafara stepped away from the moonlight and back to the chair. For a moment, she studied Brendan again, trying to see more in him than she had in the years they'd shared the same castle.
"Shafara?"
"His powers come to him by nature, though that crystal seems to help focus them."
"Natural powers?" Sandryn looked down at Brendan, his eyes going wide. "How? What is he?"
"He is Brendan the minstrel, whatever that has always been," she said and put her fingers over his throat again. That wound, more than the others, needed healing. She whispered, and stopped again, magic drifting from her hand to heal--easier this time, but still not as good as she had hoped. "He's the son of a pirate captain, he told me today. And his mother was some wild native woman who gave him music and magic. Brendan hardly seems to know what he is; but he keeps the music well, doesn't he?"
"Yes," Sandryn said and smiled. Then he shook his head. "How bad are the wounds? His voice?"
"I'll heal that wound, though it's going to take more than one try. I'll not fail. I listened too often at the window myself."
Sandryn smiled and looked back at the musician one more time. "He's so caught up in the protocol --"
"He's only five days out from the capital. And he's always held to what is proper."
"Is it true he was a slave?"
"Yes," Shafara said and looked at the prince, a little surprised by the question. "Why wouldn't you think so?"
"I thought it just a legend about him," Sandryn said and looked a little guilty. "I've heard so many things at the castle and on the streets. I never knew him well enough to know the truth."
"He was a slave. And a pirate's son." Shafara's finger flicked the gold earring in Brendan's ear, and she shook head. "I thought he wore that only for show, but now I realize he did it as a sign of his linage. You'd best go get some rest, Sandy. We'll be off early tomorrow."
Sandryn started to protest and stopped. He'd learned not to argue with her, since Shafara wasn't above using magic to send him to sleep if need be. Shafara watched as he crossed the room to his little alcove and settled down the mattress.
Shafara worked on Brendan, slow, monotonous spells that obviously proved as dull to watch as to make. When she looked up a little later, Sandryn slept soundly.
Good. He needed the rest.
Tomorrow would bring change. She realized her ward hadn't fully understood the importance of the message Brendan brought them. Someone challenged Lord Falrick for the throne; and that meant they challenged Sandryn's right to rule, whether this stranger realized it or not.
She stood and stepped back from the chair, leaning against the table again. A few more hours work, and she might have completely healed Brendan; but she couldn't afford to expend any more power tonight. The gods knew what might be lurking out there, following the trail of magic the two of them had used.
Closing her eyes, she felt out the wards around the building and reinforced them again. They'd slipped in the last year. She had gotten careless.
Their life here would end soon. She regretted that. The years as a cloth merchant had been the best she remembered in a long time, and for a while she'd allowed herself to forget that it would all end.
Ah, but going back to Senonia wouldn't be entirely bad. Servants to cook the meals, dressmakers -- though, by the gods, she would take some of her best cloth back with her!
She almost laughed at that, but stopped for fear of waking either of the two. Brendan didn't look comfortable in the chair, his head back and neck turned at an odd angle. No, that would not do.
"Brendan," she said softly, leaning close to his ear. "Wake up a moment. Time to get you to a more comfortable bed."
His eyes blinked open--blue, deep blue like the ocean, she thought suddenly. He moved slowly, obviously in considerable pain; and when his hand moved to his side he panicked.
"Careful," she said. "You're alright."
"Where," he said softly, and then stopped; and his eyes sought out the case on the shelf. "Ah. I...need her to be with me tonight."
Shafara almost asked questions, but she really didn't want him to wake up that much. Instead, she crossed the room and pulled the case down and brought it back to him. He wrapped his uninjured arm around it like a child might hold a favorite pet they thought they had lost.
"Come now," she said, and gently helped him to his feet. "You sleep in my bed tonight -- oh, don't blush. I won't be there with you. There's work I need to do, and I must be in the moonlight to do it."
He bowed his head, and she thought he laughed a little. Good. She hadn't any trouble getting him into the bed. He placed the harp beside him, his hand on her case. Shafara wondered if he had ever slept without her close in all the twelve years since he found her. Probably not. That bond held magic as well.
"Sleep, Brendan. Tomorrow we have work to do."
He nodded, his eyes moving until he found the prince. She wondered what he saw there in that moment before he forced his eyes closed again.
Shafara blew out all the candles but one, and then moved back to the window, quietly carrying a chair over with her. She sat and leaned back, closing her eyes and feeling the moonlight on her face. Yes, there would be work tomorrow, but she had a little to do tonight, as well. After all, they hadn't squirreled the prince away in this cloth shop just for a change of scenery.
The royal house of Senonia had very powerful enemies, and Sandy's father died while the boy was still in his minority. The power of the Black Circle had grown, even while Falrick tried his best to weed out the court supporters. Assassinations were still rampant on both sides, and taking a young prince back into that environment had never seemed wise.
Sandryn wasn't completely cut off from the capital, and he'd had his hand in more than a few of his uncle's proclamations. They kept in touch with Falrick by magic rather than messenger. Though he had been wise enough not to send a message by magic this time, not with the trouble around.
Tabor, whoever he was appeared to be an entirely new entry into the field. She didn't think he had associations with the Black Circle, but it wouldn't hurt -- she hoped -- to test the waters.
Shafara opened her eyes, looked around at the two young men sleeping soundly and lifted her hand into the moonlight, preparing for a very long journey -- in mind, if not in body.

Six

He played the harp one-handed. Awkward, but Dove helped, weaving a tune all her own into his work. He didn't try to sing, having managed only a couple rough words since he awoke at dawn. The elixir Lady Shafara gave him had helped, though. And the wounds no longer showed, even if he still felt them. 
The music helped in another way. He let it drift away after a little while, feeling far less frantic than he had when he first awoke. As he looked up, Prince Sandryn moved away to the stairs. Brendan watched him go, aware that the prince had been there, listening. He always liked to have an audience.
Shafara moved up to the table, holding a sealed envelope.
"Your message to deliver to me," she said and placed the note carefully in Brendan's hands. He slipped it into his pack with a nod. "Be sure that you're seen when you deliver it."
"I'll be seen," Brendan said. His voice still sounded too rough. "I'm still Brendan. People will notice."
"Yes, that's true," she said with a laugh. "Are you ready?"
He didn't really think he wanted to leave this little sanctuary, but he nodded and packed Dove away before he stood. The prince's shirt barely fit him, but she'd found a better jacket than the one he'd lost. He rather hoped he got to hold on to them. "I'm ready."
"Good. Close your eyes and don't fight me."
"I don't --"
"Brendan, your magic rebels every time I lay a spell on you. Why do you think I was unable to fully heal you?"
"Ah. Well, my thanks in that regard," he said. He looked into her gray eyes, which he hadn't done in all the years they'd lived in the same castle. "I'll repay you --"
"You will. You will work with me to save the Prince."
"That I would have done anyway. I still owe you." 
Shafara bowed her head in thanks. "Take care, Brendan," she said and put a hand on the bard's head. He closed his eyes. "Come back quickly. I fear for your safety."
"I'll stay out of the woods."
Shafara laughed and then whispered the incantation. Even with his eyes closed, he still felt the world slip and surge around him. He heard a distant voice, but couldn't catch the words; and then a melody entwined and echoed through everything. The world sang.
A bird cried out and fluttered away in the bushes. Brendan staggered a step and then stood still while the ground seemed to move under him. He had the road beneath his feet, and a slow turn of his head showed that it curved behind him and led straight ahead to the distant city walls. 
In a half-dozen heartbeats he heard the sound of a wagon coming his way. It would not do to be found standing here half-amazed, as though one had just been, so to speak, dropped out of the sky.
He forced one foot in front of the other. After ten steps the world steadied, and he found he could look up at the passing wagon -- sorry that the horses fidgeted when they came too near him -- and offer a smile of greeting for the man who mumbled curses at the animals.
The wagon went on, and a few people followed behind. Brendan started to get his feel for the road again. He knew it well enough, having come to the city at festivals at least twice a year. He walked slowly, letting the morning traffic of farmers and traders get ahead of him. There was often a glut of people at the bridge over the Para Stream, and he didn't much feel like standing about mingling with others today.
He finally had the road to himself for a while. The knots in his shoulders began to lessen. He'd soon be back in Lady Shafara's safe care.
A farmer, running very late to market, went by, his wagon pulled by two good black horses. A shame they became so skittish as soon as they neared Brendan. The old man didn't look like he had much practice with wagons, either.
The farmer nodded a greeting then looked back, his face troubled as he stopped. The horses didn't want to hold as Brendan came closer.
"Ya go to the town, eh?" the old man asked. He had a crooked smile and bright eyes. "Damn horses, what spooked ya? Too quiet here, I say. I give you a ride. Jump up back with the wheat."
"Thank you," Brendan said softly. He suspected that the old man had recognized him and would glory in bringing the King's Bard through the city gates. They hadn't much farther to go, through the woods and then across the bridge to the open grazing lands beyond the city walls. Brendan vaulted aboard, trying to ignore the stab of pain through his arm. He was more than ready to be out of the woods.
The horses pranced and snorted, as nervous as any other creature when Brendan was near. They started away. The wagon bounced on every rut and the bags of wheat felt like someone had liberally mixed them with rock, but it still beat walking.
"Have ye walked far, Master Brendan?" the old man asked.
"All the way from Singing Hill," he said. "And caught a cold as well. I dare not speak much or my voice will go altogether."
"Aye, great loss, sir," the man said, though he didn't sound very sincere. "Why come you to Esse?"
"A message from the High Councilor to some merchant." He patted the pack. "A missing caravan or such."
"And sent ye? As a messenger?"
"No, no, no," he said and laughed. He almost sounded like his old self and felt better for it. "I was only heading this way and volunteered to take the message. I'm going to Seaport and the Minstrel's Fair."
"Yes. I see."
The man's voice had changed, devoid of the country accent. Brendan swung around, his right hand reaching for his dagger and his left arm rising in instinctive defense. He knocked a thrown knife away in mid-flight and began scrambling over the wheat bags toward the driver. Caught by surprise, having thought he'd have an easy kill, the man wasn't prepared for the attack. He raised his hand to knock Brendan back, the black circle clearly visible on the right palm.
Brendan didn't know what had brought the assassin here, but there could be no backing down now. The man must die, or his prince and the sorceress would face dire trouble. Brendan had hinted at whom he intended to visit; and this man would no doubt check that before he moved on, even if they hadn't been his intended target. Damn! Desperate, Brendan lunged, hoping to keep his attacker off-balance. 
Unfortunately, the old farmer belonged to the Black Circle and had been trained as an assassin. Even surprising him didn't add much to Brendan's chance of survival. The man drew a second long, thin blade in his left hand. Brendan brought up his dagger in a block as he hissed in anger.
The sound surprised the man, but it drove the horses mad. Brendan hadn't meant to frighten them. They dashed forward with a jolt that sent him tumbling in an unexpected summersault out of the wagon, his arms wrapping around the harp case as he landed on his back.
Stunned and breathless, Brendan lifted his head to see the assassin's arm was still caught in the reins. He turned to slice the leather free with his blade just as the old wagon leapt, heavily weighed with wheat--or perhaps rocks after all--up and over a rut. It didn't take the bounce well. One wheel flew free, and the wagon dumped wheat and driver onto the ground.
The assassin still had his arm caught in the reins. In the next rut the horses pulled free of the wagon, and the man was dragged away, a limp doll bouncing behind them.
Brendan lay where he had fallen, but the realization that the assassin might not have worked alone finally got him on his feet. The group wanted the prince dead, as they had wanted his father dead before him. Those who held control of the Black Circle Assassins would benefit from a cleared way to the throne.
And this Tabor -- was he in league with them? Was that how they happened to turn up here, now?
Brendan started to run but then slowed, more cautious of whatever else might be out on the road today. That there were no people seemed unusual, but that might have been Black Circle work as well. He needed caution in this.
The horses would likely drag the body all the way to the bridge, or even the city gates; and there would be commotion enough without him running right behind. He shoved his dagger into the sheath and brushed at the dirt and mud. His hands caressed the harp case and knew she was safe as well. At least, the dirt gave him a road weary look.
He walked warily, in case the assassin did get free and laid in wait to ambush him. The woods felt ominous again -- like something dark lurked just in the shadows. He expected another attack at any moment, but he made the open lands and crossed the bridge without incident. Blood smeared the stones, and he could see many people ahead of him on the road. He thought he could see the horses being led away by someone, and a body draped across one.
He made the gate without incident. People had gathered around the body, the Black Circle assassin drawing more attention than he, at the moment.
"What brought an assassin here?" someone asked. He could sense their fear as well as hear it. But in the next few steps he heard a different sound.
"Brendan." "The King's Bard is here!"
The crowd parted before him, and he nodded his thanks. The four guardsmen had been standing over a body covered in an old blanket. Only the hand with the circle showed, and even that looked mangled. 
One of them came forward, looking worried. Brendan remembered him from his last visit to Esse at the festival late last year -- Ward, Captain of the Guard.
He wondered, suddenly, if Shafara and Sandryn had come to hear him play at the festivals. He pushed that thought away, amused that it startled him at a time like this.
Captain Ward crossed to him, giving a polite nod. If he could get Ward on his side, he need not worry about anyone else questioning what had happened.
"Master Brendan, sir," the captain said. He gave a polite bow. "It's been too long since you last blessed the city with your presence."
Brendan gave a short nod and let his gaze fall to the body again. "Is he dead?"
The gruffness of his voice likely startled the captain more than the question. The man's face took on a darker look, and all the veneer of politeness disappeared in the necessity of duty.
"You tangled with him, Master Brendan?"
"Yes, I fear I did. And survived only because the horses bolted at our shouts."
"He was dead by the time he reached the bridge."
Brendan nodded grimly. He didn't have to pretend that look. It had been too near a thing.
"Forgive me, sir, for asking, but can you think why the assassin would have gone for you?"
"Me? Maybe only because I have always been...loyal to the crown," he said. He met the man's look with a steady stare and said something so true they would never doubt that part. "I've never stopped singing praises to the Old King."
There, let them play with that idea. The King's Bard threatened by assassins because he still sang about the dead king who had given him freedom. Well, that certainly wouldn't hurt his reputation any.
"What did bring you here?" the captain asked. Brendan hoped he didn't ask too much more, though a few questions helped his position.
"I am heading for Seaport and the Fair. I came this way to deliver a message to a cloth merchant here in the city. Word about a missing caravan, I think."
"Ah, that would be Mistress Faraday." He still paused a moment. "I find it strange a bard of your distinction should play messenger."
"I did such work often enough for the Old King," Brendan said with just the proper sigh of wistfulness -- and it wasn't all feigned, either. "And what's a piece of parchment passed between hands along a journey?"
Captain Ward nodded, and didn't look inclined to doubt him. "I'll see you along your way, sir. I'd not want something to happen to you here."
"Your company would be much appreciated. Your weapon has a much longer reach than my poor dagger."
They drew a good crowd as they headed for the shop of the cloth merchant. Brendan took the walk calmly, with the captain to his right and the captain's lieutenant on his left. If any assassins lingered in the crowd, they wouldn't move on him now. He regretted that he might still draw danger to the two, but if the Black Circle had already begun sniffing this close, it probably wouldn't be long before it found Shafara and the Prince.
The four customers scrambled aside in surprise when Brendan and the two guards came into the shop. Shafara -- Faraday? -- was nowhere in sight. The prince stood holding a bolt of silk up for a young woman. He looked properly surprised at the intrusion.
"Sandy! Don't just gawk, boy. Run and get your mistress!" Captain Ward batted at the boy's ear, which sent him moving.
Brendan winced as the prince darted off, and the captain looked at him, visibly chagrined. "Your pardon, Master Brendan. I had forgotten your... background. The boy's not a slave, sir, but a well-kept apprentice. I've never seen Faraday ever take a rod to him."
Praise the gods for that, Brendan thought. 
Mistress Faraday came out of the back room, her long blue dress simple but elegant and her hair worked into a braid layered with ribbons. Brendan looked at her and wondered how they could not recognize the famous sorceress. The prince might have been just a boy like any other, but Shafara held power. How could they not see?
"Captain Ward!" she said with a laugh. "What is this? Bringing me customers now, my good man? Do I know you, sir?"
The captain laughed. "You'd likely know him if he could sing us a song."
"You're Brendan! The Bard! I am honored!"
Brendan bowed deeply, but mostly to cover a grin that threatened to break out into a full laugh of amusement at the act. "I've brought a message from Lord Falrick for you."
"I brought him myself because he was beset by assassins --"
"Assassins!" Her voice took on a new tone of worry. "You were not hurt, Master Brendan?"
"Not seriously. My throat suffered a bruise. My voice -- bad enough for a bard. I came through all right."
"The assassin did not," Captain Ward said, looking up from a bolt of fine gray wool he had been touching. "Well, it saves us transport back to the capital, at least. Dangerous work that would have been, taking one of the Black Circle in."
"Much work just to bring me a message," Shafara said.
"And I deliver it into your hands, Mistress Faraday," Brendan said, drawing the paper from his pack. As he passed it over, he noted the unbroken imperial seal. That must have been hard, painstaking magic, even for Shafara. It did add to the authenticity of the act.
Then, he realized that Shafara hadn't done the work. The seal said Rex, not Regent. He almost dropped the scroll, but Shafara caught it and opened it, the seal breaking. No one would have noticed but him.
Besides, who would believe Sandy held the king's seal?
"My caravan has come to some trouble," Shafara said after a moment. She looked up with an expression of displeasure. "Waylaid by the nomads, it seems. I'll have to ransom back the goods."
"Damn robbers," Captain Ward said. "We ought to take the armies up along the border and clear them out. King Baren Kell Kami would have done it by now."
Brendan saw an unexpected look on Prince Sandryn's face as he listened to the captain. He, plainly, would not have leapt to send the army, just because his father would have. He would need a far better reason than a lost caravan to send men to the border to fight.
"I'm going to the capital," the woman said, as though she had made a sudden decision. "Business is slow. I'll leave in the morning."
"Would you mind a companion on the road?" Brendan asked. His hand touched his throat. "I think that I shall have to forego the fair this year. Neither my voice nor my nerve is up to it."
"That's likely a wise decision, Master Brendan," Captain Ward said "If the assassins are out to get you, it would be better if you traveled with someone else, and get quickly back under the safe eye of the King's Guard."
"Yes, do accompany us, Brendan," she said, sounding like someone testing a new friendship. The Lady had quite a flair for the dramatic. "Stay the rest of today and the night with us here, and we can leave first thing in the morning. Sandy, take care of these sales and then close the shop. We'll prepare for the journey."
"And I'll set a guard on the street through the night," Captain Ward added. He looked at Brendan and gave a nervous little bow of his head. "Your pardon sir, for making assumptions, but it might prove safer for you to stay here than in a public Inn."
"Excellent point. I'm grateful for the invitation, as long as you realize the danger," Brendan said.
"We'll have a guard," she said. "I'd be honored if you would stay."
"Captain, please convey my apologies to the city's elders. I will not be able to sing tonight as I usually do when I enter a town." He touched his throat again and winced at the sudden pain. Shafara gave him a worried look. He must have paled that time.
"Then, by your leave Master Brendan, Mistress Faraday. If you are in need of me, send to the guard's quarters."
The captain and his man took their leave, but Brendan could see that the guard didn't go farther than outside the door. Shafara gave a nod to Sandryn and took Brendan by the arm.
"This way, Brendan," she said and nodded to the customers as they headed out of the shop. "You look as though you could use some rest. Do try to hurry, Sandy."
"Yes, ma'am, I will."
Shafara took him through the curtained doorway, and it fell back behind them. Brendan stopped, dismayed, as Shafara started for the stairs. He looked back at the doorway, worried.
"He's safe," Shafara whispered. "Trust me, Brendan. I have not brought him this far to risk him needlessly."
Brendan nodded reluctantly and started the weary climb to the rooms again, grateful that Shafara held his arm. These stairs seemed worse than the walk to the city --
Brendan stopped and looked through narrow eyes at the sorceress. "You have wards on these stairs."
"I wondered how many trips it would take before you realized. A minor spell. You grow wearier with each step, though it doesn't actually put you to sleep. That would be too obvious, to have all our guests asleep before they reached the rooms upstairs. It would at least slow any real intruder, however. Brendan, if nothing else, it does my ego a world of good to know that you're affected by the spell. After hearing that this Tabor walked through one of my major wards, I had begun to fear the waning of my powers. We've a war to fight, Brendan. I hope that I'm up to it."

Seven

Shafara awoke well before dawn. Sitting on the edge of her bed, she tried to organize her thoughts for the coming day. Gods, they would need precautions. And her quest to learn more about Tabor had won her no more last night than it had the night before. It felt as if this Tabor was not part of the world at all --
Someone stood at the window across the room! She lifted her hand --
"No, Shafara! It's me!" Brendan warned softly. She saw a flash from the boy's blue eyes as he moved, and that sent a little chill through her. Not human, but Brendan, nonetheless.
"Bard," Shafara said as she lowered her hand and leaned back, shaken. "You're up early -- or have you slept at all?"
"Not slept," he admitted, turning from the window but not leaving that spot. His voice, though soft, had lost most of the harshness she'd heard the last two days. Praise the gods the magic had finally begun to work. "There are too many things here that have me uneasy."
"I understand. The assassins, this Tabor -- we may fool the townspeople into believing that this is just the concern of a merchant, but I fear Tabor will know differently. If the assassins have met with him and told him about the prince, then he'll find him quick enough."
"Yes. And I'll have led him --"
"No. We would have been forced out soon in any case. Tabor has already made one move against Lord Falrick, and if something had befallen the man without our knowing these facts it would have been far more dangerous for the prince. Besides, your encounter with an assassin makes me think Tabor has already put them on our path. You gave us warning, and that will aid us. We have powers of our own, after all."
"The moon has nearly set," Brendan said with a nod toward the sky. "We have wasted too much time already, Lady Shafara. You could make it to the capital far quicker if the two of you went by horse."
"If we went by horse? What about you -- ah, no. I see. The horses bolted. And you always walked when the king rode, but he never went anywhere very fast with that entourage. You can't ride, can you? Why not?"
"Because a horse won't trust a wild thing on its back."
Shafara nodded, but she silently cursed herself for not having seen that problem long before now. She wondered if she had just been so concerned with the king and his son that she never looked closely, or if Brendan had been very careful back then. Probably both. And there might also have been magic involved. Although unintentional magic, it seemed. The boy had powers and abilities that Shafara couldn't quite understand and had never sensed until she looked for them --
"Take the horses, Shafara," Brendan advised. "You'll be wise to get the prince there as quickly as you can."
"Fast is good, but I'd like safe better," Shafara said. She finally stood and pulled on a robe as she crossed to the window, reaching for the last touch of the moonlight just as Brendan did. "I fear that if we rushed back to the city now, we'd only run into trouble. They may well look for the prince to come running home. Brendan, with your magic added to mine, we stand a far better chance of keeping him safe. "
"I'm a minstrel, not a magician."
"Tell that to your mother," Shafara said and won a little sound of amusement. "You have the magic, you just don't know how to use it very well. I'd teach you myself, but I'm not sure I could live with a rival that powerful afterwards. Besides, I already have an apprentice."
"An apprentice?" Brendan said. She could not clearly see the bard's face in the darkness, but his head came up suddenly. "You're not teaching the prince magic!"
"I teach him more each day. At first I did it just to keep a young boy busy at a dangerous time, and to give him protections should something happen to me. But...he's good, Brendan. The gods do not give such a gift to people who are not meant to use it. I think, given what we have learned about this Tabor, Prince Sandryn Kell Kami might need such knowledge very soon."
Brendan looked toward the window, his hand lifting to catch the last whisper of fading moonlight. "I don't know why I thought it...wrong," he admitted. "Maybe that a king, holding so much power, shouldn't have the other gifts as well."
"Trust me, Brendan," she said and gently put a hand on the bard's shoulder. "I've judged the boy and found him suited to the work and the responsibility."
Brendan nodded. She couldn't tell if he agreed or if he just knew better than to argue with her. He did have a good knack for diplomacy, after all. She remembered that from their shared days back at Senonia.
There had been courtiers in those days who thought baiting a young former slave would be fun. They soon learned he had a wicked knack with ballads that went just far enough to let the person know they had been attacked, and never far enough to win censure.
"You're smiling," Brendan said, and sounded confused.
"Even the King's Sorceress is allowed to smile now and then," she said, but then took pity on him. Or maybe her curiosity got the better of her. "Brendan...you sang a song once -- The Lady of the Mud Flats..."
"Lady Holweck and Lord White," he said, without any more prompting.
Shafara suddenly laughed, a quick bark of sound that awakened Sandy. She didn't care. The news was delightful, even after all these years. "You're sure of the story?"
"Oh, yes," he said, and rubbed his arm, for some reason. "It cost the two of them a fortune to bribe off all the peasants who had to come and drag them out of the mud, naked as the day they were born."
"Oh, gods, what sweet news, even after all this time. Prim little Lady Holwick, caught in a tryst with a man half her age -- and married besides. That song was wicked, Brendan."
"Yes, so they told me."
Shafara stopped. The morning light had begun to gray the world outside and fill their little room with just enough illumination that she could see his face. Though he smiled, she thought that something darker lingered in his eyes.
"Why did you do it? Why those two? They couldn't have been the only two with affairs. Certainly many others weren't nearly as discreet."
"They killed my dog," he said; and he shook his head at the words, as though he hadn't meant to say them.
"Your dog? Oh." She remembered a long-legged puppy, a gift from the king to a boy who was new to the court. "What in the name of the gods prompted that? And why didn't you go to the king?"
"It's an old story," he said, and started away.
An old wound, she thought, and put a hand on his shoulder. Gods, he still looked young and half-lost, afraid of everyone who might send him back to slavery at the wave of a hand. "Why did they do it?"
"They said it wasn't right that a former slave have one of the king's own bred dogs. They said it reflected poorly on the royal house, and they'd save the king the embarrassment of having to deal with the matter himself."
"White wanted one of the dogs, didn't he?"
"Yes. And the king gave one to me, instead. So, he broke the poor thing's neck while she held me, threatening to cut my throat if I tried to stop him."
"You didn't go to the king."
"No," he said, "I didn't. The king had been ill for weeks, and then in conference over trouble on the border nearly every day. I couldn't run to him with news that one of his most powerful lords had killed my dog and please do something to make up for it. And, besides, I wanted my own revenge this time. So, I bided my time; and four months later, the gods smiled on me. I passed through the village just days after the incident from the ballad. The mud flat had dried by then, and the villagers showed me the place. I found Lord White's signet ring embedded by a tree and the fine lady's favorite pearls beside it, among things. I sang the song at court the next day and returned their belongings in a box, mud and all."
He rubbed his arm again. That was not, she knew suddenly, the end of the story.
"What happened after the song?"
"He dragged me off, and she stabbed me through the arm when they tried to kill me."
"Gods!" Sandryn said. Brendan looked at him, startled to find him awake. Embarrassed and worried as well. "And you did go to my father that time, didn't you?"
"Your father, and Lady Shafara, had left unexpectedly that morning to help settle a matter in Gallesna. They stayed away nearly a month. I hid. I think everyone assumed I had gone with them."
"And by the time we returned, we had that border war to deal with," Shafara said. "But you should have told the king, Brendan."
"I did," he said, and smiled quite brightly this time. "How do you think King Baren suddenly got the funds for the mercenaries?"
She opened her mouth, closed it. "I knew he'd blackmailed one of the lords. He wouldn't tell me."
"But what about you?" Sandryn said.
"Well, besides a fine song that people requested at nearly every court dinner I attended?" Brendan asked, and did grin quite maliciously this time. "That was the week your father named me the King's Bard."
Sandryn nodded, but he didn't look as though he thought it payment enough. To be fair, neither did Shafara; but she would let it go. It was, however, good to know, since they were heading back to the capital.
And it was time to get on with that business.
"Sandy, get breakfast while I pack and Brendan rests -- no, don't argue, Brendan. I'd have rather you'd slept last night, but it's too late to do anything about that. Oh, and don't look at the prince like that. He'll be giving up this game soon enough. Let him have one last day of the fun of being a cloth merchant's apprentice. We're taking him back to far worse work than this, bard."
Brendan stared at her, nodded, saying nothing. She thought it odd until she saw the way his fingers moved -- playing music to something in his head. She hadn't thought about it; but, of course, the boy would make a ballad of this!
She trusted him to do it justice.
And she hoped Sandryn had learned enough in the last few minutes to stay out of compromising situations...or at least make certain he had the bard entertained elsewhere.

Eight

Shafara remained adamant about Brendan's resting, but that wasn't exactly easy for him. He settled back on the bed and watched the other two as they worked, his mind racing over one problem and the next. For some reason, the idea that Prince Sandryn had been learning magic seemed to bother him the most. He realized he found it difficult to accept that King Sandryn would have that power; but more because he couldn't quite see Sandryn as the king than for any other reason. It might have been that he couldn't yet see anyone in King Baren's place, even this long after the man had died. He hadn't lied -- he did still sing the praises of the dead king.
A king with magical powers, though... He shook his head and decided he shouldn't question the decision of the greatest magician of...the world. Or was that Tabor, who walked through the Lady Shafara's wards as though he hadn't even noticed them?
Brendan didn't feel qualified to make such comparisons. No matter what Shafara might think of Brendan's own magical abilities, he really understood very little of the art.
"We've packed everything we can take with us," she said, looking at the table and nodding. "The rest of our belongings we'll have to consign to destiny."
Sandryn gave a little laugh. "A shame we can't fit that damned abacus in here, isn't it? I guess I'll just have to get used to not dealing with that demon-invented device."
"I'm sure they have more of them in the capital," Shafara assured him.
"Not after I'm king." Shafara laughed, and even Brendan grinned. "You think I'm joking? Being king has to have some reward."
The sorceress still chuckled as she stopped by the window and looked out, nodding as though the clouds and the sky confirmed some answer. "I'm going downstairs to tell the guard we need a wagon and horses because I want to take some of the cloth with me in hopes of doing a little trade in the capital. I remember you could ride in a wagon now and then, Brendan."
"Yes, a wagon would be fine," he said, sitting up and stretching some of the kinks out of his neck. "And we'll make better time than if we walk at my pace. Well, at least the pace I would be keeping just now."
He saw Shafara's look of appraisal, Sandy's little glance of curiosity, but neither asked more. He ached more than anything, and knew the injuries continued to heal at a good pace, thanks to Lady Shafara's magic.
Before long they'd gathered up their packs and headed down into the shop, where Shafara and Sandy spent a few moments seriously discussing which of the bolts of cloth would sell better in Senonia. Brendan watched in rapt amazement, wondering how he could fit this part into the ballad that had been growing in his head since he first started this journey. Somehow, it just wouldn't quite work into the tales of magic and hidden heirs. 
Captain Ward met them at the door to the shop, looking haggard enough that Brendan suspected he had kept the watch last night himself. The captain remained carefully polite around Brendan, which would have made the bard uneasy in Prince Sandryn's presence if he hadn't realized they needed the focus on him. Brendan remained himself, uneasy in the presence of strangers, which was not an act. He had never felt comfortable around others unless he had Dove in his hands and a song to sing.
Captain Ward had a wagon brought right to the door, and his men helped load a few bundles into the open box behind the driver's bench. Lady Shafara -- or, rather, Mistress Faraday -- directed the arrangement before she locked up the shop. She wore a bright blue dress today, and a scarf of rainbow colors that caught the dull sunlight like a field of flowers in midwinter. Sandryn, already sitting on the wagon bench, looked back at the building as she closed it up. He would not come back, and Brendan saw the regret in his eyes. 
"Are you comfortable, Master Brendan?" she said, shifting a bundle of cloth to make a better pillow for him.
"Yes, thank you."
She smiled and climbed up on the bench, taking control of the horses as they started away. Sandryn looked back at the building as they pulled away, but he said nothing.
Shafara had trouble negotiating the narrow street between the tall, leaning buildings--people had begun to throng the narrow path. Finally, Captain Ward went out in front, clearing the way. Sandryn climbed down and led the horses.
Brendan had the odd experience of watching people fall back in behind them, like ducks in the wake of a landing goose. He thought about pulling out Dove and playing for them, but he really didn't want to draw more of a crowd. He tried to make himself as inconspicuous as possible, but that didn't work well, either. No one followed them for more than a few yards before they went on about their own business.
Brendan hadn't realized he'd put his hand on his dagger, waiting for trouble. That it didn't come didn't put him at ease, though. He wanted to know why the Black Circle Assassin had been on that road. Had he been looking for the minstrel, knowing he had a note from Lord Falrick? Or had he been on the road because something else brought him to Esse? Unfortunate that they couldn't ask the man, though Brendan didn't regret the death.
Captain Ward went with them all the way to the gate and apologized that he couldn't go beyond. "Good journey, and a safe one," he said, frowning out toward the wooded hills around them. "Take care."
"Thank you, Captain," Shafara said, smiling at the man; and, gods, if he didn't blush under such attention. Brendan almost felt sorry for him.
The road curved away from the gate, through the sheep fields and down to the Para Stream, and then over the bridge that stood at the edge of the woods. Brendan still watched behind them; but there'd been little traffic, since almost everyone came and went at first light -- farmers bringing in supplies, workers heading out or travelers starting the next leg of their journey. Before long they had the road to themselves.
Sandryn took the reins from Shafara, who slipped into the back of the open wagon with Brendan. She settled beside him, giving the trail behind them a long look as well. Apparently, nothing there excited her worry. She finally leaned back against the cloth, and he suspected she had really brought it along so they had somewhere comfortable to rest.
"Do we go straight to the castle, Lady Shafara?" he asked.
"I think it wiser for you to go ahead of us, Brendan, though carefully. You realize the assassin may well have just been after you, and not even known he had come so close to the prince. That makes sense, in fact, since he tried to kill you before you reached the city."
"Why me?"
"For all the reasons you gave. If they have drawn this Tabor into their society, they may be getting ready to kill off any number of loyalists."
"You've said very little about Tabor," Sandryn said, glancing back at her.
"Because I know nothing to say. I've never heard of him." Shafara frowned as she unwrapped a bright scarf from around her neck. Apparently, all the frippery didn't appeal to her after all. "I don't think he's any of the other mages of the world. None of them have the power to walk through my wards."
"You're certain?" Sandryn asked, glancing back again with a look of worry.
"Absolutely," Shafara said.
"Then what are we dealing with?" Brendan asked. "Someone who learned the magic without you knowing it?"
"Perhaps. Unlikely, but it is a possibility. I think, though, that we're facing someone -- something -- from outside our world."
"Outside?" Sandryn and Brendan chorused.
"Yes," she said and grinned. "I've felt doors opening, Bard, but until now I had no idea what it meant. Twice in the last few months I felt intrusions into our world. Both came far too quickly for me to trace, but I think I see at least one of the results now."
"I had heard of such things in legends and ballads," Brendan said. "And I believe it can happen. What will we do?"
"Go to the city. We've a long journey. But when we get there, I think it best if you go on to the castle without us. It's likely that Sandryn could get within the gates with the usual morning crowd without much trouble, but they'll know me if I go near the place. And I would rather Sandy stay with me until we know if it's safe."
"Oh, yes," Brendan said. "He should stay with you."
Sandryn looked back, shaking his head, and Brendan felt himself go red.
"My, apologies, Sire. I never --"
Shafara laughed. "You'll have to get over being so nervous about being around Sandy," she said. "It's all right, though. I know that you are not ready to take over the responsibility of keeping the prince safe. That is my duty. He and I will find a room somewhere and keep quiet until we hear from you. You must get into the castle and keep attention from your traveling companions -- attention from anyone who might be there."
"I'll draw some attention, coming back like this," Brendan said, touching his throat.
"That will heal, friend," Shafara promised. She must have seen more in Brendan's face than he'd intended. "It's just important that you get to Lord Falrick and find out all you can before we rush in."
"I can do that much."
"Good. Now, speak no more. In fact, you should sleep for a while, since you didn't last night. If you intend to stay up nights as guard, I intend for you to be fit to do it. Agreed?"
"Agreed," Brendan said. He felt tired and knew they would be safe enough with Shafara and the prince awake. As he carefully settled down among the bundles of cloth, he thought about all that had passed the last couple of days, trying to fit them into a ballad. His mind swarmed with a multitude of images and words, but exhaustion blocked the flow of the verse. The time would come.

Nine

Shafara watched as Brendan tossed and turned for a few moments, and then finally fell into an exhausted sleep. Sandryn had stayed busy with the horses. He didn't get much chance to have reins in his hands, and Shafara knew she'd have a hard time prying them back from him.
She didn't try for the moment. "I'm going to test the area around us," she told him. "Keep watch."
Sandryn looked at her, his eyes bright one moment and then serious and solemn the next. She could see him changing from young apprentice cloth merchant to Prince Heir and soon to be king. The change wasn't going to be easy for either of them.
Sometimes Shafara wondered if she hadn't protected him too well these last few years. They'd had a good life away from most of the stresses of court, though they had stayed in contact, mostly by magic, with Sandryn's uncle Lord Falrick.
She saw Sandryn give her a quick look. He knew she hadn't started any kind of incantation yet. One of the first pieces of magic she'd taught the boy was the spell that triggered every time magic came near. That, she felt, had been important knowledge for any ruler, and still half-cursed his father for wanting nothing to do with it. He would have been alive still if he'd let her teach him just that.
Fools. Even great kings can be fools.
Like sending her away to watch the border with Queen Nasolyn ill and five months pregnant. She and the baby died before Shafara could return, and half the court blamed the sorceress for the queen's death and the loss of a second potential heir to the throne.
Well, they couldn't very well blame the king, could they?
"Shafara?" Sandryn said, frowning.
"I do not want to go back to court," she said aloud. It didn't surprise him. "Damn petty little bureaucrats."
"Why does Brendan stay there?" he asked softly. "After what he said about Lord Holweck and Lady White, I'd think he'd take the first chance he could to get out of there."
"Yes? And what do you think he's doing here?" she said, glancing back. He still appeared to be sleeping. "Brendan still holds the title of the King's Bard. He takes that position seriously."
"Falrick trusts him," Sandryn suddenly said and glanced back as well. "And Falrick sends us odd little bits of information now and then--things said at parties where he didn't attend..."
"Oh, excellent point!" she said, surprised, embarrassed and pleased. "We'll have to ask Master Brendan if he's been spying for your uncle."
Sandryn grinned and turned his attention back to the horses. Shafara finally turned to her own work as well, leaning back on the bench by her apprentice. She gave the area one quick glance, then swept for magic before she closed her eyes and looked more closely at the world around them.
Brendan proved to be a problem. He didn't just glow with magic -- he glared like a star brought to ground. She couldn't see around him and finally had to use more magic to put a damper around his aura before she could see anything beyond the wagon.
The world came alive in a rush of nature's true magic. She opened herself to it, letting the power flow in around her, bathe her in light and life. She could get lost in this place where everything felt right.
Shafara let herself flow with the energy for a few dozen heartbeats, but no more. The moments gave her a sense of life and the world around her, and she began to refine her touch. 
Something lingered in the woods. She thought it just a remnant of Brendan's encounter with the dogs at first; but all too soon she realized it moved at a slow, steady pace, coming closer and moving with the dogs. The wild dogs had never possessed magic before, and how they had come to have the feel of it now bothered her. Perhaps they had been tainted by Brendan's magic...
She moved in closer, trying to carefully feel out the presence and increasingly certain it had nothing to do with their odd little magician and bard. 
Not... right. And whatever it was, she knew it hunted, and suspected that it looked for them. She pulled back, not entirely certain she hadn't already awakened its interest.
Well, she thought in that last moment, better to know now than when it came after them without warning.
However, pulling back she sensed something else -- like a wall between them and Esse. Now she had to wonder if there wasn't a reason they'd been alone on the trail all this way, and that didn't bode well, either.
The more she felt these little bits of magic, the more she realized they weren't natural to the world and that's why they kept going unnoticed. That proved to be little balm to her pride when she thought about the trouble they probably faced now.
Even as she opened her eyes, the dogs howled somewhere in the woods to the northeast. Sandryn gave her a startled look when she sat up straighter.
"I believe we're in trouble," she said, and listened to the howl again. "Let me have the horses, and you go wake our friend. I fear we're going to need help. There's trouble heading our way, Sandryn."

Ten

Brendan did not sleep restfully. He dreamt mostly of the woods again, and the dogs and the howling...
And awoke with Sandryn's hand on his arm. The prince's face showed concern, his blue eyes darting from him to the woods about them. Brendan had not slept long. He thought he recognized this area, hardly more than a couple hours out from the town.
And the howling was not just in his dreams.
"I fear I roused the dogs, Brendan," Shafara warned. She fought to keep the horses calm. "Or at least something that stalks with them."
The howl went up again, and Brendan looked back to find a large gray-and-black dog standing in the road. Another bounded out of the woods to join it. And then another.
"Faster, Shafara!" Brendan warned. 
He drew his dagger, little help that it would be against the half-dozen dogs, with more joining them at every moment. Wolf blood ran through most of them. They looked little like the dogs that ran through town, their brethren a few generations back.
The dogs had gone wild no more than five years before, when fever wiped out several of the small villages nearby and left them to fend for themselves. This pack had been born to the woods. 
"Give the horses the rein!" Brendan said, watching as even more of the animals dart out into the road. "Our only hope is to outrun them!"
"Come take control, Brendan. I might have a weapon or two of my own to use!"
Brendan pushed Sandryn down into a crevice beside the stacks of cloth and ignored the glare the prince gave him as he scrambled over the top of the wagon to take control from Shafara. The horses, though, already panicked, must have sensed him coming nearer. They bolted just as Brendan took control, and only Shafara's quick grab at him and the leather kept him from losing control.
Three more howls filled the woods.
"Go!" Brendan said. "I have them as best I can. And they can't run for too long!"
Shafara launched herself into the back of the wagon, cursing her long, flowing dress as it caught on the wood. Brendan tried to help, but she had to rip it free. Already off-balance as the wagon hit a rut, she tumbled and came to a stop by Sandryn. The bundles of cloth proved their worth again. 
Brendan pulled the crystal out while he fought the horses to keep them on the trail as best he could. The wagon's frame creaked with protest as they bounced over the ruts; but he spread his magic around them, keeping the wagon intact and the horses on the trail.
Something moved against them. He could feel the magic like fire in the air, and he'd do his best to help them. He fought back his weakness and held them true while Shafara prepared to deal with the enemy.
He dared not look back.

Eleven

Shafara thought it uncommon luck that they'd not crashed, considering how badly the horses had reacted to Brendan. Or maybe it wasn't just luck. She felt the flair of power behind her and realized Brendan had pulled out that crystal of his and directed his own magic toward controlling the horses and keeping them running. Good boy.
Shafara braced herself on both knees. By the time she looked up more than a dozen dogs had taken to the trail, their long-legged lope bringing them measurably closer with each moment. No time for subtlety. No time for much of anything if they were going to survive.
Shafara dared to test the feel of that odd magic before she worked against it. She felt subtlety in the touch that ebbed and flowed at a regular rate -- almost, she thought, as if in time with someone's breathing. Excellent. If Tabor could summon nothing better than this he was in for a shock. He was likely some rude North County mage with a bit better aptitude for magic than most. A single trick of walking through the castle ward had made Shafara think she faced something more powerful.
Well, but it had been a very good trick.
She closed her eyes, letting her inner senses seek what she could not actually see. She didn't turn her attack against the dogs. She wanted the source of the attack, to stop him from sending more.
She found the enemy closer than she expected, perhaps no more than ten miles...back at Esse? She suspected they may have left the city barely in time.
Shafara found the threads of magic with which this Tabor played the wild dogs like puppets. She took one breath and slipped through them, following them back to their source and found the... man?
No, not man. Shafara's surprise must have seeped through the magic, because she realized Tabor suddenly sensed her presence and brought up a quick shield, as though shocked at the intrusion. Gods, what was he that he knew so little about magic, and yet... She had sensed power in him. More power than she had felt anywhere before.
Strange. Unworldly. Shafara thought of Brendan and the uneasy feel of otherness around the bard. But while Brendan seemed unnatural, this one seemed -- inhuman.
She felt a snarl from behind the shield, a surge of anger. Tabor knew she had probed, getting the feel of this enemy. He, for his own part, seemed more than surprised to find that anyone had enough magic on this world to use against him. Shafara suddenly realized that he'd had no idea about her or the prince. He had only wanted Brendan.
And Tabor proved stronger than Shafara had expected. He'd just not turned his full power to directing the dogs. But now, drawn by her probing, he reached toward them.
Gods, she didn't want that! Shafara pulled back, cutting the threads of magic that linked Tabor to the dogs before he could reinforce them. She lifted her head, back to the real world in time to find the wagon bouncing wildly and the dogs yipping in confusion.
"Brendan!" Sandy shouted.
Shafara spun, fighting against the rise of dizziness that came from such a sudden use of magical power. Brendan weakly held the reins in his hands while Sandryn scrambled forward to take hold of the horses. She quickly spun a little magic to hold Brendan up and balance Sandy as he grabbed for control, and felt a little tendril of magic from Sandy as well as he made sure the reins did not slip away. Wise boy.
Sandryn grasped the reins and eased the horses back from their run while Shafara grabbed Brendan beneath the arms and wrestled him into the back of the wagon. The Bard's face had turned white, and his skin felt cold to the touch. That startled and worried Shafara enough that she left the taming of the horses to Sandy, only noting the gradual slowing of the wagon.
By the time they stopped, she had Brendan wrapped in blankets and began searching through her pack for a potion that might help.
"Shafara?" Sandryn whispered, slightly breathless. "What happened to him?"
"I don't know. This might be from a fever caused by his other wounds. He might just have had too much activity too soon." She looked up and pushed a strand of long hair from her face, willing herself to calm. "I'm sure he'll be fine if he rests for a while."
"The dogs are gone," Sandy said, looking down the road.
"Yes, but they've not gone far. How are the horses?"
"Exhausted and still ready to bolt." He looked back at them and sent another little whisper of magic to keep them quiet. "We may have to walk them for a bit."
"I'll get out and lead," Shafara said. She pulled more blankets up around Brendan, and then crawled to the back of the wagon and leapt down. Her legs shook for a moment, but she managed to jog up alongside and finally reach the first horse. The animal calmed, as though pleased to have a human near.
"This has not been an auspicious beginning to a journey," Sandy said. "Did you learn anything from Tabor's magic? It was him, right?"
"Yes. He directed the dogs against us," Shafara said. She patted the horse's sweaty neck and looked back at Sandy. "When I've sorted it out, I'll talk to you about it. You'll need to be prepared."
"We always knew there would be trouble," Sandryn said. He pushed his blond hair back with one hand and frowned. "I really wonder why they waited until I came of age. I would think they'd find it easier to kill a prince in hiding than a king on the throne."
"You're not crowned yet," Shafara reminded him, looking down the road and then back again. "However, your reasoning is sound. I suspect there might be more to some of Falrick's tales about a falling out among some nobility than we've taken into account. And remember, there has been no secret that you are in my care. They may not have thought they had the power to come against me until now."
"Now they have Tabor to help them --"
"It may not be you they were after. I had the strangest feeling that Tabor had no idea you even existed. Or me, for that matter."
"Then who --" Sandryn stopped and looked back at Brendan.
"Exactly. Remember that Brendan is more than just a bard. Tabor seems to think he's a threat. That doesn't do much for my pride, of course."
Sandryn laughed. "Did you get anything from him at all?"
"He's...different. Not different like Brendan, but different in a darker way. Let me think for a while. Keep watch."
"I will."
Sandryn said no more. Shafara walked along by the horses, sorting through the images and thoughts that she'd gathered. Doors opening, and Tabor arriving. She wondered what it would take to send him back on his way again.

Twelve

Something went wrong.
Brendan had felt odd the moment Shafara cast her spell. He hadn't meant to be drawn into the net with her, but after a moment he realized that neither she nor the one she hunted detected his presence.
He still had enough hold on the world that he could keep the horses moving. This intrigued him. In all the years he lived with Shafara at the court, he'd never actually been around during her spell casting. He had, to be honest, avoided it. When he first arrived in Senonia, a slave boy at the castle, he'd thought to use his magic to escape. He'd done his best to keep it a secret while he felt out possibilities. Then, later, he'd been afraid and ashamed to let anyone know his secret. The king had been kind and so often beset by liars at the court that Brendan never wanted to be named one of them.
But Shafara knew now; and, given the current situation, he could not complain. However, that she didn't notice his presence in the web of magic bothered him a little. He wanted her to be invincible.
He stayed, even despite thinking this an unwise game to play. But...
She had opened up a spell that called to all the world around her, bright and so full of life it nearly drew him completely away from his body. He heard music in every leaf and singing from the breeze. Music everywhere, sometimes a subtle tune and sometimes a cacophony of notes as trees, birds, rabbits and even the little gnats burst into song.
Life. All life held music, but he'd never heard it so clearly as he did in those few heartbeats as he followed in Shafara's magical wake.
They found the dogs and the shadow that walked with them. It fascinated him, that dark thing that didn't belong on his world.
And yet, even it sang. He could feel the awareness of it, as though his soul had eyes to see emotions. He swept in around Shafara, marveling at the sight of her in so strange a place -- bright blue, warm, powerful and protective. And this other thing--dark, troubled, powerful in other ways.
He went closer with Shafara, drawn in by the wonder; so much so he paid too little attention to what she did. One moment he knew she had pulled back a little, that she and this odd mage beheld each other at a distance. Then, everything that connected him to her and his body snapped; and this creature, this Tabor, suddenly had all his attention cut off from anything except Brendan. 
They faced each other, both shocked by the situation. While Brendan couldn't actually see Tabor, he could feel the attention, the emotion... the darkness that this not-quite-a-man exuded. He believed Tabor might be less human than even he was.
"Oh, surely not less so..."
Gods. 
"No, not this time. Your world has little contact with gods or demons. That's why the Kiya came here. But you, singer, you pose a different problem for me; and one that I dare not leave in place. Kind of you to come to me this time."
Brendan understood, suddenly, that he stood in mortal danger. All curiosity disappeared in a sudden surge of blind and instinctive panic. He didn't want to be here. He very much wanted to be back with the others...only he could find no way to get there.
"Ah, no. You're too fine a gift to let go so easily --"
Panic overcame him. He turned on Tabor with the pure, wild ferocity of something untamed, and everything around them went wild as well. Brendan took that moment of Tabor's shock and dismay and...leapt away into the maelstrom of panic and rushing colors he had helped create.
Lost here. Lost on the winds of the world, where his growing alarm created more panic. He knew Tabor followed. Followed easily, because he hadn't sense enough to hide himself. He didn't know how. He could only rush onward, out into darkness, then into light -- to places where even the echoes of music sounded alien, and he felt the song slipping from him.
No! 
And then he heard her. Soft, perfect notes -- his Dove, who had called to him so many years before and drawn him to her. He grabbed the magic of her music, pulling the power of it into his soul. He flew, on the notes, back to where he belonged...

Thirteen

The storm died as quickly as it had sprung up, the cry of the birds and the bellow of the wind lessening until Shafara could hear--gods, Dove playing softly within her case.
That frightened her more than anything she had seen in this madness. If the tune had been less bright she would have feared far more.
"Can you keep the horses calm?" she asked.
Sandryn nodded, his face pale. He climbed down and took hold of the lead horse. "I can handle them. I've still some magic to spare. See to Brendan."
Shafara nodded and moved away, hiding a different moment of despair. She'd never expected to feel such loss the first time Sandryn sounded...royal. The first time he gave her an order.
She climbed up beside the bard where they'd managed to get him nestled in among the bundles of cloth and blankets. His pale face shown out from behind damp, dark curls -- so still she feared to touch him at first.
Then, his eyes flickered and opened, the pupils very large and black. That gave her a start for another reason, but relief that he lived overlaid everything else. When he closed his eyes again, she brought the harp case closer and opened it up -- ah, and his hand moved toward the instrument as she suspected it would. Good. She put Dove next to him, the harp's lovely carved face resting on his chest. It had been a long time since Shafara had held the harp, and she'd forgotten how alive Dove felt. And looked, sometimes -- the woman's face and hair carved so meticulously into the rosewood frame. She touched the side of the face and felt...odd. The harp held magic, of course, but she had never really considered it alive or sentient. Shafara wondered if she would have to revise that opinion while she traveled with Brendan.
Brendan's arm moved, wrapped protectively around the harp. Her music softened to something very soothing.
"He's doing fine, Sandryn," she said, believing it true, finally. "Let's just get out of these damn woods. No matter what, we stand a better chance of facing an enemy on open ground. How are the horses?"
"Still spooked," he said, but he obviously had them in hand. She could see him look back past the horse's neck as he turned toward her, questions in his face.
"Tabor wanted Brendan, Sandy. I sensed he had no idea you and I even existed."
"That's not exactly the sort of thing a prince in exile wants to hear," he said.
She laughed, startling a bird into a quick and melodious song, echoed a moment later by the harp. She stumbled back to the seat and took up the reins, letting Sandy walk for a bit longer until they both agreed the horses had calmed. 
The woods gradually thinned to a few scraggly trees. They passed one farmer's cart heading the other way, but Shafara's unobtrusive magic probe found nothing out of place with the older man and woman heading late for market. She even dared give them a little protection, just in case the dogs still lingered in their wake.
By midday Brendan still lay quietly in the back, which bothered Shafara. She wanted the boy to wake up. They had reached a field of late fall flowers stretching out in a panorama of reds and golds around them. Shafara chose a rest stop atop a hill that gave a clear view of the road in both directions along with the land around them.
Shafara climbed down and stretched her legs, letting some of the kinks finally ease from her shoulders. She could neither see nor sense any sort of magic, nor any other disturbance. She still sent out a half-dozen little triggers, spreading them in a circle around their site. 
Sandryn headed for the bushes. She didn't have to tell him not to go far. And he had protections of his own, after all.
Shafara climbed into the back of the wagon, glad to see Brendan making an effort to sit up. She winced in compassion at the look on his face. He obviously had a miserable headache.
"A little wine?" she asked softly.
"That would be... kind," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. Even that must have been too loud, and he shot a murderous look at a crow that screamed as it took flight over their heads.
Brendan sipped from the little flask of wine she dug out of the supplies, and some color finally returned to his face. He handed the flask back with shaking hands.
"I dare not take more. I already feel half gone from the world."
"Tell me what happened."
Brendan's eyes closed for a moment, and then opened and narrowed. He didn't look much better. "I followed you."
"Followed?" Shafara repeated, uncertain what he meant.
"To that -- that thing. To Tabor."
"I didn't sense you there," Shafara said. She tried to keep her voice calm, but the news startled her.
"I followed you," Brendan said again. Some of the steadiness had returned to his look. "Perhaps you didn't notice me because Tabor was -- so different. He took all your attention."
"Yes, he did," Shafara agreed, a little salve for someone who prided herself on her abilities. "What happened?"
"You... spoke some spell. Then --" He stopped and looked perplexed and worried. "Then it felt as though the world snapped. I was cut off, lost."
"Gods," Shafara whispered, suddenly understanding. She took Brendan's hands in hers, startling the bard. "I used a spell to break the ties Tabor had to the dogs. I must have severed the one you used as well."
"When you left, he tried for me," Brendan said. He shivered a little, and she saw fear in his face. "He wants me dead. I don't know why. I... ran away. That's the closest I can come to what I did. I panicked, and it seemed like all the magic went mad around me." 
She didn't tell him that everything in the real world had gone a little mad as well--the bard looked troubled enough already. Sandryn, she noted, had stopped behind Brendan and listened but said nothing.
"How did you find your way back?" she said. But she knew the answer before he spoke. "You heard Dove, didn't you?"
"Yes." He smiled finally, one hand resting on the strings of the harp again. A faint melody drifted even from that touch, and Shafara couldn't be certain if those notes came from him or from the harp.
Shafara realized how close they had come to losing the bard, even if Brendan didn't. She hoped it didn't show too much in her face.
"You got free of Tabor, though. Thank the gods for that."
"He's dangerous, Shafara. Far more dangerous than I guessed when I first saw him in the magic. I felt as though I had no powers against him."
"We were lucky to get away this time," Shafara said.
Brendan put his hand to the crystal he wore and frowned. She, too, wondered if it would be protection enough for him.
"How is it the slavers didn't take that trinket from you?"
"They couldn't touch it."
"Even those who don't have magic?" Sandryn said, surprised.
Brendan looked over his shoulder, startled enough that Shafara had to catch hold of him before he fell over. The sudden movement obviously did nothing for his headache, either.
He closed his eyes for a moment, then leaned back, at least starting to look a little more relaxed. She almost hated to badger him any more; but matters were out of hand already, and she needed all the information she could gather.
"The crystal -- why do you still have it?" she said.
"It burns everyone who tries to touch it but me and my mother. She put it around my neck on my tenth birthday."
"I think it's time you tell the tale, Brendan," Shafara said.
"Tale?"
"Of how you came to be a slave. What happened to your mother and father?" she asked.
Brendan started to shake his head.
"I'm afraid I must insist, my young friend. You are apparently more pivotal to this matter than any of us guessed."
Brendan still looked uncertain, but he accepted a piece of fruit from Sandryn and nodded. Shafara didn't push for the story now. She saw the distant look in his face and knew he would have a tale to tell her soon.
"There's much of the story I don't understand," Brendan said suddenly. His voice sounded better, but he spoke quietly. "I heard from the crew of my father's ship that my father found my mother standing on the beach of an unnamed island they had never seen before, though they'd sailed the area for ten years already. They whispered that she had enchanted him -- in the literal sense."
"I certainly wouldn't doubt it," Shafara said.
Brendan nodded. "He was quite taken with her; and even though they didn't speak the same language, they managed well enough."
"Men and women often do," Shafara said with a smile.
"From your smile, I'd say you knew from experience," Brendan said. He looked up with a half-concealed smile. "Though I had always thought your interests lay elsewhere."
Shafara laughed, knowing the reputation she had at the court. Sandryn looked at the two of them with the wide eyes of someone who had been kept from the common castle gossip.
"You didn't have much of a better reputation, boy, so don't point any fingers at me."
"I was only a bard," Brendan said. "I didn't rate nearly the scandal you did."
"What do you say we don't shock the prince any more and go back to the story of your parents?"
Brendan cast one quick and worried look at Sandryn, but plainly the bard had started getting used to the fact that he needn't fear Sandy. When he turned back, he shrugged.
"Well, you'll not learn anything from the tale. My mother finally learned the pirate's tongue. She sailed with my father for several years. She and I never touched land in all that time. The crew disliked us, and still whispered about the arcane. I heard them when they thought I slept, or didn't realize I was near."
"You lived all that time on a pirate ship?" Sandryn said. He sounded unsure.
"She was the best, too."
Shafara saw a surprising glint in his eyes, the whisper of lost youth and adventure.
"She sailed all the coast and took on any who crossed her path. And She never lost... as long as my mother and I stayed aboard her."
"But something happened," Shafara said in the long pause.
"Forgive me. I am a bard; I should be able to tell the tale with a little more style. I'm better with legends."
"And you think this isn't one?" Sandryn asked softly.
He gave another shrug, obviously not believing his life could make a legend.
"On the day I turned ten my mother took this from around her neck and placed in on mine." His fingers pulled the chain up. The disk flashed in the sunlight; and Shafara pulled back, feeling the magic -- and the fire -- again. "I'd never seen more than the chain until then. She put it around my neck and whispered in words in her old language. I didn't understand her. Then she told me I was the keeper of the song and that I'd be called."
He stopped and put his hand on the case where the harp rested. He had been called -- Shafara remembered that moment far too well. She wished he had known the whole story then.
"Then she walked to the edge of the deck, called a farewell to my father, and leapt into the sea. I watched her swim away while the crew fought my father to the deck. They didn't see -- they thought she had leapt to kill herself. But I saw an island there in the fog, not far away. She went home."
He stopped and accepted the flask, taking another long drink of wine. This couldn't be an easy tale for him, and perhaps Shafara shouldn't have pushed so soon after the ordeal with Tabor. But, gods, she needed to know why that shadow wanted Brendan, and why it had come to her world.
"And your father?" she asked.
"Went mad, of course. We sailed in circles for months until the crew mutinied and headed for land. We'd run out of food and not taken a ship in half a year. The crew said she had put a dying curse on the ship. I never told them differently. They didn't trust me. I was her child."
Shafara nodded and managed to get the wine flask out of his hand before he took another drink. She needed the boy lucid. Brendan only sighed and didn't fight her for it.
"We hit a storm head-on before we ever reached the coast. A full gale. My father died in the hold where they'd thrown him; and as he died in my arms, the storm grew stronger. The crew panicked. They threw me overboard, hoping that would end the curse."
"What happened?" Sandryn asked. The bard might not have been in top form, but he plainly had the prince's full attention.
"I washed ashore, and villagers captured me within hours. The ship sank, and everyone else died."
Shafara had a sudden urge to laugh at those poor fools who had played at a game they didn't understand. All gone because some sorceress or priestess -- or perhaps something not quite human -- had spun a web so tight around them that none could escape save her son.
But, why?
Brendan met Shafara's steady gaze and didn't shrink from the question he must have seen there. He obviously wanted to know answers as well. For now, Shafara could only shrug; but she intended to find out more. Once she returned to her tower at Senonia Castle she would consult her manuscripts. And if she didn't find the answer there, she'd look elsewhere.
"What happened next?" Sandryn asked in the long silence.
"I had reached the shore barely alive," he said. "Some fisherman found me at dawn, bound me hand and foot and carried me to the nearest village. I served there... a long time."
His eyes veiled this time, as though to hide the memory even from himself. The fingers of his left hand curled around his right wrist. When he spoke again Shafara could still hear the note of surprise the boy must have felt at the time.
"They sold me. We captured prisoners and ransomed them back to the shore. Those that couldn't make the payment we always let go anyway, eventually. We only killed in battle. But slavery..."
"How long were you enslaved?"
"Three years, until the king came through the village and bought me."
"You were branded, weren't you?" Shafara finally asked, laying her hand on Brendan's fingers where they covered the right wrist.
"Yes," he said.
"They only brand slaves who run," Sandryn said.
"I ran," Brendan said. He finally released the wrist so Shafara could examine it. "I ran seven times, and always back to the sea."
Branding scars nearly encircled the wrist. She'd never noticed it before because Brendan had always worn long-sleeved tunics at court, and had probably covered them with magic as well.
Brendan's head was turned, as though the sea called him even now. Shafara purposely pulled his attention back by tracing the scars on the boy's wrist, and noted that Sandryn had paled and grown angry at the sight of them.
"I could remove those, you know," she said. "Freedmen often go to mages to have the scars removed."
"Yes, I know," Brendan said. He pulled the hand away, and he met her look again. "You could remove the evidence, but not the scars."
Shafara nodded and found she suddenly understood the young minstrel far better. He sang songs of longing and freedom not just well but from the heart. He put the power of truth in his music, and perhaps even a little magic.
"You never ran after my father bought you," Sandryn said.
"The harp called me," he said. "Just like my mother said it would. I am the Keeper of the Song."
"Gods all," Shafara suddenly whispered. She sat back and looked Brendan over several times before she could speak again. "That's more than just a title, isn't it, Brendan?"
Brendan turned those dark eyes on her and said nothing at all. Shafara felt her heart pounding with new understanding. Music...and what would happen to the world if their master bard disappeared? Tabor knew --
"Gods, look at that storm blow in!" Sandryn suddenly said, pointing to the south.
Shafara leapt from the wagon before she had fully accepted what she saw. A storm -- yes -- and heading with a fierce intensity toward them. She could already sense strong magic even at this distance. The clouds, dark and ominous, billowed up into the sky with a ferocious speed that made her shiver even in the warm breeze.
"We can't outrun that!" Sandryn said. The horses had already begun to snort with worry. "We need to let the horses go, and we can seek cover down in the hollow!"
"Sandryn --" she said, shaking her head at the idea of losing the animals.
"That's damn strong magic!" Sandy said. He began grabbing supplies. "I don't think even the two of us combined could make a shield strong enough to keep the entire wagon safe, and unless you can make the horses fly --"
"I'll release them," Shafara agreed. "Get what you can carry! We don't have much time!"
Brendan shoved the harp back into the case and began to climb down with Sandryn's help. The prince leapt back into the wagon and began tossing packs out. Shafara hastily used her magic to release the horses before they bolted.
As the horses took off, Shafara felt the first erratic and magic-laden breeze. The power even in that little touch stunned her. She'd never felt anything like this before.
"Tabor?" Brendan asked.
"No," Shafara said. She lifted a hand again. "This is pure magic."
"Pure?" Brendan said. He lifted his hand as well. She had never seen him acknowledge the use of magic so easily. "A natural incident? I've never heard of such a thing!"
"Like doors opening, only far larger than anything I've ever seen before!" Shafara said. Then she shook her head, still hoping the magic she felt was a fluke, and the storm itself would die out. But the wind picked up, and she could no longer deny the danger.
"Let us go!"
Shafara spun a small shield of protection against debris and pushed Sandy and Brendan down the slight incline of the hill. The winds already buffeted the bushes and flattened the flowers and grass. 
"There's some cover in the lee of the hill," Brendan shouted and pointed. "We can set wards! That may save us."
Shafara nodded and pushed her apprentice-prince ahead, glad he went willingly. Brendan rushed forward, out of her magical protection, and reached the bottom of the hill first, where he began tossing aside rotting limbs and other vegetation that had accumulated in a small cup-like depression. The wind, though not as strong as on the hilltop, still caught the debris Brendan tossed and carried it off into the air. The first of the clouds already swept over them; and cold, ice-filled rain fell in sheets. A moment later lightning flickered and indolently branched across the sky, slower than anything natural.
"There!" Brendan shouted, waving his hand toward the little bit of cover.
Shafara shoved Sandryn ahead of her, then dropped beside him, and Brendan to her left. She and the bard both began spells of warding. That might have been dangerous, two magicians of such power working so closely together for the first time without a hint of how the other's magic worked. However, the danger of what came toward them far outweighed any subtlety. She threw her ward up around Brendan's magic and prayed to the gods they both held.
Shafara could see beyond the wards, though it took a great deal of energy. Still, she felt it better than sitting here blind to what happened. The wards held strong, at least for now; but the heart of the storm still hadn't reached them. Brendan, without question or hesitation, fed more of his own power into the wards. Shafara sensed, as he brought out his crystal, a wave of warmth that nearly drew her attention away from the trouble at hand.
Magic imbued the winds, rain and lightning. She'd never felt that much magic anywhere in the world before this storm! Then, she felt something even stronger; and with her heart pounding in true fear, she looked up.
A subtle inconsistency in the clouds grew into a swirling vortex. The circle of clouds moved with powerful magical winds stronger than anywhere else in this already incredible storm. Shafara, who had survived far more than either of her young friends realized, felt as though all her studies in magic had been nothing more than the toyings of an ant with an apple. She had nibbled at the edges, but this was the core; and she wouldn't have survived a brush of that power.
Then the vortex stilled, though it didn't lose power. In fact, she could see a glow, like lightning caught in an almost-perfect circle of dark, motionless cloud. The storm still raged around them, and the power in that circle grew so strong Shafara knew if it aimed toward them the power would obliterate the wards and the people within them. She could not stare at it without feeling... lost.
The lightning began to move downward, a slow methodical descent toward the ground. Brendan must have felt Shafara's power waver in that moment of despair, and fed some of his own to help steady Shafara's ward. That brought her attention back, even as she watched the circle descend somewhere into the woods far to the other side of the hill.
The backlash of energy from the strike brought her hand up as she poured even more power into the wards. When she looked again, the lightning had disappeared, and the circle began contracting. A door? It had the same basic feel of the ones she'd sensed the last few weeks, but nothing this strong could have opened anywhere in the world before now. She feared to know what had dropped into her world this time.
The storm lessened, and the winds died down. The rain changed to a gentle downpour, even the magic dissipating on the wing. Shafara waited for a moment longer, watching the world outside the ward. Trees lay uprooted and strewn across the area, bushes broken and grass flat. A bird pulled free of a mass of broken foliage, darted glances left and right then took to the air with a sudden, startled cry.
Shafara slowly began to lower her ward. The peculiar blue star-like lights of Brendan's ward slowly dissolved around them. She and Brendan both gasped, the strain far more than she had realized until they'd finished the work.
Sandy slowly stood, his eyes shifting over the changed terrain while his hand brushed damp blond curls from around his face. His look seemed to weigh every fallen tree and its implications.
This man would soon be king, Shafara thought as she stood, reminding herself of that reality again. Sandryn wouldn't be given to sensationalism or emotionalism. Shafara hoped she had given him all the right tools for the future.
Brendan came more slowly to his feet, still shaken and gasping. Shafara felt a surge of compassion for the bard who had gone through so much in the last few days. He looked worn and weak.
"Any idea what caused that?" Sandy asked, looking from sorceress to bard and back.
"None," Shafara said. She took hold of Brendan's arm, afraid he would fall again. "However, I did see something I would like to investigate. Do you feel up to a walk, Brendan?"
"Probably wise to get out of here, anyway," Brendan said. He shifted the harp case on his shoulder. "This looks like a natural draw, and we had a lot of rain. Which way?"
"Up the hill and back toward the trees," Shafara said. She considered using a little magic to help the bard, but she wasn't at all sure what they were going up against, and needed to save her energy.
When they reached the road, they found the wagon broken into pieces, the horses long gone and the bolts of cloth strewn all across the landscape in a bright profusion of mud-splattered cloth. More uprooted trees had fallen across the road, and animals still fled through the grass, panicked by something that had unsettled their world.
She had never felt such oddness in the world before, and she trembled with a little chill that had nothing to do with the rain and wind. 
The world had changed, and she didn't know what they would face this time. She did know she wasn't ready for it. 

Fourteen

Brendan realized the others couldn't hear the music, not at first. He hadn't even been fully aware of it himself when they first started toward the ravaged woods. Then, he realized he was reaching for Dove, trying to capture...
He stopped.
"Brendan?" Shafara asked, her hand gently resting on his shoulder.
He tilted his head and closed his eyes then shook his head and looked at her. She looked worried.
"Music," he said. "I can hear music, and it's not natural."
She stopped, silently looked around then shook her head. "I don't hear anything."
"It's there -- just a whisper in the world. Very... different. Like it doesn't quite belong."
Lady Shafara lifted her hand and tested the air, but only shook her head again as she started climbing the slick surface of the hillside that led up into the battered woods.
"There's too much latent magic still in the air. I can't get the feel of anything specific."
"Could the music come from Tabor? Did the magic?" Sandryn asked as he and Brendan followed the sorceress up the muddy trail.
"No," she said with surprising certainty. "This was far more than he could have done. And now the remnants of the storm are between him and us. He has had nothing to do with whatever happened here."
"That's not..." Brendan gasped, as he pulled himself up the last little stretch, "...not reassuring."
"No, it isn't," Lady Shafara said, carefully taking him by the arm and helping him up the last few steps. "You need rest."
"I'm not likely to get it soon," he said. Then he looked with dismay at the scenery before them. Giant trees had blown over like twigs. Animals lay dead or injured nearly everywhere, and a few birds fluttered around in shock, too stunned to even take to the sky when the three neared.
Brendan lost the sound of the music then. But Prince Sandryn seemed the most affected by what they saw. He knelt and lifted a small field mouse, healing a broken leg with a quick whisper of words then carefully settling the frightened animal in the underbrush.
Lady Shafara put a hand on Sandryn's shoulder, and he looked up at her, waiting.
"You can't heal them all, Sandy," she said softly.
"I know. But I can't ignore them all, either."
She started to speak then nodded and turned away.
In that moment, Brendan realized Sandryn would be a good king -- would, in fact, be better than his father. That proved an odd revelation. Brendan had liked King Baran on a personal level; but he'd been all too aware, as a bard, that the man hadn't been the best of kings.
He couldn't say that Sandryn would do better, only that he would try...which was something King Baran had given up years before he arrived.
He began to see how interesting and different life...
But he lost that thought when the music came again, a whisper on the wind, calling him. He started forward. Sandryn caught hold of his arm; and he looked, startled, at the prince.
"Sire?"
"Careful," Sandryn said. He looked afraid now, and his fingers tightened. "Your eyes went glassy, and I had the feeling you would have walked right out of this world if that's where the music led you. Careful, Brendan. I'm going to need your help, you know."
"Mine?" he said, actually glad for the voice and touch that held him here again.
"You're going to have to make the life of a cloth merchant seem noble," he said with a little laugh and nodded to Lady Shafara, who waited impatiently for them to catch up.
"Not the work, but the person," Brendan said. He looked fully into Prince Sandryn's face for the first time. "And that won't be a problem."
Prince Sandryn bowed his head in thanks, and they walked -- together -- to follow Lady Shafara into the changed world.

Fifteen

Singing.
Shafara listened with mounting worry to the sound as they drew closer to its source. This was obviously the music Brendan had heard. She had never heard anything so sweet and eerie, a bright song of unknown words that sounded somehow... unworldly. Inhuman.
Whatever sang hadn't stopped in all the time it took them to traverse the wounded forest, climbing over branches and past huge downed trees. It would be years before this area recovered.
Shafara raised her hand to hold back Sandryn and Brendan. Sandryn listened with the same hint of apprehension in his face that Shafara felt, but she saw something far different in Brendan. The bard looked entranced; and she thought she could hear Dove playing along with the song, a soft counterpoint. Shafara had to put a hand on Brendan's shoulder to hold him back; and even then he looked back at her, dazed and confused.
She didn't like it, but she knew they couldn't go back. When she finally had Brendan's full attention, the three crept forward until they could see past the edge of the trees into a small, windswept glade. Something glowed as though caught in perpetual sunlight. She pushed aside a small branch and found a gleaming staff of silver and jewels casting rainbows all around. It -- she sang.
Shafara stared at it, amazed and worried all the more as she felt the inadequacy of her own magic before something this strange. Few enchanted items existed, the price in magic more than most magicians could pay, save sometimes as a dying jest to immortality. She could not reckon the amount of power it had taken to create this living staff. It stunned her to stillness.
Sandryn caught her arm and pointed past the staff, which stood planted, treelike, in the mud. Two human figures lay, battered and bedraggled, beyond her, stirring with a feebleness that made Shafara think they both fought against unconsciousness. She could sense no outward danger, although magic lingered in this area both from the staff and elsewhere.
She started to stand and put a hand on Sandryn's shoulder, signaling him to stay still. Sandryn, in a rare show of disobedience, shook his head and made it quite clear he had no intention of letting her go nearer alone. Brendan -- Brendan stared at the singing staff and had probably not even noticed the men. 
They hadn't the time to argue, even if any of them felt inclined to make noise right now. Shafara cautiously started out into the clearing, and the other two followed. The staff twisted, watching them with blue sapphire eyes. Wary, Shafara thought -- intelligent as well as magical. She felt shivers all along her spine and feared to go any closer to it. Even the song changed to convey a hint of menace. The three froze, watching her as she watched them.
One of the strangers slowly sat up, looking dazed by his... arrival. He would see them in a moment, but for now he sat with his head bowed and his elbows locked to keep from falling again. He finally muttered something then repeated the words more loudly. Shafara couldn't begin to understand the language, though she tried. The words did, however, get the staff to stop singing; nevertheless she still hummed.
When the stranger finally got to his feet, Shafara prepared... 
But the stranger did not see them. He did not see at all, as far as Shafara could tell. That brought her a strange, guilty comfort. Whatever else, these two were at least not all-powerful.
The stranger swayed, his hand reaching to touch a golden band with a single green jewel at his forehead. He spoke, and it took a moment or two before Shafara realized he had been calling his fallen companion.
"Abby! Abby...Abby!" His voice rose a little with panic with each call.
The other finally made a little response, though barely -- just the movement of a hand. The first man heard and turned instinctively toward him, taking slow, tentative steps. The staff drew Shafara's attention, looking her way with a smile, as if they shared some joke.
Gods, this was too strange.
The dark-haired young man caught his foot on a fallen branch and fell, sprawling in the mud again. His breath caught in a sound that seemed as much frustration as pain. Brendan took an instinctive step forward to help him, and only stopped when Sandy and Shafara caught his arms.
But the stranger had heard even that little noise. He turned his head toward them, confused
"Abby? Aubreyan Altazar?" 
When no one answered he scrambled quickly back to his feet and pulled a dagger, a rush of words following even while he swayed.
"He knows we're here," Shafara finally said. The young man paused and looked surprised and worried. He obviously didn't understand what she said, either.
"He's blind," Brendan added. The stranger turned his head a little, shifting his dagger, obviously having no idea how many he faced. Shafara felt badly about it, that they worried him so much.
"I suspect he only wants to reach his friend. You two stay here."
"Brendan," Sandryn began and tried to catch the bard's arm, but he went past without a problem.
Shafara decided letting Brendan help the stranger was the best idea, since the bard had power of his own; and it allowed her and Sandy to keep watch. Brendan advanced slowly; and Shafara felt a whisper of relief as the blade lowered, as though the stranger would consider friendship before a fight.
Brendan took the last few steps; and when the stranger swayed, he dared to catch him. That won a little jerk of surprise and a hiss of anger from the staff. The stranger barked words at her again; but she went back to humming, and he only shook his head with anger and despair.
When Brendan pulled back, the stranger caught his hand with what seemed like more than luck but with no show of hostility or danger.
"Abby?" he asked with worry.
"Take him to his friend," Shafara said, though the order wasn't necessary. Brendan had already started that way with the stranger, who looked increasingly panicked.
"Abby is here," Brendan said, and pulled him along to the second young man, who still had not moved.
Brendan helped him kneel and stood behind as the stranger ran his hands over his friend's arm and to the side of his face. He brushed at the unconscious man's hair until he uncovered a band that, as far as Shafara could tell, looked identical to the one he wore. His fingers circled the green stone, and he silenced the staff with another snap of words. That the man and the staff were not on good terms didn't make Shafara feel any better. She knew the staff held power, and she wanted someone here who could control it.
Brendan had knelt beside the two strangers, looking intrigued. They were different; but he, being so different himself, probably didn't fear them for that reason. So far, the immediate magic didn't seem dangerous, even though the staff continued to be recalcitrant when it came to obeying the blind stranger. That he paid it very little attention seemed to indicate the staff wasn't as dangerous as she thought.
The one called Abby opened his eyes. They were dazed and then alive with interest as he saw Brendan then the two standing a little ways off. The other one lifted his head and turned, surprised; and Shafara had the very strange feeling he could suddenly see as well.
Abby started to stand, and Brendan reached to help. Abby looked grateful and put a hand to his side as he came to his feet. Shafara though she could see a small line of blood on the dark cloth of his shirt. His blind (blind?) companion reached to pull the hand away, but Abby stopped him with a gentle whisper of words. He looked at Shafara and Sandryn, bowing his head once before he waved a hand toward the staff and took two steps that way.
"You should stay back, Brendan," Shafara said, worried again.
"It's safe," he answered, as though he knew it. 
Shafara made a little sound of exasperation, but lost that emotion in the next moment. The staff began to sing as Abby pulled her from the ground, a beautiful bright rush of melody and words that seemed to fill the world.
And then the harp answered with a soaring, exquisite tune. Brendan opened the case and lifted Dove. She continued to play a very sweet counterpoint to the staff's singing. Abby looked amused.
"Shafara, do you have a spell that could help us communicate?" Brendan asked. "I think we need to speak with these two, and quickly."
"I think you're right," Shafara said, since Abby could control the staff, which quieted at his order. "I don't feel anything to link them, but their strange appearance does make me think this has something to do with Tabor."
"Tabor!" Abby's hand went to his sword, and his fingers tightened around the staff. Her song changed as well; and the harp fell to silence, her last notes echoing the sound of a startled bird's cry.
The blind one leapt forward and caught Abby's sword arm, whispering quick urgent words that seemed to calm him. Abby released the hilt of the sword and frowned this time.
He spoke again; this time his hand went to the band and stone on his forehead. Abby looked wary; but he nodded and then looked from Shafara to Sandryn then, finally, to Brendan. Both of the strangers nodded, as though they had come to some silent agreement.
They wanted something from Brendan. Shafara knew that even before they knelt, the staff pushed into the dirt again -- she didn't look as though she liked that much. When Brendan looked down, Abby patted the ground before him.
"Careful, Brendan," Sandryn whispered.
"They're enemies of Tabor," Brendan replied. "I trust them for that reason if no other."
He knelt; Abby's fingers curled around the golden band, and he pulled it off. He held it out, and Brendan took it. He looked startled and then nodded to Shafara. 
"I think this links them," he said. His finger traced along the edge of the stone and saw the other's eyes go closed. Abby held his friend closer and looked at Brendan again, nodding.
"This is very dangerous," Shafara said, coming closer. "Such magic -- not even of our world --"
"But it's important," Brendan answered. 
She didn't argue. Shafara knelt, a hand on the bard's shoulder to help steady him. Too much strangeness had come into the world. They needed answers, and this band looked like the only way to get them.
Brendan carefully pulled it down over his head. She held him tight.

Part Two: Songs To Sing...
One

Darkness. A world of sounds and scents and such lovely magic that it made his heart pound for the wanting of it.
Light, song, magic.
Darkness probing gently, incessantly. To understand.
Light, music, the harp, the sea.
Darkness, duty, probe, question, gently, gently. To know the words, no more. Not to join that deeply. I am Tristan (Aubreyan). I need knowledge. I will not pry. I need only the words.
I am Brendan, Keeper of the Song.
Sing for me.
***
The world opened up between them; and Brendan glimpsed places he had never known, and felt a vastness of life he had never experienced before. The song that came to him soared with the frightening depth of knowledge and emotion it conveyed.
But Tristan...
Tristan accepted everything that Brendan could offer, as though he were an empty well waiting to be filled. Not just words, but sounds, colors -- pictures of the world around him. He and Aubreyan/Abby were not from this world. Brendan knew that, and in that moment touched on something more...something wondrous and frightening, though he could not name it.
Tristan pulled back from the contact.
Thank you, Brendan. We shall have less trouble now... 
Brendan opened his eyes with a start, pushing away the darkness that did not come from within him. He could still feel Tristan with him, a whisper of knowledge and memories not quite whole and not at all his own. He gently touched the band. Shafara had moved to his side, and he could see her worried face; but he looked past to Tristan.
"Please," Tristan whispered. "Please give it back to Abby."
Lady Shafara looked at Tristan, obviously amazed. Brendan reached with shaking hands to remove the crown, but the break felt like fire going through his head. He cried out; and Shafara grabbed the crown, while Sandryn put an arm around his shoulders. He leaned back, knowing the prince held him. He didn't care if it wasn't quite proper protocol.
Tristan accepted the crown from Shafara and carefully placed it on Aubreyan's head. Brendan watched as his face slowly calmed and his eyes closed. The bard shivered a little at the thought of what had just happened -- of his knowledge transferred, a part of him shared without him being there.
"Brendan?" Shafara said and took hold of his chin, forcing him to look up at her. "Brendan, talk to me." 
He could see concern in her face, and felt it in the tightening of the prince's arm.
"I'm all right," he assured them, though his head pounded. "I think it worked --"
"It worked," Abby said quite suddenly. Tristan leaned against his friend, looking worn; and Brendan suspected he suffered from a headache to match his own.
"My apologies, Brendan. Our need to know your language was very important."
"I realize that."
"Did Tristan impart anything to you? Do you know our purpose? Do you know why we came here?"
"No," Brendan said. He shook his head. "We can only guess it has to do with Tabor."
"Tabor," Abby said, and again anger flashed in his green eyes. His hand almost moved to the sword, but he pulled back this time on his own. That looked like an instinctive reaction, and one he had no control over. "I didn't know he had already arrived here, but I'm not surprised. He seeks the pieces of the Kiya Chanda Andee, just as I do."
The staff hissed and began a harsh song that Aubreyan quickly silenced with a rush of words in the other language. Brendan thought he seemed less austere now, but perhaps he had just picked up that feeling from Tristan.
Shafara looked less assured than Brendan, even though so far these two had shown no hostility toward their group, except at the name of their mutual enemy. Granted, the two were strange -- but he couldn't say that wasn't helpful, given the situation.
Brendan watched Aubreyan, trying to piece together some of what he had acquired from Tristan. He must have understood a great deal just from the stare. 
"I am Aubreyan, but mostly people call me Abby. And this is Tristan. My staff is the Janin. She was made eons past and is quite insane." He shrugged at their reactions. "She serves me so long as we seek the same purpose, and that is the total destruction of the Kiya Chanda Andee."
"Which is?" Shafara asked, settling on the ground. Obviously, she had no intention of leaving until she had answers that suited her.
"The Kiya was another staff," Abby said. The Janin started to sing again and stopped at a slap of Abby's hand against the silver rod. "But she was broken apart and scattered to -- different places. It's a long story."
"We shall not be going anywhere for the rest of the day," Shafara said. "My Brendan and your Tristan are far too weak to walk, and we've lost the wagon and horses. Tell us your story. It might help."
Tristan's hand moved a little against Abby's arm, and what looked like the start of a dismissal turned instead into a shrug.
"You're right," Abby said. "I've brought the battle to your world now. It's best you know as much as I do." 
He stopped and bowed his head for a moment. When he looked up, resolve had replaced indifference in his face. Brendan could see the tale would not be a happy one.
"My father was a barbarian king," Aubreyan said.
Brendan thought another tale wove through those harsh words, but he didn't ask for it.
"He took all the lands he could reach. And in those lands he found a legend, a demon-made staff called the Kiya Chanda Andee. She had been hidden away from man, but she let him take her -- and then she took hold of him, body and soul.
"The Kiya drank souls, and they did well together, year after year. But then she found someone even better suited to her than a barbarian king. He was the son of a demon and a sorceress, and already a great king in his own lands.
"She allowed this demonling to defeat Altazar -- my father -- and in the end she drank his soul. She willingly went to Tabor."
"And that, I imagine, is when the real trouble began," Brendan said.
Aubreyan looked startled, and then he smiled and nodded agreement. Brendan preferred that to the dark gloom of a moment before. The feeling of dread and hopelessness had not helped the situation.
"We fought a long war, Tristan and I," Abby said. "We won -- on our world. But, in the end, we made a mistake. I thought...I thought that breaking the Kiya into pieces and scattering them would destroy her. But it didn't. Instead, I've inadvertently placed a powerful lure to evil on each world. And I've set Tabor on the path to find the pieces and reunite them, to make the staff whole and strong again. I don't want that to happen. So, Tristan and I are on the path to collect her as well. This...this is our first journey away from our home world."
"Have you the power to do this work?" Shafara asked. "To fight this demonling? Or is that why you carry so much magic with you -- the bands, your sword and your staff. Is it enough?"
"Tristan has magic of his own as well," Abby said. "And I have certain... gifts. But I don't know if we've power enough to win over Tabor. That doesn't mean we won't do our best to try. You knew that name when we first arrived. What has Tabor done?"
"He's trying to usurp the lands, and to kill those who would be a danger to him. We think he'll try to kill the prince heir."
"May the gods keep this prince safe and out of his hands. Tabor is in need of a sacrifice to appease his father."
"Sacrifice?" Shafara said, sitting up straighter this time. Brendan felt a chill, as though he knew something he could not quite recall. It had come from Tristan, he thought. "He will want to make a sacrifice to the demon?"
"Yes," Abby said. He looked troubled. "The demon lord is not pleased with his son these days."
"You've come from a very different place," Shafara said softly. "Our world has only old myths about such things, but no one has seen anything like it for thousands of years. I am Shafara, and my magic powers are unsurpassed -- at least, they were until Tabor came."
"And now you fear for your prince's life," Abby said. He looked from Shafara to Sandryn, as though that little piece had only just occurred to him. "Keep him safe. Keep him from Tabor."
"He wants my land. He has promised trouble if he is not given control," Sandryn said. "My uncle and the High Council have ruled for eight years, but he's restricted in the actions he can take. It's time I took the crown and became king."
"You're right," Shafara said. "It's overdue. I'm not sure why I kept you away --"
"Because -- like me -- you had a sense that the time had not yet arrived," Brendan said. He met Shafara's look, and she agreed with a nod. 
"Tabor must not know where the piece of the Kiya is," Tristan said. He sat up, though he still looked unsteady. "He wouldn't bother trying to take the crown if he didn't need the land and the people for some long-term reason. That will help. And now that Abby and I are here, we're bound to draw his attention."
"He'll want us," Abby said. "He'll want me." A moment of pain and worry showed on both their faces. "All we need do is locate the piece of the Kiya first and leave. Tabor will follow, and you'll be safe." 
"If he hasn't found it, how do you think you will before him?" Sandryn asked.
"The Janin will find her," Abby said. He patted the staff, a little more gently this time; and she hummed softly, a happy little tune Brendan committed to memory. "That's her only purpose of existence -- to find and destroy the Kiya."
Shafara looked straight into the face of the barbarian king's son, and Brendan felt her use a little of her magic to test for any falsity. Tristan stirred a little, but a touch by Abby quieted him.
"You don't lie," Shafara said. She still frowned. "But you haven't told us the entire tale, have you?"
They said nothing, though Abby bowed his head as though embarrassed. Brendan frowned, because he thought the only secrets left were personal--and yet, important.
But Brendan realized he trusted them. In the link between him and Tristan there had been no lies, even if there had been secrets.
"Let us join our causes together," Shafara said, startling everyone. "We are fighting the same enemy. That makes us allies, and allies are stronger if they fight together."
"Allies, then," Abby said, lifting his head at last. He still looked troubled. "But... we are dangerous to be around. We'll draw trouble."
Brendan suddenly sat up straighter and looked around, feeling as though he had just awakened. "Do you really think it wise to sit here, like this? Surely Tabor felt all that magic just like we did."
"Magic?" Abby said, looking startled.
"A storm of magic," Shafara said and looked worried as well. "Everything blinded me to the obvious. Gods, Brendan, you're right. Are you two ready to travel?"
"No," they chorused, but started to stand.
Tristan gave a little laugh and continued. "No, we're not ready. But we move when we have to. It would be a shame to fall to Tabor now, just by being stupid."
"The storm that came with you two spread wide and far," Shafara said, helping Brendan up. "If we cut into the woods and stay off the road for a while I think we'll go hidden -- though with the amount of magic you two carry..."
"We could go our own way," Abby said. "It would be safest for you."
"Safe for the moment, perhaps, but not for the future. We stay together and do our best to keep each other safe," Shafara said.
Abby nodded. He still looked troubled, but they moved away from the little glade and into the dark woods. Brendan looked up and wondered how long it would be until nightfall, and shivered...and wondered when he had come to fear the dark.

Two

They walked a long ways that first day on this strange world. Abby moved with silent resolution, determined not to slow the others down. He couldn't decide if the world felt heavier somehow, or if weariness weighed him down. He walked with his head bowed...but it didn't help. Tristan still saw the devastation.
"I didn't know," Tristan suddenly said aloud, startling everyone--including Abby, who had been so lost in his own weariness he'd hardly felt his friend's growing agitation. "I had no idea that our arrival on a world would do this!"
"It's not your fault," Brendan said. "You had no choice, from all you've said."
"I didn't try to control the magic," Tristan said. He shook his head -- and nearly tripped over a fallen branch, not following Abby's thoughts closely enough. 
Abby stopped and took the young elf by the arm; but a surge of emotion sent him staggering back in the next moment, only to have Sandryn take hold of him. He pulled away as quickly from the prince, and then bowed his head in apology. They had all stopped; and he felt like a fool, putting on such a show.
"My apologies," he said, still feeling out the language, acquired secondhand from Tristan who had caught a lot of the words but not all the nuances. "I'm tired. And I should mention now that the Janin is very dangerous. She will not allow another to touch her, not even Tristan."
"Let's rest a moment," Shafara said. She raised a hand when Abby started to protest. "We've all had a long journey, of one sort or another. A few moments here won't hurt. Sit down, Tristan."
Even Tristan looked ready to argue, but Abby silently convinced him that rest would not hurt either of them. They settled on a fallen tree, and the others took places near by. Even Shafara looked relieved to be off her feet.
However, Tristan's despair rose again a moment later. He could sense the dead creatures that lay all around them. His doing...
"Tristan, calm," Abby said. "Please."
"I could have...controlled it better," Tristan said. "I knew the magic had gone wild around us. I gloried in it. And killed --"
"If you are to blame for what happened here, then I am to blame for the darkness of Ylant."
"No," Tristan said, and then stopped, resignation taking the place of his wilder emotions of a moment ago. "Yes, you're right. I just hate this."
"I know."
But even as he spoke a rabbit crawled out of the nearly flattened bushes and came to Tristan, putting its front legs up on his knees and looking into his face. Tristan reached down and rubbed its ears, smiling for the first time. A moment later another rabbit arrived, and then three squirrels and a vixen with her two kits...
Abby looked up. Shafara, Sandryn and Brendan stared at them with silent astonishment. It had not occurred to him until now that they had no elves.
"We don't eat meat," Abby said.
"No doubt," Shafara said, nodding. "No, I can see that you wouldn't."
"His people are allied with nature," Abby said.
"You aren't the same people?" Brendan said. He looked from Abby to Tristan and back again. "No, you aren't. Tristan and I are more alike than you and he."
"Yes," Shafara said, and looked more interested again. "Maybe that's a clue to what you are, Brendan."
"Maybe," he said, but with only a little shrug. Apparently, it didn't bother him nearly as much as it did the others --
Dogs howled.
Abby hadn't expected the reaction he saw in the others. The three instantly rushed to their feet, grabbing their few supplies and looking around the area as though expecting instant attack. Their reaction bothered Tristan far more than the sound of the dogs coming closer.
"They've attacked us before," Shafara said, seeing their looks. "Tabor directs them, I think. They nearly killed Brendan already."
Tristan's little friends had started to scatter. He sent the reluctant ones away with a quick wave of his hand and a little magic to keep them safe. Abby noticed that Shafara started to say something then changed her mind.
The dogs howled and yipped, coming closer. Abby felt a sense of danger and fear that he knew didn't come from Tristan. Even now the elf didn't understand the need to run.
But they began to move quickly through the broken woods again. Tristan still couldn't quite accept that he wasn't responsible for this destruction, but he did understand he could not change it now. And, he even admitted to Abby, the need was great. But he would try to do better the next time.
Abby already felt as though he had gone too far from Ylant. He didn't even want to think about going farther.
The sound of dogs... this time in front of them as well as behind. Shafara stopped so quickly Brendan nearly tumbled into her, and their prince caught hold of the bard.
That prince intrigued Abby, in some ways. He seemed too quiet, too ready to follow orders... and yet every time Abby looked at him, he saw calculation in Sandryn's eyes. The prince didn't follow without question, he simply knew not to question just because he was the prince. 
Abby, who technically bore the same title, found himself fascinated...
The dogs had started to close in. They could hear them now -- in front, behind and to the left. Shafara immediately started heading right, even though it was more difficult terrain; but Aubreyan heard the dogs moving in that direction.
"Find a place to make a stand," Sandryn said. He had slowed. "We can't outrun them, Lady Shafara."
"Damn. Stay close!" She looked frantically around, but Abby could tell they couldn't run any farther. He brought the Janin around; and Tristan moved to his side, his hand lifting.
"They're driven after us," Brendan said. "Tabor's magic... but he's not directing it now. A spell he planted, I think."
"No matter," Shafara said. "The dogs are wild enough on their own. Even if we break the spell sending them after us, they're still going to be here. He's counted on that."
"I'm sure he has," Tristan said. "But I think he's not counted on me."
The dogs moved in the bushes all around them. Abby saw Shafara's panicked look and knew she hadn't heard what Tristan said. The Janin, feeling the demon's power in the spell as the dogs drew near, began to sing. Abby started to silence her and changed his mind.
A dog lunged toward Brendan; and Shafara sent it back with a wave of magic, the dog yipping as it rolled. Another had followed, again going for Brendan -- odd, Abby thought, but he used the Janin to knock it back. By then a half-dozen more had begun to close in; and they confronted snarling faces, barred teeth, and wild eyes.
"No!" Tristan shouted. Abby felt a wild wave of magic from him, something so deep he couldn't even begin to understand --
The dogs backed away, looking confused. Heads dropped, snarls ended.
"Tristan?" Shafara asked softly.
"They are not evil," Tristan said. "They're no different than the fox."
"They kill people," Shafara said. "Have done it before Tabor arrived."
Tristan reached out and laid a hand on the top of a gray dog's head. It sat obediently at his feet; its tail even wagged from side to side.
Abby saw the way Brendan still backed away, shaking his head, though Sandryn and Shafara looked calmer. If he'd recently suffered an attack, Abby could understand the bard's reluctance to believe the animals suddenly tamed.
Dogs began to gather around Tristan like a litter of puppies turned loose for the first time. Abby grinned at the scene, partly sharing in his friend's joy at freeing the creatures from the hold that had been driving them mad.
"Send them away, Tristan," Abby said. "We can't have them travel with us."
"Ah, true. The people fear them. It's a shame. Some of them remember huts and humans, and bones tossed to them at the end of a meal."
"Gods," Brendan whispered. "I never thought..."
"Many have lived all their lives in the woods, but they welcome the strays sometimes, when food is plentiful. Go now. Go."
The dogs reluctantly backed away, wandering off into the woods. Soon Abby could hear them yipping and running, a far different sound than they had made when they first came their way.
Shafara finally lowered her arm. She looked at Tristan and nodded. "Thank you. I'm glad you are here to stop them. Will Tabor know what you've done?"
"Very likely," he said and shrugged. "But he knows we're here already. I don't think he'll waste magic on that type of attack again."
Shafara nodded again. She didn't even look surprised when a bird landed on Tristan's shoulder.

Three

Shafara had stopped mistrusting the two strangers. She wasn't certain when it had happened -- when the rabbits came out to Tristan, or when he had turned the dogs? But she realized now, as they walked on through the darkening woods, that she gladly accepted such allies.
But still...
"We need to reach a village, if we can," she said. "I seem to remember there being one not much farther ahead."
"Fairpost," Brendan said. "One inn, a few shops nestled at a small crossroads. We can make it before full dark, I think."
"Good," Shafara said. Then she looked at Abby and Tristan and shook her head. "I can't ask you to remove the crowns, but they are conspicuous."
"Yes, they are," Abby said. "But so is the Janin, and I can't very well leave her behind."
"We'll have to wrap her up," Tristan said. The others had stopped and looked back at them. "Cloth? No. Wood."
"Wood?" Shafara said, coming closer. She didn't need to be warned not to touch the staff again, since she'd had no intention of touching it from the beginning. She knew never to trifle with powerful magic. Sentient powerful magic could only be worse.
"Wood will help her look like a normal staff," Tristan explained. "If Abby can keep her quiet, we shouldn't have too much trouble."
"Ah," Shafara said. "Yes. But I suspect... she's not going to like this idea?"
The staff, in fact, had started to glare already. Abby said something to her that didn't change that look at all. It worried Shafara that he had so little control over this incredible entity.
Tristan carefully used his magic to bring a shell of wood around her. It took two tries. The first time she shed the shell in a flying cloud of splinters that Tristan only barely contained. Abby spoke harshly. She looked sullen, but didn't fight the second sell.
"What's to keep her from doing it again?" Brendan asked.
"The knowledge that I'll leave her behind if she does," Abby said. "She will only let me hold her, so that's not a threat she takes lightly."
"Why you?" Sandryn asked. "Why not Tristan?"
"Partly because Abby had already taken up the battle for which she had been created when we found her. He had been at war with the Kiya before he ever found the Janin," Tristan said. Then, he frowned. Abby started to say something, but Tristan shook his head. "No, they need to know it all, Abby. Do you want them to call upon the gods for help?"
"No!" Abby said, with such panic that it startled Shafara. She stopped and looked back at him.
"Why would you have a problem with the gods?" she asked.
"Abby's mother is a goddess. It's not safe to ask anything of them when he's around. They are apt to answer, but they never give without taking something in return. You don't want to have to pay their price."
"Goddess," Shafara said. She tried not to understand the word. She wanted to deny it. Brendan was strange enough on his own. Abby--
Abby carried that staff. She should have known that made him something special.
"What blood I carry hardly matters, and can only hurt if people are not careful around me. I once asked the gods for help, not knowing about my mother. They sent a darkness that nearly destroyed the world. Be very careful."
Shafara nodded, and Abby continued on his way. He seemed, in fact, unburdened by having told them. When she looked at Brendan and Sandryn, she thought she saw her own emotions in their shock.
"We knew the world had gone strange before they arrived," Shafara said to her two companions. Neither argued. 
Shafara feared the night would grow cold and miserable, the remnants of the storm lingering in the air. She wanted a roof over her head, and solid walls between them and whatever else might be out in the world.
At the next hilltop she finally saw their destination. Fairpost looked like an unpretentious town of a few dozen buildings, forgettable if one had passed through it -- say, eight years ago with a young exiled prince in hand.
"We have cloaks," Tristan said, drawing one out of his pack. "And, since it's growing dark and cold, that'll help with Abby and me."
"Good!" She had even stopped noticing the staff, though if she came too close she could hear the Janin humming. Not a happy tune, either. "Does she always sing or hum?"
"Yes," Abby said. He looked as though he could have lived without that music for a little while. She had to fight herself not to laugh.
The path they followed led straight to the main road into town -- the road they would have arrived on long before this if they still had the horses and wagon.
Many others walked that path, and all of them were talking about the storm. That helped, in fact, because theirs was just another group in the crowd, heading for the safety of the little village.
"Oh, yes," Shafara said, taking on her Mistress Faraday persona again, a little flighty and sometimes excitable. With Fairpost only a day's travel away from Esse, she didn't dare try to be anyone else. Besides, she felt comfortable leaving Shafara behind for a little while, as though she could shed those troubles and duties with a change of personality. "Oh, my, yes. A horrible storm. We lost our wagon and our horses and had to walk! But we're here, my apprentice and I, and the companions who had been traveling with us. We're lucky."
"Don't think anyone got killed," a young farm boy said. "Damned strange storm, begging your pardon, Mistress. Very strange storm, and quick. Could have been much worse had it hit near a town or farmstead."
"True enough," Shafara said, and cast one look back at Tristan, hoping he took those words to heart.
The conversations about the storm continued as they gathered more people in their entourage and drew closer to the village's single gate. Two of the local guards stood outside, and Shafara feared they would have trouble entering. However, it turned out they were only there to direct the people to the town square, since the single inn had filled hours ago.
Shafara curbed her annoyance at the news and nodded her thanks to the men as her group hurried in. They had drawn a little notice, but a family with several impatient and crying children followed them.
"Why are they here?" Abby asked softly. "The storm has passed."
"Fear, I suspect. The need to be among others if disaster should strike," Shafara said. "They'll get over it."
"As long as disaster doesn't strike again," Abby said. "With Tristan and I here..."
"You do not bring disaster. If it strikes, it will be the work of your enemies. But better that you are with me, Abby. I can help you if anything happens."
He didn't look particularly relieved by those words, even though Tristan nodded. She wondered how much they shared.
"It's the King's Bard!"
Oh, hell. She hadn't thought of that at all.
But Brendan didn't have a problem. He stepped out in front, the harp case in his hand already. Why not? The bard had always loved crowds. This would be perfect for him.
The people made a path for him all the way to the well; and his companions followed in his wake, though she didn't really want to be that much in the front. Still, the closer she stayed to Brendan, the less likely she -- or Sandy -- would be noticed at all.
Brendan pulled Dove out of her case, caressing the side of her carved hair, smiling a little as his fingers plucked the first notes. Shafara wondered if anyone else even realized the magic in the harp, not that it really mattered. Brendan could -- in fact, had, on many occasions -- captivate a crowd just with his voice.
He played a tune; and the crowd, even the children, fell silent. He played and he sang about life and the wonders of the day, and the beauty of the sunset. Pretty things. Even Shafara started feeling better as he spun his very subtle spell for the crowd, bringing peace to this place of anxious emotions and frayed nerves.
"He has a gift," Abby said, quiet words between songs. He had, Shafara noted, taken hold of Tristan's arm. "He sings a song to make the world whole...and holy."
"Holy," Shafara repeated as softly. She wondered what that word meant to the son of a goddess. "He has a unique gift, but I had never really measured its force. I don't know that I've ever heard him play quite like this."
"It is a gift you do not want to lose," Tristan said suddenly. He turned to her, those dark eyes making her think that he could see, even when she knew differently. "Keep him safe, Lady. He brings hope with him. He weaves... rebirth in his music."
She wasn't entirely certain what he meant, but she understood the depth of his statement. She knew, in her soul, that losing Brendan would be a disaster from which this world might not recover.
"Tabor wants him dead," she said.
"Does he?" Abby said, anger again flashing in his eyes at the mention of that enemy. Was that because he was the son of a goddess? Tabor, the son of a demon, might have that affect on the child of a goddess. And yet it seemed so unlike him that Shafara began to suspect something dark and magical. "I wonder what danger Brendan could be to him --"
"Hope," Tristan said. He nodded as Brendan picked up the harp and played a simple tune, a short burst of music. "Hope. I don't believe the attacks came so much from Tabor as from his father's hand."
Abby's face darkened. Tristan shook his head, and the look cleared again, slowly. Gods, the elf had some control over that anger. She wanted to ask, and didn't. Not here. 
"Yes, of course," Abby said. "Gix would never want hope in the world. The Kiya gave him the link here, to a place with fewer magical protections than Ylant. We must stop them, Tristan." 
"I know. Calm. We've a far better chance of finding the Kiya first, since we have the Janin. This need not go the way it did on Ylant."
Abby nodded; and Shafara realized that, given any chance, the two would head straight for this piece of the staff. It frightened her, to see that look in their eyes.
"Be wise," she said, and they both looked startled, a shared moment of emotion. She hadn't seen them do that often. "Be wise in what you do, for all our sakes. Take care to strike cautiously, and use what assets you have. This is not just your war. We all win or lose in what you do." 
A moment, a blink of Abby's eyes... and then Brendan began to sing again, and Tristan closed his eyes. Odd reaction, but he looked so enraptured that it surprised Shafara.
"Music has that affect on Tristan," Abby said with an unexpected grin. He looked quite young.
And that frightened her again. These were children, saving her world. But then she dismissed the thoughts and turned her attention back to Brendan. She hadn't really heard him play and sing in a long time, though she hoped he didn't overdo it and strain his voice.
Still, it helped. The crowd quieted, found peace with the world once more. They'd been frightened by the storm that came from nowhere and left again. They'd feared that their world could strike at them again, but Brendan reminded them of all the good things. No tragedy tonight. No tales of war.
And when he quit early, no one showed disappointment. She heard laughter spread through the group as they settled down for the night under a lovely clear sky. She would do her best to make certain the weather did not change--at least, not as far as nature could be controlled.
"Let's try the inn," Sandy said. "I heard quite a few people complain that the prices for rooms were way too high, and even some merchants are sleeping out here. I think we need to get out of the public eye."
"Yes," Shafara agreed. She nodded for Brendan to go ahead, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. She didn't want the people to see her and her "apprentice" associated with someone from the castle.
Brendan walked ahead, though she didn't let him get too far out of her reach. Others had begun to mill around, and it proved easy to stay close without appearing to follow him. He slipped into the inn first, and by the time Shafara and the rest of the group arrived he had drawn a crowd to him once more.
Shafara pushed past the group, the others following in her wake to the innkeeper, who stood by the kitchen door. He began shaking his head even before they had crossed half the room.
"There are no rooms, I'm afraid. I'm completely booked."
"Surely, a corner somewhere," she said, trying to decide if she could use magic to somehow get a room. Not wise, she thought. Not ethical. But they needed privacy...
Sandy slid up to her elbow and leaned close. "Trouble. Kalis."
She hoped her face didn't show her sudden dismay as she looked over her shoulder and saw the man coming toward them, smiling brightly.
"Mistress Faraday! Sandy! The gods smile on me! What brings you to Fairpost?"
She smiled when she saw him. If it looked a little forced, maybe he would think that only natural under the circumstances. "Kalis, how good to see a familiar face! We're traveling to the capital, but the storm destroyed our wagon. We hoped for a room tonight--"
"There are none left," the innkeeper said, shaking his ahead again. "The storm drove everyone in --"
"A corner of your common room --"
"Oh, no!" Kalis said, appalled. "You can share my room! It has a very large bed --"
"I beg your pardon." 
"Oh, my... pardon, no. Mistress Faraday, my apologies. I never meant -- I mean no impropriety! I'll sleep in the hall! I didn't mean --"
She had him right where she wanted him, and with no magic at all. Sandy, she noted, could hardly keep from smiling. Brendan had come up now as well, and the innkeeper looked worried at the thought he'd have to turn the King's Bard down, as well.
"It's very kind of you to offer," she said, having gotten just what she wanted, along with the joy of seeing him squirm a little. "These are my companions, who were traveling with us to Senonia. I'm sure you know Brendan."
"The King's Bard," Kalis said, his eyes gone wide. "An honor."
"It's very kind of you to offer us the room," Brendan said. "My companions and I are very grateful." Ah, good boy to draw the two strangers into his group. "I’m sure it will be crowded, but I appreciate the privacy."
"Oh, yes, of course. This way, this way. I have the end room. It's larger, the innkeeper tells me, than the middle rooms."
Sandy gave her a nod of relief as they started up to the rooms. Kalis had transferred all his attention to Brendan, though when they finally reached the room he did seem to remember the love of his life had followed in the Bard's wake.
"Mistress Faraday, I think we can set up some privacy for you. Though perhaps Lady Holweck would allow you to share her rooms. She's right next door..."
Shafara looked where he pointed with an edge of panic she hadn't ever thought to feel, not helped in the least by the fact that a page in the lady's colors had arrived at the top of the stairs with a tray of food. That door would open...
Kalis had barely gotten his room door open. She shoved past him, pulling Sandy with her. Not a moment too soon, since she saw the other door opening and caught a glimpse of expensive lace and mouse-brown hair. She'd wanted Brendan in here as well... but there wasn't time.
Ah, well, the Lady would hear that the King's Bard had arrived. And they did have a history, after all.
"What are you doing here?" Lady Holweck demanded, her voice loud and strident. Panicked, perhaps.
"Lady Holweck, what a surprise," Brendan said, his voice just bland enough to show he didn't enjoy seeing her, either. "Are you traveling alone?"
Sandryn leaned back against the wall, his eyes wide, his face reddening as he tried not to laugh aloud.
"It's none of your business," she said. Her voice had gained an octave. Interesting. Was Lord White in the room, or did she have someone else?
"Ah, here's your dinner! I'll be next door if you'd like a ballad or two for your meal."
A heartbeat. A growled order Shafara couldn't understand. Then, the door slammed.
Brendan came into the room, Abby and Tristan behind him and a very confused Kalis last. He pulled the door closed and looked with raised eyebrows at the entire group.
"The walls are too thin," Brendan said softly. "Be careful."
Shafara could, in fact, hear voices from the next room, and the man's voice was far too deep to be that of Lady Holweck's young page. She glanced at Kalis, measuring how much to tell him, then decided from the way the man kept looking at her that he suspected too much already.
"The king's dead, and I don't damn well care if the prince favors him or not!" Lady Holweck said, her voice loud enough they probably heard out in the square. "And you've no room to talk, considering the friends you keep! It's pretty damned apparent you aren't counting on winning the prince's favor, if he ever shows up!"
Quieter, anxious words. Whispers.
"I want to know who is there with her," Shafara said softly. Both Brendan and Sandryn nodded, but Kalis looked at her blankly, as though some part of his brain had not quite made a connection yet.
She warded the door and the windows in such a quick spread of magic that even Tristan looked up, surprised. And then she opened a magical window in the wall and looked in. Lady Holweck and Lord White. They both looked sullen as they ate their dinner.
She closed the window again, frowning, then spun a little more magic--more difficult this time, but it protected them from being heard. She did, however make certain they'd be able to monitor anything in the other room.
"It's safe now," she said, and dropped into the only chair by the window.
"Not my favorite people," Brendan said as he looked out the window. "But I never would have thought Lord White had the brains to be involved with rebels of any kind."
"More likely that they approached him, rather than the other way around," Shafara said.
Kalis sat down on the bed. She didn't think he had planned it, and it was probably good that the piece of furniture happened to be right there.
"You're Lady Shafara," he said. His voice held no question, and only a little hint of growing panic. She nodded. He mimicked the nod, but it looked more like an instinctive move than acknowledgement. Then, he closed his eyes for a moment, swallowed, and opened them again. He looked at Sandy.
"Gods, if she's Lady Shafara then you are... I'll just go slit my wrists now, shall I?"
Sandy laughed and patted the man on the shoulder. Kalis stared, stone-still.
"You'll be fine," Sandy assured him. "Well, as long as you don't try to lecture me anymore."
Kalis's face went white this time. He put his head between his hands. Shafara actually felt sorry for the man. Almost. And at least Sandryn got the little joy of seeing someone's reaction when they learned the truth. The gods knew there would likely be very little other joy on this journey.
That brought her back to looking at Abby and Tristan. She started to ask questions, and stopped. They looked so weary; it seemed that Abby wouldn't have managed to stay on his feet without the aid of the Janin.
"Rest," she said to everyone. "I'll listen until our friends next door go to sleep. Take what rest you can. We'll be back on the road tomorrow. Kalis, I must insist that you travel with us when we go."
Kalis did something she hadn't expected. He looked from her to the prince; and she liked him better for it, though he probably wouldn't have understood why.
"This is Lady Shafara's expedition, at least, until we reach Senonia," he said. "She's kept me safe all these years, and this is not the time to decide I am suddenly in charge. You will take your orders from her."
"Yes," Kalis said. He even appeared to take some comfort from that order.
"We'll likely leave the hour before dawn," Shafara said. "Brendan, are you comfortable there? If not, take the bed. It is large. Tristan? Aubreyan?"
"Thank you, lady," Tristan said softly. He had already begun to push Abby that way, though the other lad looked apt to argue. "Just rest, Abby. Don't argue."
He didn't. He put the staff on the bed by the wall and stretched out beside it. If Kalis thought that strange, he said nothing. Probably he didn't even notice, by this point.
The others quickly found places to rest. Sandy settled by the door, looking up at her and shaking his head. Whatever he thought of this mess, he didn't say.
Before long, even Kalis slept. Shafara listened to the two in the next room, glad no one stayed awake to see her blush through the worst of it.
Eventually, the Lord and Lady went to sleep as well. The moon had risen, bathing Brendan in a pale-blue light. She saw how Tristan instinctively moved toward the light even in his sleep.
Good. They'd all need to regain as much power as they could. They still had a long journey ahead.

Four

Sandryn helped repack their supplies as Shafara slipped out of the room and down to the kitchen to see if she could get them food before they left. Brendan hated to see her go alone, even though he knew she was the least likely to have any trouble.
The two next door still slept, soundly and loudly. He thought he heard the page curse softly now and then, and felt sorry for the boy, who apparently got little sleep with those two around.
He wondered if he could come up with a new ballad linking the two of them to the storm disaster. Not that he would sing it -- unless they annoyed him enough.
His shoulders ached. Breathing hurt. But he had lain in the moonlight for most of the night; and, in some ways, he felt much better.
Clear-headed, too, which didn't really help. He looked around the room at the others, realizing that this trouble reached far beyond anything he had ever imagined even existed. He could not fully comprehend the depth of difficulty they faced.
And, all in all, he thought he might rather prefer to just go curl up in that nice, soft bed for a few more hours. Or days...
Shafara came back, slipping in the room with hot bread, honey, and warm cider. Brendan wondered how much magic it had taken her to get that out of the hands of the innkeeper. Or maybe it just took a lot of coin. Sometimes, that was magic enough.
"Eat up. We need to get moving," she said, putting the platter down on the floor and handing pieces out. "Anything from next door, Brendan?"
"They're still asleep. Did you hear anything more about Lord White last night?"
"Nothing repeatable."
"Oh, but you'll have to give me a few little tidbits when we have more time," Brendan said and grinned. "I have a new ballad I'm working on."
"That's evil, Brendan."
"Yes?"
"After we've saved the world."
"Deal."
Brendan saw that even Tristan and Abby smiled. That helped on a morning when none of them had much reason to be cheery. It looked cold and dark outside the window, and he thought he could sense rain in the air. He ignored it.
They ate too quickly. He would rather have lingered over the food, but the day would be upon them; and, unfortunately, he could hear movement in the room next door. First, a few mumbled words, and then orders for the boy to go and find them suitable breakfast.
"We need to do something about that damned bard before we leave," Lord White said, quite loudly.
"Something to put an end to his hounding us," the Lady agreed.
"Don't bring up that damned dog again!"
"Oh, I didn't mean... stop being so touchy, love. Let's think of something suitable for the bard, shall we?"
Brendan stared at the wall, and then suddenly found himself laughing. "Not exactly quiet about it, are they?"
"Well, since they can't hear us, they must assume we can't hear them," Shafara said. She handed him bread and honey. "Do enjoy the show while you can. We'll be leaving long before they're ready to act."
They did, unfortunately, leave before the two had decided anything more than the bacon had been badly cooked and the bread was too dry. 
When Shafara finally got everyone out of the room Brendan paused to take Dove out of her case. He waved the others on to the stairs, and he stood outside the next door for a moment. Shafara watched with distrust...and delight.
He played a quick score of notes...
"Once, in the land of mud..."
Dishes clattered, people cursed. Lady Shafara and Brendan dashed down the stairs, Brendan feeling like a child running away from a prank. He stopped at the bottom and pulled out a gold coin, tossing it to the innkeeper.
"For the damages done in Lady Holweck's room. I fear I may have startled her when I played a little music this morning."
"Oh, sir, you don’t need to --"
"She'll be in a foul mood. Just keep the gold and ignore her bad temper. Good day!"
They hurried out into the dark street, anxious to get moving in the cool predawn air. A few people had just started opening doors and windows, and the crowd began to stir in the square where many had slept. Brendan wanted to be out of town far ahead of that group, before any of them could ask him for a few more songs.
They had to wait before the gate opened; but, even so, they left town well ahead of anyone else. Lady Shafara obviously intended to make certain they stayed ahead, too. She started out at a pace that would have put a horse to shame.
By first light they'd already gone so far he couldn't see Fairport, even from the top of a slight rise.
"Slow down!" He panted as he started down the side of the hill. "We don't have to run all the way to Senonia!"
She looked back at him, started to say something...and slowed, instead. He thought she must have seen how Abby limped by now, using the staff to keep to his feet. Or perhaps she saw that Kalis, forced along with their group, looked red-faced and ready to keel over. The cloth merchant hadn't said much at all since last night. 
Then, he looked back at Lady Shafara and felt a new hint of worry. "What's wrong?"
"I don't know. Maybe nothing," she said and shrugged. "I have the feeling we're going to run into trouble."
"This is some sort of revelation?" he said.
He made her laugh, at least. But it didn't ease the look of worry, and he had to wonder what magical alarms had gone off. She picked up the pace again, though not moving as quickly as she had been. Brendan didn't upbraid her about it this time. He didn't know if he just trusted her instincts or alarms of his own had started to go off, but he wanted to get...
Somewhere. They were hours away from the next little village, and hours more past that to the town and the inn where they hoped to find a room for the night.
And he worried... and heard horses.
"Get off to the side of the path," Shafara said. "Let them pass."
But they both must have known. Brendan had already pushed the case with Dove around to his back -- awkward, but he had a better chance of keeping the enemy away from her that way.
"Careful," Shafara warned. "We don't know..."
But the horses came over the hilltop, and the shout from the leader pretty much put an end to any question of their intentions.
Abby drew his sword. Brendan, who stood close to him, leapt back a little, startled by the sudden surge of magic he felt there. Gods, these people must breathe magic on their own world!
Tristan, on the other hand, only had a small dagger. It only now occurred to Brendan that the elf couldn't see, and a battle had to be dangerous...
No time to think about it. The first rider leapt from his barely stopped horse, pulled a wicked looking mace, and charged straight at Brendan.
For some reason, he wasn't even particularly surprised. 
His own dagger wasn't going to be much good against that mace, and his friends were suddenly engaged with the half-dozen others who had arrived.
Brendan threw himself under the first swing from the red-faced, bearded man. Mercenary, he thought, from the looks of the clothing and the number of scars. And a live mercenary with that many scars was bad news for him.
The mace came down, brushed his arm with a blinding pain, and buried itself half in the soft earth beside him. Before the pain got any worse, Brendan rolled again, got up and kicked.
But the mercenary had already begun to fall face-first toward the ground with the prince's dagger in his back. He was safe for the moment; but now the prince had to retrieve his weapon, and more of the damned mercenaries closed in, trying for Brendan.
Brendan moved between the prince and another; but someone grabbed him from behind, and he felt a knife cut at the case that held Dove.
He panicked more at the thought of losing her than he did when he felt the knife, probably not entirely intentionally, make a deep cut across the back of his shoulder. For a moment, he even forgot about the prince.
When the strap of Dove's case came lose and he knew the other was about to take her, he went...wild.
It had never happened before. He wasn't even certain what happened this time, except that he felt a growl of animal anger grow in his throat. He distantly heard the horses panic, and he saw the man's eyes go wide as Brendan twisted in his hold and attacked, barehanded, doing whatever he needed to do to get Dove back.
He killed the man.
It shocked him, knowing he had choked the life out of another being; and he drew his hands back with a start, coming back to himself, kneeling on the man's unmoving chest. He scrambled back, grabbing Dove and tripping again over another body. Yes. The first man. The others.
He gasped, shaking. Afraid, because now that the roaring in his ears had stopped he could no longer hear the battle; and he feared to learn that what he'd done had cost him --
"Are you all right, Brendan?" Shafara asked. She knelt before him.
"I don't know what happened," he said softly. "I don't know what I did. He tried to take Dove."
"Careful. You're bleeding."
"I don't know what happened."
"You protected Dove," she said.
"Everyone else?" he turned his head, trying to see; but the pain nearly toppled him.
"I said to be careful." She gently put a hand on his shoulder. He tried to pull away, afraid of how he might react. He couldn't trust himself.
But she held on, and a surge of magic swept through the pain and dulled it. She shook her head. "I wish I could do better. The others are fine, Brendan. A couple cuts are the worst of it. Two of the mercenaries got away, heading back to Fairport. We can't linger here."
"Did you see what happened?" he asked. He felt panic growing again.
"You're all right, Brendan," she said. She put a hand on the case he had pulled in front of him, holding tight to Dove without even realizing it. Her magic fixed the damaged strap, and he nodded his thanks. Dove was all right. He could feel her, soft and worried, a gentle music to soothe him again.
"Come on, we have to get moving. We can't be sure more aren't coming. And it's obvious they were after you. I think we can guess who hired and sent them."
That, for some reason, drew him out of the shell of fear. The two had put everyone else at risk to get at him. That they tried to take Dove, probably to destroy her if they had gotten her...it angered him. That anger almost frightened him again; but he realized as long as neither he nor Dove were in danger, he wasn't going to go...crazy again.
He nodded and let Shafara help him walk away from the body. His legs almost buckled, and he felt another surge of magic.
"Stop. Save your magic. I can do it myself now that I'm back in control." He reached into his tunic and drew out the crystal. She backed away quickly. "Sorry."
"No, it's all right. I'm glad you have that power. We may well need it before this journey is over. Ready?"
"Yes." He looked around, afraid what he would see in the faces of the others. But he didn't see judgment. He did see that Abby had a hand to his side, and Tristan looked very pale. He saw a thin line of blood... 
"Are you all right, Abby? Tristan, is he all right?"
"An old wound," Abby said. Tristan nodded, taking deeper breaths. "It can't be healed."
"I can -- Can't be healed?" Shafara said, and stopped before she reached him. "Can't?"
"Can't," Tristan said. "A wound from a cursed sword. Abby?"
He nodded, taking deeper breaths. "I'm all right. We need to move on. I don't want to be here if they return. Or if someone else wants to know what happened to these men."
"I'll take care of that," Shafara said. "Go back to the trail. Get moving."
Brendan staggered up toward the road, Kalis actually offering him a hand. He nodded gratefully, and looked to make sure the others were with them. Shafara stood alone by the battle scene. Six men dead. Gods, he didn't want to think about what he had done...
She raised her hands. He heard a whisper of words, a touch of magic, and then light; and the bodies slowly disappeared, sinking into the ground. Rest in peace, he thought. And really hoped they did, all things considered.

Five

Abby still sometimes looked around the landscape with a little dread and a moment of panic. This was not home. It looked...similar, but it felt different. The air tasted different. When he looked around, he did not see Ylant.
There was no magic here. He felt that keenly from Tristan. Shafara, Brendan and even Sandryn could use magic. Dove, obviously, held a lot of magic. But it was not part of the air they breathed like it had been on Ylant. For the first few days Tristan had felt as though he were suffocating.
No one seemed to realize that Tristan wasn't quite human, either. But, then, Abby didn't think they realized how different their own Brendan was, despite some rather graphic demonstrations.
Despite the trouble they had brought to this world, Abby still found moments of peace as they traveled toward the capital. He knew they headed into more trouble. It would come. For now, he enjoyed the walk in the sunlight. He didn't think they appreciated the sunlight enough here.
We didn't have enough time in the sunlight before we left Ylant, Tristan thought. He sighed. I still expect the darkness to rise up around us.
"I think that's me, not you, Tristan."
People looked at him, startled. He lifted his hand and smiled unexpectedly. "Sorry. Sometimes I forget when we aren't speaking aloud."
Lady Shafara nodded. She'd thrown a scarf up over her hair today, and somehow looked older for it. Abby had, in fact, begun to wonder about her age. She was not an elf, but even Tristan had felt age in her beyond the appearance she presented.
She caught him staring, and he looked away, embarrassed. She said nothing.
"We'll reach Senonia tomorrow or the next day," Shafara said. "We may want to feel things out before we go into the capital. From here on we'll start passing through far more villages."
"It's dangerous, Lady Shafara," Brendan said. Abby could hear the start of the argument the bard had been making for the last day and a half. "You need to take horses and go --"
"No."
Brendan suggested this more frequently now; and, certainly, he looked increasingly more frantic. Abby could understand. Brendan wanted the prince safely in the castle, and he feared that if the others held back for him he could put Sandryn in danger.
"Lady --"
"I am not going over this again, Brendan," she said, and this time her usual patience looked at an end. "We know that both you and the prince are in danger. I am not going to leave you behind to save him, not while it appears I can bring you both safely to the castle."
"But --"
Until now, Abby and Tristan had stayed out of the argument, but the bard looked unsettled enough as they neared the next village that Abby feared he might try to slip away from the group and force them to go on without him.
"If you go, Tristan and I go with you," he said.
Brendan looked at him, startled, and shook his head. Lady Shafara had obviously also thought Brendan looked ready to run from the way she sighed and obviously didn't particularly like Abby's statement. It was time, he decided, to remind everyone here of the business that brought him and Tristan to this world.
Shafara started forward, ready to head down to the town.
"Wait," Abby said. "We need to talk this out."
"No," she said. "There's nothing to talk about. We're going to Senonia, all of us. I am not prepared to sacrifice anyone along the way if it can be helped."
Unfortunate choice of word -- sacrifice. It nearly stopped Abby for a moment, but then he shook his head and continued.
"Tristan and I are not here to see the prince made king, though I've no objection to helping -- as long as it does not stop us from dealing with Tabor. And that, Brendan, is why if you try to leave Tristan and I will go with you. Tabor wants you dead. That makes you more important to what we're doing here."
Brendan shook his head, Lady Shafara glared; but then they both nodded.
"All right," Brendan said. He pulled Dove's case back up, running his hand over the nicks and cuts. "We'll stick together. But by the gods --"
"Don't!" Abby warned.
Brendan looked at him, eyes narrowed again. They had all gone with far too little sleep, and tempers were starting to fray. But he finally nodded. He started out ahead of the others, walking down the road while the rest fell in behind him. Abby leaned more heavily on the wooden staff, still feeling the Janin sullen inside. He'd have to let her out soon.
I fear we shall need her soon. Tabor has been too quiet. 
Abby nodded, looking up at the sky. He wanted the world to stay bright...
Brookeside turned out to be a larger village than any they'd passed through on this journey. A number of traders and other travelers had already settled in the local inns, since Senonia could be reached now in one leisurely day's travel. It worked as well the other way, too -- people leaving the city would reach the village in late afternoon.
The town seethed with people, and it seemed that Abby and Tristan were not the only ones unsettled by being in a crowd. They'd gotten through the gate without any trouble. They wandered down the main road, past ramshackle taverns and steel-eyed thugs. Abby thought they must look like a formidable group because no one followed.
Uptown proved a little better. Businesses lined the streets and side alleys,; and Abby almost laughed when he saw Shafara, Sandryn and Kalis all drawn to the edge of a passage where cloth merchants called out their wares.
"You'd think they'd have better cloth this close to the capital," Kalis said, fingering a piece of velvet while a sharp-eyed woman scowled.
"I suppose the Senonia merchants buy up all the good stuff and take it on," Shafara said. She started past; and he sighed, looking as though he would have liked to spend more time doing something normal.
Abby felt the same. As he and Tristan walked with the others, he looked at the huge buildings, the crowds of people, and the alienness of the place. There had been no large cities on Ylant. Villages had been nearly self-sufficient. The lands of Ishan had even fewer permanent settlements, except for the huge ruins of Satilia. 
The tall wooden buildings here looked unsteady, leaning inward over the streets and alleys. Abby started to feel claustrophobic, to feel as though the people just inside those doors would all reach out and grab them.
Calm.
This wasn't his world. This wasn't his place. He wanted just to find the Kiya and leave... but so far the Janin -- what he could sense of her--only had a feeling of her direction. It happened to be the general direction they traveled. 
Be wise, be wise.
"We are going to take a room here tonight," Shafara suddenly said as she stopped outside one inn. She lifted a hand when nearly everyone began to protest. "It's our best chance to get the latest news from the city before we go charging in. And I'm tired, my friends. We all are. Rooms in a good inn, some decent food, some rest. Maybe even for two days, if it looks good. Brendan? Do you agree?"
"Yes," he said. "It is a good idea."
"Abby? Tristan?"
"Yes," Tristan said. Abby started to protest, and stopped. "We need information. Abby and I know so little of what to expect."
Startled looks. They had forgotten the two didn't belong to this world. In a way, that made him feel more at ease. Though he and Tristan wore hats or hooded cloaks to hide the bands, he had feared they still looked like outsiders.
"I know a place," Brendan said, waving down the street. "And they know me. I think I'd rather stay somewhere I know. Besides, if we tried any farther up the city we'd start running into a few lords or ladies; and with Lady Shafara and Prince Sandryn in our group, I really don't think that's a good idea."
"Oh." Shafara looked around with a start. "You're right. Yes, this is good."
Abby bowed his head to keep from laughing. Lady Shafara rarely showed moments of consternation, and he knew he should not be amused. But then he saw Prince Sandryn grinning; and they laughed a moment, sharing the slight humor. Lady Shafara ignored them.
Brendan led them to a well-kept building and stepped into the partially open door of the inn. Abby looked up to see the sign -- it had not occurred to him until that moment that he actually couldn't read the words.
I don't think Brendan can read, Tristan thought, a little surprised, as well. Or else written words just don't mean nearly as much to him as the sounds of words does.
Lady Shafara signaled them both in as she kept track of everyone. Abby had never felt so... young before. It took him by surprise.
"Master Brendan! What a surprise!"
Oh, yes, they obviously knew the bard well here. The person Abby assumed must be the owner immediately began to move people around despite Brendan's protests, but it put his group at a table by the wall. That allowed both Shafara and Prince Sandryn, who did not sit side-by-side and draw attention, to slide back into respective corners. Abby and Tristan took places mid-table, with the others falling in around them. Kalis still looked as shocked and dismayed as he had the first day; but, then, given all he'd learned, Abby couldn't blame him.
"Just something light, Sota, if you don't mind," Brendan said. "No meats today."
"Certainly, Master Brendan!"
"And rooms? Do you have a few free?"
"Only two, I fear..."
"That will do," he said, and tossed the man a gold coin.
"You are very kind."
The man scurried away, obviously pleased to have such an important guest. Abby had the odd feeling it might have very little to do with the coin, either. Everywhere they'd gone Brendan had been greeted with the same fervor.
Keeper of the Song. 
Abby looked up, startled. The others, seeing his expression, looked around, hands almost reaching for weapons. He hoped that went unnoticed by the crowd. 
"'Keeper of the Song is more than just a title your king gave you," Abby said.
Brendan looked up and unexpectedly smiled. "The king did not give me that title."
Abby nodded. The others, he noted, didn't look terribly surprised, though he didn't think the others quite understood the entire ramifications.
Ah, but Tabor did, he thought with a little shiver. Yes, Tabor had reason to want this... bard... dead. Perhaps because Abby had the Janin he better understood about the creative power of music.
People came back with food and drink. An air of festivity rose when Brendan brought Dove up, and Abby had to quickly tap on the Janin to quiet her down. He feared that wouldn't work for much longer. Good thing they were only a day --
Something dark brushed his senses. Not Tristan. Magic. Demon. Tabor --
"Not here," Tristan whispered, and grabbed his arm tightly when he tried to stand. "He's not here. But we have trouble."
"Tell the others--"
But they had obviously realized something had happened. Brendan, though smiling, put Dove away, pretending he intended to eat now. No one complained from the other tables, nor did they notice the way Brendan's companions looked from place to place around the room, casually... and not.
Abby started to calm, even in the face of this trouble. Tristan had a great deal to do with that control as his fingers still held tight.
Movement by the door. Someone came in. And another. Tristan felt the little magic there, glowing bright, a beacon that stood out like a fire in this magicless world.
"Too bright," Abby said. He turned to Lady Shafara, who had been watching the two at the door as well. "They are too obvious."
She started to say something, stopped. Nodded.
"I don't want trouble here," Brendan said. He picked up his cup and sipped a little, still eyeing the room over the rim. "Any hope we can take it out to the street before the trouble starts?"
"Brendan, friend, I get the feeling that wherever you go, that's where the trouble will be," Shafara said. "I'm not sure the street is wise, though. There are far more people out there right now, and I would hate to mistake one of them for the enemy. In here, at least, I have some idea of who was already here before the enemy arrived."
He nodded but didn't look any happier. "It might not be directed at us."
"Tabor is involved," Tristan said. "Abby and I both think the ones at the door are a trap. A lure to draw our attention."
Shafara nodded. She had leaned back and did not look at the door. Abby did the same, since he could see a different area of the room. He left Brendan, Tristan and Sandryn to watch the ones at the door.
Kalis turned out to be the one who saw the real trouble coming. From the kitchen.
"Arrows!"
Abby looked -- a crossbow, a man in dark clothing. Kalis had knocked Brendan back and even somehow brought the prince down as well just as the arrows flew -- more than one, and from more than one direction -- but they found no target. Then, the innkeeper, who looked sorely vexed by this behavior, hit the crossbowman across the back of the head with a rather large pot.
He went down. Excellent.
Pandemonium had already overtaken the rest of the common room, where startled shouts filled the air. People began to get to their feet, though most wisely looked for better cover.
Abby saw someone coming at them. He hoped he didn't make a mistake when he brought the Janin around and struck the attacker in the side of the head. As the man fell he saw the knife, relieving him of some guilt.
Another close by. He swung again and the Janin caught that one across the shoulder. He heard the wood crack and feared she would get free of it if he used her as a weapon again, though he loathed the thought of pulling the sword. Wounds with a bladed weapon could be far more serious, and he didn't want to hurt the wrong person.
So, he didn't pull God's Honor until someone tried to come over the table to get at Brendan, who had only a small dagger for defense -- at least, if he didn't use magic. Abby pulled the sword quickly; and the man, seeing the weapon come at him, rolled away and toward Sandryn, who had no trouble with the weapon he held.
The prince had obviously been trained to use weapons. By Shafara, Abby suspected, and noted she had no trouble with a long-bladed dagger, either.
That all of them refrained from using defensive magic stopped Tristan from doing so, which left the elf at a disadvantage. Abby backed up to him, intending to let the others protect Brendan and the prince.
***
Tristan felt a sudden surge of magic and lifted his hand to counter it, but the battle had ended. The enemy began retreating -- and quickly -- except for two who were not going to retreat at all. They had even grabbed their downed crossbowman, and no one tried to stop them -- or could have, Abby noted, with the amount of magic they used to clear the way.
"Black Circle," Shafara said, kicking the hand of the man Sandryn had killed.
"Why did they retreat?"
"Tabor pulled them back," Tristan said softly. "And I don't know why."
That unsettled all of them, but in the next moment the innkeeper arrived with a few guards from out on the street. Abby left the others to handle that matter and sat back in the corner, the Janin against the wall to his side and Tristan in the chair beside him.
It's not right. I don't like it. 
Abby didn't argue.

Six

A dark night, the moon -- what there was of it -- lost behind the clouds. Brendan sat by the window and waited. He didn't know what he waited for; but like, Tristan and Abby, he felt certain that something still lurked out there. Ready.
Dove, sitting in her case against the wall by his feet, played a discordant note. He'd never heard such a sound from her, and it sent a chill all the way up his spine.
And woke Abby, which he thought odd. He had expected Tristan, but the elf just burrowed into the blankets in the corner.
Abby stood slowly. Brendan wished their otherworldly guest had taken the bed instead of insisting Shafara did. He looked worn; and Brendan feared, the way he held his arm to his chest, that he had done himself harm again.
"It's not good," Brendan said, reaching down and running his finger across the top of the harp case. She played a better note this time, though even that sounded wistful.
"I hate that we've brought problems to this world."
"Not all of them are yours," Brendan whispered with a nod toward Sandryn. "We had been making our own."
"I wish I knew where the piece of the Kiya is," Abby said. He ran a hand through his snarled hair and leaned back against the wall. If the others were disturbed at the sound of the voices, they didn't show it. Brendan suddenly had the feeling that no one really slept tonight.
"If you found it you'd leave."
"Yes," Abby said. "Take her and go, and Tabor would follow; and then you would have only your own problems to deal with."
He nodded. "I'm not sure about the Black Circle. They've never been after me before, but --"
He looked out the window.
And froze. Something stood on the roof across the alley. Something with red eyes staring back at him, and wings --
"What in the name of the gods is that?" he whispered, his hand drawing the dagger.
Another landed. Swept in silently and crouched, looking at him. He had no doubt they could see him.
Abby looked out the opening.
"Damn!" he said, and the word sounded like power in his voice, startling everyone awake. "Tristan! Gargoyles!"
Tristan rolled from the blanket and to his feet just as something landed on the roof above them.
"Go! Grab everything and try to get downstairs. Don't go outside!" Tristan warned. Both he and Abby looked panicked. "They can pick up humans and carry them off!" 
"I've never seen anything like them!" Shafara said, glancing at the window as she began grabbing packs. "Get the shutters closed!"
Brendan obeyed, and ran the leather tie around in a quick knot. He knew it wasn't going to hold. Another landed above them. And another. They tore at the roofing, and he imagined sharp claws against the wood. He grabbed Dove and her case.
Something hit the side of the building, tore out the shutters and half the window then reached in and grabbed him, claws going straight through his shoulder. He hadn't even time to cry out as it dragged him out.
He dropped Dove. Did it purposely, because he would not take her into danger! In the next moment, he felt himself start to let go of his humanity; and he clamped down on that reaction with a surge of fear. Even now, even knowing that it might help, he did not want to be that animal that had killed with its bare hands again. He would rather die a man than become an unnatural creature and lose himself, even to stay alive, that way.
He feared if he let go of his humanity again, he might never come back.
Brendan twisted enough to pull his dagger, and jabbed at the thin, sinewy dark arm. He thought he cut it, but the creature dug its claws in tighter and pulled him half out the window.
The gargoyle didn't get him the rest of the way. Sandryn came out of the darkness, a sword in hand. In that moment, he stopped thinking of the prince as a boy. He'd seen Sandryn easily handle himself in battles against other men and do what needed to be done when the killing came. Now, he did the same against something unnatural, dangerous -- and deadly. And he did it without fear of his own safety.
Sandryn shoved the blade over the top of Brendan's head and into the neck of the creature. It gasped, growled, coughed -- but didn't die. And did not let go. The wings flapped feebly, but mostly it became a great weight, pulling Brendan downward.
"Damn!" Sandryn dropped his sword and grabbed hold of Brendan, barely keeping him from sliding out the window. Brendan tired to tear the claws out of his shoulder, fearing that even magic couldn't heal the damage done this time.
He could hear the sound of a battle. He could even hear the sound of other people, elsewhere in the building; but he could not lever himself up. Blood loss had begun to make him lightheaded. He thought Sandryn had trouble holding him then feared that the prince put himself in danger to save him --
He felt other hands on him now, and knew that at least the prince wasn't alone. Sounds of battle, still; but he'd started to lose consciousness, and everything went distant...
And then he heard Lady Shafara shout something, saw a glimpse of her leaning over him. He had started to faint and pulled back because he didn't want to give up so easily --
"Kill it, Lady," Tristan said from somewhere else. Holding on to him? "It will disappear -- I hope! Quickly! I feel more magic --"
She killed it. Brendan felt a jolt from the force of the power she used...and then he felt nothing at all...
***
"Sip, Brendan."
Tristan had hold of him, an arm under his shoulders -- the left one still felt on fire, but he knew that magic had healed some of the wound.
"Sip. You need the warmth."
He realized that Abby knelt beside him, a cup in hand. They were downstairs in the Inn's common room. Many people surrounded them. Sounds from above.
"What --"
"We got everyone down here," Abby said. "We've put a barrier in place, but the gargoyles are persistent. We think the best thing to do is to...go somewhere else, so these people are no longer in danger."
Brendan nodded and finally sipped from the cup Abby held to his lips. The liquor, whatever it was, burnt through his mouth and down to his stomach. He couldn't say that he really felt better for it, though it did shock him into more awareness.
"Dove --"
"Here," Tristan said, and placed the harp, all safe in her case, in his hands.
"Gods. Thank you."
"I would not leave her behind," Tristan said and gave a little smile.
Lady Shafara knelt in front of him, looking worried. He started to panic, but knew it wouldn't help.
"We're going to have to get out of here," she said. "We're going to have to get out of the city, in fact, and get to Senonia as quickly as we can."
"What's happened?" Abby asked.
"People are beginning to catch on to who I am, and once they do that it won't take them long at all to look at Sandy," she said, bowing her head as she spoke, as though afraid people would see the words as well as hear them.
"And we had Black Circle Assassins here," Brendan said. He forced himself to sit up this time. "A direct link back to our worst enemies in the capital."
"Exactly. Brendan, we are not leaving you behind, so don't even start with that nonsense. The more Tabor wants you, the more determined I am to have you in my hands."
He started to protest, something darker than what she meant springing up in his mind. He stopped himself, but Lady Shafara had seen the look in his face.
"My apologies for how that sounded," she said, surprising him even as she helped him to his feet. "But you know that I am concerned with saving your life, Brendan. Always remember that."
He took a deep breath and then nodded. "I'm damned tired of being the victim," he said. "Lady, I think if we are about to be found out anyway, we should give them something serious to talk about."
Her eyes narrowed for a moment. Then she nodded. "So far, they've noticed nothing about Abby an Tristan. Too dark for them to even see those little bands they wear. I would prefer if you two do not give anything away just yet. But Brendan's right about one thing. I've heard my name whispered among some of the people, and that means there is no reason I cannot be blatant in the use of my powers to get us out of this danger."
"And me? Sandryn?" Brendan asked softly.
"Until Sandryn is crowned king, what he knows is best kept quiet," she said. Sounds above them -- howls and screeches from the creatures still trying to get through -- threatened to drown out even normal conversation. "Brendan, you stay ready, in case I need help with them. Let me go at it first. It's been a long time since I've had a chance to fully use my powers. I can't say if that's good or bad right now."
He nodded. Abby and Tristan looked less inclined to agree, but Brendan guessed they would hold back unless something required their magic to get them free and safely out of this trap.
Not much time. Brendan became quickly aware, now they had him on his feet, that the creatures besieged the room; and the people trapped looked inclined to panic. No time.
"Please listen!" Lady Shafara suddenly shouted. The voices stopped, though not the noises made by the creatures as they tried to tear through the ceiling above them. "I'm not going to play any more games with you. By now some have guessed anyway. I am Lady Shafara...and, yes, this is Prince Sandryn."
Brendan had the oddest feeling that if the gargoyles dropped through the ceiling right at that moment, no one would have noticed. People stared at Lady Shafara. A few heads turned toward Sandryn, but Brendan could see that most couldn't quite accept what they'd heard in that regard.
Two men who had been standing by the door, weapons in hand, looked both relieved and more worried. One came to Lady Shafara bowing his head. Soldiers. Brendan felt better for seeing them.
"We are with the city guard, Lady Shafara. We were passing by on our rounds when we saw... the trouble. What are they? Can you stop them?"
"We've killed four already," she said. "But they're canny. They want Brendan. They may also want the prince if they realize he's here."
"Brendan? The Bard? They don't like music?"
That made Brendan laugh a little. "Maybe so," he said.
He pulled away from Tristan, wanting to make certain that he hampered no one. He could hear claws, nearly through the wood above them.
"What now, Lady?" he said.
"Friend guard, we are going to need transport as soon as this is settled." She looked at Brendan, frowned. "We can't go by horseback --"
"Shafara," he started to protest, but went silent when she lifted her hand.
"An enclosed carriage. There's one that runs from here to the capital every day, right?"
"Yes, Lady."
"As soon as I give you the word, I want you and your friend to get it, the best horses you can find as quickly as you can, and drivers. And the two of you, to ride guard. What are your names?"
"Covell and Raedolf, Lady. I think we can get the transport, though someone is bound to argue."
"True enough," she agreed. "I'll make it official. Where are my supplies?"
Abby brought a pack over. He won a quick look from the guard, but no more. Shafara dumped her supplies out, found parchment, an inkbottle, and a quill; she wrote something quickly. Then, with a flourish of her fingers, she put a seal on the paper -- a bright glowing seal Brendan had not seen in a long time. Eight years, in fact, since the last note he'd received from the Court Magician.
Covell looked at the paper. He nodded and put it carefully inside his jacket then went back to the door. Brendan still wanted to argue. He didn't. No time.
Shafara looked up. A splinter of wood fell, and another.
No time at all.
"Brendan, how would you like to play bait?"
"Not much at all, actually. But I will. Where?"
"Abby -- no, Tristan and Kalis, can you move a table over by the door? Abby, just stand guard by the stairs. My hold is weakening. I want warning if they come through."
Abby bowed his head and went to the stairs. Tristan and Kalis moved a table. Sandryn and Lady Shafara began to tell the people what to do, which consisted mostly of staying back and not getting between them and the gargoyles.
Brendan crossed to the table and brought Dove out of her case. Kalis brought him a chair.
"Brendan!" Lady Shafara shouted. Nearly there...
"I'm ready," he said, sitting down. He ran his fingers over the strings, played something quick, sharp. Dove held back her own feelings this time.
He played music that drew the enemy straight to him.
And they came, digging their way down through the ceiling, sweeping down on dark batwings, eyes glowing red -- tall, wraithlike creatures. Claws that reached --
And then, as suddenly, Shafara stepped in front of him. Her magic came fast, strong, dangerous; and he hoped that Abby had sense enough to duck. Whatever she sent against the creatures, it severed heads, arms. They died. They disappeared.
Silence, except for the soft sobs of frightened people.
Shafara staggered a little from the amount of power she had used, and then moved past the table to the door. The guards opened it, and she stepped out. Brendan grabbed Dove and tried to follow, but she waved him back.
"No. Let me see first."
"You shouldn't be out there alone."
Tristan went past him. Shafara may have tried to stop him, but apparently she had no chance.
"Safe," Tristan said. "We need to go quickly, though. Tabor used considerable magic for this one. I think... I think because we didn't use magic against the Black Circle he thought we wouldn't."
"Must not have realized it was me," Shafara said. She ran a hand through her hair, pushing it back from her face. "And they would not have known about Sandryn -- Covell, Raedolf, get that transportation now. We must get away quickly. Sandryn, I need my writing supplies. We need to leave orders. No one can leave this city for at least a day. I want the gates sealed."
The two guards left. Brendan and Tristan took up the guards' positions at the door. Shafara went to deal with the frightened people and write her orders.
He had hoped for a night of rest. Now, leaning against the doorframe, he wondered when they would have rest again.
Abby crossed to the door, using the staff to keep steady. He had a cut on the side of his face; but overall, Brendan thought he probably had gotten the worst of it again.
"I'm tired of this," Brendan said. He looked around the room and shook his head. "I'll have to send funds to have this place rebuilt. I hate the idea that the people will have suffered because I was here."
"It'll be a popular place for it," Sandryn said, coming to stand with them. "But we'll make sure it's handled well, Brendan. Don't worry."
"I won't, Prince Sandryn. Are you ready to go back to Senonia?"
"Yes," he said. He looked at the people who watched them, many starting to overcome their fear. "I just hope that I prove worthy. The journey is almost over."
Abby nodded. "Such a long ways left to go, for Tristan and I."
Brendan tried to imagine what that must be like for them, torn from their world, going always on to new battles, new worlds. He still had Dove in his hand, and he found himself playing a very melancholy tune.
Abby looked at him. He nodded. They understood each other.

Seven

Kalis had proven a far better asset on this journey than Shafara could have hoped. As a merchant, he had traveled the road dozens of times a year. He not only knew inns, including rather discreet ones, but also guards--whom to bribe to get through the gate without questions--and the best places to eat.
Although he still looked startled by the company he kept, he'd lost all sign of his pretentiousness now that he knew his place in relationship to her. Or perhaps it was just that they had both stopped pretending to be someone else. Thinking back at her role as Mistress Faraday -- it seemed years past, not days -- she could see where Kalis might have thought a strong, domineering man would appeal to her.
Kalis proved to be their best asset when they reached Senonia. She had not been here in years, and she feared to move too openly in the early morning light. They sent the carriage and horses back with Raedolf and Covell and walked the last three miles to town, trying to draw as little attention as they could.
"This way," Kalis said, appearing at the edge of the alley where the group waited, keeping to the shadows. "I've gotten a room -- just one, but it has a way in from the outside. We'll be crowded, but we'll be out of view."
"Good. Thank you," Sandryn said. Shafara could see how tired he looked. And how anxious.
They slipped out of the alley and followed Kalis through streets that were already filled with locals, many of them heading toward one of the two marketplaces. Shafara felt a little skip in her heart as they moved along with the crowd. They had reached home, finally. Even she couldn't deny it now. She looked up and saw the dark spires of the castle above the uneven outline of the lower city. It called to her.
But not yet. Soon, they would be safe within those walls if, indeed, that proved safe at all.
Kalis had again done well. The inn he had chosen looked disreputable, rundown and stank a bit. It probably had quite a business when the night ladies came out, but in daylight the stairs up to the rooms on the top floor were empty. They scurried up the creaking, wooden steps like rats looking for an available hole.
The room proved awful and disgusting. Shafara, too tired to put up with anything more, took care of that with a very quick spell that cleaned it, probably too well.
"Ah," Abby said. He looked startled. "Yes, that is better."
"We're going to be here all day. We need to rest. I was not going to have my sleep disturbed by fleas and bedbugs."
"She gets short-tempered when she's tired," Sandryn said, moving past her and toward the window.
Shafara started to snap back an answer, but she knew he was right. No matter. They had a good place to rest now.
"Thank you, Kalis. You have done very well."
He smiled. So did she. But then she crossed to the window; and, with Sandryn, she looked out at the building that rose up into the sky, a beacon to them.
"We could go right now," he said.
"No. Rest first. We know we will bring trouble when we show ourselves, and we both need to be prepared to take it on."
He nodded. "Besides, there's a feel in the city already..."
"I noticed. I cannot seem to put my finger on the trouble, though."
"I'll go out on the street and see what I can learn," Kalis said. He lifted his hand when she started to protest. "No, I'll be fine. They're used to seeing me in certain quarters. Can I bring you back anything?"
"Cloth," she said, taking her coin pouch off her belt and tossing it to him. "Very good cloth for a dress and cloak for me, a good suit of clothing for Sandryn and a cloak, as well. I can do the sewing by magic. We just dare not show up at the castle looking like refugees or beggars."
"Ah, yes, of course," he said. He looked them both over. "Blues for you. Royal greens for the prince."
She nodded and trusted him. He knew his work.
After he left she sealed the door and put a ward on the stairs. The others were already starting to find places to sleep.
Shafara stood at the window for a moment longer. Then, she put a ward there, as well, not wanting to close it and block the only air circulation. She purposely turned away and settled down to rest, if not sleep.
"I'll take the watch," Tristan said.
She thought about arguing. Instead, she sat down, pulling her pack over for a pillow. It wasn't comfortable, but she didn't care for long.
***
At sunset, they stood at the edge of the wide market square and surveyed the people who passed heading back toward the city. Everything seemed normal enough: the farmers packing up the last of their goods, the merchants dragging packs behind them after a long day. Shafara watched them, looking for any sign of problems. Outwardly, it seemed normal.
But Shafara felt a dark shadow of magic that had not been here before. She could tell Tristan and Abby felt it, as well. And Brendan, she thought. She didn't have to ask what that meant. Tabor had his hand in something here, but she couldn't tell what it might be.
The Janin, still disguised as a wooden staff, had begun to sing more loudly; however, so many people passed by no one else heard that unnatural sound.
Abby and Tristan did not wear cloaks or hats this time. They drew attention, looking out of the ordinary with the two golden headbands. That, in turn, kept people from looking too closely at Shafara and Sandryn. Brendan drew looks as well, but he always had. Everyone thought he looked exotic.
"Do you know -- is your Tabor near?" Shafara asked softly.
"Near," Tristan said with a quick nod. "There's a feel of him here."
"Are we going straight in?" Sandy asked. He watched the gate to the upper city for a moment, and Shafara wondered what he thought about going back to that place where had been born -- and where he would now rule.
"We'll go in," Shafara said. "But we go as the cloth merchant, her servant and a rather famous bard. That will be enough. No need to announce our true intentions before we see Lord Falrick."
"I'm more worried about what Tabor will think," Sandryn said.
"We'll stay by you, Prince Sandryn," Abby said, though softly. "And if it comes to a confrontation with Tabor, you can be assured he will go for Tristan and me, and not you."
"I was not asking for someone to step between me and danger," he said.
"It won't be a matter of stepping between you and danger," Tristan said. He gave a little shrug. "Tabor will go for us. We are the greater danger. It may well be that we'll fail, and then you'll be left to deal with him. I hope that doesn't happen."
"I am here for a purpose," Abby said, his face darkening and his hand holding tighter to the staff. She sang louder, and then quieted when he thumped her against the ground. "I will find the piece of the Kiya, and if I must deal with Tabor as well then I will do that duty."
"Why are you so bitter, Abby?" Sandryn asked.
Tristan winced; but Abby sighed, obviously not as upset as his friend had expected. He shrugged -- a movement that didn't seem much like the Abby Shafara had come to know during their journey.
"I doubt even Tristan fully understands why I am bitter," he said at last.
"I try."
Abby smiled. Then he looked at Sandryn and offered at least a little answer. "Whatever I do, it is because it was given to me to do. Gods, demons and old High Elves have conspired to curse me and force me to do the work. No one ever asked...and it makes me bitter because I would have taken up the battle on my own."
Shafara noted how Sandryn nodded and suspected he felt more than a little kinship with this stranger. Sandy had been born to be king, and now he must face some demon-spawned monster; but no one had asked if he wanted to take part in this battle, let alone be the focus of it.
"I think it's time that I go ahead," Brendan said. He looked toward the gate, where guards protected the city of the nobility from that of the commoners. The market crowd had thinned, and Shafara nodded her own reluctant agreement. When it came to it, none of them had been asked.
Brendan straightened his clothing, checked the strap on Dove again. She thought he looked a little nervous this time.
"I'll be known when we reach there, and I'll draw attention. Don't follow too far behind. I'll do what I can to keep them focused on me."
"Get word to my uncle, if you can," Sandryn said. He put a hand on Brendan's shoulder and looked as though he really didn't want to let the bard leave them. "Take care. Shafara and I will be in less danger than you, most likely. Tabor has been trying for you from the start."
"I'll be careful," Brendan promised. He looked past the prince to the mage. "I still have a few tricks of my own, and I won't be slow to use them this time."
Shafara nodded agreement. Brendan gave one last quick look at the rest of the group and then turned away. She held her breath as he started out at a brisk walk that quickly put a few yards and some weary travelers between them. She could see heads turn; and, in moments, someone called out his name. He waved a hello and never once looked back, drawing attention to those he left behind.
"He has no idea, does he?" Sandryn said, watching him go.
"About what?" Shafara asked.
"That the people watch him as though the music is always playing," Sandy answered.
"But it is always playing," Tristan answered, surprising them. He tilted his head as though he could hear something they could not. "He is the Keeper of the Song."
"What does that mean?" Shafara asked, hoping for a better answer than she'd gotten from the bard.
"It think it means just what it says," Abby said. He had closed his eyes for a moment, his hand on Tristan's arm -- listening with him? "He holds the very essence of music for your world. Let nothing happen to him."
Shafara looked again where the young bard walked, moving even farther away from them. She had more than enough to worry about, and hadn't really needed Abby's insight to add to her feelings of trouble.
But she knew Brendan faced danger, and it didn't help to dwell on it now. She could neither call the bard back nor do anything else that would draw more attention to him. Instead, she turned her thoughts to their own entry into the castle. She had no doubt they'd face trouble soon. She could feel it in the air, and pulling her cape tighter didn't help.

Eight

Brendan quickly put distance between his traveling companions and himself. He did it as unobtrusively as he could, and by the time he reached the gate leading to the upper city -- the first passage between him and the castle, still another gate away -- he had left behind anyone who had seen him in the vicinity of the others.
The king's guard kept this gate; and when Brendan waved, and watched the Captain quickly climb down from his tower post. It wouldn't be the first time the man had come to speak with him, but he saw something ominous in the Captain Danti's look that made him suspect this was more than a friendly hello. That possibility put him back on edge again, and he wondered how much of what he felt showed.
"Master Brendan, it's good to see you back, and safe." Had he stressed the word safe? Yes, Danti looked disturbed, though he hid it well enough from the curious crowd. "Are you going to the castle, sir?"
"Yes. I'm anxious to be home. My trip has been less than relaxing," Brendan said. He saw the man's eyes flicker wider, as though that confirmed something. Damn, damn.
"I'll walk with you, then," he said, surprising Brendan even more. Why did he think the bard needed an escort? Captains of the King's Guard did not normally accompany people through upper city -- well, not unless the person was a visiting dignitary.
He almost looked back toward the others; but he knew Lady Shafara and her companions wouldn't have too much trouble getting through, even if she had to resort to subtle magic. She could get past any wards placed here -- after all, she had been the one to make them.
They went through the gate and into the older city with its fine stone buildings, scattered temples and streets lined with shops instead of alleys and haphazard marketplaces. Many people still strolled here, taking advantage of the early evening breeze. 
The captain proved to be a good passport for a quick trip through the busy streets, but the man only spoke of trivialities and that made Brendan even more nervous. He knew something serious had gone wrong and wondered if Danti thought he didn't notice how he walked with his hand on his sword hilt. At least, the crowd didn't seem to think that amiss, which made Brendan feel a little better.
He did catch the looks the captain kept stealing at him now and then. What part did he play here? Brendan wished someone would clue him in. He was good at playing parts.
A wide processional road led from the gate to the castle. Danti avoided it and turned twice down side alleys when they got near the wider path and the larger crowds. Brendan asked no questions, which seemed to make the captain relieved but confused. They had traveled nearly halfway to the castle before they were finally alone in a side alley. Danti put a hand on his arm to hold him back.
"We've had trouble in the city, Master Brendan," he said softly.
"I had guessed that much. I don't often rate an escort. I'm only a bard, after all."
"The old king rated you rather high. And we of the King's Guard still do our duty to him."
Brendan bowed his head with thanks, grateful that others remembered the gruff old man who had cherished a son born late in his life, and who had held off enemies as long as he could to get the boy to safety.
"What has happened in Senonia?" Brendan asked.
"There have been assassination attempts on those loyal to the throne, and we fear the Black Circle is trying to encourage a revolt among the city populace. Any incident could set them off. The people have been uncommonly uneasy, as if there's something dark in the air. The death of the favorite bard could be the perfect kindling to start the flames."
"Someone tried to kill me in Esse," Brendan said. He didn't surprise the man, except, probably, that he had survived it. "The Black Circle moved against me, and by luck alone the man died and I survived. We faced other trouble last night at Brookside. The guards sealed the city and are holding everyone there."
"There'd been worry about why so few people came through the gate today," Danti said and started away again.
Brendan kept close to his side. The news had not made him feel any safer.
"Then we heard news about a storm to the south, and that set more people on edge. Some say magic brought the storm, but I have no sense for such things. What do you think?"
"Me?" Brendan said, giving him a look of innocence. "Well, the storm seemed very unusual."
"Yes," Danti agreed. He gave the bard one hastily concealed glance. Brendan suddenly wondered how many suspected him of magic.
"Is the High Councilor well?" he asked, quickly turning the conversation away from himself.
"Yes, but worried. Some of us...some of the people think it might be time for Prince Sandryn to return. Not that we haven't done well with Lord Falrick, but the prince should be in his place. I'm sorry, Master Brendan, I don't mean to prattle so. It's not my place to say what the prince should be doing."
"It's as much your place as any man's," Brendan said. "Perhaps more so. You are a captain of the King's Guard, and that's where your loyalty lies."
"Not everyone understands that loyalty. Thank you."
They drew nearer to the great open square before the final gate. Just ahead stood the entrance to the castle, a row of massive worked-stone battlements topped with the ever-present King's Guard archers. There had been no war in the capital for the last two generations, but the threat seemed always near. If the guards seemed more attentive today, perhaps they had cause.
As usual, a crowd stood outside the guarded gate. Petitioners waited here for hours on end, and often many spent the night camped in place so they could guarantee an early entry into the court the next day. Danti looked from the line and gave Brendan a nod that mixed worry and fortitude. His hand rested more heavily on his sword hilt now, an obvious warning to anyone who took notice of the two as they crossed to the final gate. 
People moved aside, most probably thinking this nothing more than his usual show. After all, the King's Guard had always shown a little swagger when they accompanied the King's Bard.
Yes, let them think it all an act. He could play to that mood. When people called out for a song, Brendan waved and apologized that he didn't have time just now. They easily accepted this, and none had ever accused him of pretentiousness. If he hadn't time for a song now, he would give them one at another time. He as often sang for free in the market as for pay at some lord's banquet. And no one ever left disappointed, though he had occasionally annoyed a lord and lady or two.
Danti hastily led the way through the maze of people and directly to the gate and the brightly dressed and formally stationed guards. They always held their swords in hand; and, for all their formality, Brendan knew them capable of using the weapons very well. He'd sometimes watched their training exercises, and the ones who survived were the best in the land. He took comfort in seeing them.
But, even so, the closer they drew to the gate the more ill-at-ease Brendan felt. He looked over his shoulder twice, hoping it wasn't too obvious; but he did spot Shafara, Sandryn, Kalis, Abby and Tristan. He suspected they hadn't taken the circular route to reach the palace; they worked their way along the edge of the crowd, keeping pace with him. Abby and Tristan had found moderate anonymity in their hooded cloaks again, and Shafara kept her head down. 
Why should they draw attention? Strangers were commonplace here, and most everyone's attention had gone to the famous bard. Brendan put a little more show into the last of his walk, playing his part with a bit more finesse as he called out greetings to those who said his name. Danti gave him an odd look, though he said nothing.
But Brendan still felt something wrong. His skin tingled, a sure sign of magic in the air. Trouble. His own hand hovered near his dagger as he glanced around, smiling to the crowd. He could see nothing wrong where Shafara and the others walked, though he never doubted she could sense the magic as well.
"Take care, Master Brendan," the captain said softly, obviously sensing something amiss. The crowd had started to look uneasy. "Do you know your dagger?"
"Well enough," Brendan said. He looked from side-to-side, trying to find the source of the danger. "There's trouble in the crowd. I sense it."
"So do I."
"I don't think we'll make the gate," Brendan warned. He finally saw a man off to the side, one who did not particularly stand out except that he had kept pace with them for some time. Looking for an opening. Brendan knew he had found his enemy.
The man knew he'd been spotted. He started toward the two, pushing a woman out of the way. Brendan had his dagger pulled and ready before he made his move.
People shouted with sudden surprise and scattered. The captain drew his weapon and turned to face whatever Brendan had found, but the attacker stopped and raised his left hand. Something small glittered with a silver sparkle in his palm.
"Darts!" Brendan realized he had nowhere to take cover that wouldn't put others in the line of fire. So, instead, he leapt to tackle the enemy. Perhaps the animal quality of his snarl and the fierceness in his eyes surprised the man. He froze.
Brendan's leap sent them both sprawling, but that also brought the assassin out of his stupor. He swung with the hand that held the dart; and the needle tore across Brendan's left arm, cutting deep before it caught and held with a brief bite of intense pain. Brendan cursed and brought the dagger around, shoving it into the man's chest. The assassin shuddered and went very still.
Movement around Brendan brought him back to his heels. Well, that had been a show for the crowd. He reached to pull out the dart, but a hand caught his and stopped him.
"No, sir," an unfamiliar voice said. Brendan recognized the uniform of a gate guard, sword still held ready. "Don't pull it out. They're barbed on the very end. Let us get you inside."
Brendan came up on his feet and glanced hastily about the crowd. Faces began pressing closer to him, but the captain and the guard held them back.
"Sir, come." The guard caught hold of him and pulled toward the gate. For the most part, the crowd fell back; but one leapt toward them. The guard swung without hesitation and caught the assailant in mid-chest.
But then the guard went down, as well; Brendan didn't see what had happened. Danti leaned down to pull the man back to his feet, and Brendan saw blood on his back. There must be another enemy in the crowd, but Brendan couldn't pick him out this time.
Safety lay at the gate, where the other five guards still held their posts. The archers also stood by, but didn't fire down on the crowd, for which Brendan thanked the gods. He couldn't see Shafara and her party now, and arrows loosed in the rioting crowd. --Gods help them all!
Brendan decided he needed to reach the gate as quickly as possible. Shafara would head in that direction as well, and he'd do better to help them there.
His arm ached, and so did his shoulder. He could feel every wound he'd taken on this damn long journey. Bards were not meant to be warriors. 
Then, weakness surged up through his legs, and he nearly stumbled. People began to press in too close again, a flow of colors and sounds. Hands caught hold of him, held him to his feet before he pulled away. He'd lost sight of Danti and the gate guard, and hoped they made it to safety. He had nearly reached the gate. The guards had not retreated inside, though that was their standing order in time of danger. They fought off anyone who dared near the post. He saw the captain and the guard make it, praise the gods.
Then, he realized that the guards waited for him. He tried to hurry. One thing gave him hope -- to the right, a few yards away, he spied his traveling companions. Though Shafara had the power, she didn't use it to press forward when they could have outdistanced him -- but maybe that was wise. The guards, unfortunately, wouldn't know the four from the rest of the maddened crowd. He had to get there and help them through!
The world swirled around him as he stumbled nearer the post. Numbness crawled down his arm, his chest, toward his legs. Even his breathing became labored. Panic made his heart beat faster as he finally understood. He grabbed the dart and tore it out. The arm had gone completely numb, and he didn't feel the pain as the blood gushed.
Poison!
His legs gave out with a bone-wrenching fall. Panic brought him back to his knees, and he tried to regain his feet. Someone caught hold of his injured arm and pulled him upward. That broke through the numbness enough to make him gasp.
"Sorry, sir," Danti said. The fool had left safety to get him. "Come on. They dare not send out another guard for us. Hurry."
Brendan willed his feet to move. Sometimes they obeyed, but for the most part the captain dragged him toward the distant gate. Surely, it couldn't be that far... 
Someone hit him in the middle of his back, a sharp quick pain that did much to revive him as he neared the opening. He had almost been so far gone he forgot about the others.
"Master Brendan!"
He looked back. Five figures moved closer, and the guards had their swords down and ready.
"Master Brendan -- sanctuary!" Shafara said, looking frantically at the crowd. She had a hand on Sandryn's shoulder, and even the prince had a bloodied sword in his hand.
"We'll let no one past this gate," a lieutenant warned and began to push Brendan inside. The crowd surged forward, propelled, Brendan thought, by something behind them. Magic, perhaps. Abby and Tristan barely managed to drive a few people back.
The crowd moved toward them; and one man leapt forward, a sword in one hand, darts in the other. Abby knocked the sword aside; but the man brought up the dart, aimed --
Not at Brendan this time. The Black Circle had obviously realized that their true target had come within reach.
He had Sandryn in his sight. Shafara yelled and lifted her hands to cast, but something caught her in the shoulder -- a rock, he thought. He tried to move toward Sandryn, but he couldn't pull free --
Kalis threw himself past Abby and Tristan and at the assassin. Brendan didn't know what happened next. The crowd seemed to move as one, to yell like a single beast with many voices. He thought he heard Kalis cry out as he went down. He saw Abby try to reach him, saw Shafara push Sandryn back by the wall, even though the prince didn't want to retreat. Madness. Brendan feared that even his companions had been touched by it!
Tristan pulled Kalis back from the enraged crowd. The man hung limply in his arm, his head twisted, blood across his face. Brendan thought Abby had killed the assassin, but there could be more and...
And then he realized Kalis was dead. A dart had pierced his forehead just above the eyes, and the poison must have killed him instantly. Brendan looked at Shafara and saw her face white, her hands in fists. She shook her head, as though she could deny this death.
The moment went on forever in the two or three heartbeats it took to look back at Kalis, to see the crowd surge forward again and Abby fight to keep Tristan safe. They lost Kalis's body. He shivered, because it could have been any of them, instead.
Brendan gasped and fought away the numbness as he caught the guard's arm.
"Let them in," he said. "Let them in before any more are killed!"
"Sir, with the High Councilor to protect, we dare not take the chance --" Lt. Olvert said, shaking his head.
"Let them in!" His legs gave way again, but he held to the man's arm. "I won't go in without them! It's important!"
"Sir --"
"Trust me, for the sake of the gods! We need them inside! We've traveled together since Esse, and they have important matters that must go before Lord Falrick!"
He pulled free of Danti and stumbled over to Lady Shafara. She took hold of him and bent close to him, but even so, he barely heard her words.
"I can't cast. There's a trigger spell. If I use a spell now, it's going to start something I don't think I can contain. We need to be inside the wards!"
He felt it now. Magic filled the air, dark and ready for any trigger.
"Sir --" one of the guards began, and looked frantic.
Brendan shook his head, refusing even while everything around him began to turn dark and his life tried to slip away with every breath.
"Take them all in," Lt. Olvert said. "Just hurry!"
"Come, then, quickly! Keep them under guard!"
Shafara pushed Sandryn inside before grabbing hold of Abby and Tristan. Danti helped Brendan, who had lost nearly all ability to move now. They took the last few steps too quickly, but he felt a wave of relief when the gate slammed closed. He could hear the shouts of anger and frustration. Madness.
"Let's get out of the courtyard," Lt. Olvert ordered. He looked at Shafara for a moment, as though he thought he should know her -- but then shouts came again, and pounding at the gate.
Brendan let go of the captain, only to go down to his knees again.
"He's hurt," Sandryn said. He put up his sword and knelt by the bard. Shafara dropped down and put a hand on Brendan's chest, then looked up at the guards, her face pale.
"He's been poisoned. We must act quickly."
Danti lifted him. Brendan tried to hold on to the world, fearing the emptiness, the numbness. But, in the end, he knew that the prince had gotten safely inside. That was all that mattered.
He closed his eyes...

Nine

Kalis was dead. She tried not to think about that right now nor that they had been forced to abandon his body outside.
Gods, she had known they would face danger. She had always believed she would be ready to take on the Black Circle. She hadn't expected the cloth merchant to be the one to die protecting the prince.
She looked at Sandryn. His white face showed too many emotions, but at the moment he had turned his attention to Brendan. So must she.
Shafara knew her way around the castle. She headed for the steps to the main hall before the guard had even made up their minds about taking them inside. They had no time to waste. Brendan's arm bled badly, and that might help a little, slowing the spread of the poison inward, though it could be dangerous as well.
Gods, if she got hold of whoever did this...
Sandryn, Abby and Tristan came behind them. She saw the guard look at Abby and Tristan and frown, but there wasn't time for explanations.
The din of the crowd lessened as they entered the building and got good, solid, warded stone between them and the danger. She had envisioned a better homecoming for Sandryn, but at least he was safely within these walls. The castle had never been taken by force, and down through generations the kings had ensured their safety from magic by maintaining the loyalty of the best magicians. Only once in twelve generations had a king fallen, and then only because he had betrayed his people and locked his magician in prison. That had proved a bad decision.
Now, slipping at last into the main hall, Shafara felt true relief. The guards seemed less worried about the weapons the others carried now that they had left the crowd -- and the mob-inducing magic -- behind.
The soldier gently laid Brendan on a bench in the audience hall. Shafara dropped down beside him and put her hand on the bard's chest, whispering a spell she had been gathering all during the rush to this room. The tight strain in Brendan's face eased in the next moment, and his gasps for breath became less pronounced.
When she lifted her head, she saw the lieutenant look from Shafara to Brendan and back again. Then he dropped to his knees beside her.
"By the gods -- I didn't realize! You're Lady Shafara!"
"I am," she said, pushing the scarf from her hair. 
"Lady Shafara forgive me -- but we must know where the --"
He stopped speaking, blinking several times; and he held his breath for a moment. Then he swept back up to his feet and spun. Abby and Tristan stood back by the wall, looking spent and quiet; but the prince had settled on the bench beside Brendan, watching with obvious concern.
"Prince Sandryn Kell Kami."
Shafara saw Sandy look up, startled by the name. Then, he gave a quick nod and a worried smile. The guards knelt this time and bowed their heads.
"I was a fool not to see that you are the prince," their leader said. "I am Lt. Olvert, sire. Forgive me. You have changed considerably in the last years --"
"Don't apologize. We haven't the time," Sandryn said and signaled them back to their feet.
Olvert stood, but he still looked shaken. "If we had known you were out there --"
"We couldn't send a warning," Sandryn replied. He put a hand on Brendan's arm to help hold him as Shafara used her scarf to bind the wound. "We didn't dare. If they did this to Brendan, what would they have done if they'd known Shafara and I were close? He went ahead to draw any unwanted attention. Shafara? How is he?"
Someone entered the room. Olvert started for his sword but stopped when he recognized the High Councilor. Falrick saw Abby and Tristan first and looked worried, though the two did nothing. Then, he surveyed the rest of the room and found Sandy and Shafara. Relief made him look younger.
"You came, Prince Sandryn. I expected only an answer through Brendan."
"We came. We could see that the time had come for my return," Sandryn said. He looked at Shafara, as though still uncertain how to handle all this attention. 
Shafara said nothing, leaving him to his work. He'd do well. She'd given him all the training she could. She kept her attention on their bard, feeding a little more magic into him, trying to give him strength as she prepared for more serious spells. 
"I'm grateful you came. Everything seemed to be happening far too quickly. I feared you might be cut off entirely," Falrick said, sitting on a bench nearby.
"The situation seemed to call for haste," Sandryn said. 
"Yes," Falrick said. He looked down at Brendan and shook his head. "The people in the city are being stirred by rebels, and I think by a touch of magic. How badly injured is Brendan?"
"The wound is serious," Shafara said. "The poison spread quickly. I have it held at bay, but he's been weakened by other attacks."
"Others?"
"At least two other attempts on his life," Sandryn said. 
"The bard? Why?" Falrick asked, looking shocked and confused.
"Because our enemy sees him far more clearly than we ever have," Shafara said. "There is much more to Brendan than I understand. As long as we keep him alive, we have won a battle against this Tabor."
"Tabor wants him dead? I don't see why --"
"Because he holds a different magic," Tristan said. He lifted his hand, testing the air. "A strange and powerful magic. Tabor can sense it as I do."
"Who are you?" Falrick asked, and still looked wary.
"They are allies against Tabor, sire," Shafara said as she stood. "And we need them. Tristan and Aubreyan."
Abby pushed back his hood, and Tristan dropped his cloak altogether. The crowns didn't seem out of place in the castle, and their being with Shafara and Sandryn vouchsafed their good intentions, at least. There would still be questions, but not right now.
"What do we do now?" Falrick said.
"First, we get Brendan to his room. He needs rest before I attempt more work. I need to reinforce the wards, too. "
"He's very near death," Tristan said, his hand still reaching toward the feel of Brendan. "Let me try to heal him."
"We may need your magic elsewhere, Tristan, if Tabor is behind this."
"He is," Tristan said with certainty. "And he wants Brendan dead. That means, as you have pointed out, we want him very much alive. Let me do what I can."
"Thank you," Shafara said. She felt the life slipping away through her work, even while she tried to reinforce the magic. "Do what you can. Quickly."
Abby and Tristan came forward. She still found it disconcerting to see them echo each other's movements, but she left them to the work. She took Falrick aside; and Sandryn reluctantly followed, Olvert staying at the prince's side. Shafara liked that Olvert knew his responsibility had changed. She wondered if the captain and the others realized they had just become part of legend. She hoped Brendan soon recovered enough to sing it for them.
"Those two -- are they magicians, Shafara? Where are all these mages coming from suddenly? Are you threatened?"
"My Lord --"
"Falrick, Shafara. We've no time for protocol now." Falrick sat on a bench by the wall, and Shafara and Sandryn did the same. Olvert kept watch nearby.
"We've been caught up in something that reaches far beyond our little world, Falrick," she said. "A war that came from other places to touch our land and, if we are lucky, will move on again soon."
The High Councilor looked reasonably surprised by the statement--and then worried again. Shafara could see how the weight of the regency had changed him over the last eight years. He should have been younger -- ah, but this sort of power drained instead of fed. Few kings died old.
"What is happening, Shafara?" Falrick asked.
"We've become the battleground for forces from -- other places. Other dimensions. They seek an item, a small item of great power. Tabor will kill for it. Aubreyan and Tristan will -- do whatever they can to stop Tabor from taking it."
"Do they come from the same place as Tabor? I've stood in the presence of that... creature. They don't seem the same."
"They came from the same place, but they are not the same. They'll aid us against their enemy," Sandryn said. "And this is the kind of aid we dare not refuse. When gods and demons do battle, we poor mortals must make our own allies and find help where we can."
"I will trust you to know what the war will require. What can we do?"
"First, we arrange the coronation of Sandryn as king -- as much pomp and ceremony as we can manage in the next five days. The people need to have a leader, an established king, in this time of change and crisis. I don't think it will hurt that Sandryn has already taken a stand in this matter."
"I agree," Falrick said. He looked at the prince and nodded. "I won't stand in his way, of course. What else?"
"We use Abby and Tristan for whatever service they can perform. They know Tabor and have battled him before."
"Can they win?"
"Perhaps. They've two chances: either by defeating Tabor, which would be the most difficult, or by finding that missing magical item they all want."
"Which is?"
"A piece of a magical wooden staff called the Kiya Chanda Andee. The magic that even this piece holds is more than I could likely summon at any one time."
"You are making this sound less encouraging at every moment, Shafara," Falrick said. He leaned back against the wall and shook his head. "And where does Brendan fit into all of this?"
Shafara glanced to where Tristan and Abby knelt beside the bard, silent as they worked -- but, then, Abby and Tristan didn't need to speak.
"I don't know," Shafara admitted. "I've learned many strange things about our friend the bard, not the least of which is that he has more than a little knowledge of magic. Beyond that, I cannot say."
Falrick stood and pushed a hand through his graying hair. "Shafara, the people were happy, prosperous and content. The Black Circle assassins had fallen so far out of favor that the crowd seized two who had tried to preach revolution in the market last spring. They were no longer alive by the time they reached the King's Guard. Then, Tabor passed this way and...They've changed. I don't understand how he can have affected so many."
"His powers are different from ours," Shafara said. "I have been given to understand that Abby and Tristan match him, though."
"I'm glad this is your sphere, not mine."
"A diplomat still," Shafara said and smiled.
"We each do what we were trained for, sorceress," Falrick said.
Shafara nodded as she stood. For the first time in days she felt...hope. They had reached a place Tabor surely didn't want them to be. But they had not time to rest.
"Let's get to work. Tabor might not be far away." 

Ten

Abby stood by the window and looked down at the city, quieter now in the first light of dawn. The magic had dissipated with the rising sun, but the damage was already done. He could see bodies in the square, and sullen fires elsewhere.
And Kalis was dead. He hadn't known the man well, but he'd died to save others; and Abby honored him for that reason. And regretted what had happened. Tabor's work, he reminded himself, but still felt a measure of guilt that he'd had a part in it. How did it come to this? And how much worse would it be before they were done?
"It's not our fault," Tristan said aloud, but even he couldn't quite bury a feeling of responsibility.
"I know. We both know. I don't know what to do. This place is so... different."
Tristan gave a mental nod, a little touch of agreement. He settled on the bed, finally resting after the long night. They had taken Brendan past the crisis; and, though recovery would probably be slow, he would not die of the poison.
Abby looked away from the city. The size of it frightened him. At home they had villages scattered in proximity to castles, but large masses of population couldn't have been supported.
So, he looked beyond it to the sky and the distant mountains he only now saw for the first time. Snowcapped, tall... he could go there.
"You can't make them home," Tristan said.
Abby bowed his head and nodded. He walked away from the window and back to the table, where a servant had left wine, cheese, bread and cakes. He should have been hungry.
He should have been... doing something that helped.
"We helped get Brendan here. You helped to save his life because I didn't have the strength to do it all myself. That means we have stopped Tabor in something he wanted. For the moment, that's enough. Rest, Abby. We'll be going on to our own battles soon enough, but I like to think that we did something to help these people before we leave."
"Oh." Abby forcibly banished that feeling of uselessness. He looked around and shook his head again. "I don't know the name of this world."
"They don't have one, like we did on Ylant," Tristan answered. "They never looked beyond their own reality, Abby. That makes it more difficult for us. We don't feel part of this world. I fear it might be something we have to get used to, Abby."
"I never should have let you come along with me."
And that, surprisingly, annoyed Tristan. He sat up, startling Abby with the surge of anger that overrode his usual calm.
"You did not let me come with you. I chose my own path. It's time, Abby, that you stop making this just your war, your choice and your trouble. I am the one who scattered the pieces of the Kiya to worlds like this. I have just as much blame in what happened as you -- though, in the end, I really think you and I knew too little to be anything more then pawns."
"I'm sorry," Abby said, though he didn't know exactly what he apologized for this time.
"We're tired," Tristan said. "Abby, rest for awhile. We will soon face our own war. The Janin has been pointing us northward from the beginning. The fact that we could travel in that direction with our new friends, and help them through these dangers --"
"Yes, you're right. We'll be going on soon," he said. And he felt vexed at the realization he didn't want to leave the new friends behind just yet, though at the same time he knew he and Tristan couldn't stay and draw more danger to them.
He glanced to the window -- northward. He had already been looking that way, had already been letting his mind begin the journey, even if his body wasn't yet ready.
"We need to become a part of this world," he suddenly said. Tristan turned his head, confused. "The more we think of ourselves as outsiders, the less interest we have in saving it. We'll still do the work, of course; but I think unless we want to save this world, like we did Ylant, we run the risk of letting outside influences color our decisions. I was ready to just pack up and move on to find the Kiya because I could see no reason to stay and prolong this. But, Tristan, if I don't feel any ties to this world, then it is the Kiya alone that becomes important."
"I've been afraid to like them," Tristan said.
"I know. I felt the same way. I've felt like it wouldn't be fair to feel comfortable and then go on again. But it's not better to stand back away from everything, either, is it? For us or for them. How can they know to trust us if we never give them the chance?"
"True," Tristan said.
Abby went back to the window and stared for a long time down at the city, up at the mountains. This was not home. He wasn't sure they would ever return home again, but...
"Aubreyan, will you do something for me?" Tristan said, his head muffled in the pillow.
"Yes?"
"Stop thinking so much and get some sleep! Your mind is so busy you couldn't even hear me in there!"
Abby laughed. But he went to the other bed and curled up on the soft mattress, remembering far worse --
"Abby."
Aubreyan closed his eyes and let himself drift along on Tristan's earnest wish for sleep.

Eleven

The room looked familiar, even to Brendan's blurred sight. For a long while he stayed quite still and did nothing more difficult than try to breathe without too much pain.
But, somewhere close by, he could hear Dove, a soft gentle tune that kept him at peace again. He slowly recalled all that had happened in the square. His last coherent thought had not been about the numbing paralysis that had been taking him, but rather that Shafara and Sandryn had made it to safety.
The numbness would have been a blessing right now. Thousands of needles seemed to pierce his body, and movement made the agony worse. Still, lying here in his room, with no sounds of war nearby, relieved him of a great deal of anxiety.
By the time someone entered the room, he had finally succeeded in lifting his hand from the bedcloth to his chest. The suddenness of the door opening startled him into what would have been a defensive moment, but became only a quiver of pain instead.
"Brendan, you are awake," Shafara said as she quickly crossed and sat on a chair beside the bed. 
He thought she brought the sunshine with her. She had obviously rested, and smiled so freely that any fears for trouble disappeared. But when she reached for him, his breath still caught in fear of the pain.
"I'll be careful," she whispered, and placed her fingers gently against the back of his hand. But even that brought a moment of fire... then just warmth, softness spreading so far that he could have closed his eyes and gone back to sleep again.
"Thank you, Lady Shafara," he said sleepily. "That helps."
He wanted to sit up, but she shook her head.
"Rest a bit longer. Give the spell a chance to work. I should be surprised that you're awake, but I'm not. And the prince will be glad to hear the news. It's three days to the coronation, and he's threatened to postpone it until you're well enough to attend, even if you don't actually sing."
"Sing?"
"Let me get you some water," Shafara offered. She reached to the small table beside the bed and poured water from a pitcher into a crystal goblet. Rainbows flashed as she moved it from shadow to sunlight and to shadow again. He watched, entranced. He wanted to make the music of that movement, to create the sound of those colors.
"Sandy feels that your presence at the coronation -- a song, if possible -- would do a great deal to calm the uneasiness of the population."
"Me?"
"Here, sip this." Shafara helped lift his head, and then put the glass to his lips. He sipped and nodded, the water quenching a different fire.
"You've become a symbol for them, Brendan. A man of humble beginnings --"
"My father was the greatest pirate in the four seas!" Brendan protested.
"Yes, well, they only remember you as a slave." Shafara laughed and didn't stop him when he started to sit up again. "And you're still closer to them than any of the rest of us could be. You sang for them, for free."
"I sang because I must," Brendan said. He tried to lift his arms and gave a slight moan of frustration. "This is damned uncomfortable. What is going on, Shafara?"
"Tabor wants you dead," Shafara said. "He's failed again."
"Kalis died." Brendan felt the pain wrench his heart.
"He did," she said and bowed her head. "And I regret having pulled him into the trouble, not having protected him, not having done something...but he's dead. And we still face the same problems, Brendan. Tabor wants you dead, so we keep you closely watched."
"Your concern is appreciated," Brendan said. He still ached, but he felt coherent. "And where does that leave me?"
"The people respect you. You are a face they know, a man who has never done them ill. If you were to sing at the coronation, it will demonstrate where your loyalty lies. And a good many people will react to that alone."
"Then, I'll sing, though you may have to carry me there. Three days -- it's hardly time to compose a proper song. Can you hand me Dove? I'll need something to reinforce their loyalty to Prince Sandryn. It won't hurt to be blatant at the coronation."
Shafara picked up the harp's case and handed it over, and then helped draw Dove out as well. He saw the way her fingers brushed against the magic of the wood and the look of longing in her eyes that came and passed so quickly.
"Lady Shafara?" Brendan asked, obviously seeing something in her face.
"Don't overtax yourself, Brendan. And thank you."
"Was my loyalty really in question?"
"Never -- but we did wonder if you would consider it worth risking your life over."
"I do -- well, as long as I know I have others watching my back."
"You'll have that, for all the good it appears to have done you so far. Remember that we've not been much help in keeping you safe yet."
"You have kept me alive. I couldn't have done it myself." His hands caressed the harp.
"Thank you, Brendan. It is important."
He nodded, but he hardly noticed when she got up and walked to the door again. He had Dove in his hands and a song to sing. For now, nothing else mattered. 

Twelve

Magic of many sorts at work here. 
Shafara watched Brendan from the doorway for a moment, but knew he was no longer aware of her presence. She smiled as he plucked a couple notes from the harp and then stopped, looking thoughtful. She remembered the boy just as intent, right after he had found Dove. She thanked the gods he hadn't changed after all.
As she stepped from the room she nearly ran headlong into Tristan. He avoided her in barely enough time and smiled brightly. 
"Shafara, do I hear music? Is he that well?"
"Better, Tristan," Shafara said. She smiled. "Where is Aubreyan?"
"Sleeping still," Tristan said. "He hasn't slept much in days."
"Good. He looked as though he needed it. Do you have time to come to my rooms, Tristan? I would like to discuss a few more matters with you."
"Lead on."
Shafara nodded and wondered if the remarkable Tristan could sense even that movement. Very likely so. Magic wove in a continuous net around him, and he must have used some of it to see the world when he didn't look through Abby's eyes.
Tristan kept pace with her all the way up the long curling stairwell to her tower rooms. Shafara would have as soon worked out of some lower level room, since she had no head for heights and kept most of the windows covered with heavy tapestries. However, the tower room did provide both security and privacy, which had often proved essential in the work she did.
Tristan paused on the last of the steps and frowned. She'd gone the rest of the way before she noticed. 
"Tristan?"
"Oh. Sorry. Abby's awake." He smiled. "And curious."
"Will he join us?"
"No. He's going to indulge in a nice long bath."
"I suppose it hardly matters, since he's with you anyway." Shafara took the last few steps and, with a single wave, expelled the wards that had guarded the door. 
"Abby's always linked with me, but only when we are in need do we completely share," Tristan said as he followed her inside. He paused, and Shafara saw he had some trouble getting his bearings for the first time since the day of the storm.
"Unless we are side-by-side, the overlapping stimuli are very confusing. I prefer not to see what he sees when I'm some distance away."
"That seems wise," Shafara said. She gently took his arm. "There's a chair here where you can sit."
"Thank you. Too much magic in this room -- I can't feel it properly." He sat down, looking relaxed. He didn't wait for Shafara to start the conversation as she settled in a chair across from him. "What do you need to know from Abby and me?"
"How to defeat Tabor."
"That won't be easy."
"Ah, but you did do it once, didn't you?"
"We did -- at a cost. And the victory was only transitory. We're still pursuing him."
"I'll be honest, Tristan. I would like you to pursue him on some other world."
Tristan laughed and nodded agreement. "I'll do what I can to help you in that goal, Lady Shafara."
"You are much easier to deal with than Prince Aubreyan," Shafara said, knowing that Abby would hear.
"Abby is what he is for other reasons than that title," Tristan answered. 
Something dark and haunting crossed his face, but in the next breath it disappeared again. Had that been Abby?
"If title had anything to do with it, your Prince Sandryn Kell Kami would certainly not be such a bright point in this world, would he? And you'd not find me so easy to deal with, either."
That startled her. "You are a prince, also?"
"After a fashion. My grandfather is King of Ishan, the Elflands of our world. We're...what you would call immortal. We are not immune to death -- my parents died -- but it comes rarely to us. Edra will rule forever, and I shall be content to be prince and not king."
The darkness came again, a look of deeper pain. Maybe she misjudged him, to think him so shallow that he hadn't pains of his own. He obviously had dark memories.
"I would be content to be prince in my own lands."
"Can you go home again?" she asked softly.
Tristan's little laugh might have echoed Abby's thoughts as well as his own. She had seen a change again, and Shafara was fascinated watching the interplay of two minds in one body. "We might go home. If the gods will it."
"How can I help you, then?" she asked.
"Ah, but you asked me here to help you," Tristan reminded her. "Mutual aid is best. How can we help each other? Tabor hasn't found the Kiya. If he had, he certainly wouldn't take the time to seduce your world and create trouble in this city. We think, Abby and me, that he cannot find the Kiya. We think he doesn't have a sufficient feel for your world to locate something so out-of-place. Even the Janin is having a little trouble, though she does know it is still to the north."
"You want me to look for it."
"It would be helpful if you could seek for something out of harmony with your world. We have tried. " He stopped for a moment, and Shafara suspected communication with Abby. "Yes -- and it might be very near, since both Tabor and we arrived in this area. Can you do that?"
"I can try." Shafara leaned back in her chair. "But not yet. I must concentrate on the coronation. I fear your Tabor --"
"He is not ours. We had no part in his creation. Abby and I would have done as well without him. But the gods and the demons play games with us. We fight their wars and feed their hunger for more and more power. Abby and I have been chosen as champions of the gods. I wonder if a demon's curse would have been as bad."
The tapestries stirred; and a cold, chill breeze swept through the room like the touch of midwinter. Shafara shivered at the feel of something she knew held more than just mortal magic, but Tristan only turned his face into the breeze and smiled as brightly as ever.
"Ah, so you are here. I wondered how close the gods stood to this world. Aubreyan's mother watches over us. Do you come to dispel the dark, Lady Starwind?"
Nothing answered, for which Shafara felt very grateful. Tristan seemed to gather his thoughts and lowered his head for a long moment. The breeze passed; and when he looked up again, he looked far calmer.
"And then there is this problem with Brendan, isn't there?" Tristan said. "How is it that he's so important to Tabor? What key does he hold?"
"He doesn't know."
"Brendan's different from the rest of you. I sense strange things in him when I'm near. And when I walk beside him, it is as though all the world sings. Why is music so strong with him?"
"I don't know," Shafara answered, and felt a little whisper of both embarrassment and frustration. "It is some gift from his mother -- and I don't know what she was, either. We're all a mismatched group, aren't we?"
"Are we? What are you, Lady Shafara?"
"A woman with many powers," Shafara said. Then she decided not to keep any secrets, not now. "I served Sandryn's father and his father before him -- people tend to forget how long I have been here. It's unnatural."
"You bought your immortality, did you?"
"I traded for it," she said. "I traded my right to be only a woman."
"And have you ever regretted your choice?" Tristan asked.
"No. Well, not yet. Perhaps things have gone too well for me all these years. Guarding the prince against assassins was actually like a vacation away from the castle. But now this --"
"We'll take our battle elsewhere as soon as we can," Tristan assured her. "I rather like your prince myself. I don't wish him any ill."
"I know --"
"Wait. Listen." Tristan suddenly titled his head. "Can you hear that?"
"Hear what?"
"Music. The most beautiful music..."
"Is Abby anywhere near Brendan? He probably hears our minstrel making his song for the coronation. That's why he's famous, you know."
"Yes. Brendan -- but Abby is not there. Am I the only one who can hear this?"
Shafara didn't answer. Tristan listened for a moment longer, and then shook his head. His face cleared, but he looked very troubled.
"This is a problem. Whenever he plays, I can hardly do anything but listen."
"Should I ask him to stop?" Shafara asked, worried now as well.
"No. I think the danger is past. As long as Abby is not affected -- no, he isn't. Then there's only a small problem. I won't let that happen again. Besides -- " Tristan smiled again. "The music is beautiful."
Shafara smiled, as well, but felt disturbed by this new complication. Dared she now not count at all on Tristan – or, for that matter, Abby --- if Tabor chose the coronation as his place of attack? If he attacked while Brendan played...
"This is a mess," she finally said.
"Have faith," Tristan said. "I know that the odds now seem troubling, but Abby and I have won against worse than this. Prepare as best you can, and that's all you can do. We will win."
"You don't accept the possibility that you might lose?"
"No, I do not. It's true we have fewer powers here, but so does Tabor. We have the Janin Abestela, and he has lost the Kiya Chanda Andee. He obviously has made contact with some of the dark forces on this world, but we lucked upon the world's greatest magician --" Tristan stopped and shook his head. "Or was that luck? Do you believe in the gods, Lady Shafara?"
"I acknowledge them."
"Yes. Well, perhaps they gave us a little nudge when we needed it, that we came down so close to you. Or perhaps Brendan is what pulled us there." He stopped and shook his head. "Is there anything more we can discuss? Is there anything either of us can hope for, beyond what we already know?"
"Do you and your companion have powers that will help us in this battle?"
"Yes, and we'll use them. Never doubt that, Lady Shafara. Even if Tabor stood before us with the piece of that damned staff held out as a present, we would not abandon any of you to danger."
She started to ask how she could be sure of it. She suspected Tristan expected the question. She didn't ask. Either she trusted her allies or not. No amount of talking about it would tell her any more than she already knew.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm worried. I keep looking for..."
"For a magical answer," Tristan said. He grinned brightly and then stood. "I'm going to see Abby."
"I'll show you down."
"No, it's all right." He walked unerringly to the stairwell. "I can find my own way."
Shafara watched him go, though she held her breath for a moment with worry. Then, she turned away to other work, reproaching herself for thinking so little of him. Tristan had already proven himself capable of a good many things more difficult than walking down stairs.

Thirteen

The crowd frightened Abby. He looked at the mass of people stretching out beyond the square and the walls. Too walk through them --
"Abby." Tristan caught hold of his companion's arm and pulled him away from the window. "Calmly, Abby. It will not be so bad. They'll hardly even notice you and me."
"So many, Tristan," he whispered. His hands shook. Tristan took hold of them, holding tight despite the surge of emotions. "Tristan --"
"Aubreyan Altazar, we have a great many problems. Let us not add to them the fear of people who mean us no harm. Now, come and let me bind your chest and help you get dressed. We need to be ready when the others arrive."
Aubreyan nodded, let Tristan's calm settle him; and he pulled his hands away at last. He went to the bed where the chamberlain had laid out the clothing. Whoever had chosen the apparel had a good eye for style and color. Abby suspected the hand of either Sandryn or Shafara, given their background in cloth. He wondered if they would have trouble readjusting to life here.
And he thought of Kalis again. Tristan bowed his head for a moment, as well; but neither said anything.
Tristan sorted through the supplies in his pack while Abby settled on the edge of the bed and rubbed his hand over the wood that still encased the Janin. He could feel her sullen outrage at being trapped, but he promised her freedom as soon as the enemy came in sight. The knowledge that it wouldn't be long calmed her again.
"Slip your robe down, Abby. Let me get to work."
Abby set aside the Janin and pulled the robe to his waist. Tristan began to gently pull the bandages away from the wound that lay so close to Abby's heart. The cut hadn't bothered him much these last few days while he took his ease at the castle. Tristan wished for Abby's sake that they might stay here for a long, long time.
"Peace is not ours," Abby said aloud. "No more so than at home." 
Tristan nodded and didn't argue. He made quick work of the bandages, removing them with great care, cleaning the wound with cool water,.
A sudden knock on the door startled him just as he started to wrap new white cloth around the wound. His hand jerked. He and Abby both winced.
"Who's there?" Abby said, waving aside Tristan's silent apologies.
"Shafara. We should talk while we still have a few moments."
"Come in."
Shafara hurried in. Her silver robes sparkled even in this dull light, and she wore her hair long and flowing. To Abby she looked like a butterfly finally released from the cocoon she'd been wrapped in for so long.
During the journey, he had had the feeling she really didn't want to return to the castle; but now he couldn't imagine her working in some shop, denying her power and pretending to be anything but herself--a very powerful magician and member of the royal court.
"You're getting ready. Good. We'll --" She stopped and her face and voice changed. "It really doesn't heal?"
Abby didn't know what she meant.
"The wound, Abby," Tristan said, wrapping cloth around it twice more. "No, it doesn't heal."
Shafara's face darkened this time. "I don't think I would care to live in this place you come from, with all its harsh evils --"
"Great evils countered by great beauty and good," Tristan said as he finished his work. "You don't have cursed swords and demon lords -- but neither do you have dragons and pixies." 
"Did you come for some purpose, Shafara?" Abby asked as Tristan helped with the robe.
"Yes," Shafara said. "I've placed your sword where we decided, to the right of the altar and beneath the cloth. You're sure you don't want me to put the Janin --"
"She'd never allow you to put her anywhere," Tristan warned.
"She'll be fine with me," Abby said. "And she can detect Tabor, if he comes near. Better to have any advance warning we can get. How is Brendan?"
"I just left him. He's ready." Shafara said. "I have had you placed behind him during the ceremonies."
"You will be with the prince," Abby said, understanding the situation. "We'll watch Brendan."
"Thank you." She looked relieved. "Be ready and listen for the bell."
"We will," Abby said. He fought down another surge of fear when he thought about the crowd. Shafara looked troubled, perhaps because of the dismay on Tristan's face. Or perhaps she remembered again how much she had staked on these two. She left without speaking again. 

Fourteen

Brendan leaned against the pillows where he rested, waiting for the guard to collect him for the journey to the Great Temple, an ancient building that sat in the middle of town. No one except the new king and his guards were allowed to carry weapons on the day of coronation. That Brendan would also stand within the protection of that guard made him uneasy -- mostly because he knew that he needed it.
He picked up Dove from the bedside and held her tight. Too much of what had happened still bothered him, and not just because it involved his own safety. He feared he would fail his friends and the prince. He feared...many things.
When the guard finally knocked, it startled him awake. He'd been dreaming again -- unpleasant scenes of darkness and demons that hadn't been born of his own memory. He had begun to realize he'd picked up more from Abby and Tristan than he'd first thought.
"Sir?" a voice said at the door.
"Enter." He slipped his legs over the side of the bed, but didn't dare try to stand just yet.
Lt. Olvert entered and bowed. The man's golden ceremonial chainmail glowed, and the fine Royal Green cloak hung in perfect folds. Aside from his own rather fancy clothing, supplied by Lady Shafara, this was the first sign he'd had of the pomp involved. He felt a lifting of his spirits, which seemed odd--or maybe not. He had always loved a show. There would not be one better than this. 
"Master Brendan, I came to see if you require anything more before I go to the prince."
"Nothing, thank you." He stood slowly, keeping a hand on the bedpost.
"Sir, are you certain you won't take a litter to the ceremonies?"
"Not to the temple. I've strength enough for the journey there. But if you could have one ready afterward, in case..."
"I had already taken that precaution, sir," Olvert said. "I've put Captain Danti in charge of your guard. He's the one who escorted you through the streets and into the castle." 
"Excellent," he said and smiled as Danti entered the room. The man limped a little but didn't seem any the worse for having survived the riot.
"Sir," he said, bowing as well.
"There's too much formality today," Brendan said.
"It's that kind of day," Olvert said. "I have to get back to the prince. Good luck, Brendan. Take care."
He only paused at the door, imparting some final words to the remaining three guards there. Brendan stayed on his feet, gathering up his harp and reaching for his cloak. Danti caught that for him and, with the flourish of a well-trained servant, spread the cape across his shoulders. He followed Brendan to the door.
Brendan moved slowly, determined not to wear himself out before they even reached the main hall. He hadn't left his rooms since the day he awoke there, keeping busy with the writing of songs and doing his best to recover. Now, he paused at the top of the stairs and put a hand against the frame to aid against the dizziness. He had hoped to be doing better by now.
"Sir, let us get something to carry you --"
"No," he said. He descended one step and then another. "Captain, everything done today is part of a carefully planned show. It's important the people see me on my feet and not be reminded of what happened at the riot. I'll be all right."
"There are no crowds here, and you need to save your strength," Danti said.
He gently took Brendan's arm and helped him along. Brendan didn't argue. The other guards fell in around them.
"The coronation has come quite suddenly. We hadn't expected it so soon after the prince's return. And the riot -- the feel of the people -- we have a serious problem, don't we?"
"A very serious problem," Brendan said. "But we have allies."
"The two strangers?"
"Yes."
"Lady Shafara says that there might be trouble at the coronation, but she can't say exactly what it will be."
"We don't know what might happen, but we suspect that enemies will attempt to strike before Sandryn is made king. Shafara and her allies will deal as best they can with the magical side. You must be ready with your sword to protect your prince -- or your king, if we get that far."
Danti sighed and nodded.
They would soon leave the labyrinthine halls of the castle and face whatever trouble might come their way. Brendan had prepared as best he could. He held Dove tighter and let a hint of song sweep through his mind again.
The Great Hall and arched entryway gleamed with polished marble, and flowers filled the air with heady scents and a subtle allusion to spring and renewal. Servants scurried everywhere, preparing for royal receptions and feasts. Abby and Tristan stood by the doorway and the stairs that led down to the courtyard. They both smiled when Brendan neared, ignoring the looks of unease from Danti's men.
"Brendan," Tristan said and lightly touched the bard's arm. "I am very glad to see you on your feet."
"Barely on my feet," Brendan corrected and smiled. "You'll be near me during the procession and the ceremonies?" 
"Right behind you," Abby said. His hand tightened on the wood of the staff. Brendan could hear her hum, ever so softly. "We'll keep our own watch."
Brendan saw the way Danti looked bothered by those words. "Magic, Captain."
"Ah, of course," he said, chagrinned.
"The line has started forming," Abby said and looked out the doors. He didn't appear very happy about being part of this historic occasion -- but, then, why should he? This was not his world and his history. "Take care, Brendan."
"Sir, let's go down," Danti said, though he didn't look any happier about it than Abby.
Brendan nodded. He even let Danti keep hold of his arm as they went down the stairs, but at the bottom he finally pulled away and nodded his thanks. Abby and Tristan had followed his guards down into the group of people from the castle.
Falrick greeted him at the bottom of the steps and smiled brightly. "Brendan, you do look better!"
"Better than mostly dead, anyway," Brendan answered and grinned. "I'll manage this well enough, my lord."
"Take care, lad," the High Councilor said softly and then moved away.
The chamberlain arranged everyone in the proper spots along the line. Brendan found himself far closer to the front than he had expected. The High Priest and Priestess led the procession, followed by the prince, Lady Shafara and their guards. Then came two neighboring rulers who must have traveled on the winds to reach the coronation, along with their spouses and a few personal guards. Brendan followed behind them and before the other two visiting princes -- Abby and Tristan. He hadn't expected to be thrown in amongst the nobility. He wondered what the people were going to think when they saw their bard so highly placed--and with guards, as well.
His guards fell in around him as the signal came and the outer gates to Senonia opened. He could hear the excited shouts from the people on the other side.
"Abby, please," Tristan whispered. "It's all right."
Brendan looked back. Abby was pale, staring out through the gate at -- the crowd? He had never thought that Aubreyan Altazar would fear anything. 
He had not had time to get deeply acquainted with Abby and Tristan since their...appearance, but he had felt an instant kinship for Tristan when they shared that crown. Abby seemed something apart, even from his wondrous companion. He wondered if he would ever understand Aubreyan -- and if Aubreyan purposely distanced himself from others, even while Tristan seemed to welcome the friendship of everyone around him.
The line started to move at a slow dignified pace. Brendan measured how long this would take against his store of energy and began to walk. He touched Dove, who hung across his shoulder on a silken cord, free of her usual case. He could feel a whisper of a vibration against his hand, followed by a note so low that no one except he heard. Her music had always given him strength. He smiled and caressed her with gentle thanks.
The line started forward with jerking, uneven movements until they found their pace. Soon, Brendan passed the outer gates -- and for a moment even he felt fear at the sight of the people. Somewhere in that crowd walked assassins intent on killing him. He wasn't certain why, except that Tabor had ordered it. And, once again, the thought of Tabor stirred the shadows of memories not completely his own.
The crowd shouted his name, pleasure in their yells. He managed, after a few steps, to accept their welcome instead of fear it. He belonged here. He couldn't let Tabor chase him away from something so central to his life.
They traversed the city on the wide King's Road, the sides lined with people, the buildings bedecked with banners and even more flowers. He thought the land for miles around must have been denuded of color.
But it made the city feel alive, festive -- ready for a change and new life under a new king. He realized this had become far more than just illusion. He could see the excitement and relief on the faces of in the crowd. They knew that something had changed in their world.
When the procession neared the old temple, he heard the sound of choir music, singing odes to the king and the gods. Brendan, who was feeling weakened to the point of near-collapse, heard the sound and found new strength. He only needed to pause for a moment at the bottom of the long stairs leading up to the entrance.
The variegated marble carvings of gods, goddesses and fantastic creatures formed a protective arch around the huge copper doors, now turned a greenish tone by the ages of weather. The place spoke of age, sanctity...but not belief. They had made this a pretty building, a show place and a museum, but few came here for reasons of belief anymore.
And was that their mistake? Had that made them vulnerable?
"Almost there, sir," Danti said, giving a gentle nudge to start him up the steps. "Can I help you now?"
"No," Brendan said and climbed without any trouble. The upper-class citizens of the city had already taken their places inside, and they had always been less pleased with the slave who made good, even when they loved his music. He could already see his guards drew looks of displeasure, as did his being placed so close to the prince. It counted against him, even among people who had begged him to play at their banquets only months before. They had all been equal then, living in a limbo without a king and official court. Now, they would begin to play the old games for place and prominence. That Brendan had already taken a step ahead of the pack didn't please anyone.
Brendan found the petty jealousy he saw in their eyes annoying. With a toss of his hair and a glare he hardly suppressed, he followed the others into the building. Some would be surprised at the fire still left in the little music boy.
He took his place at the very front of the temple and with only two guards between him and the aisle. No one had sat yet, and he found it more difficult to remain on his feet now that they'd stopped moving.
Before him and to the side stood the guards for the royalty, as well as Lady Shafara and Lord Councilor Falrick. Not far beyond them, the prince already knelt by the altar, having spent the night here in the hands of the holy men and women -- and watched by a hundred guards. Now, the High Priest and Priestess prepared for their work. For the first time, Brendan wondered what they thought of all this. He'd never spent much time with them. Their positions had seemed ornamental before this -- showpieces for the holidays.
Lady Shafara caught his eyes and nodded, her fingers moving to test the air. Brendan had also felt the taint of darker magic. Behind him, Abby and Tristan finally filed in but remained standing along with everyone else.
The crowd fell silent inside the huge building, though he could still hear the sounds of the people outside. How long would it take for this to get started?
He started to sway as weakness swept over him again. Almost immediately Danti's hand was on his arm, helping to hold him up. Then Tristan came very close behind him.
"Lean against me," he whispered. "Save your energy. I think we'll need your help very soon. Be ready for it." 
Danti had heard that whisper and glanced back at Abby and Tristan and then looked at Brendan again.
"How was he allowed to bring that staff inside?" he asked softly.
"Because... we all felt it wise to overlook it," Brendan answered. "Because we need it. Be ready. There is going to be trouble. Whatever happens, make certain that Sandy is crowned!"
The sound of the choir's chant change, and Sandryn rose to his feet and turned to face the people who had come to see him crowned. When he gave the signal, the crowd gratefully sat down--it had been a long walk for everyone. Prince Sandryn -- who finally looked a prince in the fine regalia -- glanced out over the people for a moment, pausing on Brendan and his group before he turned away again.
The ceremony began in earnest, an ancient ritual that started with a sprinkling of gold dust across the prince's head, its glitter nearly lost in Sandryn's own golden hair. Brendan felt the whisper of a song starting in his mind...
When he knelt, this prince of mine
His hair shown so bright
That the gold failed to shine.
He reached instinctively for the harp, and the realization of where he was didn't stop him -- but a sudden distant scream did. And another, along with the growing sound of panic and fear outside the cathedral. The soft chant of the choir halted in confusion.
Lady Shafara leapt from her place by the altar and hurried toward the doors where the guard held back the crowd. The screaming grew louder outside, and people within the building began to panic. 
One of the guards looked around and shouted at Shafara, "My Lady! The Dogs! The Dogs of Esse are attacking!"
Shafara had not gone far up the aisle, and Brendan could clearly see her as she heard the news. Her face turned dark and she lifted her arms. A wind swept through the doorway, knocking everyone aside; and then the huge bronze doors that normally would take ten people to move snapped shut.
She had just turned back to Sandyrn and the Priest and Priestess when the doors burst from their hinges. The people surged inside, and so did the wild dogs, leaping and attacking anything that moved. Brendan's heart pounded, and he felt his hands go cold at the sight. How could they have followed him here? How could they...?
But he felt the magic as well, like a slap against his face. He'd started to back away, even knowing he had nowhere to hide. He looked at the dogs; and, though he shivered, he made himself face them. He couldn't begin to guess how many swarmed through the doors, not with the rush of panicked people who came in with them.
Then, he felt magic again and knew Shafara had thrown a wide barrier up, even while she tried to sort out the enemy from the people. She'd backed up toward the altar, where the guards gathered, the only ones with weapons to wield against the creatures. Brendan could tell the shield wouldn't hold for long.
"The coronation, Priestess Cental," Shafara said, breathless as her hands moved so fast Brendan couldn't follow the magic. "Finish the work -- the ceremony without the pomp. Make him king! That's all that matters!"
"Yes," the woman said. She looked out past the thin line of guards. "The gods keep them safe!"
"Accept the crown, Sandy," Shafara said when the prince looked as though he would argue. "Do it."
Sandryn turned to the crowd, his face pale and his hand reaching toward the sword he wore -- ceremonial, but he could use it in a fight.
"Sandryn, the enemy has come here to stop you from being king," Shafara said. "Don't do it for them."
Sandryn finally nodded, turned his back on the bloody battlefield and knelt. The priest and priestess hesitated a moment more; but then the words came again, and even a few of the choir began to take up the chant, though some voices faltered.
"Help protect him," Brendan ordered his own guards.
"Sir--" Danti began to protest.
"Anyone can sing a song! You've only one prince; and if Tabor wins, I'll not sing again at any rate!"
Danti nodded and took his men off to help. The shield began to fray, a sparkling of light along the edges. Brendan wondered if he should help Shafara maintain that protection, but even as he raised his hands he knew it would be useless. He could feel something more potent coming, a power that felt like a dark sun radiating across the world. Tabor, he thought, and shivered again. Best not to waste his strength here.
In fact, Shafara dropped the shield in the next moment, and sent magic in amongst the humans to try and help them fend off the animals. 
Tristan had gone to help as well; but there were too many dogs, and the power controlling them seemed too strong even for him. The animals surged forward, intent now on reaching the raised altar at the front of the room.
Abby and Tristan had kept their places near him. Then, something changed, a sensation in the air. The dogs whimpered and dropped down; and the people grew quiet, most pressed against the walls as far into the shadows as they could get. The choir and the priest and priestess continued their work, an eerie sound in the moments before...disaster or battle. 
A shadow fell across the doorway, and the candles flickered.
"Tabor," Abby whispered in a voice that made Brendan's hair rise.
"No, Abby!" Tristan ordered and caught hold of him, as though he'd been ready to leap out and attack without a thought. "Not yet!" 
Brendan hadn't expected to see such unnatural hatred in Aubreyan's face. Tristan held on to him until a shudder passed over Abby and his head bowed, as though he dared not look upon his enemy.
Tabor finally entered the building, a tall, thin man who could not have been much older than Abby or Tristan. Brendan had expected more, though the intruder did bring a dark magic with him, like a shadow into the light. Brendan held Dove close, and she kept silent.
The dogs slunk at his side, fell in around him. He walked toward the altar as though the guards and Shafara meant nothing to him. Brendan feared it might be true.
"I am to be the king," Tabor said, the words accented but understandable. "Not this boy. I have powers at my command."
He sent a flash of lightning up toward the dome, and it shattered into sparks -- odd that the man didn't do something more terrifying, though it did surprise everyone but the mages.
"I am Shafara, and your tricks don't amuse me."
"You are the Lady Shafara? Ah, I've tasted your magic, neophyte. You can't win out over me."
Shafara waved her hand, sending Tabor sprawling. She moved to stand between the demonling and the prince. Tabor, embarrassed and angered, got back to his feet; but by then Shafara had put a very strong ward around herself, the boy and the priest and priestess. Brendan, standing on the outside, hoped she could hold that smaller ward and that the coronation continued...though that would not be enough. They must still do battle with this demonling. He had nowhere to run; and, surely, if he wanted the crown so badly, he would have no trouble killing a king for it.

Fifteen

Shafara put all the power she could into the ward and prayed it would hold until the prince became king. Afterward, there would be a different sort of battle, but one that took on new overtones for their people. Besides, if they did not complete the ceremony this time, they would just have to start over. She didn't think it could go any better than this, unless they somehow killed Tabor. She'd felt his magic -- and the magic that came from elsewhere, helping and controlling him. 
Tabor's power bounced against the shield and dissipated into the air. He looked surprised. Shafara wondered if she should have spent more time with Abby and Tristan discussing the magic of their world and devising plans that played on its weaknesses. Too late now to consider such things. So many things she hadn't considered; and she hoped that she, and the others she protected, didn't pay the price for her mistakes.
Tabor frowned and tried again, putting a little more direction into the attack. Shafara felt a drain on her powers, but she still countered that as well, realizing as she did that the demonling had very little magic set aside for defense. If she hadn't had the prince to protect --
"You are no match for me," Tabor said. "But I don't expect you to admit it."
She started to respond, but she saw movement near Tabor and at the same time realized the priest and priestess had neared the end of the core part of the ritual. Sandryn would be king -- not that it mattered to the current situation. However, Shafara had promised she would see the boy crowned, and she must keep her word or lose part of her power.
Abby had inched closer to Tabor, until he stood almost at the edge of the aisle. A few of the dogs growled; and Tabor turned, looking contemptuously at the fool who had -- 
Shafara felt the demonling's magic falter with his shock. In that moment, she realized Abby and Tristan had not exaggerated -- Tabor seemed to forget she and the prince even existed the moment he saw Aubreyan.
"Aubreyan Altazar --" Tabor said, surprised.
"You knew I would seek her as well."
"Yes, but not here. Why should you come to this place, where I am?"
"Because they play games with us, don't they?" Abby said.
Tabor nodded. "My father gives me power. But you, godling -- what have you to show for your battles? The knowledge that good has triumphed? Ylant lives in light, but the war's not won. And it wasn't my work or my father's that cast the darkness, was it? Come and fight me, godling. Let's end this here. You have a piece of the Kiya already, and I'll have to take that one eventually as well. Are you prepared to battle me at last?"
"Tabor -- demonling --" 
Abby took a step forward then stopped and closed his eyes, visibly getting control. Shafara watched, amazed at the changes she saw in him. He hardly looked the same.
"You fight the curse better than you did the last time we met, Prince," Tabor said. Amazing that he didn't sound hostile. Amazing, in fact, that he ignored the many people who escaped from the building while his attention was on Abby. Perhaps he only wanted fewer distractions, but it seemed to Shafara that Tabor could have done what he wished with the magicless humans.
"Yes, you fight the curse well -- or is it you? Where is your elf friend?"
"Near," Abby said, his voice still hard.
"Yes, and the Janin hides beneath that wooden sheath. She's no good to you, though, is she? I've heard that the staff is quite insane."
"We're well suited to each other, she and I."
That did win a brief, feral smile, the look of a wolf grinning. Shafara wanted him kept entertained only a moment more while the last of the ceremony ended.
"I've other business," Tabor said and glanced at the altar. Not yet! He looked back to Abby. "You complicate matters, Abby. I dare not lose to you again."
His hands came up; but Abby moved as quickly, lifting the staff. His smile looked no less feral than the demonling's. 
"Tabor is here, Janin!"
Wood splintered like arrows cast out from a bow. Tabor instinctively raised his arm and cast a spell that deflected them away.
Light filled the room, a silver brightness radiating from the Janin. She sang a fierce and wild song; and Shafara felt the madness in it, even through her ward. The staff wanted this battle. She wanted Tabor.
The demonling began a new spell, but the Janin spat fire at him. He cast that magic aside, as well, and, with a look of anger, shouted words that rose above her song.
The floor heaved around Abby and he fell, though he still held tight to the Janin. Tabor took advantage of the moment and cast again in a quick rush of. He extended his hand; and Abby, just getting to his knees, clawed at his throat with his left hand, still holding tight to the Janin with his right. He gasped and his face paled -- but the Janin sang on, oblivious to his pain, until he finally let her go, his body nearly stiffened as he fought for air. He knelt on the broken ground, but the look he gave Tabor held anything but surrender.
"Shall I call my father now?" Tabor asked. "Are you ready for the sacrifice at last? I've lost the cursed golden sword -- but just as well." His finger traced a scratch on his face. "We can both do without it, can't we? That fire burns too hot." 
Shafara looked back at her ward. Holy oil anointed the prince's hands. So close...
Tabor turned to Shafara, the altar and the crowning, and then back to Abby. "Come out, elf. If you say the name this time, I'll use my dying power to crush his throat. Come out, Tristan. I want to see where you are."
Abby made a small attempt to stand, but Tabor slapped him down with a wave of his hand that brought a strangled cry of pain. Shafara almost stepped forward -- but, no. Promises, power... and her duty required that she remain with Prince -- and almost King -- Sandryn.
"You trusted too much in your staff, Abby," Tabor said with a shake of his head. "Hadn't you learned from my mistakes? I never thought it would be this easy --"
"You still have me to deal with."
"Ah, the elf speaks at last." Tabor looked to the side of the altar, where Tristan had at last emerged from the line of soldiers.
"Let Abby go."
"You jest, don't you?"
"But I have what you want," Tristan said. He held up something small and cylindrical. "I am the one who holds the piece of the Kiya. You should have realized that. Abby could not bear to have something demon-made so close to him."
Tabor's eyes went wide. He took a step toward Tristan, but his hold on Abby never lessened. "I'll kill him, elf. You know I will. Give it to me."
"When you release him," Tristan said. "And if you kill him, you'll never have this piece."
"You haven't the power to destroy it. No one does."
"But I could send it on an endless journey -- always leaping from place to place, too fast for you to follow."
"You couldn't -- the power it would take even for that --"
"If you kill Abby, I will take every bit of power he and I have and put it into the spell," Tristan said. His hand brushed lightly at the crown he wore. "Do you doubt I could do it?"
Shafara could see Tabor didn't doubt. But he still hesitated.
"The Kiya, Tabor. A piece of her for Abby -- or else you will never have her complete again. Do you understand? The Kiya incomplete is just another magical staff, isn't she?"
Tabor growled -- and a dozen dogs echoed the sound. He looked around with a little smile, and then back again at Tristan with a bow of his head.
"You did your best. But you lose, Tristan."
He moved his hands, and the dogs snarled and leapt forward. Tristan tried to wave them back, to control them; but, obviously, it wouldn't work this time, not with the demonling so close.
Tristan spun and faced Shafara, almost as though he could see her. "Take this! Guard it! Tabor must not have it!"
And he pushed the piece of wood through Shafara's ward. It fell and clattered to the floor, and only then did Shafara realize he had expended all of his power to shove the piece of the Kiya to safety. He fell, unconscious, beyond her reach. She heard Abby give a startled, pain-filled cry -- and saw that the dogs didn't slow.
Gods! She spun to see those within her ward, wondering if she dare drop the magic and help their fallen ally. Wondering, suddenly, if she should consider a godling and his companion as important as her ward --
"Take this crown, the gift of your people --"
Shafara watched as the priest and priestess held the crown, one on each side, and gently set it on Sandryn's head. The last blessings and then this would be done. But Tristan!
She prepared to drop the ward the moment they completed the ritual. Then, Sandryn would be quick to help her with this battle. If she could only keep Tristan safe...
But Abby knelt helpless in Tabor's hold, and Tristan didn't move at all as the dogs came the last yard --
And then Brendan stepped forward, standing by Tristan with the crystal in his hand, shedding rainbow light all around them.
And by the gods, he sang! The Janin took up the tune and Dove played --
Strange things happened. The dogs stopped in mid-stride and turned to look at Brendan, heads down, ears up -- almost as though the song spoke in words they understood. Shafara listened; and though she couldn't make out the words, she knew that suddenly hope filled the building. She saw those people still inside look up, stand -- saw Lord Falrick, a bloody cloth around his arm, tilt his head and smile brightly.
Tabor looked around with honest despair. His power weakened before Brendan's song, and Abby fought his way back to his feet. He started toward the Janin, his movements slow and stumbling. Tabor reached toward him; but the song changed, and he looked back at Brendan as though he had no choice, and Shafara saw fear in his face for the first time.
Then the demonling closed his eyes and raised his hands. The dogs came back to him, circling him as magic rose -- and then they were all gone.
Shafara kept her ward for a long, long moment, but she couldn't find any sign of Tabor or his magic nearby. Brendan's song died away, as did the magic from the Janin and Dove. She let the ward dissolve and grabbed the edge of the altar while blackness reeled around her. She heard people still crying out in fear, not understanding that the danger had gone.
And then she heard the loud voice of the High Priest reciting the last of the ritual.
"Praise the gods who live in Sansunie. I bring before you a king. May he reign until the gods return to rule our humble world. Behold King Sandryn."
Silence filled the temple as Sandryn stepped forward, looking out across the stunned and frightened crowd.
"We have not lost. The mage has been vanquished today, though the war is not done. But he shall not be king!"
Emotion rose in the crowd that surged from fear to ecstasy in that moment. Shafara left the prince -- the king -- to his people while she turned to other needs. 
Brendan went down, his legs giving way. He looked around, as though uncertain how he had come to be kneeling. He swayed, and before she could reach him he had fallen beside Tristan.
Shafara reached for that damned piece of wood Tristan had sent through the ward; but as her fingers brushed the object, she felt a chill tingle up her arm. For a moment she feared the strength of that evil even over her. But she also realized that the Kiya could be in no better hands. It would overcome anyone who hadn't the ability to protect themselves from such power.
She used a little magic to make a pocket in her dress and dropped the fragment of the Kiya into it, weaving a small but strong ward to keep it there. Then, she wiped her hands against the silver cloth and knelt beside Brendan and Tristan, almost fearing to touch either of them since both looked so still.
"Tristan?" Abby stumbled closer, kicking the staff aside. She whimpered but hardly hummed now. He knelt beside his companion, his face bleak and blood across his chest. He gasped for breath, and his face was white as he laid a hand on Tristan. He whispered words in a language Shafara didn't understand then looked up, his eyes showing still more worry.
"I cannot reach him. He cut me off."
"But he is alive," Shafara said, hoping the same proved true of the bard. She finally reached for Brendan and carefully turned him over. "Give him a moment to recover. What he did -- I thought it impossible."
Abby nodded. He glanced at Brendan with a look of worry. The bard lay in Shafara's arms, breathing lightly but making no other response at all. Shafara wasn't sure if she should try to use magic -- the boy still had that crystal in his hand, and she feared what another spell might do.
Tristan moaned, and Abby gasped. Somewhere else, Sandryn still spoke to his people; and they calmed under the king's own subtle spell. Yes, he did use a little magic there, and wisely.
Shafara leaned over the bard and laid her hand over Brendan's heart, daring a little magic, strengthening the little flame of life that still dwelt within him. To breathe too hard would blow it out.
"We are not safe," Abby said softly. "Lady Shafara, we are in a very dangerous position." 
Shafara looked up, marveling at how calm Abby appeared again, even with Tristan mostly unconscious in his arms.
"We must get Tristan and Brendan to safety. You and I -- we couldn't stop another attack by ourselves. I don't know how long it will take Tabor to recover."
"I know," Shafara said. She tried not to sound troubled. Others listened, and they needed belief now. Fear would make them weak.
"Lady Shafara," Lt. Olvert said as he knelt beside them. "With your leave, we will take Master Brendan and Tristan back to the castle. We have a litter already waiting for Brendan, and it can hold two. The priestess would like a word with you and the king."
Shafara took a deep breath and tried to recover some of her powers, stealing what she could from Brendan's crystal -- little choice, since she didn't think she could have stood just then, let alone deal with anyone. Olvert offered a hand when he started to stand, and Shafara took it willingly. When she looked back down she had already made decisions.
"Abby -- Aubreyan Altazar, I put Brendan into your care."
Abby looked up and nodded. Shafara hadn't realized until that moment that he could hardly be older than Sandryn. He had never seemed young until now.
"Abby, go with the soldiers. I'll follow soon."
"Yes, my lady," Abby said. He bowed his head as he carefully laid Tristan back on the floor. "I understand. I need the staff."
"I'll get it, my lord," Danti said.
"No!"
But Abby's order came too late. The guard had already put his fingers on the staff to pick it up -- and in the next moment he flew into the air in a flash of light and power. Shafara yelled out a spell that broke his fall; and the guard landed, stunned but not hurt, nearby.
Abby darted to the staff, grabbing her up with a shocking yell of anger. The Janin cried out in true fear, trying to sing -- but her voice broke. Abby moved past Shafara and toward the altar, where he lifted the staff, obviously with every intention of breaking her in half.
"No!" Shafara grabbed Abby's arm. "No! We need her! Your staff, Brendan and the harp stopped Tabor!"
The Janin wailed, and the look of rage on Abby's face stunned Shafara. She feared she would have to use magic to stop the boy --
"Ab-by." Tristan stumbled past her and took hold of Abby's arm. His eyes were closed, but he held tight; and Shafara could see he fought a hard, silent battle.
"Listen to me. We need her --"
"She's evil!"
"No," Tristan said. Somehow, he got between Abby and the altar, and that did prevent him from completing the staff’s destruction. Shafara let go of Abby's arm. "She's not evil. You've touched evil before."
"Please, Tristan, let me have peace," Abby whispered and lowered the staff, leaning heavily against it.
"Peace was never mine to give you. We have each other, and we have our duty. What would we do with peace?"
Abby shook his head this time, a look of humor seeping onto his face -- such a change from the rage of moments before that Shafara thought it might be more Tristan than him. Aubreyan carefully wrapped one arm around his friend to support him. He still held the staff, but she stayed very quiet just then; and Shafara could see her eyes blink, her mouth set in a tight line that showed her fear.
Shafara turned back to Brendan, surprised to find him very nearly sitting up. She knelt and helped him, despite that the priestess wanted a word with her. The bard looked a little startled; but he nodded his thanks, though he still looked very weak.
"Well, that was a coronation that won't soon be forgotten," Sandyrn said. He knelt beside Shafara, a hand on Brendan's arm. "Though for all the wrong reasons. Ah, well. I'm king, Shafara. We better make plans on what to do next."
"Yes," she said, trying to sort through this madness. "We should return to the castle. I have good strong wards there, for at least a little protection. We can discuss what might be done next when we get there, Your Highness."
Sandryn nodded, accepting both the idea and the title. Shafara and he had often spoken about how things would change once he accepted the crown. Neither had imagined it would come at such a troubled time as this, though. 
He helped her get the bard to his feet, appearing to be the only one of their group with enough strength to walk on his own. Even Shafara swayed again, but steadied herself with a little surge of magic.
The guards had taken defensive positions around the group, with Olvert and Danti closest to the king. Danti shook his hand now and then, as though it still tingled; but he didn't look any the worse for his encounter with the staff. 
Nearly everyone had left the temple. Shafara realized that the dogs hadn't caused many wounds, and the priest and priestess would deal with the injured. She and her companions had far more serious work.
However, Priestess Cental still wanted a word with them. She left Priest Hatian to deal with the injured and came to the group, giving a bow to the king and worried looks to the others.
"We completed the coronation," she said. "It cannot be undone except by death or a decree by Hatian and myself. No priest and priestess have ever rescinded the kingship. I would not like to be the first. I don't want to be forced to do so, but this Tabor -- he has powers that I don't understand."
"But little understanding of our culture," Shafara said. "I don't think he much cares, either."
"He doesn't care at all," Abby said. "He tried to stop the coronation because that was the easiest way to keep the throne for himself. If he tries for it again, it will be by killing King Sandryn, not by playing with your laws. He doesn't have time for that sort of game."
"I don't understand what he wants," Sandryn said. "He's powerful enough to take anything. What does the king of the land have that he cannot command of his own?"
"Something he couldn't just control by magic? Funds -- no, I think he could take whatever gold he wanted," Shafara said. She shook her head. "He can't want the damned council. No one wants them, not if they want to get anything done."
Falrick, who had joined them just then, laughed but didn't argue. She'd been away from court too long, Shafara thought. She'd forgotten about politics.
"There's very little else," Falrick said, accepting a dagger from Olvert, who had brought them weapons. Very wise.
"Command of the army, I would guess," Tristan said suddenly. He leaned back on Abby, who hardly looked strong enough to support him. "A trained army is not something one can conjure with magic, and one can't control that many men by magic, either."
Shafara nodded, thinking Tristan had probably found the answer.
"Why would he need such an army?" Abby asked. "Where would he send it?" 
"The north," Shafara said and nearly cursed that she hadn't considered that possibility. "The north has always been a problem, but recently it's been worse. More border raids, and those far fiercer than what we've seen in generations. Falrick, when was the last time you had any official communications from diplomats in the north?"
"Two, maybe three months," he said. He bit at his lower lip. "A chieftain with whom I have had some disagreements in the past sent a note saying something strange had happened. The tribesmen, from many tribes, were speaking about powers and wars. And a relic --"
"North," Abby and Tristan said in unison. They turned in that direction.
"It's the Kiya, isn't it?" Sandryn asked.
"I think it might be," Abby said. "Perhaps Tabor found the Kiya; but if enough people stand between him and the treasure, he might have to force his way to it. That's what he did when he took the Kiya from my father, after all."
"We should leave in the morning," Tristan said. Aubreyan nodded. Tristan took Shafara by the hand, grasping it tightly. "My Lady Shafara, you have been most generous --"
"Hold it!" Sandryn exclaimed and caught Tristan by the arm. "You can't -- you can't possibly just leave for the north --"
"Why not?" Abby asked, confused.
"You two -- alone where your Tabor fears to go without an army?" Sandryn said. "What can you possibly hope to do? These northerners are barbarians --"
"I know about barbarians, King Sandryn. My father was such. Tristan and I will survive, and we will get the Kiya."
"We must go," Tristan said. "And we'll not take any others with us to fight our battles. We don't want your army. We're not Tabor."
"There must be something --" Sandryn began.
"There is," Shafara said. "If you go north, it might help if you had a reason to be there that drew less attention. Being strangers would be bad enough, but we can get you through the areas with whom we have friendly relations, at least. That will help."
"An official reason?" Sandryn said. "Representatives of the crown? I fear that might draw too much attention."
"Yes, I agree." Shafara smiled suddenly. "I had something else in mind. Not so long ago I played at cloth merchant --"
"The caravan!" This time it was Brendan and Sandryn who spoke as one.
"Exactly. I lent money as backing to a cloth caravan that is long overdue from the north," she explained to the other two. "I think that if you went as Mistress Faraday's representatives, that would give you reason enough to go looking."
"That would be very helpful," Aubreyan agreed. He even smiled this time. "I didn't like to rush off unprepared; but if we go north, Tabor will know and follow us. There should be no trouble here."
"He just forgot we existed when he saw you two," Brendan said. He seemed to be more himself again, though he didn't try to stand on his own. 
"We cost him everything, and he sees now that he could lose again, here." Tristan said. He reached out and tapped a spot on Shafara's dress. "You have something that I fear I must have back."
Shafara nodded and pulled out the piece of the Kiya, letting the little ward dissolve. She wasn't at all unhappy to be rid of it. She wondered how Tristan could handle the thing so casually.
"Then, it's settled," Sandryn said. "I don't like the thought of you going off alone, but I know the war is yours. We must all do what is best."
"One last question," Abby said, looking around. "What do we tell the caravan when we find it?"

Part Three: Battles Fought
One

"Can you still see them, Brendan?"
Brendan turned from the window at the end of the hall and offered a smile to King Sandryn as he neared. He even managed a little bow, though Sandy waved that away.
"No, sire. They're long gone."
"Are you feeling better?"
"I'm able to walk on my own again. Tonight is a full moon, and I'll regain most of my other power then."
Sandryn nodded, but the guard who followed looked startled. So much had happened at the coronation that Brendan suspected his own use of magic had mostly been forgotten. They didn't yet think of him as a mage. Just as well. He only wanted to be a bard.
"I didn't have a chance to sing at your coronation, sire," Brendan said as they moved away from the window. "Or, at least, not the song I had planned."
"Save it," Sandryn said. "Maybe I'll have a chance to live up to it first."
Brendan gave a little laugh, and a bow. But the song had been true, every word and chord of it. He would sing it one day.
"Brendan, I'm worried." Sandryn said. He shook his head. "We're faced with powers so great that even -- gods! -- even our great Shafara might bow before them. Before they left this morning, Tristan and Aubreyan tried to explain to me all that rests on the outcome of their quest. Gods and demons and curses -- did you know that Abby is cursed?"
"Cursed?" Brendan whispered, trying not to pant at the little exertion of walking with the king.
But Sandryn had seen. He put a hand on Brendan's arm and slowed him. "Come and sit on the stairs with me while we talk."
"On the stairs?" Brendan said, appalled at the idea.
"Yes, like a couple pages waiting for the call," Sandryn answered.
He settled on the second stair. Brendan could hardly stand there looming over him so sat as well, feeling guilty relief to be off his feet again.
"Yes, this is more like it. Let's drop protocol for a while. I've played at merchant's apprentice for too long. Besides, not everyone here has quite come to grips with the fact that I'm king. I see it even in your face now and then, and you were never less than courtly with me."
"We've been without a king for many years," Brendan said as he leaned back, relaxing at last. "Living in limbo was easy. Your uncle ruled quite well in his unofficial way. It will take some time for the court to adjust."
"It will take a long time for me to adjust," Sandryn said. He waved toward the bottom of the stairs where courtiers and pages paused to stare back at them. "Life was simpler as a cloth merchant."
"Don't sound so wistful. Being king isn't all that bad, you know."
Sandryn looked guilty as he nodded agreement. "They'll tell tales about us someday, Brendan --"
"Not 'they.' I will. I'll tell the tales myself, and make sure they're told right."
"And what will you say when you reach the part where you turned the dogs at my coronation?"
"I'll say that I... sang." He put his hand on the crystal and only Sandryn's sigh brought him back to the present.
"You've a strange and wondrous power, Brendan. We don't understand it -- Shafara and I -- but I am grateful your gifts have been offered in my aid."
"I don't understand these powers myself, Your Highness. I am only a bard."
"And the Keeper of the Song," Sandryn added.
"Sandryn -- King Sandryn, I don't understand what that means any more than you do. But let's not discuss it for the moment. You were telling me about what Abby and Tristan said."
"Yes," Sandryn said, and tactfully didn't pursue the question of Brendan's background any further. "Tristan said Abby is under a curse to destroy all the demons."
"All?"
"That was what he said, but Abby made him stop talking about it. Shafara asked what we could do to stop Tabor if he came again, and Tristan said just to tell him that the two had gone north after the Kiya. If we should need further help, he said to go to the temple and the altar. There's aid there, Abby said. I thought I should tell you immediately, since Tabor seems interested in you."
"The altar?"
"I... think the aid arises not entirely because the place is sacred."
"I've touched Abby too closely, even with Tristan between us," Brendan said. "I've little faith left in the gods now, and I know he has even less. If there is help at the temple, it's not from the gods."
"We live in a strange age," Sandy said. "I think our people didn't so much stop believing as just stopped caring. Maybe that's why the battle came to us. Brendan, I find myself caring more as each hour passes. I don't want to see the demons win over this world. Take care, Brendan." He stood suddenly, a hand on Brendan's shoulder when he started to do so as well. "No, rest a while longer. You still look pale and shaky. Tonight's the full moon. You'll be better afterwards."
He watched Sandryn leave, feeling a wave of despair again. Of course -- he hadn't thought about what would happen when the moon rose, and Tabor regained his own power, as well. For a moment, he stayed on the stairs, wondering if he had even the strength to stand let alone battle the demonling again. 
He slowly climbed to his feet, trying to move beyond both physical and magical exhaustion. A few hours and the moon would rise. As long as he could call on power and he could sing.
He hummed on the way back to his room, a song to brighten the day.

Two

Abby stopped at the end of the street and looked back, lifting his head until he could see beyond the haphazard buildings, up and up -- he could barely see the top of one of the towers.
He hated towers after his ordeal at Mindeneh and the thwarted sacrifice that almost sent him as a slave to a demon. And yet...
He didn't want to go. He didn't want to leave the castle behind.
"Abby?"
"I know," he said and turned away, leaning a little on the Janin as they walked. He had thought about encasing her in wood again, but, really, there had been no good reason to hide her now. Tales of what happened at the temple had spread quickly, and the people stayed clear of her; so he needn't worry about them touching her. Captain Olvert waited patiently, and Abby thought he might even look a little friendlier now for some reason.
"I don't want to go, Tristan. I want..."
"I know," Tristan said, but silently urged his companion on. "We'll likely come back this way afterwards, Abby."
"Yes," he said, thinking about the sword. He'd wanted to tell the king that they'd left it; but Sandryn and Shafara both felt they already lacked enough power to win, and telling them they had left the magical sword in case any of them needed it...well, better to be oblique about that one.
"I have the horses waiting, my lords," Olvert said. "And I'm to offer you myself and any of my men --"
"No," Tristan said, but smiled. "Only Abby and me."
"Forgive me, my lords, but the two of you alone --"
"Have fought against Tabor and won before. And have traveled between worlds," Abby said, startling the man. "We are not powerless. And we will not take people who could die for us into battle."
"And will you let us fall without a chance to fight for ourselves?"
Abby looked at him, startled, and afraid he might be making the wrong choice. Others had said the same thing on Ylant.
"We have to go alone," Tristan said. "If we find that this is more than we can handle, we'll send for help. But taking an army with us would only invite the attention of another army, wouldn't it? We do not want that battle, my friend. We will do everything we can to avoid it. But if we need to, we'll send for soldiers."
"How can you do that if you are --"
Tristan lifted his hand, and let a little magical light play along his fingers. People nearby either scurried away in shock or watched enchanted.
"We are not helpless, captain," Tristan said. Olvert, Abby saw, looked pleased. "We can get word to Lady Shafara if we need to. But better if we draw danger away for now -- the others need to recover. Captain, this is not the sort of war that will ultimately be won by throwing one army against another."
That he seemed to understand, though it must have been difficult for a soldier.
They turned back to the long walk, down narrow paths, wandering between a forest of buildings. People leaned out of upper windows, chirping like birds to their neighbors across the road. Abby didn't think he could ever get used to such an odd place, but...
But you didn't mind visiting here. 
He nodded and said nothing more.
Olvert didn't try to argue them out of going alone again. Abby couldn't decide if he trusted them now, or if he just wasn't accustomed to arguing with people of rank. Whichever the answer, it helped at the end. Abby couldn't have easily faced more doubt right then.
They had good horses, plentiful supplies and the blessings of the new king. He hoped that proved enough to at least get them to the north. After that...
"Good luck, sirs," Olvert said and bowed his head.
"Thank you, captain," Tristan said. 
He helped Abby onto one mount, despite his companion's distrust of horses and for fear of what they would face on this journey. Tristan mounted his own with little trouble. Abby slipped the Janin into the stirrup with his foot, and she stayed there of her own. When she started to sing he quieted her again, though he suspected that wouldn't hold her for long. 
"Good journey to you," Olvert said, and slapped the rump of Tristan's horse. It started away, and Abby's followed out of habit. He didn't particularly like riding horses, but he knew they hadn't time to waste for a long, leisurely walk through the world.
Besides, this place still felt too heavy to him. It was such an odd, insidious change from Ylant that it frightened him. What might the next place be like? What changes would they find?
"Do you really want to start worrying about that now?" Tristan asked. "I'd think you'd have enough to worry about with what we have to do here. Like that rainstorm we're about to ride into."
Abby looked up, startled, and found that dark clouds had begun to roll in over the sky. If he closed his eyes, letting Tristan take control, he could feel the storm in the air.
He looked back toward Senonia. The castle sat on the hilltop, the city of tall buildings dwarfed and humbled beneath it. For the moment, it still stood in sunlight, bright and beckoning. 
Abby turned away. He didn't look back again, even when the rain began to fall. Their work lay somewhere ahead now. He turned his mind toward it, the Janin humming softly beside him... the only one happy to be going.

Three

The demonling didn't attack in the light of the full moon that night, and Brendan began to hope they had actually seen the last of the dark creature. When Tabor hadn't shown up over the next few days, the castle settled into a new but hectic routine. People were admitted to meet with their new king; but for the first five days Sandryn didn't leave the castle, and guards remained everywhere in the halls, alert for any trouble.
Four days after the full moon, Olvert arrived at Brendan's door with an invitation to take lunch with the king. He went gladly, since he hadn't seen Sandryn since that morning on the stairs. He still heard whispers about that behavior.
Brendan dressed for the occasion of lunch with the king, bringing out his silks and velvets and brocades that he hadn't worn in years. The servants had kept them all in perfect condition, though Brendan noted they hung a little looser on him these days. Probably just as well. A fat bard singing about love songs and adventures always seemed ludicrous to him.
He left Dove in the room, sitting by the window in the sunlight -- and with a ward spun round her, so none could take her. She needed the sunlight sometimes, being made of wood and life and growing things.
With Danti, his own private guard, three steps behind, Brendan wandered downstairs, where one of the servants directed him to a garden within the Inner Court of the castle. He'd never been there before, and stared at the greenery and bright flowers with surprise. He didn't even see the king and Shafara until Sandryn laughed and signaled him from a table placed beneath a neatly trimmed willow.
"Join us, Brendan. You'll get used to this quickly enough," Sandryn said. "We've just all been locked up for too long."
"You're looking well, Brendan," Shafara said, her head tilted as though she had half-expected a dead man for lunch.
"Thank you, Lady," he said and even managed a credible bow.
Sandryn indicated a chair, and Brendan accepted a cup of tea from Shafara. Danti retreated to the far side of the door, where he kept watch with Sandryn's men, giving them at least an illusion of privacy.
"I never knew this place existed," Brendan said. He sipped the tea Shafara had given him.
"It's called the King's Retreat," Sandryn said. "I didn't know about it, either, until Shafara told me this morning. She seems to know everything about the castle."
"Isn't that my job?" Shafara asked.
"Ha. I thought that's what I had a chamberlain for, but he looked shocked when you unsealed the door and led us into the garden," Sandryn said. He looked at Shafara for a moment, but she obviously had no intention of saying more. "Well, anyway, we're here to discuss our next move. I cannot stay a prisoner in the castle, and the servants tell me you look so restless, Brendan, that they fear you'll climb the walls to get free."
"I almost could," Brendan said. "I've never done well with cages of any sort."
Shafara glanced his way again with that same look she often gave when he said something unusual. Brendan met her look and held it for a long moment this time. With his return to strength he had also regained some of his old fire.
"All right," Sandryn said, shaking his head, amused by their behavior. "Let us discuss the trouble. Shafara, have you had any indication of where Tabor might be?"
"None," Shafara admitted, and she didn't look happy as she set aside her cup. "I have followed the movements of Tristan and Aubreyan as best I can, and he hasn't apparently gone after them nor can I sense him anywhere near."
"Do you think he went north ahead of our friends?" Sandy asked.
"I don't believe so. I think, Sandy, that he is just -- not here."
"Gave up?" Brendan said shaking his head.
"No. He has only retreated to elsewhere for the time being. I believe he'll come back."
"What about the people?" Brendan asked. "Do they still seem to be under his influence?"
"They're only uneasy, from all I can tell," Sandryn said. He leaned back in her chair, cup in hand. "The entire incident has taken a toll. They don't know what to expect next. That's why I thought the three of us should go out among them again. The longer we stay hidden, the more apt they are to think the worse; and that breeds bad tempers. We want them to start believing in normalcy again."
"I agree with Sandryn," Shafara said. "We can't remain here forever while the people lose faith in their king and their sorceress."
"And I've still not sung them my song."
"Then let's go tomorrow -- services at the temple and a stroll through the marketplace?" Sandryn suggested. They both nodded. "Very good. I shall like feeling more like a king and less like a prisoner."
"Do you wish to feel like a king?" Shafara said, and smiled this time. "You can start by handling a petition this afternoon."
"Petition?" he said, shaking his head.
"Oh, yes. One of your lords has raced to the city with dire news about traitors, and a killer among your most trusted followers."
Brendan looked at her, shaking his head. "No. Don't tell me. Lord White is here, is he?"
"Oh, yes. And Lady Holweck as well, though they are not seen in public together. He insisted on bringing the petition straight to me. It seems, Brendan, that you killed one of his men who had been sent to watch you, because Lord White so mistrusted you."
"So," Sandryn said, standing. Brendan had not seen him look quite that angry before. "Yes, by all means, let us see Lord White right away."
"I've called the Council of High Lords. They're already in session," Lady Shafara said. She sipped a little tea and then set the cup down. "I had Lord White kept in a room by himself for the time being. I felt it wise that we have witnesses to everything, Sandy."
"Good," he said. He looked at the bard with a whisper of a smile. "Brendan, give us a little time with him alone. I would like the man to weave all the lies he can before you arrive."
"I'll go collect Dove," Brendan said. He wanted her by him suddenly. He had felt a chill, a reminder he had killed someone, and done it with his own hands in an animal rage he didn't want to remember.
Lady Shafara walked with him to the stairwell and there put a hand on his shoulder, startling him. "Calmly, bard. This is good. Our friend can lead us to others we sorely need to deal with, even without the additional trouble of Tabor."
"Ah. Of course," he said. "I'm sorry. It's just I could have done without a reminder of what happened on the road."
"Trust yourself, Brendan," she said. "You have never been in the wrong."
He nodded but knew she could see the turmoil in his eyes, though she didn't press it. Instead, she gave him a nudge toward the stairs, and she went to watch the entertainment with Lord White.
He took a moment in his room, pretending the king would need more time with Lord White. But then, finally, he collected Dove from the window and held her close for a moment. She played a sweet little lullaby for him, a tune to ease his soul.
With her under his arm, he headed back out into the hall and to the stairs. That was where he ran into Lady Holweck. She fairly glowed with excitement, and the look in her eyes promised hell.
"You'll not be the pampered little boy much longer," she said, leaning close to him. "And when I have that lyre, I'll burn it for firewood."
"Harp, actually," Brendan said. If she hoped her words were going to frighten or anger him, she must have been annoyed. "Dove is a harp. And I would be careful about planning anything for her. She does bite, you know."
The lady had actually started to reach for the instrument. Dove played a sudden twang of noise; and Lady Holweck leapt backwards, hitting the wall with a thump. Danti snickered a little, which was not exactly good manners in a guard but made Brendan smile. Maybe the man had dealt with the fine lady before.
"We've got you this time," she said. "We...I heard that Lord White has something important to tell the king --"
"And I'm sure he's said it all by now," Brendan said. He leaned against the banister. Odd, but he felt as though this little talk had started to ease a hundred angers within him. "But he shouldn't have bothered."
"Why? Because you'll spread rumors about Lord White and me? I know your kind --"
"Oh, that's just an added bit of fun in all of this. I meant he shouldn't have bothered because King Sandryn already knew the story."
"You told him --"
"I didn't have to. Surely, the men came back and told you I wasn't traveling alone."
"Yes." She looked at Danti, her eyes narrowing, but she must have thought she and Lord White had a perfect story against him and didn't worry this time. "Do you really think the king's going to listen to some cloth merchants and their apprentice or some foreigners? Rather than a Lord of the Land?"
Brendan grinned brightly. Gods, he had never expected to have such fun at the lady's expense. "You should have asked for descriptions of the merchants and apprentice, lady."
She blinked. She shook her head.
"Lord Falrick sent me to Esse with a very important message for someone in hiding there --"
"No. You're lying. No --"
But she must have known he wasn't. She must have realized he'd always been trusted, which had been the one thing she could not abide.
"Danti, do be certain she comes down with us to the hall."
Danti carefully took hold of her arm, but she put up no fight. Brendan almost felt sorry for her in that one, brief moment -- but he wasn't a fool. It passed quickly.
Lady Shafara stood outside the doors to the King's Hall. Brendan hadn't been here in years, and he felt a little odd knowing it would be someone new on the throne this time.
"Ah, I see you've collected our other little conspirator," Shafara said. "Excellent work, Brendan."
"I had nothing -- I didn't -- I --"
"I was in the room next to you and Lord White, my dear. I heard everything. How nice of you to come to us, rather than making us hunt you down. Let me see if the king is ready for you, Brendan."
She pushed the door open a little. Lady Holweck sat on the bench with Danti standing over her. Brendan saw others look down the short hall and quickly go away, both servants and other nobility.
Brendan felt oddly calm now, and ready for this show. When Shafara nodded and held the door open, he walked in with Dove in his hands, as though he had been summoned to play some song.
And he realized he trusted Sandryn implicitly -- more so than he ever had King Baran. Baran would have done whatever was expedient, and the truth be damned. Brendan couldn't be certain he hadn't been right...but at the moment he thought he could stand a little justice this time.
The fifteen High Lords had their places along the walls, each in a regal chair, sitting quietly in judgment. Lord White was a lesser noble, but still far closer to one of them than Brendan would ever be. He would hate to have come here under less auspicious footing, even with Lord Falrick as one of the fifteen.
But, in truth, the High Lord Court had rarely held any power in the last twenty years, and even now stood only for show, though they might not have realized it yet. Brendan didn't look at them. He did see the way Lord White's head came up and the almost smile that crossed his face. He and Lady Holweck had spent far too much time together. They looked alike.
"Ah, and here is the bard now," Sandryn said. He shifted uncomfortably in his father's throne of rosewood and green velvet. "Come and stand at my feet, Brendan. I need to ask you questions, and you must answer truthfully."
"Of course, sire," he said. He stopped at the bottom of the dais, bowing with his best court style. Oh, yes, he would make this quite a show.
"Brendan, you have been accused of a crime, and are here to answer for it. Do you recall a recent incident on the road between Fairport and Brookside? One involving a fight?"
"Yes, sire," he said. That drew a reaction from the Lords. Perhaps they'd expected him to deny it all.
"See," Lord White said. "He doesn't deny --"
"You are in the presence of your king," Sandryn said. "You will not speak out of turn."
"Yes, sire," he gave a very formal bow. "Of course. My apologies for being so happy that the traitor --"
Sandryn waved a hand for silence. Lord White barely managed it.
"You agree there was a fight. Did you kill someone?"
"Yes, sire," Brendan said, and swallowed. It was not part of the show, but it worked. Lord White smirked.
"Lord White says he sent men to watch you because he mistrusted your conduct, and that you killed his men. Men in his own livery."
"No, sire, they did not wear Lord White's colors."
"You are certain you didn't see his colors?" Sandryn asked as he stood and gave just a little sweep of his hand, a sign.
"I'm certain, sire, that I didn't see anyone in his colors," Brendan said. Lord White grinned. "But you and Lady Shafara were there, as well. Did you see anyone in Lord White's colors?"
"No, I can't say that I did," Sandryn said. He came down the stairs and looked into Lord White's very still face. "I do recall a band of mercenaries sent to waylay the bard. I also recall hearing a conversation between you and the Lady Holweck about the Black Circle --"
"No," he said and took a step back, but Captain Olvert was already there. "No."
"Yes. I traveled with Brendan, still in my guise as a cloth merchant's apprentice -- but you would not have heard about that, would you? You rushed straight here to make sure you brought down Brendan."
"I didn't know you were -- you couldn't be. You couldn't have heard --"
"Lady Shafara has her own ways of hearing things, you know." Sandryn came down and stood beside Brendan, a last and final sign, if anyone needed it. "Aside from all the cruel and treacherous things you've done, no one as stupid as you deserves to be a lord. I relieve you of that duty. I'll see that your wife and children are cared for, but your lands and wealth now fall into Brendan's hands."
"Oh, no, Sandy," Brendan said, shaking his head, completely and entirely forgetting himself, his place, protocol --
"It is done. Don't argue, or I might be tempted to gift you with the title as well."
Brendan had started to argue more. He stopped, quite suddenly. So quickly, in fact, that it won laughter from a few of the High Lords. Well, maybe they hadn't thought much of White, either.
"You can't give this little bastard my lands! He doesn't deserve them!"
Those words stirred up a much older memory, of a boy new to the castle, and a deed of cruelty that had never been fully avenged. Lord White, panicked, had started to pull away. Brendan took advantage of that moment and kicked him in the groin. White went down with a whimper.
"That was for the puppy you killed," he said.
"Do take this man to a cell. And have the Lady Holweck collected --"
"She is already in hand, sire," Brendan said. "Danti has her in the hall outside."
"Excellent. Adjoining cells, Olvert. And then we'll let the Lady Shafara deal with them."
Olvert dragged the former lord from the room. Sandryn nodded as they went and then looked back at Brendan. "Brendan, I think I'm going to make you Chief of Protocol and you can deal with all my recalcitrant lords."
That won a little laughter from some; but Brendan watched the others, wondering if any of them had reason to worry about White being caught.
"A good day's work," Sandryn said. "And the first step in a much-needed cleaning. The Black Circle will not stand for much longer, even with Tabor on their side. You are dismissed, my lords."
Brendan's hand had gone to his chest, to touch the crystal beneath his tunic; but the others left without any sign of trouble.
"We had better rest for tomorrow," Sandryn said. "Be careful tonight."
"And you," Brendan said. "They may well think this is the last chance they have."
"Oh, yes. I'm sure Lady Shafara and I would be glad to have them attempt something right now."
Brendan bowed and left the king to his work. He had his own job to do right now. Already, he could hear the first lines of a song in his head: the story of the fall of pride.
Four
Shafara stood back and watched as the two men stepped out past the gate. She had expected it -- that moment when Brendan faltered. He'd gone through too much at the hands of crowds not to feel a moment of fear. She only hoped it didn't have such a hold on him that he couldn't get past it. Even now he stopped and almost took a step back.
"Brendan," Sandryn said softly. The three guards kept close. "Brendan, you don't look well."
"I'm all right, sire," he answered. "A sudden reaction to all the faces."
Sandryn glanced at the people who had gathered, surprised by their appearance. "Brendan, if you don't feel up to this --"
Shafara watched him, ready to help, even if it meant using a little magic to give him the mental strength to go on.
Brendan shook his head. He took a sudden deep breath. "I dare not allow myself to fear the crowd," he said. He looked up, his hand touching the harp case at his side. "I must sing for them."
Shafara watched still, to be cautious. She didn't think Brendan realized how fragile his hold on his emotions had become. The guards had made her aware of the nightmares since they heard him cry out at night, but she didn't think Brendan remembered them in the mornings. Nor did she think he realized how little he ate, or how the tunes he had played lately had all been...dark.
What would the world be without music? She hoped Brendan got past this problem soon. Right now, the bard moved quickly enough, and even waved hello when someone called his name. He hid whatever anxiety he had felt a moment ago -- and he did what Shafara would never have asked him to do. He walked out in the lead and drew the attention of any possible assassin again.
The people didn't press in on them, perhaps understanding that a mob could be dangerous, ruled by emotions they didn't want to experience again. People greeted them, and some followed; but no one tried to stop or slow them.
The temple's white towers rose slowly above the uneven skyline of lesser buildings. Soon, they would be out of the oppressive streets and into the temple square. She paused at the edge of the street and looked at the temple. Before now it had just been an ancient building, repaired every few years -- a showplace. But since the battle on the day of the coronation -- well, people had started to come here more often. They found quite a few, in fact, heading up the wide stairs for the weekly service.
But this wasn't the time to stand back and wonder about the rights of the gods and the ways of the world. She had already fallen a few steps behind her companions, and hurried up the stairs, through the statue-guarded archway and into the building.
She looked up. Yes, she could still see the scorch mark where Tabor had sent his magical lightning. In an odd way, that mark reassured her. They had fought a battle here, and they had not lost.
Sandryn led them to the King's Bench. He looked amused by the pillows and soft cloth accorded him, as though he had suddenly, in taking the crown, become precious and delicate.
Shafara and Brendan sat with him through the service, which proved to be quite lovely and restful after the hectic days at the castle and the worrisome walk to get here. Shafara thought Brendan's attention kept wandering; but, then again, the bard had always had that habit, as though half the time he listened to something else entirely.
She wondered what the other two thought as they bent their heads and listened to the old blessings, the final moments of the service. Did they hope for the favor of the gods as she did? Or did they accept the old ritual just as a sop to the crowd, a little show for the populace?
The High Priest and Priestess paused and raised their arms as the choir chanted. Brendan's face calmed, a look of peace winning over him at last. Shafara wished that music could do the same for her. She envied the bard just then. 
Then Brendan suddenly turned around, his eyes wide as he looked back to the doors. No! She saw no one -- and then a shadow and a chill. Brendan had leapt to his feet and spun, drawing attention, and by then Tabor had entered.
Shafara stood, putting herself between Sandy and the enemy and pushing Brendan back as well. Tabor had not brought the dogs this time, and he met Shafara's look with a little nod, as though they understood each other.
"You are not welcome here, Tabor," Shafara said.
"Welcome in a temple of the gods? Never," Tabor said with a little smile. He wiped at the blood on the side of his face. Was he paler than the last time they had met? Not quite as steady? "But, nonetheless, I am here. I come with an offer for trade."
"We'll not trade away our people for our safety," Sandryn said. He stepped up beside Shafara, who almost stopped him and changed her mind. He not only had the right but the reason to take his stand. He was the King of Sansunie.
"No, not your people," Tabor said. His eyes shifted as he looked around. "I want the other two. Aubreyan and Tristan for your lives and for the safety of your kingdom. Give them to me, and I will leave you in peace."
"Even if they were ours to give..." Sandryn said, nearly snarling. She stopped and took a breath. "Even if we had them, I would not give them into your hands."
"They are not your people. The loss of the two strangers for the peace of your world --"
"And the Kiya comes to you complete, since there would be no one to stop you," Shafara said. He looked at her startled. "Yes, we understand what that means, as well. What do we do when the demons win the war?"
"Take your chances," Tabor said. "They may not win, after all. Accept what peace I offer now, and don't toy with the demons. They are less forgiving than the gods, and the price of an insult is high. Abby and Tristan delivered into my hands --"
"I said I would not," Sandryn began, and then shook his head. "And I cannot, anyway. They've gone."
"Gone?" Tabor said.
His hand rose, and Shafara's did as well; but the demonling only tested the area for magic. He looked troubled.
"Where have they gone?"
"Where would you guess?" Shafara asked.
Tabor's face did pale this time, which surprised her. His hand moved in a different direction.
"Yes," she continued, "they've gone north." 
"No," he said. He shook his head, his eyes gone wide. "I said I should come back sooner. I said --"
Cold swept through the room, bringing with it a feel of fear, a taste of death and blood. Tabor looked around in surprised haste, and his hand rose.
"No!" Tabor shouted.
Shafara started to push Sandy and Brendan away, but she soon realized Tabor hadn't cast a spell this time. Something different spun shadows through the air and then formed in a circle by the altar. Even the priest and priestess gave up their places in haste.
The circle opened, a dizzying array of places and power -- and then a shape, coming through. Something so dark and cold that Shafara felt frozen in her place, weak and hopeless to stop it.
Demon. Until this moment, Shafara hadn't even believed in such a creature, despite all that Abby and Tristan had said. But, now, not yet even fully in this world, it waved a hand and sent Tabor flat.
"Bow to your father!" The voice shook the walls. "Did you think, by coming here, you would be safe from my wrath? The gods have long abandoned this place. There is no power to stand against me here."
Tabor, safe? Looking for safety?
"I have done all you said," Tabor said, getting back to his knees. "You should have let me return days ago. They have gone to the North, Father."
Another swipe of a hand -- this time the magic lifted Tabor and slammed him against a pillar. Despite herself, Shafara almost wanted to help the demonling. There were, she realized now, worse enemies.
"You owe me a sacrifice, my son," the demon said. Blood-red eyes looked around the temple and a glint of teeth showed in the face not at all human, despite the placement of eyes, nose and mouth. 
The demon turned to the pew where Shafara, Sandryn and Brendan still stood. Before she could even react, power encircled them, trapping them there.
"Yes -- the young king. Not as good a gift as the godling prince you lost me --"
"If you had told me that he was a godling, he would not have been lost!" Tabor said. Shafara hadn't thought the demonling a fool until now, but it seemed as though he purposely drew the anger of this creature back to him. Shafara looked at Tabor, wondering why...
Tabor could not mean to try and save Sandryn. Could not be trying to give them time -- but it did work. The demon yowled, and the power it used sent a wave of magical fire around its son. Shafara saw Tabor's head snap back at the pain -- and then he looked at the demon again.
"You want Abby, still, don't you, Father? Let me go."
"The king first. And then Abby. Abby is already promised. I want more."
"We will lose another piece of the Kiya."
"Not yet," it said, and let the fire die at last. "I have time to taste the king's soul."
Tabor stood. His eyes narrowed. "If I do this, then it will be as a gift. You will owe me for it."
The demon growled, but Tabor held his place. Abby had warned about asking for gifts of the gods, and she now wondered if it worked the same with demons. She wondered what game Tabor played.
"A gift, then. An army to take to the north -- one that will defeat any mere mortals who battle against it -- even ones holding the Kiya. Then you can stop wasting time trying to command what will never be yours. The great Demon Gix has so promised. Give me the sacrifice!"

Five

Brendan moved in front of Sandryn even as Shafara did. She started to cast a spell; but the demon moved quicker, knocking her down much as he had the demonling.
Shafara didn't get back up. Oh, gods...
Brendan didn't dare call to them. He reached for the crystal beneath his shirt, though he didn't pull it out just yet. What song would bind a demon? What power could he use against this thing? He needed to move carefully. He needed a little time, which they did not have.
"Stand aside, man-thing," the demon said, its voice shaking the building. The portal behind him remained, a circle looking into darkness and despair. For the first time Brendan remembered the other people and glanced around to see them cowering near the floor. The temple would never recover, he feared.
"Move," the demon said again, but it plainly didn't expect Brendan to do so -- nor hoped that he would. "I have chosen the one to serve me."
"No."
The demon's eyes flashed, and it smiled, showing fangs as long as Brendan's fingers. When it swept the bard aside, Brendan rolled toward the altar -- where Abby and Tristan had said there would be aid.
Sandryn clearly thought he stood alone to face the demon now. He stepped forward and looked up at the towering figure.
"Take me and be done, demon," he said, his voice calm.
The demon seized his arm, claws tearing through the silk shirt and drawing blood. It lifted the hand and licked the blood away.
"I have always savored the taste of the nobility. Yes, you will do. Hold him for me, Tabor."
A test, Brendan thought. For a moment Tabor hesitated, blood running down his chest and bruises on his face; but then he stepped forward and grasped the king's arms. Brendan couldn't even blame him this time. But the bard didn't watch as the demon ran a long-clawed hand down Sandryn's chest. 
Gods help them -- he wanted to say that aloud and didn't dare. Instead, he crawled as fast as he dared toward the altar, hoping the demon stayed intent on Sandryn. A moment later Sandryn gasped and bit back a cry of pain, but the demon laughed.
"Mine!"
Brendan reached the altar, but he could see nothing that might help. Couldn't find -- but then he could feel it, even above the power of the demon. Beneath a magical cloak, hidden. Brendan reached under the cloak and pulled out Abby's sword. They had not lied. The power in this weapon stung as he held it. He didn't know how to wield it, and he had no time to learn.
Brendan dashed forward, the sword in hand; but he only knew its true use when the demon backed away in haste. The demonling looked wild, pulling his own blade.
"Sandryn, take it!" Brendan said and shoved the weapon into the startled king's hand.
Sandryn knew what to do with such a weapon. He turned to Tabor, metal against metal. The demonling backed away almost as quickly as his father had.
"No! I want it! Don't fail me, Tabor!" The demon began to cast again. Brendan knew they had no protection this time; and, by the furious look on the demon's face, he suspected no one in the path of that spell would survive.
Brendan leapt a distance no human could have made and threw himself at the demon. They tumbled back -- through the portal.
And the world with his friends, and any hope of help, disappeared.

Six

He had not slept much that night and, surprisingly, neither could Tristan. They sat by the fire, silent and listening to the sound of the wind across the mountains above them. The world felt...alive...in ways that made his skin tingle and made him very uneasy.
Morning came without a bird call -- as dreary and gray a world as it had seemed the day before. They both feared --
Quiet!
The word within Abby's mind, along with the sudden awareness of Tristan's worry, froze him in mid-breath. He listened with the elf -- or through him, since Tristan heard so much better.
The uneven beat of a horse's hooves, a tired and lame horse. Single rider, heading toward them from the south. That brought relief but no less caution, especially since they knew something had happened on this world. They knew the music had...gone, though neither believed Brendan had died. They dared not believe -- but even so, they had stopped in their journey, trying to decide if they should go back and help their friends, and fearing they were already too late.
Magic?
Perhaps, a little. Hide Abby. Let us wait and see. 
They slipped into the shadows, leaving the fire burning low. Before long, the horse limped into the clearing with a rider who had his head against the animal's neck, surely as spent as his transportation. Neither looked dangerous, but still the two waited. Magic. They could feel it.
The horse stopped, and that roused the hooded rider. He looked around and then slipped from his saddle -- and went to his knees.
"Please," he said -- a soft but familiar voice. "Abby -- Tristan --"
They knew before the hood fell back so they could see Sandryn's bright hair.
"Gods!" Abby cried out, so surprised he forgot himself in that moment. He leapt from cover and rushed to the king, startling the tired horse, though it could only manage a step away. "Sandryn! King Sandryn!"
He reached the figure only a heartbeat ahead of Tristan. They both knelt, Abby pulling Sandryn into his arms because he looked ready to collapse. The horse went only a few steps farther before it found a bed of grass and settled down, too worn even to eat.
"He's cold, Abby," Tristan whispered with a hand on Sandryn's cheek. "Let's get him to the fire."
Aubreyan started to stand with Sandryn in his arms, but Tristan took him away. "Let me. Your side will bleed and that won't help."
He obeyed, and tried not to feel useless for it.
"What would have brought Sandryn out here?" he asked. "And alone. I fear we may have made the wrong choice, Tristan. I fear what happened when we left."
"I know, Abby. We did our best. We left so our war would come with us. We hadn't any other choices, Abby."
He laid the king by the fire and pulled a blanket up around him. Sandryn looked too tired to even notice. Sandy made feeble movements as he came awake. Abby had never seen Sandryn look less a king, his face smudged with dirt and creased with pain. His blond hair lay tangled across his forehead, and Abby could see now that most of his clothing had been torn.
Tristan brought a flask of wine from their supplies, and Abby lifted Sandy's head while he forced a small amount between the king's lips. Sandryn swallowed and coughed, his eyes blinking. His hand went to his chest as his eyes fluttered and he fought to retain consciousness. For a moment he lost, but Tristan helped this time with a little magic before he pulled aside the cape and shirt.
"I think he's been wounded, Abby. Not seriously, but I think that's part of the fever." Tristan carefully pulled aside the tunic and found claw marks. 
Abby shook his head, not understanding how it could have happened.
"Gix," Tristan said, his hand hovering over one of the wounds. "The demon came."
Such darkness came over Aubreyan's mind that Tristan reached blindly for him. Sandryn became fully conscious and looked at them, startled.
"Abby?" he whispered.
Abby focused on him, the paleness of the face -- and eyes that blazed. Sandryn hadn't been defeated. It helped pull him back.
"Abby," Tristan said with a sigh. "Good."
"Please," Sandryn said. He tired to move, but Tristan held him down. "Please. I came to find you..."
"How did it happen, Sandryn? The claw marks..." Abby whispered.
"Tabor came, and his father followed. I don’t think the demonling planned that part. He didn't seem happy. I've ridden as hard as I could... most of four days, I think, to reach you."
Abby moaned and looked back at Tristan, silently cursing himself for making such a mistake.
"It's all right, Abby," Tristan said. He caught Abby's arm and held tightly this time. "If we are to be of any aid now, we must be calm."
"Then, you will help?"
"Of course we will," Abby said. "Tell us what happened. We know... something is wrong. Brendan --"
"Brendan isn't dead," Sandryn said, but Abby could still see fear in his eyes, making a lie of any hope. "Tabor came and asked for you in trade for peace. We told him that you'd gone north -- and then Gix arrived. He demanded a sacrifice, and Brendan threw himself at the demon to save me. They both fell through the portal into that dark world. I have to believe that he is still there, alive. I will not believe anything else."
"If he fell through alive, he very likely still is. And not bound to the demon," Tristan said. "We'll get him back."
"Truly?"
"We will do all we can. What happened afterwards?"
"Tabor fled. Shafara and I managed to reach the castle before the city went mad. She healed me as best she could -- there was poison from the demon's claws. She's doing all she can to keep the peace. I slipped away and have ridden since to catch up with you. What can we do? Tell me, what we can do?"
For a moment they did not move or speak. Then Tristan's moved his hand to his waist and withdrew a piece of wood from the pouch there. He held it in the palm of his hand; and, even without touching it, Sandryn felt repulsed by the dark evil it radiated.
"We do have bargaining power," Abby said. "And I will give that piece of the Kiya to Gix if he will release Brendan."
"But first -- first we must secure the other piece," Tristan said. Abby started to speak, but Tristan shook his head. "No. We cannot allow them to have both. Even surrendering the one is to take chances --"
"For Brendan?" Sandryn said, finally realizing the importance of what they were offering. "You would risk this for Brendan?"
"Yes," Abby said. "Tristan, what can we do? We don't have much time now."
"Go north," Tristan said and unerringly grasped of Sandryn's arm. "Come, King Sandryn. You'll be safe with us, especially if Gix still wants you. But... Brendan is neither branded nor willing. I think that might be a problem for Gix. A free agent in his domain."
"Yes," Abby said. He stood and began to gather their belongs, feeling both anxious and nervous about what they would do next.
However, Tristan only dropped the piece of the Kiya back into his pouch and looked pensive. He helped Sandryn stand, knowing the king would hardly be able to travel much farther. He bowed his head and called forth a bit of power. When he let go, Sandy looked much stronger.
"We've a long journey," Abby said. He held the Janin and listened to the faint soft hum. Even she had lost most of her music, and that worried him. He needed her strong. "Are you ready to travel, Your Highness?"
"Surely, Prince Aubreyan."
Abby winced, and then smiled suddenly. "All right -- a compromise. Abby for Sandy."
"It might be less revealing should we come up against these barbarians," Sandy said, and smiled as well. "Let us be done with this. I miss the music."
They rode away through the silent forest.

Part Four: Music To Save The World
One

The world changed.
The world changed...
Brendan threw himself free of the demon and rolled -- a matter of reflex rather than forethought. Gix lay on his back, obviously stunned; and Brendan had at least enough wits left to take advantage of that brief opportunity. He scrambled to his feet, wrapped his arms protectively around Dove and ran for his life.
But the world had changed. 
The dry wind felt foul against his skin and carried the scent of death and corruption. He could hear moaning, like a thousand souls caught in despair. As he ran, the dirt beneath his feet rose in dusty swirls, dry and lifeless. Hulking trees sparsely punctuated the grayish-brown countryside, looking like nothing more than twisted leafless skeletons, and as dry as the soil.
Behind him he heard a bellow and a growl, and knew that Gix had recovered. For a moment he almost wondered if there were any reason in trying to escape. He ran anyway, dodging and leaping until he crested the nearest hill. There, he leaped over the edge, holding tight to Dove as he lost his footing and rolled down the other side.
Halfway down the hill he found that things did live here after all. Thorn bushes caught at him, but the momentum of the roll tore him free again. Barbs embedded themselves into his skin; and when he tried to stop himself and caught at the branches, they tore and gouged his palm. He didn't try that twice.
Brendan did finally stop at the bottom of the incline; and there he stayed, quite still in the thick bushes surrounding him. He could barely see the way he had come down the hill, and this seemed the best cover he could hope for here. Besides, he was winded and aching. He kept his head down on his arm and waited for Gix.
The demon didn't take long to arrive, a cold shadow that fell across him; and Brendan felt the demon's presence like a living darkness engulfing the little hollow where he lay.
"Stand, creature!"
Command infused the demon's voice, so much so that Brendan's legs twitched as if to obey. He grabbed his crystal and closed his eyes, concentrating on staying still. He prayed the demon had been weakened, spells gone awry, powers lost.
"Creature that calls itself Brendan! Hear me! I shall have your naked skull as an ornament for my castle!"
If that was supposed to be an inducement to bring him out, it didn't work very well. Nor did it frighten him into showing himself, either in person or with a use of magic. He only clasped his bleeding hand tighter around the crystal and waited.
A foul wind grew intense, echoing the Demon's rage and reminding Brendan that he was now in Gix's own domain. How could he hope to survive here?
"I could kill you easily, man-thing," Gix said, his voice shaking the bushes around Brendan. "A single fire would be most easy -- the thorns would burn quite readily. Oh, but I want you, Brendan. I want you for something else. You can't escape my world. You haven't the knowledge, even if you posses the power. You are mine, Brendan, and I shall exact from your soul what you have cost me in power. I shall have you."
The shadow left. Brendan remained very still, waiting for the world to end. It did not, even as the sun descended and the darkness of night enshrouded him in another layer of anonymity. He hadn't intended to remain so long, but weakness and fear had overcome him. 
The approaching darkness finally spurred him to action; and he stood slowly, the thorn bushes parting around him with only a few more slight cuts. The last of a blood-red sunset cast an eerie light across the land. He could see nothing in any direction but a land of desolation. No cover, no hope. Sighing, he turned to climb back up to the ridge.
As he neared the top, Brendan flattened himself to the ground and carefully peered over. When he and Gix had fallen into this world he had not dared to look around. Now, tracking back the way he had run, he saw why Gix had opened a door to here.
Another hill rose above all the others, and atop it stood a castle, its form as dark and twisted as everything around it. Red-lit windows looked like animal eyes in the dark night. The palace of Gix, and from it came cries of the tormented.
The Portal had probably been meant to take Gix there, but Brendan had sent it slightly awry.
He felt his nerve fail at last. How could he hope to return to his own lands -- to make Gix send him back? The demon would brush him away like a fly. Brendan had not yet won a battle against him. At best, he had only succeeded in running faster. He would pay for the meddling he had done --
Done to save Sandryn and for the safety of his world. And with that thought came hope that, somehow, Sandryn and Shafara would find him. Or perhaps Aubreyan and Tristan could save him. He didn't doubt that his friends would at least try. Gix might even reopen that door to home again, since he had so much interest there.
With at least that much hope that he might survive, Brendan began moving from shadow to shadow. A bleak open road led to the castle. He stayed clear of it, even when he heard the howl of wolves as a gibbous gray moon rose behind Gix's castle. He didn't try to pull power from it. He would do nothing to tie himself to this place.
He heard things moving in the night, life that hadn't been apparent in the daylight. Though this place felt different from his world, he could now sense the underlying naturalness of it, and the life and magic around him.
His crystal glowed softly, solitary and diamond-like; and Dove stayed very quiet in her case. He could feel her uncertainty, but she still comforted him. They were together. They held the music and the magic.
He reached the castle before the moon had fully risen, and stood there, expecting a trap. Did Gix watch, laughing as the prey came to the hunter's lair for sanctuary? Brendan shook his head, seeing no other choice as he moved past piles of bones and decaying bodies. Not all had been human. Were these the remains of those who had served as slaves to the demon lord? Thinking how Sandryn might have ended up here gave him new resolve.
Trying not to gag, he moved past the loathsome barrier and to the walls themselves, the scavengers looking at him with blinking eyes. He stumbled and bones scattered; for a moment he feared the dead would rise up and come after him. Then he pushed that terror away. He could find enough real worries here. He need not imagine more.
The wall of the castle went straight up, and he could see the red light from windows far above. The surface proved to be pitted stone, and he found easy handholds on the rocky wall. With Dove secured to his side and the crystal hidden within his tunic, he began to climb. For others -- for someone more human than he -- it might have been impossible. But Brendan had skills, and he used them. He took his time, trying to block out the cries of the damned he could hear from within the building. Soon, even those sounds of agony became only something by which to mark his distance closer to the source, or a way to judge windows where he did not want to go. 
He did well. The moon illuminated the long fall waiting if he slipped now, but he hadn't nearly as far to go before reaching the top of this wall. Upward.
Then, his left hand caught an edge where there had only been small purchases for his fingers before, and he could feel the mortar of the bricks beneath his fingers. His right hand sought out a spot next to it. He had only a little trouble pulling himself up until his chin came even with the top of the ledge and his feet found toeholds on the wall below.
There was a barred window before him. No light emerged; but he could hear bones rolling from within, and he didn't want to know what moved there in the darkness, keening softly. His mouth went dry, his hands trembled and he scrambled upward again, reaching for a higher perch. His feet settled on the ledge where his hands had been only a moment before.
But he hadn't moved fast enough. Arms so thin they looked hardly more than skin over skeleton reached through he bars. Fingers caught his leg, three hands with claws tearing at the cloth and then the skin. He kicked; but the arms held tight, and he nearly lost his balance.
Then he heard the whispers, hardly audible above the moans and wails that came from a little farther above. "A taste only, please. Just a taste. We haven't had flesh in so long..."
Claws dug deeper into his leg as though to tear the flesh away.
"A taste..."
"Let me be!" He kicked again, this time with a little better success.
"No!" something wailed.
He kicked and tried to climb, but the hands gripped tighter and pulled his leg within the bars. They laughed with the sound of hags chanting incantations as he lost his hold and fell backward. 
That they held to his leg was all that kept him from falling all the way back to the bone pile below. He slammed into the wall and hung limply, nearly unconscious.
They had begun stripping away his boot; and, even stunned, Brendan realized he had little time to act. Like an acrobat, he levered his body upward and grabbed at the ledge just as the claws tore at his leg again. Agony mixed with revulsion as he felt teeth bite just below his knee, but the horror and pain gave him strength again. He grabbed the bars and slowly stood, carefully pulling the leg back, drawing the hags with it.
"No! 'Tis ours now! We command it! We are the princesses of Angelia..."
"We command!"
The blood flowing from his wounds saved him, since the slickness made it harder for them to hold him. He reached higher and then kicked free, scrambling upward as fast as he could, hoping to get out of their reach. They screamed with rage, and he could see the arms reaching. Their wails came so loudly that he feared they would overpower the other sounds on this horrendous night.
"Quiet!" he ordered. "Don't give me away!"
He hadn't expected that to work, but they fell silent almost immediately. Brendan wasn't sure if that was good.
"Who?" a voice asked. The hand reached, but not to grab this time. "What are you?"
"A bard," he said. "And I go to battle the demon for my freedom and a return to my own world."
"Bard, there is no hope," the voice said, softer now. Almost younger, with a whisper of old sadness and loss. "All who are promised to Gix and come to this place are in his command. He toys with you, Bard, letting you believe that you can win. It's his game."
"I was not promised," Brendan said, daring to pause a little longer. This was the first hope for answers he had found. "I came by accident."
"Accident?" He thought he heard hope in that voice. "Then go, Bard -- and -- and the gods go with you! Quickly!"
The words gave him unexpected strength. He moved upward, pain forgotten in the moment of hope. Past three more barred and darkened windows--he didn't pause to find out if anything lived within them. 
The moon hung midway up the sky when he finally reached the top of a wall. He rested here, his cheek against the hard, cold stone.
Hardly more than two floors below him lay an open courtyard of red stone and twisted statues. Figures moved in the flickering torchlight, back and forth across the courtyard as though constantly agitated. They were not human, these creatures. The small, leathery red bodies, partially enclosed in wings, reminded him of the gargoyles; and he looked around with a start, fearing to find those creatures as well.
The beasts remained grounded and didn't look up to spy him. Brendan rested, knowing that to move on without any respite would have been foolish; the world seemed to move with every breath.
Eventually, he took account of himself and his surroundings. This narrow wall encircled the area, and he could see following it would lead to a corner tower and maybe a way into the buildings. 
He rolled to his side, tearing cloth from his tunic to wrap around his wounded leg. Then, he kicked off his other boot and let it fall far down to the ground below.
Other things came and went across the courtyard. Once, a black-cowled figure moved through, and the small winged creatures bowed and darted out of his way. Although the newcomer was too small to be Gix, Brendan could see that he obviously held some power here.
Brendan slithered along the top of the wall, moving in the direction the figure had gone. That way at least promised some answers.
He crawled for a long ways until he reached the dark stone buttressed tower. Down below at the courtyard level, a huge, hulking creature stood guard by a door. Brendan did not at all wish to face it.
He rested again, watching. After a time the man in the dark robe approached, obliviously haven taken a slower route through the buildings. The guard stepped forward, a huge axe in its hand. It growled something that almost could have been words.
"I am the priest Braith, come to see the Lord. He sent for me." There was a touch of impatience in the gravelly voice. "Let me pass."
Brendan heard more growled, indecipherable words; but the axe moved aside. The priest pulled hard against the door until the guard reached back and opened it with little effort at all.
"That was most kind, Renage," Braith said, though the sarcasm in his voice belied any true feeling of gratitude. The priest walked through; and Renage stood with the door open for a moment, the axe twisting in his large hands. He finally kicked it closed with a sound of thunder before he turned back to take his post.
Brendan looked upward. Gix! Insanity drove him to start climbing, staying out of the guard's sight by moving around to the far side where he had no place to fall but a very long ways down. He could easily ascend the rough stone. Obviously, the Lord Demon Gix had never imagined that someone would want in. Doubtless no one before had come to his world without being subject to his command and his control.
He climbed quickly, agony lacing through his wounded leg. He didn't dare slow until he found a high window, where baleful red light illuminated the opening. Brendan moved to the side and listened for a moment, aware that someone was inside. With his heart pounding in fear, he shifted to the very edge of the window and dared to look inside the room.
The Demon Gix lay stretched out on a couch midway across the room. Hand-sized creatures toyed with the demon's hair, a dozen scampering over the grotesque body, licking him. The priest stood by the door, his head bowed. Brendan had the feeling the man had waited a long time just to be noticed. He dared to watch, hoping that neither looked his way.
Gix made a little hissing sound. The small creatures cried out -- and disappeared in a puff of smoke. Brendan wondered if he had destroyed them or only sent them elsewhere.
The demon sat up, leaning against the back of the red-upholstered couch, never looking toward the window. Brendan's heart pounded. He hardly dared breathe.
"Enter, Braith."
Braith knelt before the demon, his hood thrown back. Brendan saw a white, hairless head, dark eyes. Gix sat for a long moment, as though weighing what to do next. The silence evidently made Braith uncomfortable. A sheen of perspiration appeared on the bald head.
"Braith, you have served me for eons," the demon said with a voice of soft thunder. The walls shook, and Brendan caught tighter hold.
"I have served you well," Braith said and dared to look up.
"Well enough," Gix said. That seemed to surprise Braith from the way his head came up. "The gods are moving against us, Braith. Worlds fall to them. First Ylant, and now this new one teeters within their reach."
"Tabor fails."
"Yes. And he will pay a price for every world lost. You shall have him, at least for Ylant. Shall you like that, Braith -- my son yours for a century to hold and do what you please with?"
"Oh, yes, my lord," the priest said. His voice purred, and he looked up with such ecstasy that it made Brendan shudder for what would happen to the demonling when the time came.
"It is already ordained and written in the book. When I am done with him, he is yours -- a century for every world he loses."
"My Lord, ask what you will of me!"
"Yes, I thought you would be grateful," Gix said, a hiss of satisfaction in his voice. "Braith, we have a more serious problem than the games Tabor plays. A problem on our own world."
"Here?" Braith said. His head came up again.
"That creature that came through the gate with me."
Brendan heard anger this time, and fire in the words. He would not do any better than Tabor if they caught him.
"He cost me the boy king, a willing slave. And now he is loose here."
"And you cannot find him?" Braith said.
Brendan saw the Demon’s head turn -- not to the window but toward a dark mirror at the end of the room.
"He is too much a part of nature. I cannot distinguish him from the land, even here where he does not belong."
"What can we do, Master?"
"I want him." The thunder rose again, and the demon's hands curled into fists. "I want him before he does harm. We must, my priest, revert to more archaic forms of search. Put your pets to work. Send them into the air and have them search the creature out. It cannot have gone far."
"You have promised them to Tabor. The Gift -- " Braith said. He bit at his lip. "I can feel it, my lord. Though this creature is not the one you would have liked to have taken, he did come with you."
"And the promise must be kept, or the imbalance will become an advantage for the gods. Time moves differently between here and there; and the gods will take advantage of that, as well. But only for tonight, Braith, and then I will send them to my son. Yes, and if he secures a piece of the Kiya Chanda Andee, it might be worth the price. Although this bard causes problems, the gods cannot interfere to take him, even if their precious Aubreyan should ask. I doubt he would. His faith in gods is badly lacking." Gix made a sound that might have been amusement. "The barbarian prince Aubreyan Altazar will be a fine slave, Briath."
"Yes, my lord. Though I shudder to think that he is a godling."
"We need not fear that, Braith. He is branded, and even great Starwind herself can't change that truth."
"But Master -- the curse of Y'May --"
"Do you really think that even a High Elf's curse could stand before my will?"
"Never, my Lord."
"No, I thought not. Go, now, and prepare my little birds to find the enemy. I shall be down to see them off. And don't antagonize Renage on your way out. One day he shall slam the door closed on your body, Braith. I don't think I'll heal your suffering."
"My lord." Braith rose, pulling the cloak up over his head again. He bowed low.
"Go."
The priest went out the door, and Brendan moved away from the window. His fingers felt numb. If those animals would soon take to the air, he needed to find better cover. He looked around frantically for a moment.
Gix would soon leave his room. Was there a better place to take refuge? If Gix really couldn’t find him...
But then he heard Gix coming to the window; and he scurried sideways, around the circle. He couldn't hold on much longer, and he feared to use magic...
But here he found another window that led to a darker and more inviting room.
"I cannot see you, Brendan," Gix said, the thunder of his voice shaking the walls again. "Ah, but I can feel you, a blight on my domain. Run where you can. It will still be my world, and I shall have you, eventually. The hunt might well be worth the prize. Later, Bard. Later, I shall have you."
He heard the demon walk away, clawed feet striking the stone floor. A door opened and closed.
Brendan carefully slipped into the darker room. Dust covered the floor and cobwebs hung against the walls like sheets of decaying silk. He slid down behind a stack of boxes, his back to the wall. With Dove in his hand and the crystal safe beneath his torn tunic, he finally dared to close his eyes again. Wait. He could only wait.

Two

"Did you see that, Abby?" Sandy asked as he looked upward. "Another! I've never seen so many falling stars!"
Abby looked up and paused at the sight of a half-dozen stars streaking across the sky. Tristan, seeing them through Abby's eyes, felt awe; he had not known stars long. Then he felt a breeze blow past -- and heard the sound of silk and lace.
"No," Abby whispered, pulling his horse back. "No!"
She suddenly stood in the path, a figure of bright beauty in the dark night, a soft light illuminating her. Her hair blew in a breeze that held the scent of spring.
"What do you want here?" Abby demanded.
Starwind tilted her head, as though she considered taking offense at his tone. Sandy looked startled as well, though he must have guessed that this was no stranger.
Abby's hand moved toward his sword, holding there, the fingers against the hilt. Tristan only silently wished for him to stay calm, though even he didn't trust the goddess before them.
"I've come to offer you aid, Aubreyan Altazar," she said with a smile.
"Do you think I'm completely mad?" Abby asked, feeling unexpected amusement this time.
"This aid comes easier than the last, my beloved son."
"Son?" Sandryn said, surprised. "Goddess?"
"Be calm, Sandy," Tristan said, catching hold of his horse's bridle in case it started to panic. "You faced a demon with great courage. She is not as hostile but just as dangerous, in her own way."
"Dangerous, Tristan?" She came closer, light and spring moving with her. "I am not your enemy."
"You haven't proven it so far," Abby said.
She looked back at him, and he thought he saw sadness this time. He didn't want to feel that draw toward her.
"Take your hand from the sword and hear me out, Abby. There are matters at hand -- something that is to our advantage, if we move quickly."
"Abby," Tristan began aloud, biting at his lip. "She's sincere. A goddess cannot lie."
Abby bowed his head and drew his hand away. "Tell us, then."
She nodded and waved her hand -- and they were in a brightly lit pavilion of silk and scents, a place of beauty in the darkness of the night. Abby gave a little cry of surprise, and Tristan caught his arm.
"For my comfort and yours," she said and sat amidst a pile of golden pillows. "Sit."
Tristan took Abby's arm and almost forced him down. "She can't force a gift upon you, Abby. Let's hear her out."
Sandryn looked very grateful as he sat beside Tristan. Grateful and quiet. Abby wondered what he thought of this new madness on his world.
"We haven't much time, Abby. Now, listen." She leaned forward, excitement in her eyes. Abby didn't think he'd ever seen that before. "King Sandryn, we saw what happened in the temple with the demon and the bard."
Sandryn nodded, and his hand went to his chest where the tunic and bandages covered the claw marks. "I would have gone, but Brendan --"
"Brendan still lives, so you need not fear that... yet. Because Gix did not get quite what he wanted, and because your bard is loose upon his world, certain paths remain open tonight. The demon promised his son a gift in trade for a slave. He did not get the one he bargained for; but nonetheless, he did take Brendan with him. And he has not fulfilled his promise to Tabor."
"An imbalance," Tristan said, leaning forward, excitement so strong that even Abby felt himself pulled into it this time.
"Yes, my little elf." She smiled, and it seemed the whole world brightened. "An imbalance. As long as the great demon withholds his payment, we may do many things."
"Why?" Abby asked, confused.
"Every gift requires a payment," she said, and even she shook her head this time. "Gix has already accepted the gift, and the time has passed when he should have made the payment. Nearly two days of your world's time. The gift is an open doorway. It is, Abby, our way of keeping faith with our followers, both gods and demons. If we accepted gifts and made no recompense, then there would be no reason to worship us. Until Gix fulfills his promise, we have great power for the taking."
"Why would Gix do this?" Tristan asked.
"We perceive that it has much to do with Brendan. He's created a problem for Gix, but we cannot reach into that realm to learn how or why. We only feel the emanations, like shadow memories -- distorted and hard to read."
"Then, you can't give us Brendan as a gift," Abby said. The hope that had been there for a moment died away again.
"No." Even her voice softened and she bowed her head. "That I can't do. I want Brendan back in his place, as well. He's special. Almost unique. The bard is a son of nature; a force that is not a part of the domain of the gods. His kind is very rare."
"I will bring him back," Abby said.
"I know you intend to trade your piece of the Kiya for him." She met Abby's eyes; and he held his breath this time, wondering what powers she had over him, even still. "There are other gods who dislike this proposal and will be unhappy if that happens. But I will not try to stop you if it's the only way. Trade the piece that Tristan carries, but remember you must fight to get it back again."
"So be it," Abby said. He felt a little bit of shock and dismay from Tristan, who thought Abby's words came far too close to a promise. "And if he will not take the Kiya --?"
"Oh, he will," she said. "You won't need to trade yourself. He'll accept that before even a godling slave.
"But that's another problem. Tonight we must work to get the other piece of the Kiya before Gix gives his son that gift of an army. The Kiya is still far to the north under the guard of a dozen minor mages and a very large army. The tribes gather near it. I cannot bring the Kiya here -- I can't take her, you understand, even in so small a piece. But I can lend my aid to transport you to her. And if you manage that before Gix ever has a chance to give the gift to his son ---"
Abby leaned forward, and Tristan felt the excitement in him for the first time. "Yes," he said. "Yes. We must move quickly."

Three

Brendan awoke with the walls shaking, as though they would crack and the tower fall. Bright-red light filtered through the window he had climbed through the night before -- daylight, he finally realized.
He heard muted thunder, and the walls shook again. This time he knew it for what it really was -- a roar of anger from the great demon. Brendan fought the urge to flee. The demon had not found him yet; he had no reason to move. Instead, he laid his hand on the crystal and pulled enough power to give him a little strength and make him more alert. 
He hadn't been found yet. Too much of nature? He wondered what that really made him, though at the moment he appreciated that it gave him an edge. He needed it.
He could hear the demon's heavy steps on the stairs and the low rumble of words. Looking around in the light, Brendan found a door at the far side of the room that must lead to the demon's room. The heavy layer of dust showed Gix had not entered this room in some time. A treasure room, he thought, looking at the dull glint of aged gold and the rotting silks. Well, at least he would know better than to try and bribe the demon.
Brendan crawled to the door, hoping he could hear more clearly. His wounded leg sent agony up through his knee and hip, and he knew he dared not stand. He lay very still in the dust, listening to the voices on the other side.
"Master?" Braith said, so softly that Brendan almost couldn't hear.
"He is here," Gix rumbled. Brendan shivered. "I want him, Braith. I want him before he does more harm. You saw what happened in the dungeons. Have they ever dared rebel against me before? That's what happens when such as he comes here."
"But -- you risk much by not paying Tabor," the High Priest said.
"I do."
"She aids her son. I saw in the glass that she has gone to Aubreyan."
"I never doubted the goddess wouldn't take advantage of my delay. Even now, they stand on the threshold of taking the second piece of the Kiya."
"Master, do not allow them the power! The creature Brendan -- he can be caught later --"
"Braith... his presence causes me discomfort."
A pause. Brendan smiled, a feral pulling back of his lips, animal-like, wild. It was good to know he wasn't the only one suffering here. 
"Leave this plane, Master. He will show himself soon enough, and then we shall take him for you."
"Leaving will not help. He is free in my domain, where I have decreed only slavery and suffering. Where his blood fell on the ground flowers have bloomed."
"What is he, Master?"
"Nature, and wild." He heard a sound like a sigh as the demon apparently settled onto the sofa, which creaked with the weight. "Where he passes, he calls forth hope and life, even if I have decreed lamentation and death. Flowers bloom against my will."
"Master--" Braith sounded truly frightened this time.
"We must find him. But at what cost? Shall I allow the godling and his meddlesome elf to take another piece of the Kiya? And if they get it, how much longer dare I delay? The goddess could take her son to the next piece. How much dare I lose to them?"
"I--I do not know, Master."
"Be gone, Braith," the demon said, obviously at the end of his patience. "Call in your army. Prepare them."
Feet retreated. A door opened and closed. Brendan could still hear Gix breathing within the other room. He feared that his own heart would beat so loud he'd draw the demon's attention. He dared not move at all.
"You are close, singer," the demon said at last. "I know you are near. I will find you, in time. But now... now I have other problems. I must deal with your world and those who meddle there."
Brendan heard a whisper of words, a surge of magic and then...sounds that did not belong in this world. And he thought he heard Abby's voice.
He crawled back to the window as quickly as he could and paused, looking to the sky. He saw a swarm of the red-skinned flyers diving back down to the courtyard where he had first seen them. When there were no flyers in the air that he could see he used a little more magic to help with his leg -- nothing strong, for fear of drawing attention. Then, he climbed out and carefully inched his way back to the window so he could see inside the demon's room again.
Gix stood in front of a mirror, and in the mirror Brendan could easily see...
His world. It made his heart ache. He wanted to touch it. He wanted home... but he held back and watched.
He could see Sandryn sitting with Abby and Tristan across from a woman of such beauty and grace that Brendan knew her even before Gix spoke.
"You shall not have that power long, Goddess," the demon said, his clawed hand scratching against the glass. "No, you will not win that easily. I must prepare the portal. You shall not get there first."
The demon waved his hand, and the mirror went dark. If Gix had turned to the window just then he would have seen Brendan. Instead, he went out the door, slamming it loudly behind him. 
Even before he had started down the stairs, Brendan slipped inside the room. He wanted to see his world again; and he darted to the mirror, laying his hands on the slick, warm surface. Magic, of course, but he hadn't the key to make it answer to him. He could not see what the demon had seen before he left...
Left to open a portal to Brendan's own world.
Gods! This might be his only chance! He turned back toward the window and started that way at as much of a run as his injured leg would allow him. But halfway out the window he looked back at the mirror. Gix could use that to see into his world--and probably others. Brendan didn't like it.
He lifted his crystal, waiting until he heard Gix open the door below -- and then he dared a great deal more magic than he had used since his arrival. Just as the door slammed shut, he sent a spell that shattered the mirror into a thousand pieces. The sound went unheard.
Brendan smiled as he worked his way down the wall and back to the narrow path along the battlements. No demon could stand in his way if he saw the way home.
Madness...but he held to it as better than hope.

Four

The goddess wrapped them in light and cloud and took them... a long ways.
Abby tried to feel neither awed nor hostile. He wanted peace, and he even wanted her help -- so long as he didn't have to pay for it with the blood of others.
He could feel a strange link with her and knew she acted in frantic haste in what she did. He also knew he should be grateful that she helped them, but he still could not quite trust her.
Drums.
"Here," she said softly.
He stood on icy ground, in the grip of a cold wind that made him shiver even before her cloud dissipated from around them. The beat of the drums grew loud and steady, a monotonous pounding that shook the ground. There was no music here. Even the Janin had stopped humming.
"There. The Kiya is inside." She pointed down a hillside to a crude wooden building, barely illuminated by the bonfire outside it. Men stood before the door, a dozen, beating the drums or the ground while warriors with spears and bows stood in the field beyond, waiting. Many, many warriors. How could they...? They could not...
"We can't go against them," Sandryn said. "We don't have the power to take down that many!"
"You need help. They have a dozen mages -- not powerful on their own but united, and with the Kiya to fuel them they will be very dangerous. They will have their power when the moon rises tonight. There is not much time," she said. Her eyes flickered and then grew wide. "Gix is fulfilling his promise! The door is closing! I will not -- ask quickly! An army?"
"No," Tristan said. "That would only cause more chaos. We need Shafara."
"And a storm," Abby added, frightened to ask even that for fear of what it would cost them.
She looked at him, her eyes bright, as she nodded. Oh, yes, storms wouldn't be a problem for her.
"Gix sends his army to take the Kiya," she said softly.
"Good," Abby said, and she looked surprised. "Let them battle the barbarians. We have other work."
"Yes. Yes." She held up her hand for a moment. "Gods grant you find peace, Abby. I had never meant for any of this to happen. Good luck."
Light. Wind, and the whisper of silk and lace, fading...
And then, suddenly, snow fell around them, and the wind howled. Tristan grabbed Abby, and Sandryn fell to his knees... and Shafara stumbled, blinked and looked around with wide-eyed surprise. 
"How --"
"We needed you," Tristan said. He shook his head. They could barely hear each other above the storm. "The Kiya is in a building down the hillside. A barbarian army is there. Gix will be sending his own army at any moment."
"Brendan?" she said, looking around with a little hope.
"Gix still holds him," Abby said. "But we'll get him back. My mother... the goddess said that because he's not there willingly he's causing some problems for the demon. But Gix is about to pay his son for the gift promised, and we must act quickly to grab the Kiya before they can!"
"Ah," Shafara said. She ran her hands through her hair dusted with snow and looked down toward the place where they had seen the barbarians. The drums had started to beat again. She lifted her hand, testing, and nodded. 
"They have mages. A dozen or more, but none of them very strong. We can do this. Quickly."
Abby nodded. Shafara knew about magic and she knew how to deal with this better than he could. He willingly followed her down to the battleground. 
The storm worked well for them. They could hear the sound of cursing soldiers the other side of the clearing, but their small group reached the circle of drummers before anyone saw them. Then a cry of outrage arose, and the drumming came to a faltering stop. Abby could feel the rise of power around them. The mages knew that enemies had arrived.
No matter. He shoved the door open and slipped inside out of the wind -- and he could see the fragment of the Kiya, lying on a rough-cut wooden altar. He would take her, and nothing would stop him!
Though the barbarian mages made a real try. They yelled out spells, but Tristan kept him safe while Shafara and Sandryn fought back those outside.
Abby lifted the Janin, her magic brightening the room. She screamed her power, all the music lost... and he feared, suddenly, that she had no way to recover with Brendan gone. 
He stepped toward the altar; the mages with their painted faces and animal-hide capes backing away from the power in his hand.
And... something changed. Red light grew, and he heard Shafara yell to Sandryn to get back.
He could almost reach out and grab the Kiya, but a half-dozen mages finally came between him and that goal. He swung the Janin and knocked two aside before he looked back and saw what he had expected. A portal had opened just outside the building. Small, red-skinned winged creatures came flooding through, squeaking and yelling in voices so shrill they made Abby's ears hurt. Some had turned to battle the army, but many massed, ready to attack the true enemy.
Shafara cast a spell that sent the last of the mages flying away from the altar to fall unconscious against the wooden walls. Abby wanted the Kiya, though he knew the moment of victory wouldn't last long. He could see Gix standing at the portal in his own world, watching them. Waiting.
They still had a battle to fight. The Kiya could wait. 

Five

Brendan stayed flat atop the wall and watched. Gix called the portal open, and he could see the place he longed to reach. He wasn't certain how he knew the portal opened to home, but he knew it, despite the snowstorm and the strange landscape. Brendan nearly leapt straight for the magical opening; but the creatures stood in the way, and he knew he would die at their hands long before he got that far. Wait.
And while he waited and watched he saw his friends: Abby, Tristan, Shafara and Sandryn, doing battle. Spells cast, creatures destroyed -- but more of the enemy still arrived; and as his friends weakened, Gix laughed.
"We shall win, Braith. We shall win in ways I had not anticipated. I need Tabor there. The greblings need a leader, and even Tabor should be able to handle that much."
The demon waved his hand, and something appeared at his feet. It took Brendan a moment to realize that the bloody heap of clothing was the demonling. Gix kicked him, and Tabor lifted his head.
"I am going to send you back. You will make a sacrifice of the godling and the king to me, Tabor. You will do it right this time, or you shall go back into Braith's hands. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sire," Tabor said. 
Gix grabbed his son and threw him up against the wall beside him; and his claws went to Tabor's neck, forcing his head back to avoid being impaled. Tabor's head lifted and he looked-- 
Toward Brendan. Saw him, Brendan was sure, and he felt all his hope disappear again...
"You will not fail," Gix said again.
"I will do the best that I can, Lord Demon."
Brendan knew Tabor had seen him. It seemed madness to think that he purposely didn't tell the demon. He watched as Gix grabbed his son by an arm, heedless of the pain he caused -- or enjoying it. He did heal the wounds, but even that must have been painful from the way Tabor's head snapped back and his eyes closed.
"Pitiful. Weak. Toss it through the portal, Braith."
Braith grabbed Tabor and shoved him through into the other world. Brendan saw him fall and not get up, even as the creatures moved over him.
"He is too weak. Your fault, Braith. I told you I would need him."
"Master --" Braith said, his voice hardly a whisper.
"I must go to claim them myself. But we will win. And then -- then we'll see who among my followers needs to pay what price."
"Sire," Braith whispered and went to his knees.
Gix kicked him aside and stepped forward.
And Brendan knew that he would never have a better chance. The demon's creatures had already passed through to the other side. The demon's priest groveled on the ground, and Gix had his back to where Brendan waited. This was the only chance he would ever have.
He leapt from the wall, using magic to cushion his fall. Even so, his leg gave way, but he didn't allow that to stop him. He surged back to his feet, running with a speed impossible for a human. He heard Braith cry out and saw the demon start to turn --
Brendan collided with him and knocked him through the portal.
Madness. True madness. Gix would not be happy with him...
He fell and rolled, and knew he had reached home. The demon bellowed so loudly the ground shook. He heard his name called and scrambled in that direction on hands and knees, heedless of ice, snow and cold. In a moment he had slipped through a crude doorway and into a small building. Home. That was all that mattered.
"You shall not go so easily this time!"
Gix grabbed him by the leg, swung him up and pounded him against the ground like a child's doll in a temper tantrum. He hadn't even the breath to cry out as he wrapped his arms around Dove --
Singing. The Janin sang.
Dove joined her, the music so loud that her case split open.
Gix dropped him as though he had suddenly turned to fire. Brendan rolled and stood, his hand on the harp, gasping for breath before... before he sang such magic that the greblings looked at him and stopped their attack, and the barbarians wept and went to their knees. Gix stared, blinked... backed away toward the portal. Brendan's voice faltered. The demon paused --
Brendan put a hand on his crystal, and then he felt a hand on his shoulder and knew Shafara stood there, ready to give him whatever aid she could. He saw Gix grab his unconscious son by the arm and drag him along as well. Brendan regretted that, since he suspected he owed Tabor his life. He thought there might be more to the demonling than they thought...
But for now he must sing and sing -- and send this demon far from his world. Never to come back.
Gix reached the portal and stopped again. Brendan could see his eyes, the red glare that brightened.
"No," the demon said loudly. He tossed Tabor through and reached one hand into his own world. "You are too dangerous, Bard."
A foul wind blew straight from that other place. Power came to Gix's hand -- such power that no force of nature could fight it. Brendan lost the song, though the harp and the Janin played on.
He shoved Shafara to one side and leapt in another direction, knowing the demon would go for him. At least he would die on his own world. At least...
He saw Abby and Tristan come between him and the demon. Abby swung the Janin, yelling. Brendan didn't think it was the curse that made Abby attack, not with Tristan so willingly at his side. The demon shouted, and fire leapt at them; but Sandryn and Shafara cast a ward, and it deflected most of the power. Even so, Tristan went down, crumpling into a heap beside Abby.
At that moment the godling screamed and ran at the demon, his rage so strong that even Gix stepped back. The Janin swung and would have hit the demon if he had been any slower.
By then Shafara had moved to help, Sandryn at her side. They could not stand against a demon. Gix knocked Abby back, sending him flying until he hit the wall on the far side of the building and slid down. The Janin's song ended in a scream.
But the harp still played and gave Brendan power again. He rose; and he drew his crystal out, lifting it to catch the light as the moon rose outside the building. The power burnt his hands.
He sang again. 
The demon howled and turned to him, his hand lifting to cover his eyes, the light from the crystal too bright. Shafara had grabbed Abby's sword and cut deep into the demon's chest, until the sword glowed hot and she dropped it, backing away.
The world trembled, the building starting to collapse; but Brendan stood, the crystal held high. Shafara and Sandryn threw themselves over Tristan, and he saw a ward cast around them. He hoped Abby was safe...
The demon stepped back. Back again. In a moment, when he slipped into his world, Brendan could see a green tree in a patch of gray thorn bushes. And flowers.
And then he was gone.
Brendan lowered his hand, and the harp grew silent. The world stilled, even the storm dying away with a last sigh of ice and snow. The demon's red winged creatures dissolved as though they had never been real. The barbarians who still lived fled into the night. 
Half the building had collapsed, and the dead lay beneath the wooden beams. He thought he could hear the Janin humming as he went to his knees.
"Brendan," Shafara said and crossed to him, Sandryn just behind. She knelt and put a hand on his shoulder. "We could not -- we wanted you back. Gods, we did not know how --"
"I managed on my own," he said softly. He barely had the strength to speak. The world swayed, and for a heartbeat he feared Gix had returned. "My Lady Shafara...I walked a path in hell. And where I passed, hope remained."
He tumbled into Shafara's arms. Safe. Home. He could hear birds singing in the trees outside... 

Six

"Abby?"
Tristan's voice, his touch within. We can't find you Abby, and I'm so tired... 
Abby tried to move, to draw his friend, but he hadn't the strength. He hurt, and it very nearly drove him back to the darkness again. Only Tristan held him here, fearing for him.
In a moment, the wood moved. He could see both Tristan and Sandryn leaning down to help him. He didn't want to stand. He didn't think his legs would hold him. He didn't think he wanted to go on.
"We won, Abby," Tristan said, kneeling beside his friend and waving Sandryn back for the moment. "We did win. Brendan is back. Shafara wants to take us back to Senonia. Can you move?"
"Back to some place... peaceful? Will there be peace?"
"Oh, yes," Sandryn said. "I used a little power to look. Now that the demon has left the world -- and Brendan has returned -- the people have calmed again. Can you stand?"
"I think so." He moved a little, saw Tristan wince and thought he should remove the crown.
Tristan caught his hand and stopped him. "That would be worse," he said. He gave power to help; but only a little, since he hadn't much left, either.
One of the mages had put a ball of light above them, but it flickered, showing the edge of weakness. When he sat up he found the building mostly destroyed and dead scattered everywhere in the debris. He didn't like to see it. He didn't like to think that this would happen everywhere he passed.
Tristan pulled away and stumbled to the stone altar. He picked up the piece of the Kiya, turning it over in his hand and shaking his head.
"Not where you pass, Abby. Where this does. We come to make things right. Are you ready, Lady Shafara? I think it's time to go." He dropped the Kiya into his pouch. 
Shafara, Sandryn and Brendan came to them. Brendan looked hardly strong enough to stay to his feet, and Shafara had her head bowed.
"I'm taking us back to the city," she said softly. "We need to get back and set our world to right again..."
Then, she looked up at Abby and Tristan. Not their world... 
They would be going soon.
We won, Tristan whispered in his mind. There was time for a little peace before they went on to the next battle.

Seven

Shafara was older. She didn't simply look older; Brendan could see the gray where there had been none before, and the lines that had suddenly appeared below her eyes. Older.
She looked up from the teacup she held between shaking hands and met his look. Sandryn, sitting beside them, stayed quiet. Brendan felt normality elsewhere in the castle, but here in the garden questions still needed asked and answered. He just didn't know if he wanted the answers now.
"Shafara," he said finally, "you've changed. Grown older. What did you sacrifice for us?"
"Don't fear. It's not as bad as it looks to one so young." She reached over and patted Sandryn's hand, seeing the concern on his face, as well. "I only traded a very small piece of my life for powers that we needed. I've done it before, my friends. In a few days, the moon will be full again, and I shall look as I did before. I would not want to scare the poor nobility by looking older."
Sandryn smiled. Brendan felt relief -- and another question came to mind, one that he had wanted to ask for a long time. This was the time to do it.
"The king once told me I must never speak of it, but... Shafara, how long have you served the royal family?"
"I have served in Senonia for seven generations, since the time one of Sandryn's less-illustrious ancestors committed a great evil that killed thousands. I swore that, as long as I lived, it would not happen again. The gods listen too closely, sometimes. But I am here -- and will be here as long as I am needed."
"Thank you," Sandryn said. "With everything else that's happened...I just couldn't deal with what I saw in you. Thank the gods the people are finally calm again. But -- to stay as long as you are needed? Is that the oath you took, Shafara?"
"You are very observant," she said. She put down her cup. "Sandy, nearly five hundred years ago a young woman of power, no more than twenty, came to serve a king named Alwin. The girl had more power than wits, I think. She believed the king when he said he loved her and asked her to help him. Oh, he only wanted little things at first; but when the girl showed she had scruples the king grew angry, and she knew the mistake she had made.
"But the king had a son--a good son, though young. She tried to take the boy and run, but they were caught. The king held her for a long time in an area of the castle that is...gone now."
Shafara stopped, and Brendan saw her hand move on her arm. Was that a scar he had never seen before? "You need not tell us more, Lady," he said.
"This is a story you should know, Brendan. It's not right that I alone know the tale, because there were evils done in those days that should never be repeated. And I could die, you know. I'm careful, but I'm not invulnerable to being killed. So, listen and remember:
"The king left her in the dungeon for ten years. He probably thought she died there, but she had found just a sliver of an opening in the wall. She gathered a little tiny piece of power each time the moon swept past and lived on it. Hoarded it, and waited.
"And then the king found a magical item beyond his understanding and accidentally let loose a wave of power. I grabbed it to free myself and raced to find the king about to kill his son. I cast and cursed and called upon the gods all at the same time. And I made an oath. I never dreamed that it would be so long. I never questioned eternity."
"Shafara --" Sandryn began.
"Peace," she said. She smiled with a sudden and unexpected brightness. "I'll tell you another truth, Sandryn. She has served many, but truly only loved one. It makes the years seem short, Sandryn."
Sandy bowed his head.
"Drink up, Brendan. We should go see the others."
Brendan drank the tea, knowing he would remember the tale and never tell it, at least as long as the Lady lived. But he would give it to Dove, and she would remember it forever, even when she passed into the hands of another Keeper of the Song.
King Sandryn and Lady Shafara stood. He ached in every joint and even breathing was a labor, but he went with them up the stairs to the room where Abby and Tristan were staying. Outside the room, the two guards bowed, Olvert and Danti moving aside to let them through.
Abby had stood where he had been sitting by the window, but Tristan only roused when they entered. 
"Sit, sit," Sandryn said and settled on the edge of a bed, signaling Brendan beside him. He settled gratefully there, despite its not being entirely proper. He found he had trouble with that again, and some of the nobles had already begun to look at him with narrowed eyes. At least he needn't worry about Lady Holweck and Lord White this time.
"We have a problem still," Shafara said. "We have vanquished the enemy. We have set the world to right... but the people don't feel it yet. There is still so much fear in the streets that it's creating problems all its own. Any suggestions?"
"I don't know," Abby said and sounded as though he thought the problem should be his to solve and that he failed everyone by not having an answer. "I'm sorry."
"You aren't to blame," Shafara said, but Brendan doubted Abby listened to her.
They talked. Brendan leaned back against the bed and listened. That might have been a mistake, because he felt very comfortable. And tired. Gods, he couldn't remember ever feeling so tired before...
"Brendan?" Shafara asked softly.
He opened his eyes. He blinked, and felt lost and frightened.
"Brendan," Sandryn whispered, leaning close to take his hand. "Brendan?"
Brendan’s eyes found him, blinked again. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize I was so tired. Your pardon."
"You need not apologize, Brendan. We haven't talked about the battle, but you do realize that you did... something miraculous, don't you? Thank the gods you made it back. The world felt darker without you."
Brendan frowned. Then, he started to sit up and gratefully accepted the help of his friends. "Thank you. And I think I know what we must do. Let's go to the market. I need to play."
"Now?" Sandryn said.
"Now. It's long past time that I played. I promised the people a song."
"You cannot --" Sandryn began.
"I must. I know I must."
"Yes," Shafara said. "Yes, I think that's exactly what the people need."
Brendan almost hadn't the strength to walk all the way to the market on his own, but with Dove in his hands he made it. He took his old place on a bench by the wall and smiled when people came, furtively at first, to sit at his feet. He hadn't played for people in so long...
He found power in their acceptance, and his own longing to play matched their need to hear. He gave them light, lovely tunes to soften the nightmares, and love ballads to give them hope. Soon, they laughed and sang with him. He sang until he nearly lost his voice; and when he put his harp aside, they brought him ale and cakes and shared their own stories with him. 
And Brendan found his own peace in the world again.

Epilogue

"The moon will rise soon," Tristan said as they finished their meal.
Abby saw the way Shafara looked at them, the fear and the loss so plain in her face. She knew -- had probably always known -- they would leave with the first full moon. He suspected that was why she had suggested a private dinner tonight rather than another state affair. 
Sandy and Brendan looked as though they had expected this moment as well, but they had not spoken of it until now, either. None had wanted sorrow in the last days while they rested and recovered and dealt with the problems of a world that had stood on the edge of madness and destruction.
To those problems Abby now turned. "We must speak of such things as need to be said before Tristan and I leave." He pushed aside his plate and looked at the others. "We dare not linger here any longer, my friends. We have other battles to fight. We have places to go. But Gix might well try to come for you again, Sandryn, since you were part of a promise made to him. Even without your being branded, I think he might want the power he could get from you. I don't want to abandon you --"
"He isn't alone," Shafara said. "I will stay, as long as I am needed."
Abby nodded, hearing power behind those words that he didn't understand, feeling a truth that would stand before the gods and demons. Shafara would be here, and Brendan, too. He could still see shadows in the bard's eyes, but Brendan had mostly put his sojourn through hell behind him. He didn't speak of it.
Tristan stood. Abby hadn't thought they would go just yet, but he only sighed as he did as well. Lingering would only make this goodbye worse.
"We'll leave from the courtyard," Tristan said. "I don't think we'll create such a storm as when we came. I've thought hard about what I need to do this time. But, even so, Shafara, I would appreciate if you would stay close at hand to help contain anything if this goes amiss."
"We all will," Sandryn said. He and Brendan were already on their feet.
Abby would have argued; but he wanted their company, even for the little space of the walk.
"I think... I think Gix might have more difficulty finding you this time," Brendan said as they stepped out of the building to stand in the bright moonlight. "I destroyed a mirror he used to watch this place. I shattered it. I don't think he could repair it again, not with the magic I used."
"Truly?" Tristan said and grinned so brightly it even lightened Brendan's look. "Ah, such things can only help us in our own work. Thank you, Brendan."
Shadows left his eyes. Abby understood that gift the elf had given, the knowledge that Brendan's worse nightmare had not been for nothing, that he had given the two something they couldn't have done for themselves.
"Keep watch for him," he said and stepped away, Tristan at his side. The Janin whispered a song in his hand. "We brought this battle to your world. I am sorry --"
"No, you didn't bring it," Sandryn said. "It came to this world by no choice of yours. We won, and the world survived. I'll miss you two."
Tristan had already taken the two pieces of the Kiya from his pouch. He sighed as he held them.
"King Sandryn," Abby said. He came close enough to put his hand on the young king's arm. "May you reign in peace, but if some day you find yourself in great need call upon Starwind -- call upon my mother and ask for our return. I shall pay the price for such a gift if I can aid you."
Sandryn stared at him, stunned, but Abby saw how Shafara and Brendan both smiled. Yes, it was good. 
"Peace, Abby," Shafara said. "That is what I wish for you and your friend."
"Someday," Abby said. "Someday, it will come. I have... faith in that much."
"Brendan," Tristan said, "play us a song to see us on our way. We've far to go."
Brendan walked to the steps and sat down. He carefully pulled Dove from her new case and held her for a moment, as though not playing would keep them here a little longer. When he finally found a tune, the music filled the courtyard with a soft sound that only hinted at the bittersweet loss. 
The Janin sang softly with the harp, but Brendan only hummed, as though no words could convey what he felt. Tristan listened, lost in the sound for a moment, until Abby took hold of his arm.
"We must go," he whispered.
Tristan began to reach for the magic again. Shafara spun a ward around them as he opened the door to elsewhere. Aubreyan looked up as a portal opened to somewhere...darker, he thought. Very different.
Abby glanced at Shafara with such open regret, loss and longing that she must have felt it. Her ward wavered for a moment and then steadied again. His fingers held tighter to his friend as he and Tristan stepped away toward a blackness lit by diamonds, a night without a world.
Going....
The End