Beginning

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Danny Birt

Published by Ancient Tomes Press Imprint of Cyberwizard Productions 1205 N. Saginaw Boulevard #D PMB 224 Saginaw, Texas 76179 Edited by Erin Bassett Cover Artist: Crystalwizard Maps created by A.R. Stone Beginning: Second Book of the Laurian Pentology Copyright Š 2009 Danny Birt ISBN: 978-0-9821352-5-9 Library of Congress Control Number: 2008941663 First Edition: 2009 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher and the individual authors, excepting brief quotes used in connection with reviews.

Books in the Laurian Pentology:

Ending an Ending

Book One

Beginning

Book Two

Beginning an Ending

Book Three

Ending

Book Four

Beginning a Beginning

Book Five

“To kind Mrs. Erickson, encouraging Carolyn Satterlee, meticulous John Camp, brilliant John Lucero, wacky Darlene Logan, insightful Linda Scott, and adroit John Biguenet: without English teachers such as you, the ability to create works of literature such as this would have long ago died out.”

-Your Humble Student, Danny Birt “To Danny: Kindly refrain from ending your sentences with prepositions. B+.”

-Your English Teachers, c/o The English Language

Author’s Note After publishing the first book in the Laurian Pentology, by far the two most common questions I have received about the series have been “When’s the second book coming out?” and “Will we be seeing Sanct again?” Since you are reading from book two right now, I trust the former question has been answered to your satisfaction. As to the latter question, I’m afraid the straightest answer I can give you is “not as such.”

I wouldn’t even say that much for fear of spoiling the story if it were not for the abnormal structure of this series. However, I know that if I do not explain at least to the following extent, there will be mass confusion, much wailing and gnashing of teeth, and I will be deluged with similar questions about other ‘missing’ characters. So: The Laurian Pentology is five books in length. The first book should be read first, though its title sounds terminal, and the last book should be read last, though its title sounds germinal. However, the three middle books are synoptic – meaning their events are happening in tandem, but are being seen from different points of view. Some events you will read in this book will affect events in the other two synoptic books, and vice versa. Also, many characters from the first book will not appear in this book, but may be in the other synoptic books, and in the last book, too. (That is, provided they do not die, and even that proviso has one notable exception.)

So the series structure looks something like this: 1 /|\ -2-3-4\|/ 5 All settled? Good. In that case, may I suggest that you begin at the beginning?

Table of Contents

Antagonistic Matriarchies

1

0H

Liberating Abduction Winnowing Onuses Sundry Mustering Curious Revelations

63

1H

107

2H

179

3H

218

4H

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Almost anyone comparing the perfectly manufactured crystal dome – easily the size of a palace – and the gooey, glowing, green substance upon which it floated would appraise the former as the more precious. But the originator of both, whose body was deposited under the crystal in the alga, was not “anyone,” in more than one way.

The Prophetess did not assign worth to her creations in the same way that others might because she had neither a need nor desire for monies. Instead, she assigned their value by the function each achieved.

The purpose of the giant crystal dome would be obvious to the eyes of any mage, if she allowed anyone but her children to visit this place. None of the pitifully weak magic users in this world would be powerful enough to tap into its functions without dying in the process, but the temptation of that much power meant that some would surely try. That was one of the many reasons she hid it here betwixt the currents of the Merian Lake.

The use of the alga, however, would not be immediately obvious even to those who could examine it on its own infinitesimal scale. Some would say they saw little animals that looked like plants, others would say plants resembling animals. Both would be wrong. She had not bothered to name her protozoan creation, simply being content that it operated the way it was supposed to: surrounding and penetrating her body’s cells, nourishing it, removing wastes from it, breathing for her lungs, stimulating muscles and organs that would otherwise atrophy from neglect.

Neither tool was important to her right now, though. She had conceived and fabricated both crystal and alga long ago as safeguards for her body when she had no use for it… which was more often than not.

True, she could take her body with her to other worlds, but it was so unwieldy, so cumbersome. She couldn’t even divide the body amongst multiple worlds like she could her attention.

So the Prophetess knew these implements were necessary to her, but only inasmuch as they let her mind focus on more important things. Important things such as how her plans had recently gone awry.

Her mind flickered over the small icebergs floating south between Kalard and mainland Torberepar some time ago, recognizing Alaris’s work, but not being able to track him farther than his landing on the shore of Formast. She guessed that he was in a hurry to get to a ship capable of intercontinental travel, so all she had to do was watch the shipping lanes for the next few days. On a ship he could hide but not run, and he had never been able to hide the effects of his presence on those around him when he remained in close proximity for long.

Dismissing the great archmage for the time being, she flitted back to Kalard to view the ones Alaris had been hiding from her.

1

Her minions had made only one mistake, but it had been a costly one. They had been too eager to do their job, too intent upon the glory and reward, and so they had sprung their trap a single dayspan early. She had told them, “If he leaves in the morning, wait until the evening. If he leaves in the night, wait until the afternoon.” Naturally, being ‘adults,’ they had listened, and then decided to use their own judgement.

Had they waited until the world had begun to recede from the sun, Alaris would have been out of range, and they could have removed everything they were supposed to. Had they done as they were instructed, most of them would be alive. As it was, they only had one third of the catch, and not the most important third, either.

Maybe if she had given them a more restrictive time frame, made her instructions more specific... But it was difficult for the Prophetess to work in that manner; working in the units of dayspans – morning, afternoon, evening, and night – was harder than working in seasons, was harder than working in life spans, and so on. She worked in tendencies, nothing so specific as numbers, and dayspans were exactly that – tendencies toward rising or falling of the world or celestial bodies, depending on whose perspective one had, much like the seasons were tendencies toward warmth or cold.

That was the problem with adults: they saw her instructions as suggestions. That was one of the three main reasons she employed children to be her servants.

But she would waste no more thought on those who had not listened; they had paid for their transgressions.

Once her Vision had solidified around what would be changing in her plan for this world, she visited her body for just long enough to send some of her children out on errands.

After letting her mind rest in its body for a moment, she extracted herself and rose, watching her little messengers setting out: one to Pinnacle, one to a roadhouse near her Shrine, one to Torberepar in a self-sailing boat, and one to Estuary near Tortryst.

Eiry sat with her eyes closed, holding rigidly still against the gentle rocking of the tramway cart. Through her back pressed against the outside wall of the cart she slowly felt the warmth increasing from the bitter cold of the peaks of the Formast Mountains to the incredible daytime heat of the desert at their base. Her ears registered and disregarded the conversations of the guards around her. Her nose and lips were filled with the essence of her little boy, who was at that very moment nestled safe in her arms.

Safe? A little voice inside her asked. How safe can he be? How safe are you?

Eiry squashed the nagging doubt as she had hundreds of times before.

The comforting weight and heat of her little one curled against her helped, soothing her heart a bit. Her son was such a wonderful present. At the same time he was a reminder of everything that had happened to her over the past many days… however many it had been.

Eiry opened her troubled eyes. “Why did we never name them?” she 2

rhetorically asked her little son. “Why did we never take the chance to name you?” The Kalardian custom of calling a baby “Baby” until he or she chose his or her own name had seemed so sweet and well-intentioned at the time, but now that she might never know her children’s names, Eiry had second thoughts.

The conversation around her lulled until she closed her eyes again. The head of some Formastian Clan had sent these guards with her. They still weren’t quite sure about her, and she didn’t have the energy to reassure them.

All she was going to do was wait in a hotel in Tresidy until Lo’are brought back her children, then she would follow Lo’are to wherever her husband was.

Her husband. Eiry’s breath caught in her throat. When she had woken from a drug-induced sleep back in Kalard where she had lived, she had learned that Claren had left her without even saying goodbye. Alaris and Sardai had likewise deserted her - again – twice in the same day! – despite the attack on her life, despite her wounding. The only ones left were the little one in her arms, and Lo’are, Alaris’s betrothed.

“And even she’s gone now,” she whispered softly, not wanting to feel the guards’ eyes on her again.

The rocking of the tramcar lessened and the downward motion leveled out. She opened her eyes and lifted her head to watch the guards from the car before hers standing in a formation; awaiting her. She knew that an entire hotel had been rented for her arrival and for her borrowed entourage. The guards would whisk her into a carriage, whisk her into the hotel room, whisk her into the bed, and there she would remain totally whisk-less for however long it took for her to heal or Lo’are to return.

“Bed,” Eiry said aloud in a mixture of loathing and longing. It seemed as though she had spent most of the past three years in one, but right now… she was just so tired. So tired. Her body ached from the slow-healing incision in her abdomen. Her mind was a jumbled mess. Her heart longed for all three of her families – her deceased parents and brother to hold her, her scattered husband and children so she could hold them, and the tight-knit Kalardian Family that had taken them in and given them shelter.

“Yes, Eiry, you’ll be to bed soon.”

She looked to her left. A young man sat next to her on the hard tramcar bench, looking at her with compassion in his hazel eyes. He was older, taller, and hardier than her husband Claren, but at the same time was even softer spoken and gentler.

“Thank you, Paedre,” she said.

The only part of the Kalardian family that Lo’are had allowed to come with them was a quiet man who much preferred the company of animals to 3

that of humankind. He had, surprisingly, actually offered to make the trip with Eiry. For reasons Eiry couldn’t fathom, Lo’are had accepted his offer while refusing the many ex-soldier Family members who had made similar offers.

Paedre touched her shoulder lightly and dropped his eyes and hand. His other hand reached down to scratch one of his two huge fawn-colored dogs behind an ear. The dog’s hind paw moved in a mimicking gesture as though she was scratching her ear herself.

What a comforting touch he has, Eiry thought. I wonder if the dogs feel the same thing. Maybe that’s why he was so good with the horses back on Kalard.

The door of the lift car opened, allowing in a blast of hot desert air.

Guards fanned out in all directions, and one helped her down from the car.

“Your carriage awaits, my lady,” one of the guards said, leading her toward an ornately decorated vehicle.

Eiry rolled her eyes, but held her tongue. They really must think I’m out of it if they feel they have to point out things that are right in front of my face.

Into the carriage she went (or, as she reminded herself, “was whisked”), and the carriage moved (whisked) toward her gilded cage in the Hotel Tresidy.

When she finally made it through the lavish common room and had been carried up the steps to first enter her suite, Eiry found that her prediction of “ gilded” was not much of an overstatement. The wall and window draping was weighted down with gold thread, as were the bed, the couches, and every other bit of fabric in the room. Formastians liked to decorate their rooms as thoroughly as they liked to clothe their bodies.

In with her came the rest of the entourage: guards, Paedre, dogs, attendants, hotel servants and owner. The head of the guard unit shooed everyone out, only allowing Paedre to stay after Eiry requested his presence.

Paedre’s huge dogs took up their positions on either side of the door and sat as still as stone gargoyles. Paedre took a chair for himself halfway between a large window and Eiry.

Laying on the bed, Eiry was caught between blessing the silence and feeling discomfort at the presence of someone so silent. She looked at Paedre’s back as he stared out the window, and wondered about him.

He glanced back at her. “Yes?” Did he know I was staring at him? “Your dogs…”

He waited.

“Do they always do that?” she asked, gesturing toward the door.

Paedre looked at his dogs indifferently. “Usually.”

“Without being told?”

“I never tell them.”

“How did you teach them to do it?”

4

“I didn’t.”

“I’ve never known dogs to do that on their own.”

“The dwarf I bought them from had already trained them. He offered to teach me all the things they’re trained to do, but I refused. They’re my companions, not tools.”

“Humans are companions.”

“Dogs are more companionable.”

“Dogs can’t talk!”

“So dogs can’t betray you.” Paedre turned back to the window.

Eiry disagreed with the statement, but she found she could not verbalize a sensible way to object. She was having a hard time concentrating, even on such a simple subject as the pair of dogs. She barely even noticed when the dogs growled.

Paedre noticed. He went to the door with his dogs and met the head of the guard detail assigned to Eiry. With the guard was a woman dressed in an iridescent shirt and black pants, wearing a sword and crossbow with casual ease.

“I must speak with her personally, I say!” the woman said. “It’s urgent that she receive my message, and this package!” She looked into the room at the woman laying on the bed, and gasped. “You!” “And I again tell you, Enforcer Koli,” the guard said, blocking the door, “that any message will have to be relayed through me.”

“The Alaris will be most displeased that you are trying to block the message, sir,” the Enforcer growled, “and I’ve half a mind to let you know just how unhappy I am.”

“Enforcer,” Paedre said from inside the room, “he means no disrespect.

Eiry is in a delicate way right now. You can leave a note.”

“Delicate,” snorted the woman, crossing her arms. “All you men think that women are delicate. Let the woman speak for herself!”

“Again I ask pardon, Enforcer,” Paedre said, “but she is not in good enough shape to hold a conversation, and she needs to go back to sleep.”

That seemed to get the woman’s attention. “For how long each day does she sleep?”

The guard shrugged. “Sometimes she gets up for meals, sometimes she doesn’t. This man here takes care of the child when her mind is away.”

“Child!” the Enforcer said. “This is Abbey business now. You will step aside, sir.”

The guard tried to bodily deny her entry, but this style of combat was foreign to him. Most of the grappling moves he wanted to use would end with him grasping parts of her anatomy that would be highly improper – something 5

that one simply did not do to representatives of the Abbey.

After a few abortive attempts at resistance by the guard, the Enforcer made a flurry of movement that left the bigger man toppling into a plush couch near the door. He was unharmed, and the Enforcer did not look like she wanted to harm anyone either, so the guard gave up.

Koli’s roving eyes took in Eiry’s slightly vacant expression, the young boy again molesting one of the dog’s ears. Seeing the child harmlessly engaged, she walked over to Eiry and examined her. Annoyed, she looked back at the two men who still stood at the doorway. “She’s in shock.”

“You could say that, yes,” Paedre said.

“It’s a specific term for a condition,” explained the Enforcer. “How long has she been like this?”

“Several days,” he answered.

The woman nodded her well-kept head slowly then walked toward the door. “I will return soon with Abbess Dier. Please shut all the blinds and have cool wet towels brought to the room. Remove the creatures.”

“Now, just a-” the guard began to protest.

“She needs additional attention,” the Enforcer said in a voice that brooked no argument. “Her visible injuries have obviously been accounted for, but her mind and her heart are still wounded.” She clucked her tongue disapprovingly. “I take it that whoever doctored her up was a man?”

Paedre nodded, not understanding what she was insinuating. “Enforcer Koli—” “I cannot deliver my message to her in her current state, gentlemen. The Abbess will be able to help her heal. Is this not what you want?”

“Healing,” Paedre said carefully, “can occur without unnatural intervention.”

The Enforcer peered curiously at Paedre then waved his statement away.

She left with further admonitions as to the woman’s health.

No one disturbed them until the Enforcer’s return. With the next knock at the door, Paedre resumed his place with his dogs. The door opened to the earlier Enforcer and a woman who wore the same iridescent shirt, but in place of black pants she wore a long flowing black skirt. Around her waist she prominently wore a red and white sash, neatly knotted on her left side, and two ruby rings on her fingers.

“Yes, Koli, you’re right,” the woman said as she swept into the room.

“She’s in terrible distress and is too far gone to be able to acknowledge it.”

The woman folded her skirts around her as she primly sat on the bed near Eiry. After waiting for and not receiving recognition, she placed a finger under 6

Eiry’s chin to turn it toward her.

Paedre watched disapprovingly as, slowly, Eiry’s eyes lost some of their vacancy, focused on the Abbess, and filled with tears. A groan of agony issued from the lowest reaches of her lungs, and all the grief she’d had bottled up inside her came spilling out as she toppled forward into the arms of the Abbess.

Abbess Dier’s arms stroked Eiry’s back in the pattern that she had been taught during her Abbey training, making Paedre’s hand settle on his dog’s back. As thankful as he was that it was not he undergoing the dreadful treatment, Paedre wished he could somehow help Eiry get away from the terrifying woman.

At last Eiry’s sobs simmered down to heavy breaths, and she settled back into her pillows with the Abbess’s help. Ineffectual wipes at her eyes produced a handkerchief from the Abbess’s black skirt pockets.

“Now, my dear,” the Abbess said calmly as she dabbed the the moisture from Eiry’s face. “Why don’t you tell me what happened. Koli tells me you were with the Alaris?”

In between tearful episodes, Eiry dictated what had happened to her in the past month: having her unborn children cut out of her body, being left to die, finding herself abandoned by her protectors and husband before she could recover enough to understand what was happening, the hasty search for the mages that had taken her children. She slowly culminated where and how she was at that moment.

The Abbess stayed silent for so long that Paedre thought she might have fallen asleep during the prolonged litany, but eventually she spoke. “Koli?”

“Lo’are’s message makes more sense now,” the Enforcer said.

“What?” asked Eiry, turning to Koli. She had forgotten there was anyone in the room besides the Abbess. Eiry had even lost a sense of her own presence for a little while, she had been so subsumed under the Abbess’s influence. “When did you speak with Lo’are?”

“She came down from The Flask before you,” Koli explained. “The tram wasn’t running, so she and her colleagues must have used magic.”

“Colleagues? Oh, yes, someone met us at the Old Formast Docks,” Eiry remembered vaguely. It was difficult to recall much of recency, almost like she had not deemed anything important enough to memorize. She shook her head in small, quick shakes. “What did Lo’are say?”

“She asked for the Abbey’s help in apprehending a group of Relocators who had kidnapped a child,” Koli said.

“Two,” Eiry said. “Twins. And it was mages, not Relocators.”

Koli waved her hand, as though the detail was unimportant. “The leader 7

of the mages hired some Relocators to help them when they came down from The Flask, and the two groups left in different directions.”

Eiry sagged back into the pillow. “So they’re gone,” she said with finality.

The Abbess looked sidelong at her Enforcer, who nodded.

“Lady Eiry,” the Abbess said, “not all is lost. Lo’are followed the group of mages, leaving the non-magic-wielding Relocators to our discretion. When Lo’are spoke with her, Koli took the liberty of having both groups followed.

Your elven friend and her mages are pursuing the first group into Brelia, while we of the Abbey are keeping an eye on the Relocators.”

“Which group has the children?” asked Eiry.

“We don’t know for certain,” said the Abbess, “but we believe that each group may have taken one of the children.”

Some of the hopelessness had faded from Eiry’s face and speech. “Where did the Relocators go?” she asked. “Are they still being followed?”

The Abbess again turned to her Enforcer, bidding her speak.

Koli said, “They headed north. We can keep track of them for as long as they continue to stick to the main roads and cities. Every Abbess along the way has been alerted by carrier pigeon.”

“And if they head off the roads?” asked Eiry.

“We can find them,” said Paedre, indicating the dogs.

The Abbess turned sharply to look at the man who had spoken behind her. Paedre winced, and his hand fell to one of his dogs. He immediately looked more comfortable. Abbess Dier frowned, then frowned harder. She became very still before speaking.

“Those are tracking dogs?”

“Dwarven tunnel dogs,” Paedre answered. “But they can track once they have a scent.”

“Ah.” The Abbess turned back to Eiry, who was busy looking at Koli.

“You look familiar.” Eiry sat up.

Koli switched a bundle from her right to her left hand. “We met in the presence of the Alaris many years ago, at a drink shop down the street near the tram terminal. You were with a group of men at the time.”

“Ah, yes, I remember you,” Eiry said. “What’s in the package?”

“The other half of Lo’are’s message to you,” the woman replied. “An apology for having to leave you to your own devices.” She handed it over to Eiry. “She hoped you would know what it meant to her to give it up.”

Eiry unwrapped the bundle to find a cloak hidden inside. She couldn’t quite place the material from which it was made; it felt silky but was far too thick to be silk, warm to the touch but not giving enough to be wool.

“This is Lo’are’s cloak,” Eiry said, nodding. “Alaris gave it to her so that 8

she would always be safe. It is a noble gift; I wish I knew how it was supposed to keep someone safe.”

“Perhaps one of the mages at our Embassy might be able to tell her?” said Koli to the Abbess.

“No,” Abbess Dier answered. “We want as few people to know about her presence as possible.”

“But if no one knows that I’m here, how can anyone help?” asked Eiry.

Abbess Dier shook her head. “It is much better that they think we are helping a young mother get her child back rather than if they realize we are giving aid to the Queen of Seighn.”

Eiry’s head jerked. “How did you know that?”

Dier raised her open palm to calm her. At the same time, she stared Koli down from speaking. Dier said, “Lo’are knew. She also knew that Koli would find difficulty in getting the attention of the Embassy’s Mother Abbess if you were presented as a commoner.” She grimaced daintily. “We try to treat all women as equals, but sometimes it is… infeasible.”

Eiry’s demeanor cooled. “So the Abbey will help, for a queenly price?”

Again forgotten near the door, Paedre was the only one to notice the instant of hesitation before the Abbess answered. He crossed his arms as she spoke: as he had come to expect of most humans, this Abbess was not telling the whole truth.

“Not at all, Lady Eiry. Well,” she amended, “you’re right and you’re wrong. We do want something, but it’s not so much for us: it’s something that you and most any sane person would want.”

“Well?” asked Eiry, stone-faced. Great Goddess Torberepar, I beg you, do not make me choose between my morals and my children. Be just; be merciful.

“We want you back on the Throne of Seighn,” the Abbess declared.

Oh, thank you, my goddess. “Doing what?”

Dier lowered her eyes. “Lady Eiry, the Abbey is not as manipulative as most men make it out to be. We merely want what’s best for everyone, and in this case, that would be Seighn whole. Surely you’ve not been so deep in hiding that you’ve not heard of the strife afflicting your kingdom?”

“Not so deep as all that, no.” Perhaps had I listened to the Alaris and taken more care to REMAIN hidden, I would not have lost my children, she thought acidly of herself.

The Abbess reached out to touch Eiry’s hand, making her feel better immediately. “The atrocities of war have never been easy to accept for the Abbey, especially as it’s always men who start such things, and it takes women to end them. In the case of Seighn, though, it’s always worse.”

“How so?” asked Eiry, though she thought she knew the answer.

9

“Seighn borders every country on mainland Torberepar. When wars go on for too long, other countries begin to get involved. In this case, that means the entire continent will soon destabilize, making the work of the Abbey arduous. What we are looking at right now is the possible beginning of another Seighn Wasting War, another thousand years of petty squabbles and misery. We will stop at nothing to prevent that from happening.

“Because of the gravity of the situation, I believe,” Abbess Dier took Eiry’s other hand in her own, “that I may be able to interest the Grandmother Abbess in your plight. If.” She paused her speech and stared bluntly into Eiry’s eyes.

Eiry refused to speak.

“If,” the Abbess continued, “you give your word as the sole true ruler of Seighn that you will return to your throne regardless of the outcome of our efforts.”

Eiry remained unmoving, then tugged her hands away from the Abbess.

“I’m unwell.” Her eyes fell to her lap. “And I know that you’re steadying me to help me think. I will accept that help, for now, for the sake of my children.

But I will not take the throne when I am still dependent upon the powers of the Abbey to keep me sane.” Slowly she lifted her eyes until again she made eye contact. “So I cannot make that promise.”

The Abbess primly laced her hands together in her lap. “No matter how desperate the cause, the Abbey does not produce addicts.”

Eiry looked at her in astonishment and displeasure, while behind her Paedre carefully weighed the Abbess’s words as she continued.

“Oftentimes people, especially women, figure out that if they don’t make decisions, someone else will do so for them. Naturally, it follows that if you don’t make a decision, you can’t be wrong, and, of course, this state of perpetual limbo is extremely comforting to people, especially those of a frail emotional nature.

“As comforting as it may be, though, it can be very unhealthy, especially when the person who is making your choices for you does not make decisions based upon your needs. Many is the time the Abbey has had to intervene between a woman and an abusive husband simply because the woman had gotten to the point that she could not even make the decision to run away to save her life.

“Only a very, very strong person can lead others, and only the strongest can rule. It would do us no good to put you on the throne if you couldn’t hold it. Isn’t that so?”

Eiry nodded, willing to acknowledge that much. “Are you saying that I’m going to be fine when all this is over, even if I lose my children?”

10

The Abbess closed her eyes and shook her head, not even breathing for a moment. “You’ve been among men too long, my dear,” she said sadly. “Even if you do get your children back, you’re not going to simply ‘be fine.’ Your life has been irrevocably altered, and you can’t just cover that up and go on as though nothing happened. Every event that transpires in our lives changes us, changes how we see the world, how we see ourselves. What has happened to you will never go away,” the Abbess concluded, “but I can help you acknowledge it and control it, instead of it controlling you.”

“I apologize if this is considered rude at the Abbey,” Eiry said delicately, “but I believe, like Paedre said, that your powers are unnatural…”

The man in question didn’t move a muscle. It wasn’t because he wasn’t surprised, though; he was acting more like a startled deer. He hadn’t realized that Eiry had heard him earlier, let alone that she would back him. “…and as such you are likely to do harm concurrent with the good,” Eiry finished.

The Abbess pounced. “Haven’t you been listening?” she asked. “I just acknowledged that my powers can do harm. But manipulating emotions is not the only thing that an Abbess can do!”

Eiry craned her neck at an odd angle. “Well, then?”

“She can’t tell you,” Koli said dryly.

The young woman uncraned her neck. “Why not?”

The Enforcer shrugged. “Abbey rules. She can’t even tell me.” When she saw that Eiry was going to press her argument, she added, “Aren’t there things that you can’t tell us, as Queen of Seighn?”

Eiry subsided unhappily.

“But I can promise you this,” Abbess Dier said gently. “Your healing will not come about through my powers. It will only occur because you willed it.”

“Like the Clerics of Sante always say,” added Koli. “Your health, your responsibility. They’ll help you get back on your feet, but don’t expect to lean on them after that because they’ll already be off helping someone else.”

Eiry took a deep breath through her nose, and said, “There’s only one more problem. But it’s a big one problem.”

“Yes?” asked the Abbess, shifting her stiffening spine.

“All the armies of Seighn,” Eiry said ruefully. “What should be one of my greatest assets is one of my greatest enemies. As soon as I take the throne, all of Seighn will know, and many of the barons will turn on me. Those who are battling for the crown right now are not simply going to fade back into their baronies; the dream of power is much too strong to allow that, and I’m sure that some of them will think I will take retribution on them for disloyalty.

They’ll have nothing to lose.”

11

Dier smiled uncomfortably, prefacing her next words. “I didn’t exactly tell you the entire truth, earlier.” Eiry crossed her arms and inclined her head as the Abbess continued. "When I said that the Abbey is not as manipulative as men make it out to be. Really, it’s more manipulative, but they don’t register most manipulations.”

“The Abbey is willing to fight a war for me?” asked Eiry, incredulous.

“We’re willing to stop one for you,” the Abbess answered glibly. “It isn’t only good will that keeps Abbey embassies in every noble court in the world.

Sometimes we have to step in to prevent a noble from making an extremely stupid decision.”

“I thought you said that you weren’t going to manipulate me when I was on the throne,” Eiry reminded her.

“No more than any other ruler,” the Abbess said. “So. What is your decision?”

Eiry glanced away briefly, then returned her gaze to Dier. “So long as you keep your part of the bargain, I will keep mine.”

“Agreed.” Abbess Dier stood. “I will arrange transportation for you and your husband. Who else must you bring with you?”

Eiry’s heart leaped. “Claren’s here?”

For the first time, the Abbess’s face showed confusion. “But isn’t-” she started, turning her torso slightly, then caught herself. “My mistake. The fewer people, the less cumbersome our party will be, and we must catch up to these Relocators quickly.”

Distraction from the naming of her husband still evident on her face, Eiry flicked a few fingers. “Paedre, his dogs,” here Paedre smiled briefly, “and as many of those Formastian guards as you think necessary.”

“May I suggest a nursemaid for your child?”

Eiry’s immediate reaction was negative; she did not want to be parted from the last of her offspring left to her. But she slowly, painfully, logically made herself look at the offer of a nursemaid as exactly what it was: help. She was in good enough condition to look after her child if she stayed at the hotel – thanks to the Abbess – but if she went chasing off after her other children she would probably need some assistance. Besides, Eiry knew that she had better get used to allowing others to take care of her children. As queen she would not be able to spend much time with them anyway.

Eiry nodded her regretful assent.

The Abbess nodded. “Koli?”

“All we’ll need to add is a tracker,” the Enforcer said. “If none of the guards can track, I know one along the way north that owes Alaris a favor.”

“Alaris,” Eiry said, her face screwing up in distaste. “Is there no one in 12

the entire world that doesn’t owe him a favor?”

“No one of consequence,” replied Koli.

“Will you see to those details, Enforcer Koli?” Dier asked. “When all is in readiness bring two carriages from the embassy around to the front of the hotel. Eiry and I should be finished with our business by then.”

Dier was annoyed that she had to take the time out of the flurry of activity to pick up quill and inkwell to write a letter, but dictating to one of her secretaries was out of the question with a letter of this delicacy. She trusted every one of her underlings – she had dismissed anyone unfaithful from her Abbey Embassy long ago – but this was too important to trust anyone. If she could have hand-carried it to the Abbey herself, she would have, but she could at least send it with proper escort if she wrote it now.

She tested the quill, swirled the ink in the inkwell, and set to writing.

Grandmother Abbess, I write to you concerning a matter of utmost urgency. I believe it to be of such import that I have abandoned my post at the Tresidy embassy without your permission to pursue it. Please do not think less of me for doing so without waiting for your approval as I believe that my duty lies with the person we discussed over that fine roasted lamb dinner we had when I last visited you. The “Missing Stitch In Time,” so you called the individual.

I already hear your voice and see your quirked eyebrow.

Do not doubt the individual’s identity, Grandmother; your favorite meddlesome archmage does not. He was so sure he sent his beloved mountain-dweller to protect the individual that I just met, though circumstance has called her away from her charge.

Grandmother, committing even this much to paper is a terrible risk. I simply cannot say more of our plans, what needs to be done, or what I need you to do on your end.

Please, I beg you as your onetime mentee, trust my judgment and give me what you know I would request.

You and I once discussed an ambassadorial team your predecessor sent to Nir. Please send exactly such a team to 13

each of the following places, with orders to obey me as they would obey you: The city where I told you I was leaving the Abbey, the village you rescued the chicken from certain plucking, and the crossroads where that horrible, despicable king did that horrible, despicable thing. If I have not come across them within three months, tell them to return to you at the Abbey. I am sorry that I cannot be more specific about times or dates, but I am not sure where our path will take us, or for how long.

On a separate note, I have met the acquaintance of a man who feels more like a dog than a human. You asked me to keep an eye out for oddities; he is one for certain.

Pray for me, Grandmother.

Mother Abbess Dier Eiry startled awake at a change in the vibrations of the seat and the noise level from the carriage wheels below her. She looked around herself. Dier sat across from her, massaging one hand with the other, and Koli sat next to her running a whetstone across her blade. They had the curtains mostly shut to make the inside of the carriage darker for Eiry.

“The road,” said Abbess Dier, forcefully soothing Eiry. “No more cobblestones. Go back to sleep, my dear.”

Eiry did as she was told. It was not too hard; the inside of the Abbey Embassy’s carriage was plush and comfortable. She was guarded by two capable people – female people, more to the point – and she was still so tired.

She dropped back into sleep.

If only she was this pliable all the time, Dier thought gruffly, I could get a lot more done. Maybe I’ll have to talk with her right before and after she sleeps more often.

As soon as Abbess Dier was sure there was no emotional discharge from Eiry, indicating sleep, she returned to her conversation with Koli.

“Go on,” Dier said.

Koli fingered the blade of her sword, decided it could still use some work, and resumed sharpening while she talked.

“There’s something amiss with this whole story. The Alaris sends his betrothed with Eiry with the only orders being to get her children back. Now, I could understand if he was sending Lo’are so that he could retain his control over the future Queen of Seighn, but from what I was able to gather, as soon as Lo’are had found the twins they were to head to Tortryst. So he must not 14

be after the throne.”

“Either that or he feels he can’t push her onto the throne,” Dier mused.

“That could make my job complicated if he knows something I don’t.”

Koli was puzzled. “‘Push’ her? Why would he need to push her?”

Dier gave Eiry a pained look. “Oh, Koli, she’s in quite a bind. She’s a mess worse than anyone I’ve worked with, and that’s saying something.”

The Enforcer settled forward onto the pommel of her sword. She was unused to her Abbess bemoaning a difficult situation. “How’s she so bad off, Dier?”

“She’s in a position that a lot of Seighn men find themselves in, except magnified and warped and magnified again,” Dier said. “In Seighn, most of the households are headed by men, who are also the breadwinners. Yet they are also parents, and must divide their time between making the money and raising the children.

“Eiry, though, is the head of her household since she’s Queen of Seighn and, what’s worse, the man she married isn’t even of royal blood. But not only is she head of her household and primary breadwinner, now that her husband has disappeared with the Alaris, she is the only parent.

“It gets complicated from there. It seems that she first came to copulate with her husband under magical duress. She says it wasn’t Alaris’s doing – that he came later into their lives – but I’m not so sure.”

“Why?” Koli interrupted Dier.

She did not seem to mind. “During the two or three years that Eiry and her husband were under the enchantment, neither of them knew who they were – a sort of dual amnesia – and yet the very first time Alaris went out of spellcasting range, Eiry recovered her memory.”

“That does sound suspiciously coincidental.”

“Her problems go even further than that,” Dier said. “Her parents, the royal family in Links, raised her as royals do – they taught her that nothing was more important than her duty to her people, her country. But while she was under the enchantment, her role as a mother had her thinking that nothing was more important than her children.

“So that’s the whole of it: not only is Eiry having to choose between being a mother to her children and being a queen to her people, she’s being forced to choose between entire lifestyles – indeed, between entire personalities. This on top of being physically savaged, being abandoned by her husband, and having her children kidnapped.”

“Gods,” Koli said with feeling, looking at the sleeping Eiry with pity and revulsion. “I’m thankful I’ll never be in a situation like that.” She shook her head. “Will you be able to help her, do you think?”

15

“It would be easier if I had the husband to study. Theirs is not an easily categorized relationship. And I’d like to know how the dog-man Paedre figures into all this. And Alaris.”

Koli resumed her ritualistic sword sharpening. “Are we going to try to hide her from Alaris?”

The Abbess steepled her fingers, touching her lip with the tips of her pointers. “Even as important as my find of this woman is, I cannot jeopardize the Abbey’s relationship with Pinnacle. A war between the two would be catastrophic. The status quo must be maintained.”

“A war between Pinnacle and just about anybody is the last thing that Alaris wants,” Koli advised. “One good war, and the mages might well be wiped out.”

Abbess Dier snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Yes, Mother Abbess,” the Enforcer said primly, raising her eyebrows.

Dier sighed. “Oh, all right, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t ignore your opinions.”

“Just because Enforcers wear pants instead of skirts doesn’t mean that we’re stupid, you know.”

“I said I’m sorry.” They, along with most Abbess-Enforcer pairings, had had this conversation many times: the Enforcers were the lowest ranking women in the Abbey, so they were always on the lookout for signs of degradation. Since they were so active in their watch for discrimination, they found it everywhere, even where it was not. “Will you please explain what you meant now?”

“It’s my job as an Enforcer to protect you, as well as any other woman who needs my help,” Koli said, still miffed. “As such, I wanted to prepare myself as best I could for any situation that might come up. I started by assessing ancient battlefields and what commanders would do to win and lose, but pretty soon I discarded that. I mean, I’m more of a bodyguard than a general.

“So I turned to the memoirs of deceased Enforcers. I learned a lot from them, and will forever be thankful to my forebears for passing on their wisdom to me. I learned tactics, about what weapon I wanted for what situation, how to deal with Abbesses who thought less of you since you were just an Enforcer.

“But what I’m thinking of right now is something that none of them wrote, but I was able to piece together. Magic, mages, are dying out.”

The Abbess tossed her head away from Koli. “Of course they die. Most mages are just as human as we are!”

“Didn’t you say that you should be listening?”

Dier pressed her lips together, waved her hand, and settled back silently.

“I’m not saying that mages are immortal,” Koli said. “But I am saying 16

that the number of mages per generation is going down, age after age. At first my search started out as just a general hunt for techniques for fighting mages, but after a while I realized that I was only finding those techniques when I went back into the oldest part of the libraries. The farther back I went, the more numerous became the mage encounters. What do you have to say to that?” she challenged.

“Inconclusive evidence.” The Abbess shook her head. “What if mages have just begun to behave themselves more over the past few generations?

What if they have learned to respect the Abbey and what it stands for?”

“But it isn’t just the Abbey,” Koli pressed. “How often do you hear of magic being used in general combat these days? What of great magical feats, of vampire hunts that employ magic users, of buildings being built with the help of mages’ golems? Where are the great circuses of mages’ familiars doing tricks for the masses?”

“So they don’t entertain us anymore,” Dier said. “So they don’t interact outside Pinnacle as often. I’ll grant you that maybe their numbers have even diminished. But you’re assessing them as harmless.”

“Not harmless, but they aren’t powerful enough to fight a war,” Koli stood firm.

“The Alaris alone is powerful enough to fight a war,” Dier said.

“Exactly my point! He’s from an ancient generation of mages. He’s lived for thousands of years—” “So he’s half elf, so what?”

Koli’s words died in her open mouth. “He’s what?”

“How else could he live for so long?” asked Dier. “Or have that much magical power?”

“How do you figure?” asked Koli.

“I’ve met some young half-elf children at the Abbey; they turn up there more often than any place, because mothers know they’ll be persecuted. In cross-race breeding the features of the child are taken from the mother’s race, but once the change of life occurs their physiology is no longer certain.

Sometimes the child will grow up as a waist-up father’s race, waist-down mother’s, or vice versa. Sometimes the ears and nose will be one race, or the skin, or magical talent, or shoulder width. In the Alaris’ case, he has the body of a human, but the long life of an elf.”

“How can you be sure?” asked Koli, in a mockery of Dier’s earlier doubt.

“What other logical explanation is there?”

Koli shrugged exasperatedly. She hated to lose any argument, but losing to Dier rankled twice as much because she always acted so much smarter than Koli. Having the fact born out was souring.

17

“Why have I never seen any half-elves at the Abbey?” she asked.

“Maybe because you didn’t know what you were looking for, or looking at,” the Abbess said. “Besides, they never stay long.”

“Oh? Where do they go that’s safer than the Abbey?”

Dier opened her mouth to reply, held it open for a moment longer than necessary, then said, “I don’t know. I’ve never seen one leave, but they all do, eventually. How odd.” She thought hard, but try as she might, she could not manage to come up with any related information whatsoever.

“But we’re getting off track,” announced Dier, continuing to monitor Eiry for any sign of wakefulness.

But a return to the earlier conversation was not to be.

“Dier, would you look at that!” Koli said excitedly, pulling the curtain over the window open a bit more for Dier.

“What was it?” Dier asked, joining her long-time companion in staring.

“The dog just jumped over Paedre’s head!”

Dier looked out the opening in the wagon door then drew herself away, her smile slipping. “Keep an eye on the dog man, will you, Koli?”

The Enforcer looked at her Abbess curiously. “What am I supposed to be watching for? Frothing at the mouth?”

Dier shook her head, blinking her eyes rapidly. “I don’t know.” Seeing the continuing question in Koli’s expression, she said, “I can’t read him properly because of a connection he has with his dogs… it makes me nervous, even if his intentions are good. Just… just keep an eye on him for me.

Please?”

Koli smiled and placed a hand on Dier’s own. “No need to ask me twice.

You know your safety is my life.”

The two sat quietly, pleased to be in the other’s presence. As usual, it was Abbess Dier who drew away first.

“Tell me about this tracker that you have in mind,” she asked. “You say he owes the Alaris a favor, but how will this tracker know that you speak for Alaris?”

“I only know what Alaris told me,” Koli said. “He didn’t say word for word that this Eril owed him a favor, but he did say that the tracker was a decent family man, that he held ideals very similar to the Abbey’s own, and that he would help me if the need ever arose. As to how the tracker will know that Alaris sent us – or sent someone to send us – who else would have the nerve to ask for help in any mage’s name, let alone Alaris’?”

“Hmm, there is that,” agreed the Abbess. “You don’t know anything else about him that I can use?”

Koli shrugged. “I don’t think that Alaris knew much more.”

18

“Yes,” mused the Abbess. “Which is part of the reason that I don’t like this. What’s keeping him from being here, and what is his purpose in sending these people? What makes this woman so special?”

The Enforcer looked at her Abbess triumphantly. “So you agree that her status as the Queen of Seighn isn’t special enough?”

“Not to the Alaris, no,” answered Dier. “You know what he once told my mentor? ‘Rulers come and go.’ Can you imagine?” She shook her head, her eyes wandering toward Eiry’s twitching, sleeping body. “With that in mind I don’t know what he holds dear, let alone dear enough to abandon and risk his betrothed, but it’s not this girl’s throne.”

Koli heard the tone of voice, and after years spent guarding Dier, she recognized the sound of fact. “You’re certain, aren’t you?”

“No mention was made of her return to Seighn.” The Abbess brought her eyes to meet Koli’s. “Was there.”

Koli shook her head, curiosity still evident in her eyes.

“The Alaris has plans for this girl, but he needs her lucid and pliable. He sent Lo’are to collect the children so that she could begin to heal, so that she would start to trust him, or be beholden to him. I just don’t know what he wants her for after all is said and done.” She sighed in regret. “I don’t know enough of the politics of Pinnacle.”

“Maybe it’s not her,” Koli said. “Maybe it’s the husband.”

“Why do you think?” asked Dier. This was something new.

“I met him once, with the Alaris,” Koli began. “When I saw Eiry and Claren together—” Abbess Dier raised her hand in warning, and immediately Eiry sat up.

“My boy!” she yelled, panting. “My boy, where is he?” Frantically, she began searching the folds of her dress.

“He is in the carriage behind us,” Abbess Dier said calmly. “Would you like to see him?”

Eiry clutched Lo’are’s cloak close to herself, staring at the woman.

The wheels stopped their thunderous rolling, and Eiry hopped out of the carriage, ignoring the sharp pain that twisted through her abdomen. Running toward the other carriage, she threw open the door.

“My child!” she demanded of the young nurse.

“Quietly now, my lady,” the girl said. She moved the boy further forward onto her knee to give Eiry easier access to him. “All’s fine with him. He’s just been readin’ a bit before his nap.”

“Don’t be foolish,” Eiry said, taking the baby into her arms and turning her back on the girl. “He can’t read. He doesn’t even talk.”

“He was too!” the girl protested. “I couldn’t understand his words, but he 19

was readin’ right aloud.”

“Children his age cannot read,” Eiry said, annoyed, as she walked toward her carriage. She fanned out Lo’are’s cloak so that only she could see the baby.

The girl cast her eyes down. “I’m sorry, my lady, I wouldn’t know; I never learned to read.”

“Elise?” The child pushed the cloak off himself. “I want my book.”

Eiry stopped dead in her tracks, eyes never leaving the child’s mouth. It can’t be.

After the nurse handed the book over, Eiry stomped toward Abbess Dier, emotions flying between confusion, happiness, anger, and fear.

Koli unobtrusively stepped in front of her.

“What did you do to him?” the mother demanded of the Abbess around Koli’s protective form. “What did you do to my boy?”

“You know enough about Abbesses’ powers to know that I could have done nothing,” Abbess Dier responded calmly, reaching out to soothe Eiry’s feelings of anger and fear. “Modifying emotions is a far cry from helping a mind develop, don’t you think?”

Eiry’s overwrought mind still searched for someone to blame. “Alaris.

Alaris! It was him!”

Abbess Dier sighed. “Eiry, not to invalidate your fears, but might there possibly be a chance that you simply have an extremely bright child? Most mothers would be happy, you know,” she added with an extra hard twist against Eiry’s emotional makeup.

Eiry looked at the soft, clean-smelling bundle in her arms as he received his book. “I suppose,” she said dubiously, somewhat deflated. Then she noticed how good she was feeling. Her eyes rose in accusation to the Abbess.

“Now, that, I know you did.”

The Abbess fingered the sash at her waist. “It seemed expedient.” Even being this disoriented, she notices blatant alterations. I’ll have to be more circumspect as she heals.

Eiry waved away the nurse, indicating that she wanted to resume the journey north. “I thought you said you couldn’t change people’s thoughts, only their emotions.”

At Eiry’s gesture, Koli quietly told the other carriage driver to return to Tresidy, and that they would go on alone.

“I said no such thing, and you’re only a quarter right,” the Abbess said as she climbed into the carriage after her. “We cannot change someone’s emotional state from love to sorrow, or happy to envy. We can only modify an existing emotion; make someone who is angry less or more so, for example.”

“So you can change someone’s thoughts!”

20

The Abbess shook her head as the carriage got under way. “You’re confusing thoughts with feelings. Men do that all the time, but women are usually more careful. Can you not see the difference?”

“You’re trying to distract me.” Eiry shifted the baby. “Emotion affects thought.”

“And thought affects emotion,” the Abbess countered. “By talking with you I’m affecting your thoughts and through them your emotions. Does that mean that I’m directly affecting your emotions?”

Eiry was already raising a hand in surrender. “I concede your point, but it’s a weak one.”

The Abbess reached out her own hand. “That—” Something flew through the window, biting into the Abbess’s arm and jerking her sideways. In the same instant, Eiry was blinded as something wet slapped her face.

Koli slammed her fist into the carriage roof. “Faster!” she screamed, already working her crossbow out from under her seat, cranking away with hardened muscles.

“I can’t see!” Eiry clawed at her eyes, baby now in the seat beside her.

“It’s just blood, wipe it off!” said Koli tersely.

Though loath to use Lo’are’s cloak in such a permanently marring manner, Eiry wiped at her face with the cloak’s corner. She had almost regained her sight by the time the world stood on its ear. Since she was already leaning against the carriage wall, she didn’t move far, but she could tell by the grunts that it was her baby and the Enforcer who landed on top of her. She knew that the overturned carriage was still on the road by the choking amount of dust that filled the cabin from the open window on her side of the carriage.

Though the crash was officially over, the horses’ attempts to right themselves made the carriage continue to rock and jerk.

Eiry checked on her son, and found nothing wrong with him. In fact, he pushed her hands away from his body.

“Anything broken?” asked Koli.

“No,” responded Dier. “The arrow passed between both bones, but the fall broke it.”

“I’ll pull it out. Can you still work on our attackers?” asked Koli.

“Only if I can see where they are,” Dier replied grimly, then gave a painfilled groan as the arrow was removed. “You know that.”

A man’s voice sounded from somewhere outside the carriage. “No need for anyone else to die. All we want is the child.”

“No!” Eiry swiped up her child, hugging him fiercely to her bosom.

21

“It’s our only chance!” yelled the Abbess, winking at her Enforcer.

Eiry looked at the two of them in horror.

Koli shook her head. “Come on,” she whispered. “You don’t think she really means it, do you?”

Abbess Dier craned her neck toward the window, now above her, and called out of the carriage. “I am an Abbess. I will come out to arrange for the safe transfer of the child.” She clutched her arm in obvious pain, but remained resolute.

“And have you bewitch us? We’re not that gullible,” the voice answered.

“Here’s how it’ll work. You set the child outside the carriage, we pick it up.

We see any head but the child’s it gets an arrow in it. Once we’re gone you’re free to—” Another scream and wild snarling cut through both the man’s voice and the shaky horse noises. “Get it off me! Get off!”

Koli erupted through the carriage door, which was now the roof. Dier followed with a snapping of her dress, leaving Eiry alone in the carriage with her child.

“Oh, gods,” she whispered, clutching her son tight. “Oh, gods, not my son. Not him, too! Please, great goddess Toreberepar—” “Ssh,” said the child. He tugged the cloak around them.

Dimly, a voice inside her head told her that her child was right, that she shouldn’t be making noise. Maybe if she was really, really quiet, the bad men outside the carriage would not notice her.

More yells came from outside the carriage. Eiry huddled in silence, not listening, but unable to not hear. The twang of bowstrings, the bark of dogs, the screams of men all muddled together into a cacophony that scraped against her sanity.

For one frightening moment, a man’s head and shoulders poked inside the carriage. He was so close that she could see the teeth he was missing, could smell the unwashed state of his body.

With a curse, the man shoved himself back out of the overturned vehicle.

“They’re gone!” he yelled. “Search the woods, catch the other carriage!”

Receding footfalls told Eiry that the man was leaving them alone.

It was not only footfalls that receded. The sounds of battle quickly died away until only the sound of the pleasant breeze blowing across the open carriage door assured Eiry that she had not gone deaf.

Nearly the same moment as she was regaining her wits, another head popped over the side of the carriage. Koli. Just as quickly, the Enforcer popped her head back out. “She’s not there! Send your dogs, man! We’ve got to find her before the Relocators do!”

22

Am I really not here? Eiry wondered dazedly.

“They’re not finding her trail,” Paedre’s voice came a short while later.

“She has to still be in there.”

Scraping sounds sent chills down Eiry’s spine. Someone, something, was climbing up the side of the carriage. Something with claws.

One of Paedre’s dogs jumped into the carriage next to her. Snuffling her face, the dog nuzzled aside Lo’are’s cloak and gave her a thorough licking, only pausing to give the same treatment to her child.

“I already told you, I can’t sense her emotions unless I know in which direction she ran!” Abbess Dier was saying.

The dog gave a bark, as though saying, “I already found her, stupid.”

Amazingly, Paedre called out, “You found her?”

Footsteps pounded toward the carriage and all three of her companions popped their heads over the side. Koli’s face showed nothing but disbelief, while Paedre’s showed relief alone. Dier was unreadable.

“Is that Lo’are’s cloak?” Koli asked.

At the same time, Paedre asked, “Are you two all right?”

Eiry looked down at her child, only to find that she could barely make him out even this close to her. Lo’are’s cloak had done something to turn them visibly misty, so hazy that while she could make out her son’s head since he was right in front of her face, she could not see her feet further away. They were not invisible, but the edges of where her body ended and the carriage began were so blurred together that it would be easy to connect the carriage to the right and carriage to the left of Eiry and skip right over the cloak’s contents.

Eiry answered both Koli and Paedre’s questions with a single weary nod.

“Can you turn the carriage upright with me still in it? I don’t feel up to climbing out like that.”

While the other two jumped down to set about getting the carriage aright, the Abbess continued to peer speculatively for a moment, then asked, “How did you turn the cloak invisible?”

Eiry shrugged, then realized that Dier couldn’t have seen the gesture since her shoulders were still covered. How strange, to be able to see through one’s own shoulder. “I guess it reacts to the wearer’s needs on its own.”

With the help of the Abbess, the vehicle was soon sitting on its wheels and Eiry got out to survey what had happened while she had been hiding.

Of the four horses that had pulled the carriage, only one remained hobbling on a broken leg, the other three having arrows sticking out of their throats. Similarly, the only people left alive that Eiry could see were the Abbess, Enforcer, and Paedre. The wagon driver had fallen further back along the road, and the the other carriage had fled back to Formast. A few bodies 23

Eiry did not recognize dotted the roadside, more than one having obviously been mauled by Paedre’s huge dogs. Suddenly conscious of her child staring at the carnage, she pulled the invisible cloak over his eyes.

“You’re coming back into view,” Dier noted. “How are you doing it?”

“I’m not doing anything,” Eiry said. “I’m not a mage.”

“It looks like a weak air elemental, or a spell that’s losing power,” Koli said.

“Good,” Eiry said in relief. “I don’t want to look like this forever.”

Paedre touched her shoulder lightly, being careful where he put his hand since he couldn’t quite see that area. “Eiry, if we work out how the cloak functions, it may help you escape harm later.”

“I tell you I did nothing!” Eiry insisted.

“Well, one of you had to have done something,” Koli said, gesturing to her and the child. “Artifacts don’t trigger on their own.”

“How can you be sure of that?” Eiry asked challengingly. “Alaris has done more impossible things than make a self-contained magical artifact!”

Koli grunted and changed the subject. “We can’t stay here much longer.

The Relocators will be back when they don’t find you. You all start on your way,” she commanded, drawing her sword as she walked. “I’ll take care of the horse.”

“But we need that horse!” Eiry protested. “We need to catch up!”

Koli ignored her while the Abbess took Eiry by the arm to lead her forward on the road. “Think, Eiry,” the Abbess said. “Why would these men be here, knowing that we had a baby, if they didn’t know we were coming?

And if they knew that, then they won’t stay to the road knowing there’s an Abbey safe house up ahead. They’ve surely taken to the woods; we could never find them on our own.”

“The tracker,” Eiry said firmly, her mind pouncing upon the only acceptable plan of action. “We’ve got to get to him quickly.”

“Yes,” the Abbess said, “but at the same time we can’t go too quickly.

You’re still healing from that wound in your stomach, my dear. We can’t afford to let it reopen.”

“There’ll be enough time for that later,” Eiry snapped.

Better to let her wear herself out. “Then on we go,” the Abbess said aloud.

Eiry might not have noticed that she was dying drop by drop until it was too late, had it not been for Paedre’s dogs.

She had been stalwartly marching along the road with the rest of her group, tired and overheated, trying her best to ignore the pain that continued to grow in her abdomen, warding off the hurt with thoughts of how good it 24

would feel when she was reunited with her children. Then came the panting from a little distance away, the snuffling a little nearer, and finally the warning woof as the dog came up right next to her.

Koli had spun around, sighting along her crossbow as she swiveled.

Seeing no one to shoot, she cautiously walked backward, covering both Eiry and the Abbess.

Dier was the first human to notice the problem. With a hiss, she lunged forward. “Gods help me, woman, must you be so stubborn? You should have said something!”

“Hmm?” Eiry asked dully, the warm midday sun and long, pain-filled walk making her attention wander.

The Abbess peered into her eyes and saw something she didn’t like.

“Koli, get her off the road into some shade.”

“What? No!” Eiry roused from her stupor. “We have to go on!”

“You’re bleeding,” the Abbess said with a frown, pointing at the portion of Eiry’s legs that showed from underneath her skirt.

Mortified, Eiry looked around to see if Paedre was close enough to have heard, but he was not within earshot. Sighing in relief, she said, “Oh, what a relief! That would have been so embarrassing. I’m sorry that I didn’t foresee this. I’d thought,” she felt the blush rising on her cheeks even though the people to whom she was speaking were women, “I’d thought that when they… cut me… they’d made me barren.”

“It’s not that sort of bleeding, woman. It’s your wound; you’ve ripped it open.” Koli pointed back along the road.

The three women stared back into the distance, seeing the thin, wet trail going back a goodly ways.

Oh, gods, how many trials must you put me through? Eiry’s face hardened. Fine.

One more won’t do me in. “It doesn’t matter. Put a patch on it, and let’s get going.”

“Put a patch on what?” snorted Koli. “It’s your insides bleeding.”

“We have to go on!”

“Very well,” announced the Abbess, surprising both her companions.

“But I will carry the child. You have the right to do as much harm to yourself as you like – it’s your body – but I won’t let you drop him when you pass out from loss of blood.”

Eiry clasped the child tighter.

“Just because you want to do the right thing doesn’t always mean that you can.” The Abbess advanced on her, twisting Eiry’s emotions this way and that.

“Choose. The baby or going on. Choose. Choose!”

The dog at Eiry’s side growled menacingly and interposed himself 25

between Eiry and the Abbess. Showing his teeth and raising his hackles, he barked and swung its head around to stare Koli down as the Enforcer began to bring her crossbow to bear.

In Eiry’s arms, the child suddenly squirmed out of her grasp. Trying to keep him from falling only gained her a kick in her stomach, the redoubled pain of which sent Eiry to the road with dizziness and stars in her eyes. A crescendo in the dog’s growl came from near her ear.

“Eiry, call the dog off!” said the Abbess. “It won’t let us come to you!”

Don’t know how, Eiry thought, still in too much pain to even try to breathe.

Her eyes blurred from the sickening throbbing and lack of air.

“What’s going on here!” Paedre ran up behind Eiry. He had been scouting the road and woods after the party of women, making sure the Relocators they had left at the site of the ambush had not followed them.

“She’s hurt,” called Dier. “The dog thinks we were attacking her, and won’t let us near. Call it off!”

Paedre said nothing, even after the Abbess repeated her command with some extra power behind her voice.

Eiry made progress to the point that she could breathe in tiny bursts, but only enough to keep her from losing consciousness. Every breath brought a new bludgeon of pain.

The dirt of the road scrunched right next to Eiry’s head as it was turned underneath Paedre’s boot, leather softly abrading soil. The man knelt next to her and partially picked her up off the road, gently rubbing his hand over her back, her shoulders, her face, her hair. Everywhere his hand passed, Eiry felt the warmth and compassion of his touch bypassing her mind to communicate directly with her body, loosening muscles, ameliorating her battered flesh.

“Ssh,” he whispered tenderly. “Ssh, it’ll be all right.”

Gradually, Eiry’s body began to relax and conform to Paedre’s body, her bruised muscles letting go of their tension. Her pain did not entirely vanish, but the additional ache being caused by tightened muscles gradually dissolved like mist in the sun. Her eyes closed, and she let herself be held.

“Hasten to the next town,” Eiry heard Paedre command the two standing women of the Abbey. “Bring back a carriage, and a cleric if you can find one.

I will watch over her.”

“Mmph,” Eiry managed to mumble. Even in her collapsed state, she still fought for her children.

Paedre bent over and kissed her fondly on her temple. “You have the heart of a dolphin,” he said without straightening his back, his lips brushing against her ear, “but the survival instinct of a lemming. Think, Eiry: you won’t ever see your offspring if you die on this road trying to get to them.”

26

He’s right, she admitted to herself, surprised to find that she didn’t hate herself for doing so. Somehow his saying the words rather than her thinking them to herself made for a more convincing absolution. A sigh of release and relief issued from the bottom of her being, and she nestled her head further into his lap.

“Go,” Paedre commanded the women of the Abbey.

Eiry opened her eyes upon the most pastoral scene she’d witnessed since returning to the continent. Sunlight dappled the undergrowth between the trees and the distant silent road, her child was lying on his stomach on a bed of pine needles with his feet up in the air, and the dogs and Paedre were laying in a pile propped up on a rock.

She didn’t want to move, ever. Everything seemed so peaceful, so perfect.

Even the thought of her kidnapped twins seemed so distant from this place.

The day that she laid her eyes upon them would come, but not now. Not quite yet.

“How do you feel?” asked Paedre from under the fuzzy rumpus. He didn’t seem like he cared to move, either, though Eiry wondered how he could stand being underneath two hot bodies on such a warm day.

Now that she thought of it, she was amazed at how far away the pain now seemed. Experimentally, she took a breath, then a deeper one. “I’m far from energetic,” she admitted ruefully, “but I feel neutral, which is a miracle in itself.

What did you do to me back there?”

“Got your mind out of the way and reminded your body that it can heal itself,” Paedre said sagely.

Carefully extracting himself from the companionship of his dogs, he made his way over to her and reclined by her side. “We all have energies in our bodies; how we spend them is our choice.

You weren’t allowing yourself to spend your energies for yourself since you were so caught up in chasing after your children.”

“How did you come by those energies?”

“You have them as well as I. All animals have the ability to self-heal. It is how the gods created us.”

“I’m not an animal!” Eiry protested. “I’m a human!”

“You have flesh. You have hungers and urges. You were born and you will die. You have all the properties of an animal; though you have properties added on top of the animalistic base.”

As he spoke, Eiry felt less and less like arguing. She could again feel the amazing sensations emanating from his hand as he placed it directly over the wound. She closed her eyes as his love and heat penetrated deep into her flesh to where her pain yet resided. In a few moments she heard one, then the pair 27

of dogs pad over to add their bodies to Paedre’s.

“Okay,” Eiry said with a slight laugh, opening her eyes widely, “That’s enough for me, thanks.”

“No, it’s not,” Paedre said matter-of-factly. “Your body needs to relearn that touch can be a healing thing, not only something that will hurt.”

Eiry found herself staring into a pair of warm, brown eyes that were totally without guile, completely accepting. It felt as though her soul was receiving a hug.

“Okay,” she mouthed again, this time negating what she had just said. She was rewarded with a comely smile from Paedre. Keeping his hand where it was, he sidled alongside her and settled himself.

Only then did she notice that one of the dogs was drooling on her leg.

“Ohhhhhh,” she moaned, crinkling her eyes up to block out the sight of a ninety-degree jowl with thick, pasty liquid sluicing out of the dog’s mouth.

“That’s disgusting! I used to hate it when father’s dogs did that!”

“Oh, that just means they like you!” Paedre said looking at Eiry’s moistened leg.

“How do you figure?” she asked, her tone making it evident she did not believe him.

“Because they’re always on good behavior in front of strangers,” he answered. “They would never admit to having an unpleasant side to someone they didn’t like.”

“But what gives them the idea that I like them?”

“Because you can’t hide it,” Paedre said tenderly. “By the way, I never thanked you.”

“For?” “ In the hotel room in Tresidy,” he said. “That Abbess asked you who you needed to bring with you. You included the dogs in your list, like you considered them people. That’s the first time anyone’s ever done that. Thank you.”

“That’s as may be,” she said, caught between flattery and disgust, “but still.

Yuck.” She shifted slightly as though to remove the offending jowl, then froze.

“Paedre. How is it that my leg doesn’t have any blood on it?”

“I cleaned you,” he replied, as though the answer should have been obvious. “I didn’t think that you wanted to wake up to a blood-covered body and a screaming child.”

Knowing that if she took the topic any further she would have no choice but to get very angry, yet also knowing that Paedre would not understand why she was upset, Eiry redirected her attention to her child. “Why was he screaming?”

28

“He wanted his book,” Paedre said, still confused about why a young boy would want to waste their time with reading when there were dogs around to play with. “From the occasions that I saw the Avilorn girl Lo’are making art back in Kalard, I think you might have a prodigy on your hands. He enjoys drawing a great deal.”

She looked at Paedre incredulously.

Paedre shrugged. “I was surprised myself. He seems to have trouble with the ink, though, and it takes both of his hands to hold the pen steady.”

“Let me see,” she said, a motherly fondness bubbling up from inside her.

“I want to see it!”

Paedre went over to the child to retrieve the book. As he bent over to take it, the child very clearly demanded, “Wait.” Surprised, Paedre stood back up to do so. After finishing his work on the page, the child said, “Be careful.”

Paedre took the book gently being cautious of the wet ink, and the child turned his attention to a small stick lying next to him.

“Forget prodigy,” he said as he returned. “Maybe a diva.”

As he handed her the book, Eiry asked, “And what would you know about divas?”

“The Nirian Conservatory for Music sends some of its students to tour the Kalardian Holdings every year, partially to give them experience with live audiences, and partially to raise money.” He shook his head sorrowfully. “I will never understand why someone can think that bettering a talent will make up for rotten behavior.”

Like so many times before Eiry felt humbled by Paedre’s simple but pure way of thinking. She looked down at the empty journal which her son had been filling up while she slept. Very quickly, her humbleness transitioned to concern.

“Paedre, are you sure that my son did this?” she asked, looking up from the book.

He looked at her blankly. “Who else?”

She wearily let the book fall into her lap. “It’s not artwork,” she said, feeling her fatigue return. “It’s spell diagrams.”

“Why are you upset?”

“Seighn will never accept a king who practices magic,” she said simply.

Even though he was not her eldest, if the Seighn populace learned that there was a mage in the royal family’s tree, it would bring the entire blood line into question.

“Are you sure it’s spells that he’s drawing?” Paedre suddenly remembered the child’s admonition to be careful, and he wondered if he might have meant something more than the ink being wet and easily smudged. What might he 29

have set off by holding the book the wrong way?

“Oh, it could be random magical symbols, but it’s definitely representations of the metaphysical realm,” Eiry said. “I can’t interpret them myself, but I was around Alaris and Lo’are for long enough to recognize the forms and symbols they used in their spell books.” She made a face. “I knew the Alaris had something to do with my son’s sudden ability to read being concurrent with his ability to talk.”

“The Alaris does not seem to be a very trustworthy human,” Paedre agreed. “Not that most humans are to be trusted.” He sat near one of the dogs, absentmindedly petting her hind leg. “It’s too bad that we can’t just stay here, and never go into Weden at all.”

Eiry detected the same note in his voice that she always heard when he spoke of Weden. When he spoke of it at all, which was rare. “May I ask you a rather personal question?”

Paedre stiffened, but didn’t pull away. “If I may do so in return.”

Eiry felt herself stiffen as well, then smile. Well, fair is fair. “Why is it that you are so afraid of Weden and its people? I mean, I know that you’re afraid of people in general—” “Not afraid,” Paedre corrected her quietly. “People just aren’t good. Why would I want to spend my life engulfed by something that’s not good?”

Taken aback by his interruption, she said, “Well, just Weden, then.”

Paedre avoided her gaze for some time. She didn’t know if he was going to answer her question or not, but knew better than to press. Either he would or wouldn’t, but if she tried to force him to do anything, he would simply leave her side. Passive resistance worked well against her.

“I lived there once.” He was reduced to small sentences, devoid of emotion. “I almost died there. Pitchforks, torches. Just like my brother.”

“Your brother was a mage?” asked Eiry, interpreting the weapons as having been part of a mob bent on killing a magic user. Weden was not famous for its hospitality to those of the magic persuasion.

“No.” Paedre looked forward into the past. “But he was good to animals, and animals were good to him in turn. He could understand them.

Where they hurt, what they wanted to eat. At first, people called him to help with their herds. Then they burned our house. He left.”

“Is that when you went to Kalard?”

“No. I had to help my mother rebuild. I was the only one left after I helped my brother escape. When the animals started to come to me instead, I left to keep my mother from suspicion. They killed her anyway.”

Eiry swallowed hard. No wonder he’s so wary of people.

“My question. Why did you marry Claren?”

30

Eiry was regretting instigating this conversation more and more. “That’s a complicated story,” she sighed, hoping that he might wave off. He did not oblige her, so she struggled forward with the answer that was not an answer.

“Claren and I met when we weren’t really ourselves,” she began. “We’d both lost our memories, and to a great extent our personalities had been subsumed. We were drawn together by a spell of some sort, and we ended up conceiving our first set of children. After that, it was just a formality. I mean, we were already a family, so why would we not say our vows?”

Paedre waited silently for several heartbeats, then inquired, “That is your answer?”

She looked at him. “Isn’t that enough?”

“No.” “What more do you want?”

“The reasoning for your marriage.”

“I already told you.”

“No.” “Yes I did!”

He stopped petting the dog’s leg and turned on her. “Offspring and spells are circumstances, not reasoning. Why did you—” he touched her heart softly with his warmth-effusing hand “—marry him.” He tossed his other hand eastward.

She had no answer.

“Alright,” Paedre said. “If you cannot answer that question, I will ask a different but more pertinent one. As the circumstances for your marrying no longer exist, do you still consider yourself to be married?”

Eiry did not need Paedre to list the reasons he would need to ask that question: Claren abandoning her and their children, not knowing if she would ever even see him again. She even knew of one reason Paedre would not have thought of. If she was to take the throne of Seighn, she could not be weighed down by a commoner, or have what would be considered by the general Seighn nobility to be bastard children.

Paedre’s question was not new to Eiry. She first asked it of herself when she had overcome her amnesic episode to remember who she truly was, and she had been asking it of herself more and more as time progressed. But she did not yet have an answer for herself, let alone one that she could verbalize to anyone else.

Sensing this, Paedre took the book from Eiry’s lap, padded over to the child, and offered it to him. Looking between the book in Paedre’s hands and the stick in his own, the child made one more precise indentation in the stick with his thumb’s fingernail before reacquiring the book.

31

Night had fallen by the time the pairs reunited. Koli had commandeered a rickety farmer’s wagon at an exorbitant price, and was driving the small team of horses at a fast clip when she passed Paedre and Eiry. Only when the dogs gave chase to the wagon did she notice them. By the time Koli slowed and gotten the horses to turn the wagon around on the narrow road, Eiry had carefully made her way to where she could be picked up with little difficulty.

“You found a good hiding spot,” Koli admitted to Paedre. “If I didn’t see you, the Relocators wouldn’t have.”

Paedre barely acknowledged her praise. “Was there no cleric? She can’t go traipsing about in the woods like this, not yet.”

“Actually, she won’t need to,” Abbess Dier said from atop the wagon’s bench. She had not climbed down, and was holding her arm carefully.

Eiry looked closer. “Your wound looks puffy,” she said concernedly.

“The Relocators poison their arrows,” Koli said, anger in her voice.

“What’s this about her not needing to search?” asked Paedre. “Did you find the children?” He gently lifted Eiry up onto the wagon bed and bent over to retrieve the child.

“No, but we did find out that the Relocator group we were actually after passed through the next town on its way toward the Temple of Torberepar,” Koli said with a surly frown. “The ambush was a farce, to throw us off their trail. Had you not been injured, we would have followed those men into the forest and probably never caught up to the real group.”

“Well, hooray for bleeding all over the place,” Eiry said with an exasperated note to her humor. “Let’s get going!”

“Where is this tracker of yours?” asked Paedre of Koli as he handed the child up to Eiry. A rough bed of hay and blankets had been made for her so that the violent rocking of the crude farmer’s implement would not cause her further trauma. Eiry wistfully remembered the comfortable carriage she had had to abandon.

“Two villages north, three villages east, on the western outskirts.”

Preoccupied with settling in comfortably with her child, it took Eiry a few moments to process what the Enforcer had said. “That’s awfully close to the Seighn border.”

Dier paused what she was doing. “It is a little out of our way if we’re headed toward Torberepar’s Temple, but you sound concerned about something else.”

“The two easternmost baronies of Seighn—” Eiry paused, searching for the right words, “—have been known to raid Weden fairly often this time of year. That makes both sides a bit jumpy.”

32

“Jumpy people with crossbows,” murmured Koli. “Great.” She flicked the reins, and the horses started forward.

“Why do they raid?” asked Paedre, confused.

“Food, other resources,” Eiry said. “They make up charges to cross the border, then drop them once they have what they want. It’s been going on nearly as long as Weden has been a country. The east baronies are still upset that Weden is no longer a part of Seighn.”

“But that was way back at the end of the Wasting War,” Koli said dubiously. “No one can hold a grudge that long!”

“If the grudge is a convenient one, yes, they can,” Eiry said.

“That is one of the things that Eiry will stop when she is queen.”

Already giving the commands, are we? Eiry thought to herself, not giving any clue that she had noticed something amiss. Instead, she watched her son swooping the little stick he’d found around himself.

“Cute kid,” remarked Koli.

“Thank you,” Eiry said, and a thought struck her. I’ve never had anyone else say that. How strange.

“Look at those arm swings,” Koli continued her thought. “He has all the makings of a great swordsman, if he pushes himself.”

Eiry looked quizzically at Koli, smiled briefly, and dropped the subject.

Paedre loped ahead of the wagon with the dogs, taking up his scout mantle again, this time determined to stay closer to the women in case of further Relocator trouble.

“Hey!” Koli said in surprise and annoyance, batting the child’s hand away from her knife sheath. “I said you would be good with a sword, but that didn’t mean to start with my knife!”

The child pointed to his fingernail, impressed the nail into the wood of his stick, then pointed to Koli’s knife.

Koli glanced at the horses to make sure they were still on track, then looked back at the boy. She guessed, “You want to carve your stick?”

The boy nodded.

“Oh.” Koli shrugged, and pulled out the knife. “Okay. Next time ask.

Use your manners.”

“Absolutely not!” Eiry said, coming between Koli and her son. “He could hurt himself with something that sharp!”

Sensing some jealousy and fear in Eiry, Dier asked her, “Something else on your mind?”

Eiry laughed bitterly. Something? There were so many things, none of which she wanted to discuss with Dier. But clamming up entirely would serve only to make the Abbess more curious, so Eiry chose to mention the problem 33

that would reveal itself with time, anyway. “My son is a mage.”

“Eh?” Koli asked, but with a look from Dier, she turned in a full-bodied fashion back to the road to leave the two in faux privacy.

“How did this come about?” Dier asked.

“I don’t know!” Eiry exploded. “It must come from Claren’s side of the family.”

Koli’s shoulders shuddered and her head ducked, but no one could see the pained smile on her face.

“Perhaps I should rephrase the question,” Dier said. “What I meant was, how did you deduce that your son can do magic?”

Eiry answered by rifling about to find the book. “Next thing I know, he’ll be throwing fireballs,” she said, handing the object to the Abbess.

“I don’t think so,” Abbess Dier said with a smile. “Children aren’t that powerful in their magic. The way that one of my Pinnacle-born friends at the Abbey explained it to me was that magic comes to a person like teeth. You have teeth as a child, but they’re smaller and not very powerful.”

“Obviously you’ve never had your nipple bitten,” Eiry said grumpily.

Koli turned back around. “That’s disgusting!”

“Eyes on the road, Koli.” Dier’s voice held the tone of a long-held argument resurrected from the grave for one more chance at life.

“Glad we can’t have kids,” Koli mumbled as she turned back around.

Dier looked exasperatedly at her Enforcer, then back to Eiry. “Before the change of life you lose your baby teeth, and likewise magic users begin to grow into the magical ability they’ll have for the rest of their life. Their baby magic molds what their adult magic is going to be like, so magic-using families – a rarity in themselves – try to train their children’s senses early.”

“What about children in non-magical families?” asked Eiry.

“Most children don’t even use their magic because they don’t know it’s there,” Dier replied. “With no one to model from, they ignore it like most people ignore the skin on their back – it’s there, but they never make conscious use of it. Once their adult magic comes into being, though, it’s hard to ignore, especially when they’re powerful.”

“So the child has to have some model?”

The Abbess saw where Eiry’s line of thought was leading her, and decided to cut it off with a simple “No.” Eiry changed tact. “Is there anything I can do to… I don’t know… flush it out of him?”

The child’s arm suddenly ceased its aerial maneuverings. He swiveled his head around to fix his mother with a cold stare that, while it said nothing, said everything.

34

When his arm resumed its drills, to Koli’s eyes, the stick no longer looked like a sword. It looked like a fully functional mage’s wand.

After a particularly rough bruising by the wagon’s uneven ride, Eiry found herself roused enough that she could reposition her body. As she did, she noticed that Koli had thrown one of her shirts over the child to serve as a makeshift blanket.

“Thank you,” she said, pointing. “That’s a kindness.”

The Enforcer grunted. “Kids don’t have much sense to them,” she said, keeping her eyes on the road. “That’s why I’m never going to have any. I don’t want to look after them. I don’t even like ‘em.”

Eiry was surprised. “How can you not love children?”

Koli narrowed her eyes. “I detest children because they’re a symbol of the downfall of women all over the world. Children are the gateway to making women weak. Every woman that I’ve known that’s had a child has gone soft, has been more needy and less self-reliant. That’s why you’ll never find me with a man. Stick to your own kind and you have no chance of being pregnant.”

Curiously, Eiry asked, “Why are you helping me, then?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but it’s not me personally that’s helping you, Lady Eiry. The Abbey has long worked against the interests of the Relocators. What they do is immoral, but no government will take a stand against them. They probably would if ever the world was run by all queens instead of kings,” she finished bitterly.

“Every decision a king makes has its reasons even if they’re not obvious to the commoner,” Eiry parroted, having had that fact drilled into her by her tutors long ago, and instantly regretted it. That sentiment doesn’t help very much when I’m the position of the commoner, she thought. “Do you know why the governments allow the Relocators to continue in their work?”

“Men.” Koli spat the word angrily. “Always men. Every problem in the world, you can trace it back to men.”

“Okay,” Eiry said. “Can you be a little more specific?”

“Surian men.”

Eiry made a go on gesture with her hand.

Koli calmed down a little bit as she began her lecture. “Since Sur is constantly looking southward toward the elves on Tortryst and expecting attack at any moment, nearly every man of age spends most of his life on the walls and watchtowers that defend the country from attack. They leave their wives and children and harems, in that order of importance,” her voice flared again, “behind at their castles. Only when they’re on leave from their posts can they spend any time with their families.”

35

“This is all fascinating,” interrupted Eiry, “but what does this have to do with the Relocators?”

Koli held up a hand. She turned from the road to look at Eiry. “Do you know the difference between the harem and the wives in Sur?” Eiry shook her head.

“Children.” Koli looked expectedly at the younger woman.

“I don’t understand.”

The Enforcer sighed. “All right. The man comes home from the watch towers where he’s been for sometimes as much as a year, and he wants… well, I’m sure I don’t need to tell you; you were married.”

Eiry looked askance and nodded hurriedly.

“Only, in that country, the women want it, too. You see, since the men are always off getting killed, the women outnumber the men.”

“But that’s normal in any country,” Eiry objected. “We aren’t placed in harm’s way as often as men are.”

“Outnumbering is normal, yes, but not by as many as twelve to one,” Koli stated, turning back to the road when she saw how she had staggered Eiry.

“That large of a gap between the sexes produces a great number of difficulties in reproduction on its own: it lessens the availability of mates for women, shrinks the pool of eligible mates for one’s offspring, and makes it necessary for one man to provide for numerous dependents.

“In any case,” she continued, “offspring are of such importance to Surians that societal pressure is put on both men and women to produce. Any boy who reaches Mer Age and has not yet reproduced will find that few women will come to him, and any woman who does not reproduce quickly after being allowed into a harem,” her voice dripped with acid, “will find herself homeless.”

“And those women who do become mothers,” Eiry said, understanding and distaste dawning on her face.

“Become wives, with full social status.” Koli finished for her. “Though there’s precious little chance of a woman down there actually conceiving. A man can only service so many women a night, no matter how much he would love to spend his entire life rutting,” she growled distastefully. “And if the man is only available a few days out of the year, a woman can grow quite desperate for a child. So desperate, in fact, that she would do just about anything to have one. Even steal another woman’s child.”

“By the gods.” Eiry’s heart pounded violently in her ears. “The Relocators.”

“Now you understand,” Koli said sadly.

“No, I don’t,” Eiry said, starting to grow angry. “How could a woman do that to another woman? I mean, why don’t they just find another man to 36

impregnate them? Like you said, there’s always one willing!”

“Some do take that chance,” agreed Koli. “But when the child is delivered, if there is any - and I mean any - question as to its lineage, the child is kept in the home, but the woman is left in the birthing trough to bleed to death.”

Eiry’s eyes filled up with tears. She wanted to stumble from the moving wagon with her hands over her ears. Gods, how can you allow such horror to happen?

“So,” Koli rallied her voice, “many women place themselves in retreats, and turn to the Relocators. The Relocator team is given two paintings, one of the father and one of the mother, along with the money they require. The team then goes out throughout the lands, usually on Torberepar, to find a baby whose parents’ features match both paintings, and they quickly Relocate the baby back to Sur. The woman comes out of her retreat after about a year with her new child, and no one asks any questions.”

Her senses dulled, Eiry asked, “What if they can’t find a suitable child in time? Won’t they know the woman lied about being pregnant?”

“Miscarriage. Same thing if the child doesn’t look enough like the mother. Miscarriage, and they dispose of the child.” As soon as she said it she bit her tongue, berating herself silently, hoping that Eiry would not notice her slip.

She was not so lucky.

“Dispose?” Eiry asked. Koli turned from her, but Eiry grabbed her roughly to make her listen. “What do you mean, dispose?” She shook the woman. “Answer me, curse you!”

“I don’t think that you can handle—” Koli began to say.

Eiry slapped her.

The Enforcer looked at her, half angry, half surprised, then shrugged it away. It was her own fault for letting her tongue slip, and if the almighty Queen of Seighn wanted to know that badly, then who was she to stand in the way of knowledge?

“Some are left out for the jaguars in the jungle, but that’s a waste of good money. Most go to people who have need of human bodies – combat medics who need to know what it’s like to perform surgery on subjects who are alive but have no anesthesia, mages who need fresh body parts for spell components—” With a scream, Eiry attacked the Enforcer. Koli allowed her to beat against her breasts for a moment then wrapped her in a one-arm hug, setting her jaw angrily against the whole business – Relocators, mages, and this sobbing woman. Condemnation. Just about the only perk of becoming an Enforcer rather than an Abbess was that I wouldn’t have to deal with situations like this, she thought to 37

herself. I should wake Dier up, make her handle it.

But when the Enforcer glanced at the Abbess out of the corner of her eye, she saw her eyes open. Dier quickly placed a warning finger to her lips.

Incredulously, Koli’s gaze traveled from the Abbess’s concentration-filled face to the increasingly weeping form in her arms, then, with a shake of her head, back to the road. It took concentration to restrain someone while not jerking the horses’ reins.

Koli noted the carved limestone pillar at the side of the road and turned onto the lightly worn path that led to, what she hoped would be, their destination. Alaris had not given her much of a description of the place; he had only mentioned the tracker in passing.

“We’re here,” Koli said to Dier and Eiry, giving the two women time to make themselves more presentable. They helped each other brushing off hay, primping hair, and smoothing slightly rumpled clothing.

The wagon pulled up in front of a picturesque hunting lodge. There were several animal skins racked to dry outside the two-story wooden cabin. A large tree shaded the entire southern quadrant of the building, as well as three small oblong mounds closer to its base. Two overlarge ornate carriages held position on the east side of the building, nearest the entrance.

Koli stopped the wagon at the turnoff to the lodge. “If those are Seighn royal carriages, we can’t let her go in there,” she said to the Abbess, indicating Eiry. “They might recognize her.”

“Those are crests of minor Brelian nobles,” Dier said, shaking her head.

“How did you know?” asked Eiry. She knew that the Abbess was right, but she wanted to feel out the Abbess’s extent of training in the politics of the world, and this was as good a place as any to start.

“Dier was Brelian nobility herself before coming to the Abbey,” Koli said, then grinned. “Can’t you tell from her attitude?”

For barely an instant, Eiry saw something flash across Dier’s face. She couldn’t say exactly what it was, but she knew for sure that it was not happiness. Whether it was the Abbess’s memories of her time as a noble, that she had not wanted Eiry to know of her lineage, or that the Enforcer was lying, Dier was sure to have words with Koli later.

Paedre waited for them a goodly distance away from the lodge.

“The dogs don’t like the smells,” he explained.

The Abbess made a noise of understanding. “Your dogs can stay out here, but you need to go in with Koli.”

The Enforcer glared at her Abbess. “I’m not a child to be escorted.”

“You’re a woman,” Dier responded calmly. “A man who owns a hunting 38

lodge is not likely to listen to a woman very well.”

Koli opened her mouth for an angry retort, but Paedre beat her to it.

“I’m not going in there.”

All three women stared at him in surprise. He rarely argued, and an outright refusal was utterly out of character to him.

“I’m not partial to humans who hunt for pleasure. Maybe the owner hunts for his meat, for those hides to buy his grains and fruits, but those men,” he nodded toward the ornate carriages, “are only in the hunt for the anticipation of the violence and cruelty at the end.”

“Thank you,” Koli said snobbishly just as Dier asked, “Would you send her in there alone to face such men?”

The two women glared at each other, the dispute freshly unresolved.

Paedre looked at Eiry sadly, making her remember their recent conversation about humanity in general, and how distasteful he found interaction with members of his own race.

Turning his head, he whistled low, calling the dogs. Out of the high grass they bounded, one after another.

“Your escorts, Koli.” As both women turned on him, he pointed a finger at each, and added fiercely, “Argue and by my life I’ll walk away and never return.”

The two were left with their mouths hanging open. This was a side of the man they’d never seen before. Who knew he could be forceful?

Dier was the first to bow out, followed by a nod from Koli. The Enforcer walked toward the door, Paedre walked into the grass, the Abbess returned to the wagon, and Eiry went to the tree to investigate the small mounds beneath it.

Koli opened the door to find a surprisingly fastidious common room in the lodge. The two-story-high wood ceiling was polished to a gleam, the large dining table was set with tasteful décor, and rugs depicted vibrant forest scenes.

Light from randomly placed windows in every wall and even one in the ceiling made each lovely detail stand out on its own.

Hardly believing her eyes that this well-kept room was part of a hunting lodge, Koli took a few steps inside. “No dead animals on the walls,” she murmured to herself. Paedre might like this place after all. If she had not known better, she would have said that she was walking into the common room of a backcountry Abbey safe house.

The two dogs’ heads swung to the left in a precursor of the door in that direction swinging open. A man in servant’s livery stepped through with a tray full of meats. He took no notice of the newcomers as he set the tray down on the table, covered it with a silver bell-shaped item, and started on his way back 39

to what must be the kitchen. Just as he reached the door, he saw them and stopped.

“Enforcer,” the man greeted her guardedly, seeing her iridescent shirt and sword. “How may I be of service?”

“Eril.”

The man nodded, relieved for some reason. “The Nirian chime, just behind you next to the door. Yes, there.”

As the man scurried into the kitchen, Koli picked up the felted mallet next to the towering hollow chime and struck.

My, what an odd sensation, she thought as the vibrations resonated in her nasal sinuses, making her feel like her head was expanding from the middle.

“Not so loud!” came a bellow from up the stairs. “I’ll come just the same if you hit it lightly, you know. It may be made of metal, but it’s a delicate instrument, made for a delicate touch!”

Across the second floor balcony and down the stairs advanced a solidly built man with short cut brown hair that had more than a hint of white coming in at the edges of his forehead. Her wore brown leather boots, brown leather pants, and a green sleeveless shirt.

Koli stepped forward to meet him, but he brushed past her to get to the floor-to-ceiling chime. Taking two soft cloths from their hanging places on the wall next to the door, he smoothed them along the length of the chime, quickly dampening its resonance.

After replacing the cloths, the man turned back around to look Koli over with a blue-eyed stare. Taking in the iridescent shirt and black pants, his eyes jumped to her face quickly.

“An Enforcer?” he said, though Koli wasn’t sure if he meant it as a question or a statement. “You’re not my usual clientele.”

Even though he was the one that had answered the chime, Koli was still taken by surprise. She had not been expecting this man to be a hunter. He didn’t fit into her archetypal woodsman with his wrinkle-free clothes, his body smelling of soap and skin-softening oils.

Suddenly aware that she had not answered him yet, she made a mental note to smack herself in the head when she next had the chance. “I’m not here to hunt animals,” she finally answered. Really, woman, being attracted to a man’s body? What’s wrong with you?

Puzzlement entered his eyes, which he cast downwards to alight on her canine guardians. Still looking confused, he asked, “How much?”

As though the dogs knew what he was saying, they gave off a long, low growl. The man quickly removed the offending gaze from them.

“Not for sale. Very well.” He readjusted the gaze to Koli’s face, and after 40

a moment, added, “Well?”

Rallying herself, Koli said, “I may not be your usual clientele, but I do wish to hire you.” She reached toward her money pouch.

The man looked distastefully at the moving hand, as though offended by the mention of money so early in deliberations. “Sorry, I don’t work for or with women.”

Taken aback Koli asked, “I beg your pardon?”

“Granted. Now I must ask yours.” The man again moved past the Enforcer headed toward the stairs.

Brush past me twice, will he? Koli planted a hand on his shoulder and spun him around. The hunter looked surprised at her strength.

She spoke again, sure of his attention. “Look, there’s a woman outside who’s lost her children—” “Children?” He sounded like he was making a proclamation.

“Yes.” Hope welled in Koli’s heart. So he does have a weakness.

“Then it’s a definite no. Never a girl and I won’t even take a boy on his first hunt until his voice has changed, no matter the number of coin.” The man walked up the stairs, leaving Koli fuming at the landing.

Determined not to give up so easily, she told the dogs to stay where they were, then followed him up to the second floor, down the entire hallway, and through the last door he had closed behind himself.

She walked into a room visually harmonious with the common room.

Large Brelian glass windows were set in the two outer walls, facing north and east. The light from the windows brought out tasteful patterns on rugs, curtains, and overstuffed pillows on an overstuffed bed. The only item that seemed out of place was a hammock stretched near the windows.

Her target was kneeling near those windows, staring out at the expansive tree next to the building. When the door swung open, he pivoted his head just enough to get a look at the feet of the person in the door. He turned his head back to the tree.

“This is my private room. I’d like to ask you to leave,” he said quietly.

Koli stayed in the doorway, too purposeful to exit, too well mannered to enter. “The Alaris sent me. He said you owed him a favor.”

At the mage’s name his head elevated, but he still would not meet her eyes. After cramming air into his lungs, he acknowledged her statement with one of his own. “Alaris wouldn’t have sent you for this sort of favor.”

I’m not getting anywhere, Koli realized. I’m just driving him farther away.

She softly closed the door, caught between anger, frustration, and, oddly, empathy. She never had to deal with people. That was what Dier was for.

Always the Abbess was the one to do the talking, to sense what they were 41

feeling and give them what they wanted. Dier had never abandoned Koli like this.

A deeper, more chronic anger welled up in her. I shouldn’t need her. I shouldn’t need anyone! I was good enough to be an Abbess. I was woman enough to be an Abbess. But, as it did with most Enforcers, the little voice in the back of her mind asked, So why did they not make you an Abbess? Why are you stuck wearing pants, and Dier is wearing the skirts?

I should have been an Abbess! Koli continued to insist to herself silently. Even if I didn’t deserve it, I still should have had the training the Abbesses have, to be that sort of woman, to have that sort of power, for times like this. Why must I be— With a start, she realized she was already outside walking through the tall, clingy grass toward the wagon. Hastily she tried to tamp down her feelings, but by the knowing look on Dier’s face she knew she was too late.

Angrily, she turned from the wagon, only to find Eiry shuffling toward her. “Did you talk with Eril?”

“I-” Koli stopped as a thought struck her. She remembered her postponed forehead-smack, and indulged in three. “I didn’t ask his name.”

“But you talked with someone?” Eiry asked uncertainly. “Surely you couldn’t have been in there all that time without—” “Oh, I talked with someone, all right,” the Enforcer said. “He said he didn’t work for women, and especially for children.”

“Did he tell you why?” asked Eiry.

Koli drew in half a breath, then her throat clutched and she closed her eyes. You complete idiot. “I… didn’t… ask.”

“By the gods, woman, what did you learn?” asked Dier angrily from the wagon. “I have to have some leverage over him before I go in there!”

“It’s all right,” Eiry said softly. “I know why.”

That stopped both of the others. “You do?” asked the Abbess in disbelief. “But you’re not trained!”

Eiry looked at her with an unreadable expression. “Stay here,” she commanded the Abbess. Oh, but that felt good!

In she walked, leaving her child in the wagon. The dogs at the staircase lifted their heads and wiggled their tiny tails about once or twice, then settled back down.

A man walked into the room and, even though he was well dressed and didn’t carry anything denoting him as such, she immediately recognized him as a servant.

“You will take me to Eril,” she said to the man. She didn’t need to say it with an imperial air, only with confidence enough that he doubted his own ability to question her.

42

Moments later, she had entered the same door that Koli had been unable to breach. She found Eril dusting off the heavy blanket that lay on the bed.

He looked up as she walked in, gave the blanket one final swipe, then gestured toward a chair in the near corner of the room.

“I saw you tidying around the graves, my lady,” he said after they had sat for a while in each other’s company. “That was kindly done. Sometimes it gets… difficult to go by there, you know.”

“That’s understandable,” Eiry comforted him graciously. “I take it they were your wife and children?”

“Yes,” he answered simply. He looked at Eiry more closely. “You resemble her, actually.”

“They’re your reason that you won’t accept my contract?”

Again he answered, “Yes.” “Why you won’t sleep in your bed?” she advanced further, gesturing toward the hammock.

“All these things and more.” He continued to meet her gaze steadily.

“Because you’re afraid of failing to be able to save another woman, or save her children.” She made it a statement, but he still answered stoically.

“Yes.” She nodded, and looked at the knee height table between them. “If you had a chance to bring back your children, but not your spouse,” she speared him with her eyes, “would you?”

His jaw tightened. “That’s a cruel trick, madam,” he said. “I know that even the Alaris cannot surmount the death barrier – he told me himself when I asked him to – but my heart leaps at your words no matter how empty they may be.”

“Even if the chance was inconceivably small?” she pressed. “Even if it meant giving your own life in return?”

His breathing became shallow. “What father would not?”

“Good. I’m glad we understand each other.”

He stared at her, his breathing slowly returning to normal. “You may understand me,” he said, “but if so, you have the advantage.”

“I am in that exact position,” Eiry explained. “My children are in the hands of the Relocators instead of being dead, but for all I know they could be killed once they get to Torunmem. But I have the chance, however small, to recover them.

“You say that you’re afraid of failing to save my children, sir. But you’re failing right now by not trying. Give me a chance. I beg you.”

Dispiritedly, Eril reached forward to pluck a felt-covered mallet from the table and strike a smaller version of the Nirian chime that was at the front 43

door. A few moments passed with the only sound in the room being the chime’s tone, then the door opened and the servant walked in.

“Whatchaneed, Eril?” asked the man in a congenial tone.

“Please take this beneficent lady to the common room and show her every courtesy,” he said despondently. “I will be down shortly.”

“I will await your decision,” Eiry said stolidly.

She walked down the stairs and sat in a plush chair in the common room.

When the servant returned with an offering, Eiry accepted the proffered cold drink, her mind in knots, trying to figure out how else she might convince the man to help them. There were plenty of hunters and trackers along both sides of the Seighn/Weden border, but she knew of none that could be trusted. She also knew better than to trust to her own luck that they would catch up with the Relocators before they left the roads.

Vexed, she rapidly swirled the leaf specks in the bottom of her glass, watching them whirling about almost as quickly as the thoughts in her head.

She again went over her resources in her mind.

If she needed to, she could get a message to the Alaris at Pinnacle, though he might not get there for some time, but he would send help. By the time he got word it would be too late to help her recapture the twins, but he might be able to intercept the Relocators on Torunmem.

Declaring her throne would give her access to a large number of soldiers, but she might need those to quell the uprisings that would surely follow, despite all the promises the Abbess made. Plus, she had wanted to come to the throne with her family life settled and well in order.

Fat chance of that, she thought to herself. No husband, three children in Kalard, two kidnapped, and one who was a mage. If there was a way that her family could become more of an obstacle to the throne, she would rather remain oblivious.

That left her with the Abbey, and Paedre. She couldn’t count on Lo’are finding her in time to help, nor on any of Alaris’s other friends except Eril.

So Eril it must be, she decided firmly, just as he trudged down the last step.

She had not heard him walking down the steps, so either that the lodge was extremely solidly built, or he was very quiet on his feet, or both.

“My normal price is a five-ingot per day,” he said as he walked toward her.

“For this contract, it will be a two-bar.”

She raised her eyes at the price.

“Two reasons.” He ticked them on his fingers. “One, increased risk of injury to myself. Two, I don’t appreciate killing humans, and that’s what I’m going to have to do a lot of, if what you’re saying is accurate.”

“I can see perhaps a one-bar.” Eiry was not sure if he expected her to 44

dicker.

“My terms,” he barreled right over her, “are these. You stay here with your child and that Abbess I see outside. The Enforcer comes with me. If the hunt is unsuccessful, you will have half your money refunded to you upon my return.”

She waited for a moment to make sure there were no additional terms, then said, “I can agree to everything except for my having to wait here. Time is of the essence for me, and I cannot wait. As soon as I have my children back, I have something of great importance to do.”

“Then the Abbess won’t agree to stay here,” he murmured to himself, his lips twisting left and downward. Again he flicked his fingers, counting something. Abruptly, he shook his head. “No, can’t be done. I would have three women and one child to find food for on my way, or burden everyone down with their own food packs. And you don’t look like you’re in prime physical condition, either, which would slow us down further.”

“I didn’t say that we would have to stay with you every moment,” Eiry contrived. “You go ahead, do what you need to do, and we will trail you as quickly as we can. Mark your passage for Koli, and once you have the children, return along the path you made.”

“The woman looked like she could follow a trail,” he said dubiously.

“And I suppose she could fend for you all with that crossbow.” He added and figured in his head, finally coming to a conclusion. “Fine. Call in your Abbess to see if the terms are agreeable to her.”

“They are agreeable to me,” Eiry said, “which is all that matters.”

“The Abbess needs to agree to the payment,” Eril pointed out. “I’m sure she was interested in helping you get your children back, but even my normal price is steep. Usually only nobility require my services.”

“The Abbey is not funding this enterprise,” Eiry said evenly.

The hunter turned his head to the side, keeping his eyes on the woman in front of him. “Who are you, that you have that sort of money?”

“No one of importance at the moment,” Eiry replied quite truthfully.

“I don’t think so,” Eril said, sitting down very close to Eiry. “You have money, you travel with Abbey envoys, and you have the backing of the Alaris?

No way are you some random woebegone mother.”

Eiry met his gaze steadily. “Do you want the contract or not?”

“Actually, I don’t,” Eril answered. The two stared at each other, neither wanting to budge. Eventually it was the man who gave, albeit slightly. “Tell me that I’m not getting involved in something political, and you have yourself a tracker.”

“You find the children, you return to your lodge.” Eiry made a cutting 45

gesture with her arms. “End of story.” Gods, don’t let him notice that I didn’t answer his question.

For once, the gods apparently listened.

“Agreed,” Eril said. “Call your companions inside; we’ll leave in the morning.”

“No,” she protested. “We need to leave now!”

“If you don’t take rest now, you’ll be dragging by tomorrow night,” the hunter said blandly. “Don’t think I’m pampering you. I’m being practical.”

Even though the food that Eril’s servant placed before them was not meant to be an extravagant feast, something about the quality of each individual item made them somehow richer than more elegant platters.

Course after course she learned things about Weden culture that her royal tutors either had not known or didn’t think necessary to tell her.

The first course of the meal was a finger bowl of unadorned oats. One was to lick one’s thumb, place it in the little bowl, then suck the sticking oats off and go back for more. Despite its cultural significance as one of the main exports of Weden and the staple of the poor Wedener’s diet, Eiry had a difficult time reconciling her court manners with sucking on her thumb at the dinner table.

The next course was a combination of vegetables, or perhaps it was considered ‘combined vegetables.’ One third of a carrot might be cut out longways and be replaced by a red pepper slice. Or, a tomato might be cut in the shape of a flower and sprinkled with broccoli and cauliflower tops. When Koli commented that it seemed a waste of time, and why not just throw everything in a pot to make a stew, the servant walked out in a huff. Eril took the time to explain that, in Weden, very few families had the resources to be able to cook every meal. It was tradition for even those who did have the money that only meat and fish were ever cooked.

Over the roasted pheasant, Eril had Koli describe the ambush they’d endured. When she finished, Eril asked if she had kept the arrow.

“No,” Dier said just as Koli answered, “Yes.” Dier looked at her Enforcer in surprise. “Why?” “I wanted to be able to compare with future arrows,” Koli said. “It might denote a change in their tactics or personnel if they begin to use different ones.”

“Well done!” Eril praised her. “I should have guessed that you would know at least a little about arms, with that crossbow you have. What can you tell me about it?”

“It’s short but heavy, so it was made for close quarters use,” Koli said.

46

“The feathers look like they’re from Brelian seagulls, but the work was done hastily; I don’t know what to make of that. The poison was slow, but quite deadly. If the arrow’s head had been stuck inside her somewhere instead of poking out the other side of her arm, Dier probably would be dead.”

Eril nodded thoughtfully. “Good observations. I’d still like to take a look at it so I can recognize the handiwork. Now, you say that you killed six at the ambush. How many are left?”

“We have no idea,” Koli admitted as she accepted a sweet, thick beverage for her meal’s final course. “That ambush group was left behind to throw us off. Besides, they could have picked up any number of additional Relocators along the way.”

“Well, at least the mages are gone,” Eril said, taking his own dessert glass from his servant and dismissing him. “That would complicate things.”

“It’s cold!” Koli said wonderingly, looking at her glass in surprise.

“Ah,” Eril said with a smile. “Yes. That does surprise many people.”

“How do you do it?”

He leaned forward and looked around the table conspiratorially.

“Promise not to tell?” They agreed. “I take my water directly from the runoff currents of the North Sea.” “But the North Sea is so far away!” disagreed Koli.

“It is far away,” Eril answered. “But it’s not to the north that I look.”

“I give up,” Koli surrendered.

“A well.”

No one but Eiry seemed to be suitably impressed, but she was doubtful.

“A well bypassing all the upper waterways to get straight at the freshwater runoff from the North Sea would take years to construct,” she said slowly.

“Did you inherit this lodge from someone else?”

His smile slipped slightly. “It was my wife’s idea,” he said, almost diffidently. “So many of the amenities in this building are her brainchildren. It was she who made my lodge special.” He paused, reminiscing, and the women at the table did not intrude on his memories.

“Would you believe that my wife traveled all the way to the mage guild in Tresidy to hire a journeyman mage to do it?” He snorted, half in lingering disbelief, half in admiration. “It cost us half a year’s wages in coin and another half year in lost wages while he was set up here. If word got out that I was consorting with mages, my business would have been burned down – but she was determined.”

“I didn’t know that mages were in the well digging business,” Dier said skeptically. “When I picture a mage, I see someone with fireballs and lightning bolts coming out of their hands.”

47

“Then you think like most Wedeners,” Eril commented impartially. “But not everything mages do is destructive, you know. If you find the right sort of mage, they can create some quite useful things.”

“A golem?” asked Eiry.

The hunter looked at her in surprise.

“If you spend much time around the Alaris, you can’t avoid being forcefed information,” she said with a shrug.

“You’re right,” he said, slowly shaking his head. “You’re the first person to ever guess as much.”

“But I didn’t see a well as we were coming in,” Eiry said, thinking back.

“And it would have to be huge, if golems made it.”

“Not exactly true,” Eril said. “Most golems are big, especially the ones that are used to build buildings and dig mines and such. But this one was made especially for us. Part of the reason that it didn’t cost us more was that the mage said she could sell the spell to one of the Schools of Magic and make quite the handy profit.”

“Sell a spell?” asked Koli, confused. “Aren’t spells the things mages throw at you in battle?”

“No, that’s just the effect of the spell,” Eril said. “I’m no expert on the subject, though, sorry.”

“Do you know?” asked Dier of Eiry.

Everyone at the table looked at her expectantly. She knew that she had already missed her chance to deny knowledge, but she hated to admit just how much knowledge of magic had soaked into her over the past few years.

“Mages can affect things that normal people can’t see. But the mages have to know how to affect those things before they can make them do what they want.

The knowledge of what to affect is the spell, and what we see happening is the result.”

“What you’re saying kind of makes sense, but it’s so vague,” Koli said.

Eiry sought an example that everyone would understand. What a laugh.

Me, teaching magic. “Take clothing patterns. Seamstresses are always looking for new designs in clothing, new stitching and weaving deviations to make their work stand out and make their customers look fashionable. Once a seamstress creates a few new looks, she can draw them up in a book of patterns and sell that knowledge to others in her profession.”

Koli and Eril nodded, while Dier looked at her speculatively. Eiry turned her attention away from the prying Abbess to her son, who lay on the floor near her chair. The child was continuing to write in a new empty book that Eril had provided for the purpose. He ignored Eiry’s gaze.

“But going back to this particular golem,” Eril said. “It was mighty small.

48

Not even as tall as my leg, or as wide. All it was built for was to dig until it hit water, then disintegrate into an anchor for the buckets. If you’d like, I’ll show you the hole in the kitchen floor where we bring the buckets up. One bucket every two lengths of a man, and ice cold every time.”

After several polite refusals, Eril rose and ordered them all to their beds.

“I sent one of my men for a carriage from town. That wagon you drove in on looks like it would fly apart if we hooked it to a horse that wasn’t as long in the tooth as yours.”

The Weden countryside passed quickly by the group as they sped west in their oddly wheeled and geared contraption. They had left Eril’s hunting lodge two days ago, passing through Solstice and coming to the little town near the Temple of Torberepar, only to find that the Relocators had already come and gone with the children. They had turned sharply west in continued pursuit of their quarry. For that leg of the journey Eril had rented this peculiar machine, with its five wheels and two cyclists.

It was a minimal machine to look at, but it did move quickly. There were four seats along its middle length that required its passengers to more lie down than sit. Two seats attached to the sides like wings were hooked to pedals and toothed wheels that moved the vehicle forward. To fit the two cyclists in their pedaling seats and keep the entire party together, Eiry held her child in her lap and Koli sat in Dier’s lap, crossbow at ready. As well she did; the pentacycle was not made for ladies wearing skirts. The Abbess’s black skirt flapped up to expose her calves despite Koli’s weight on her lap.

Doubtful as Eiry may have been about the viability of the vehicular metal skeleton, the two women with hugely muscled thighs passed them westward with more speed and less rest than any horse ever could. She remembered one of her mother’s sayings – Leave it to Weden ingenuity. She was learning that was correct. Wedeners might not have much, but they did wonders with what they had.

Except for the capitol, she corrected herself. Had Solstice not been pointed out to her for what it was, Eiry would have thought that it was just another village. Farmers still hawked their wares from the backs of wagons instead of bringing them to stores like any proper Seighn citizen would, and little wooden inns lined the halfway-cobbled street. There was no palace to be spoken of, just a larger wooden house sitting alone on a hill. There wasn’t even a wall or a moat. Pitiful. They almost deserve to be raided.

As unassuming as the Weden countryside had been was as dominating as the Temple of Torberepar had seemed. Eiry had seen it coming long before they got there – spiraled black marble minarets puncturing the clouds, massive 49

metallic flying buttresses looking like tendons on the back of a clenched fist.

She had intended to go in and pray when they reached the Temple – surely the goddess of the continent would hearken to the prayer of the most powerful ruler of her lands – but her child had made such a fuss when she tried to bring him in, she could not. The situation made her wish for the Abbey nursemaid to sit with her child.

It turned out to be a blessing that she had been unable to enter the temple. Sometimes when caught in the ecstasy of a prayer one could lose a whole day, and Eril had come back before the boy had stopped squalling.

“They’ve made their mistake,” he said triumphantly. “They picked up more children for transport to Torunmem. They think they’ve lost you!”

“How were you able to find out so quickly?” asked Eiry.

“It’s not that hard to learn who sold their children to the Relocators,” Eril replied. Seeing her face, he added, “Most children aren’t taken like yours. It’s a business: the children are the commodities, there are sellers on this end, and buyers on the other. As distasteful as the trade may be, usually the role the Relocators Guild plays is no more nefarious than a merchant.”

And so she found herself being wheeled westward, these seven other people her only companions. Paedre’s dogs had fallen behind soon after they got started, but Paedre had been confident that they would catch up.

“We’ll be walking soon, and they’ll want us to hurry up. This will give them a change of pace, that’s all.” He’d had to shout over the wind that whipped by their ears.

A village came up in the distance. Eril sat up and waved his arms horizontally at the cyclists on the right and left and shouted something to them, then sat back as they began to slow their cycling.

“Time to disembark,” Eril said once the cycle slowed to a stop. “That’s the border up ahead.” He reached into his pouch and paid the lead cyclist with a two-ingot and a five-coin.

“Has Weden closed its borders?” asked the Abbess in surprise. “I haven’t seen a single Seighn refugee on the road!”

“Why would you expect to?” asked one of the cyclists with a sidelong glance. “Seighn folk won’t admit anything’s wrong with them or their country even if they haven’t a coin or loaf.”

Eiry groaned as she set her first leg down on the hard packed dirt road. A glance and rueful grin from Koli let her know that she was not alone in her cramped muscles. Despite her readiness for more cramps, she couldn’t help but let out a little yelp when an open abrasion rubbed against a rough portion of metal.

This time it was Paedre who acknowledged her. “I believe this is called a 50

saddle sore,” he said, rubbing his backside gently.

“But we weren’t in the saddle. That’s hardly fair,” Eiry groused.

“Up and out, Abbess,” the forester called to Dier, as he himself sat down to stretch out his sore muscles.

Koli walked over to the man and kicked him none too lightly in the ribs.

“You said we needed to be going?” she said, defending the Abbess.

“Yes,” he said, rubbing his ribs.

Catching their breath, the cyclists bid farewell to the men and women they were leaving behind and the rest readied themselves for their journey into the woods along the Seighn/Weden border.

“See? Being around other people isn’t always such a bad thing,” Eiry pointed out to Paedre as they began their trek. “Sometimes they can offer services to help you. How else could we have gotten ahead of the Relocators?”

He stayed silent for so long that she thought he did not plan to answer, but he finally said, “I will ponder your words.”

Further ahead on the trail, Koli was questioning Eril.

“How do you know where the Relocators were going?” she asked. “And why did we stop before the border town?”

“The Relocators have surrogates at the borders of every country to help smooth things along if someone gets self-righteous. I’m sure that we wouldn’t pass unnoticed. As to where we’re going, they have a nearby hideout. I found it on a hunt I did last year for a Formastian boy’s coming-of-age. It looks like any private overnight hunting lodge, but no lodge I’ve ever heard of has large stocks of children’s clothes.”

“But how can you be sure they’re going to be there?” Koli asked.

“I’m not sure. I’ll scout it out, and if they’ve been there within the past few days, I’ll know. If not, it will be our turn to set the ambush.”

“What I meant,” Koli interjected, “was how do you know they will come along this route?”

Eril shifted his bow to his other shoulder. “You can learn a lot about people by watching animals. We’re really similar, you know. We both like patterns. Humans follow their daily routine like animals follow the same path to their favorite stream. These men have brought children this way many, many times, and they’re not going to change this time. We’re just fortunate that I knew about this lodge, so hopefully we got the jump on them, and even if not, we’ve gained as much as a day lead time. Those extra Weden kids will slow them down, gods willing.”

Koli nodded. “It’s worth a shot. Let’s talk about this ambush, then.”

“Tell me about the powers of your Abbess. I know she’s a Mother Abbess, but what do her sash colors mean? I’ve forgotten.”

51

Koli looked at him. “Why would you think she’s a Mother Abbess?”

“Partially, it’s her commands; she’s used to being listened to. Partially it’s the slight change in the shade of her forearm’s skin where a Mother Abbess’s bracelets would normally go. Partially it’s that she has an Enforcer as a personal bodyguard – don’t deny it, I can see that you’ve been together for years. But my main clue was that she forgot to change her sash.”

Koli looked back at Dier, who was walking along directly in front of Eiry, very close, but not so close that she could hear the girl’s conversation with Paedre. Well, probably not close enough, she amended.

“It’s rare for an Abbess who had mastered the manipulation of two emotions to not become a Mother Abbess,” Eril said knowingly. “I would guess that she wasn’t hiding it from me, so she’s hiding it from that Eiry girl.

What would she say if I asked her?”

“Rose red is for anger,” Koli said hastily, “and pale white is for fear.”

“Anger and fear,” he mused aloud, showing no signs of gloating over getting what he had wanted. “I hadn’t considered her a pleasant woman to begin with; so that’s why.” He shook his head. “No matter now. Those powers could come in handy in an ambush.”

Koli felt conflicted at Eril’s assessment of Dier. On one hand, he was accurate in what he had said. Dier was a firebrand that bullied in the nicest ways imaginable. On the other hand, Koli could not imagine herself with another woman— she had too forceful a manner for most Abbesses.

The moment for reprisal was lost as Eril said, “Our ambush will depend on the number of Relocators there are, and the number of children. I can take out three, maybe four, before they know what’s going on, and you can take out one with that crossbow, then it’ll be melee work. If-” “Oh, come on,” Koli said with a disbelieving shake of her head. “Three, with that huge bow? No way!”

He smiled. “See that tree limb over there?” he asked as he pulled the bow from his back and set an arrow. “Prepare to be amazed.”

He stopped moving for a moment, checked the wind, then pointed the bow skyward, favoring his left shoulder. He let go, then continued walking forward. Several paces later, the arrow thunked into the tree limb. Eril paced the rest of the way to the tree, carefully removed it, replaced it in his quarrel, and continued walking.

“Okay, I am amazed,” Koli admitted. “What if there are lots of them?”

“If there are too many,” Eril said a bit more slowly, “then we make use of your man Paedre’s dogs.”

“They’re useful, but they’re not good enough to take on that many men,” Koli disagreed.

52

“They won’t have to, and neither will we,” the huntsman said.

“Hopefully.”

“I don’t like that last word, but go on.”

“Here’s what I envision. Those two children of hers are too young to be walking, so one of these Relocators will have to be carrying them. One, maybe two carriers at tops. You shoot one, I shoot the other, and the dogs carry the babies in a cloth saddlebag back to Eiry, who will be waiting a good distance away at our camp. I shout that we don’t want any trouble, just those two children, and we fade back.”

“And if they give us trouble anyway?” Koli asked, not believing in relying on good luck for a battle plan.

“If we’re followed, which I don’t think we will be, then we lead them away from Eiry for long enough for the dogs to come back, and for the Relocators to be spread out enough that they can’t help each other.”

“Why don’t you think they’ll follow us?”

“They won’t have any personal gain,” he answered. “All these men are paid when they deliver children. There’ll be two less children to deliver, but there will also be two less men to share the profits with. None of them are going to want to chase us down and risk being killed. Or at least not enough of them will want to. Besides, they won’t be able to go very far or fast with extra children in tow.”

Koli went over the plan in her head and had to admit that it was a pretty good one. There were many places that something could go wrong, but any plan has flaws.

“In that direction,” Eril pointed off to his left, “is a little decline near some aspens. Help the other three set up camp and start a fire for them – a small smokeless one, mind you – and I’ll come back to tell you what I find at the lodge. Oh, and make sure the dogs are rested. We’ll only have one chance to get this right.”

Eiry had thought that the bluish light at her back meant the moon had come out from behind a cloud before realizing that the sky was clear.

Eiry dropped the water container as she whirled from the streambed toward where the others had set up camp. The light was coming from there, she was sure of it.

Hurriedly she retraced her steps as best she could with the light blinding her every movement, and roots and shrubs trying trip her up. Had she been forced to do this as the princess she had been long ago, she never could have done it. But years of living on the run from enemies both known and unknown had instilled in her a small but hard-won set of skills.

53

One such skill was all that kept her from literally tripping over someone who was between her and the campsite when the light suddenly faded to half its original strength. For a moment she held the hope that it might be one of the others back from the ambush, but that hope died at the sound of a man’s voice.

“What’d I tell ya?” the voice whispered fiercely. “That’s magelight, no doubts in my mind! The woman could turn herself invisible, too, like at the ambush, so what chance do we have of finding her?”

“So what if she’s a mage?” answered another voice almost at Eiry’s feet, making her heart feel as if it had just hurdled directly through her chest and landed somewhere in the bushes. “You wanna go back and tell our mage that we failed because of a little light show? Fine, go back and get magicked. Not me.”

“But without Bercune, we can’t do anything!” the first voice whined.

“Magicked on one end or magicked on the other?”

“Even mages have to sleep,” the second voice growled. “Come on.”

Eiry waited until she couldn’t hear the two men to make sure that they in turn couldn’t hear her, then picked her way as fast as she could to the campsite.

As she expected, the only one that was there was her son. He sat with his back to the fire and a small tree branch sitting in his cross-legged lap. The branch had been completely denuded of its bark, but it had retained all of its dried leaves. The lessened blue light was coming from her child, and he was smiling.

The sight of him actually smiling would have been enough normally to have her worried, but she was already too overcome. One problem at a time.

She snatched Lo’are’s cloak and threw it over her shoulders and head, then turned to gather her child up inside the confines of her defense. The tree branch he’d had in his lap had mysteriously disappeared without a sound, but rather than worry Eiry it relieved her: there was one less obstacle between her and her child.

The child himself was making eye contact with her. He seemed to realize something was wrong even before she came to pick him up. Eiry hugged him to her chest. “Quiet,” she told him.

Eiry noticed that the cloak had not turned them invisible like it had back at the ambush coming out of Formast. She prayed, she poked at it, but it did nothing. Eiry quickly decided she would have to abandon the camp. As she turned to flee, however, she heard a slight rustling in the direction she was headed. Maybe it was a squirrel, or maybe it was a branch falling. Or maybe not.

She backed away, coming closer to a clump of aspen trees. Eiry looked down at the precious burden in her arms, and found him still staring at her.

54

Suddenly, her mind made a leap of logic.

“You made this cloak invisible, didn’t you?” she whispered.

He nodded.

Of course he was the one! He’s the only one of us with any magical talent! Eiry hated to ask her son to do anything magical – she was dead set against him having magic at all – but to save his life, she could set her predilections aside for the time being. “There are men out there who will try to hurt us if they find us.

Can you turn the cloak invisible again?”

The boy reached his little hand out and grasped a fold of the cloak. Eiry noticed the effects immediately: the cloak again blurred itself and its contents, making her so indistinct in the night light that had she not known she was there, she wouldn’t have noticed her own body.

She sighed in relief. She knew they could not leave the clearing without making noise, but at least the Relocators could not see them now. Eiry sat with her back to a tree. Maybe I can’t run, but I don’t have to sleep.

Her child continued to look at her while she settled into her vigil. She looked at him in return. He seemed to be waiting for something. The longer he waited the more impatient and agitated he became.

“What?” Eiry asked him as quietly as she could. The last thing she wanted was for him to make a fuss.

He plucked at the cloak.

“Yes, it will protect us,” Eiry said. “You did well, luv.”

The child’s half-smile returned, and he snuggled against Eiry.

An unnatural stillness surrounded the campsite as the animals of the night acknowledged the presence of those humans who were stalking their domain.

Eiry listened carefully to the lack of noise, making long, soothing strokes down the back of the child plastered to her chest.

At first she tried to estimate how soon the others would return to help her, but she rejected the whole line of thought as useless since there could be no way of knowing.

Overriding that thought came the words of her imperceptible hunters.

They had known about her cloak, but thought her the mage.

Mage. She looked down at her child who further antagonized her by being completely asleep. Gods, how can he already cast spells? I thought the Alaris said that it took mages years to learn to do that! The cloak he might be able to affect as a child since it’s already made, but that blue light was a spell for certain.

Another thought trickled along the surface of the river of thought.

Bercune. Where have I heard that name before? …Father’s palace!

The logs of the small campfire suddenly shifted, sending sparks and smoke pluming into the air. Eiry’s body jerked spasmodically at the 55

unexpected noise. She berated herself sharply for being a ninny who jumped at the settling of a fire’s exhausted resources. Her child murmured quietly, letting his disgruntlement at her movement be plainly known.

The sparks winked out over the ground and the voluminous smoke plume settled, spreading out in all directions as it dispersed. No more sound assaulted her ears and nothing moved in the fire’s light.

Her nerves returning from fevered to merely high-strung, Eiry tried to return to earlier thoughts. Having difficulty, she swallowed hard, finding the smoke from the fire highly astringent.

Bercune. That was it. What about him?

She yawned and blinked, her eyes suddenly quite dry. Eiry knew she had to remain vigilant, but her body pointedly reminded her that she’d been up for quite some time and that if she really wanted to continue to stay alert, she really ought to take a little nap. Just a momentary resting of the eyelids was all she needed, really…

There was an awareness of being shaken then slapped, but no wakefulness.

“Eiry! Eiry, where is your son?”

The awareness tried to flee, but with the help of a few more shakes of her body, the sensation turned back into Eiry. Partially.

She looked fuzzily into what she thought had to be a face. “Pehdluh.”

The face frowned at her and a hand opened her jaw. “What’s wrong with your tongue?” he asked. “And what happened to your eyes?”

“Nerhing, Pedruh,” Eiry said blearily, pushing feebly at the hand clasping her jaw. “Ungh, I need wadder.”

Paedre uncorked a goatskin and obliged her with plenty of water dumped over her head. When he was sure she was more awake, he gave her the rest for her mouth.

Dier stood at the end of the camp with arms crossed under her breasts looking at Eiry with anger and sympathy both somehow evident in her stare.

Koli had her crossbow out and was scanning the woods around the camp. Eril was carefully placing one foot at a time here and there, looking at the ground of the campsite in the weak light of morning.

“Three men,” Eril announced. “Big, and in a hurry.”

“What’s going on?” Eiry asked, finally regaining her sitting position.

“What’s all that white dust from?”

“We were hoping you could tell us,” Dier said. “What happened last night? Did your child cast his first spell and have it go wrong?”

“A spell?” she murmured, a hint of the night before coming back to her.

“There was blue light…”

56

Eril, who had neared the smoldering remnants of the fire, gave a hiss of surprise. He plucked what was left of a cloth baggie out of the fire with the tip of one of his arrows. Holding it away from his face and wafting it toward his nose he took a slight sniff. His nose wrinkled.

“Sleeping herbs,” he announced. “They knew they couldn’t attack her or find her with that cloak on, so they figured a way around it. They must have felt around until they found her, then took the child.”

Took the child? Eiry’s heart jumped, albeit weakly. Her hands searched around her on the ground, hoping that part of the invisible cloak had landed on him, protecting him. “No. No…” Where her eyes had been dry before, they now overflowed. “Not my baby, no, not again!” She found she had made fists of her hands. She slammed them against the ground, the soil of the continent, and she cried, “Curse you, Torberepar, how can you treat your queen so!”

Koli and Dier drew back from her partially from the vehemence in her voice, mostly from the blasphemy. Eril stalked forward.

“Queen?” he demanded. “What’s this?”

“Now is not—” began Dier, but found herself cut off.

“Are you the Queen of Seighn?” Eril yelled in Eiry’s face.

She panted, teeth clenched. “Yes.” The hunter’s powerful hands looked like claws as they inched first toward then away from Eiry’s throat. With a sob, he broke away from her and stalked toward the edge of the clearing.

“I don’t understand,” Paedre said. “If they knew who she was, why didn’t they kill her?”

“Simple,” the Abbess answered him. “They knew that if they left her alive, we would have to stop and take care of her.”

“Oh, no, we don’t,” Eril said from where he leaned against a tree, back turned. “She’s gotten exactly what she deserved.”

Koli turned on him in shock. “How can you say that?”

He whirled and pointed an accusing finger at Eiry. “That woman took the lives of my wife and children!”

“Whatever drivel you—” Dier began, but again found herself silenced when he cursed her soundly up and down.

“When she vanished, her whole kingdom searched for her, some to put her on the throne, some to make sure she never got there. They couldn’t find her in Seighn, so they widened their search to the rest of the continent.

“The soldiers that came to my lodge had heard in the village that my wife had facial features resembling the would-be queen. Evidently they weren’t part of the group that wanted to put her on the throne because,” his voice slowed 57

down, “they took… her head… for ve-ri-fi-ca-tion.”

Even the dogs were silent.

As the last tortured word writhed out of Eril’s mouth, Eiry felt something in her expire. It didn’t feel bad or good to lose it in that moment, for which she was thankful – she was feeling too much right then. But whatever it was that died, she suddenly felt less of everything.

She could hear the delicate lingual forms of her mother’s court breeding shaping her father’s inimitable style of speech as she listened to herself from a distance. “It is a terrible thing to have atrocities committed in one’s name, and an even worse thing when one knows one cannot undo them. If there is anything in my power that can at least ameliorate your wounds, you have but to ask. Further, knowing what heartbreak my children’s lives must mean to you now, I release you from our contract.”

For a long interval, the scene did not change. Finally, Eril’s head stirred toward Koli and Dier. “Abbesses can make a man feel fear for no reason?”

“Yes,” Dier answered.

“You can prolong that fear for days on end?”

“Yes.” The hunter nodded, and purposefully turned his gaze to Eiry. “Here’s what you can do. You go take your throne. You get your soldiers to find the men who did that to my wife. You send them to the Abbey, and for a year and a day, I want them to fear. I want them to feel exactly what my wife felt when they ripped her head off of her body. Don’t let them so much as eat without fearing their food, and make nightmares crowd out their dreams. And when you’ve done it, when you’ve broken them, then I want you to parade every one of those inhuman swine around the world to tell their story, to tell of what can happen to those who commit atrocities against their fellow human beings.”

Eiry looked at the Abbess. “Can it be done?”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Dier answered, “Yes.” Eiry turned back to Eril. “Then it is done, with my pleasure.”

Paedre backed away from the group.

Something happened to the hunter’s face. Maybe it lost some of its wrinkles, maybe some of the tightness around his eyes relaxed, but he suddenly looked more at peace as he nodded. “Then here’s what I’ll do for you,” he said. “The Abbess found out that your twins weren’t with these Relocators, so they must have gone with that group of mages you mentioned. But I promise you that I will track down these men who took your other child, your boy, with every scrap of talent that I have in me.”

Eiry still didn’t feel anything at his words; she was too numb. But, she knew that she had to say something gracious. “Thank you,” was all she could 58

manage.

“You will need help,” the Abbess suddenly interjected.

The man shook his head. “Begging your pardon, Abbess, but if you all come along again you’ll do nothing but slow me down.”

“I don’t mean all of us,” Dier said, waving away his concern. “But you can’t do this alone. I meant that you should take Koli with you. Koli, a word with you before you depart.”

Eril began to pack and Dier drew her Enforcer to the side, but it was Koli who had the first word.

“You’re sending me away from you?” she whispered, tears of anger and hurt barely held back from her cheeks.

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” the Abbess muttered quietly as she produced a handkerchief and wiped roughly at her partner’s eyes. “You’re a grown woman. You don’t need me holding your hand.”

Koli smacked the kerchief-wielding hand away from her face. “I protect you just as much as you protect me!”

Dier ignored her words, but put the kerchief away. “We haven’t much time. I don’t intend to let this bit of good fortune pass us by.”

“What good fortune?”

Dier looked at her quizzically. “Why, Eiry losing her child. She’s lost the choice of being a mother instead of being a queen.”

Disregarding the Enforcer’s aghast face, Mother Abbess Dier issued her orders. “I want you to go after the children and do everything you can to reacquire them, because if those children make it to Torunmem, Eiry might find out and want them back.”

“And exactly what am I supposed to do with the child?” asked Koli. A separate but equally horrifying thought crossed her mind. “Surely you don’t expect me to kill him!”

“Don’t be absurd,” snapped Dier. “Those children are much too valuable to waste their lives. No, take them back to the Abbey and tell no one but the Grandmother Abbess. We might need to use them as leverage, if ‘her majesty’ deviates from the good path. Or we can hide them for good, along with the fact that she’s already married. We may need to arrange a new marriage to solidify her throne, and previous children would get in the way.”

The Enforcer finally noted a discrepancy. “Children? You told Eril and me when you scouted that her twins weren’t in that group of Relocators!”

“They might have been, they might not have been,” the Abbess said impatiently. “Either way, she couldn’t have had those kids back. I’d say all of Seighn is more important than a few children, wouldn’t you?”

“Dier—” 59

“No, we don’t have enough time to argue about this – look, Koli, the tracker is ready to leave.” The Abbess crossed her arms staunchly.

Even flustered by what she’d just been told and the war going on inside her, Koli was still able to summon enough of her mind to ask one more question. “Yes, about Eril. If we find the child, or children, he’ll be a witness that they’re still alive. What do you want me to do with him?”

Dier felt closely at her Enforcer. She could feel such a miasma of emotions running through the woman that she could not properly manipulate the one she was looking for. Her best manipulative skills had always been anger and fear, not love like she usually used to control Koli.

Better to be safe than risk the chance of making her question how long I’ve been manipulating her, the Abbess thought. She said, “Bring the forester before the Grandmother Abbess. She’ll see he’s taken care of and sent on his way with ample reward.”

Koli looked at the widowed forester, already done with his good-byes and walking slowly into the woods. “I’m holding him up.”

She fled Dier’s side.

The iridescent shirt of the Abbess refracted the light into Eiry’s peripheral vision, causing her to turn her head away from her last sight of Eril and Koli.

“How are you faring?” asked the Abbess, looking at her closely.

“I don’t know,” Eiry said, uncurious. “I don’t really feel good or bad. But I do feel alone. I feel like I’m in a perpetuated state of being abandoned. My parents, Helef, Sanct, Sardai and Alaris, my children, Claren, Lo’are, and now even Koli and Eril. Will it ever end?”

“Once you take your throne it will,” the Abbess said calmly. “When you are the Queen of Seighn, there will be no more running, no more hiding. You will be able to decree who you want near you and who you will never allow into your presence.”

Eiry continued to not meet the Abbess’s eyes. “Including you?”

A slight smile of unknown meaning played on Dier’s face. “I think you’re more intelligent than to do that.” I’m losing her.

“Well, then, who else will I want to ban from my presence?”

“The Relocators Guild,” said Dier immediately.

“Oh, no,” Eiry said with a smile that chilled the Abbess, “No, no, no. I will have other plans for them.”

“Mages,” Dier quickly replaced her first suggestion.

Eiry’s eyebrows flitted up at a suggestion with which she agreed. “Yes, I do believe you’re right,” she said. “And I know of one mage that will no longer be able to control my life.”

60

“Who?” “Alaris,” Eiry answered with a surly expression. “He’ll play me no longer.”

A careful touch to Eiry’s anger and greed states produced the reaction Dier was looking for, so she continued to meddle. Just a little, she reminded herself. Eiry was too sensitive to her own emotions for Dier to be able to do exactly what she wanted. “The Alaris tends to know when a woman wants help and when she wants to do something on her own. It’s quite an endearing trait of his. And an annoying one, too,” she added. “Especially for an Abbess.

Having your mind known before even you know it can be wildly irksome.”

“You seem to know a lot about him.”

“I know a lot about his personality, at least,” the Abbess said. “And I know some about his actions from my mentors at the Abbey. I can still remember the first time I met him…” She broke off, blushing.

“What’s this?” asked Eiry with slight curiosity. “What happened?”

The Abbess shook her head, still blushing, quickly reducing Eiry’s hate state and increasing her envy state. Good. Stay distracted. “I was young, and new to the Abbey, not yet an Abbess,” Dier began. “I was standing guard at the causeway that crossed the moat-lake, when a mage walked up to me with a message for one of the Mother Abbesses. I scanned him to see if he was of ill intent and as he was not, I forwarded the message for him. He had seemed like such a gruff and businesslike person that when I oversaw him playing a silly game with the little girl he had with him, I had to take a closer look.

“I’ve never felt anyone like him,” she said. “His feelings, even as dulled as they were by days of difficult labor, were deeper than anyone I’d ever encountered. Amazingly, moments after I began to scan him, he turned to me and asked me if I liked what I saw. Needless to say, I was mortified.”

“Why were you embarrassed?”

“Scanning someone that deeply is somewhat of an invasion of privacy,” Dier responded almost apologetically. “It should never be done for the sake of mere curiosity, which was what I’d done to him. Well, after that I couldn’t meet his eyes for anything, and I was dying of shame until the Mother Abbess came across the causeway.

“That she came in person was a surprise in itself; Mother Abbesses rarely have time to deal with anyone but the Abbesses for whom they are responsible. But the name she called out completed my confusion for the day.

“The Alaris.” She shook her head with a grim smile. “There are many stories about him and his exploits out in the world. There are still more rumors about him in the Abbey – you know how well women share information with each other. Until that day I had only lent credence to the 61

Abbesses that ranked him among the demons, but I knew this Mother Abbess to be a very levelheaded and even-hearted person.

“When I went to her later that night to ask for her guidance in my confusion, she told me the other side of the rumors about him. At first, I could not believe the heaps of praise she piled on him. ‘But whyever not, dear?’ she asked me. ‘Does it take an evil man to return a child to her mother in the Abbey?’”

“That’s what he’d been doing?” asked Eiry. “Returning a child?”

Confusion and hope welled inside her. Maybe he really is helping me out of the goodness of his heart.

Dier nodded affirmatively. “Our problem with the Relocators dates much farther back than your current loss, my dear, and Alaris has helped us many times in his travels.

“I’m not one to make up someone else’s mind for them,” Dier said as she stood, signaling the ending of the conversation. “But if I were you, I would reconsider my stance on the Alaris. He may not be all good, but can you truthfully believe him to be all bad?”

“Perhaps not all bad,” Eiry had to admit, “but bad enough that I don’t want him anywhere near me or my children.”

The Abbess spread her hands and included the hint of a bow. “When you take your throne, then.”

“Hm,” Eiry answered. Or didn’t.

62

Mjcfsbujoh!Bcevdujpo!

The Prophetess turned from her more important work on Torunmem to glance hurriedly at her minions’ progress on Torberepar. There were some minor deviations from her expectations, but nothing worrisome enough to warrant further tampering on her part.

Alaris’s elf-women had been utterly predictable in their dealings with her decoys. Of course, her decoys were not behaving exactly as they ought, especially Melse, but they were removed far enough from anything that mattered that she dismissed their petty squabbles.

Even the children they held seemed to have no alarming qualities about them, as compared to their “brother.”

She spared another moment for the singular child in Bercune’s arms. Yes, even now Alaris’s wards around the child held, defying all her mental prowess. Certainly she could muscle past the spells since he wasn’t there to reinforce them, but she couldn’t draw attention to herself in that manner. Forcing a spell from a continent away would bring questions about her identity that she would not allow under any circumstances. She had spent too long pretending to be the mere Prophetess of olden times to throw it away for curiosity’s sake.

Still, as she viewed what she could of the child, she moved it up on her list of priorities.

Alaris’s were not the only wards that were protecting him now. That meant that Alaris had been hiding some notable magic potential in the child. Disturbing.

She wondered what other surprises the child had in store for her. As he grew older, the child was becoming increasingly unpredictable – almost as bad as Alaris already. There was no pattern to the changes, either; no steady climb in unpredictability or a leap every day, but on occasion it seemed the child went through a… metamorphosis.

Having already spent too much time on matters that might turn out to be frivolous, she returned the small portion of her mind that remained on this world back to Torunmem, and the drama that was about to unfold in Pinnacle. She knew better than to try to Portend anything for Alaris – she only achieved acceptable accuracy once every seventeen times she tried – but those around him were another matter, even considering how closely influenced they were by him. Besides, it would be good to remind Alaris of her nearby presence; his recent anguish had made him forget that she had known where he was since he entered Mer. Her mind came from the Merian Lake and over the bit of land to where Alaris and his companions were. She approached the group a bit too fast, letting Alaris know that she was coming. Chiding herself for being so careless, she allowed her probe to be brushed away like an annoying gnat. She reshaped it to be smaller and less noticeable— ---WHAM--Akyri had not received such a jolt since leaving this world for the first time. Instinct sent her worlds-scattered mind fragments fleeing for the shelter of their body. Some of them had trouble getting through the rippling tertiary and secondary realms of the world, arriving in the primary physical realm even more rattled than when they had started.

It was the most disoriented she had ever been – not remembering parts of her life, then 63

remembering, being able to move parts of her body and not others. For several frightening moments she was caught in either forgetting how or losing the ability to touch any realms outside the physical realm.

As the mental fractions coalesced and Akyri began to return to functionality, she jerkily, shakily began to search for her assailant, and from where/what/when the next attack would come.

It took her a while, but eventually Akyri was able to locate the level from which the attack had come: Time. She had a feeling of Time being slightly askew, but smoothing out. It felt like something had sliced the time flow at a slant instead of either not happening and running parallel to it or happening and breaching it perpendicularly. In her current state, she couldn’t properly hypothesize, but she guessed that whatever had Occurred, its Effects would come later – or perhaps vice versa. That it was a serious breach in the Rules of this world mattered not a whit to her, other than it would alert Them that something untoward was happening. That meant less maneuverability for her in the upcoming days – more Seren would be plying the lands, more gods’ servants would be set to spying.

Realigning her mind to her body was difficult even when she was able to do it of her own volition with her fully integrated mind. To have it happen uncontrolled and by mere willy-nilly human instinct nearly undid her.

Pain-wracked, jumpy, confused, and frightened, she barely had the self-control to access the crystal dome, bringing her titanic defenses to the ready. But being unable to hold onto them in her current state, she set them to an automatic surveillance and severed all contact to let herself heal. It would take days, but she couldn’t bring herself to care.

She – for once actually HERSELF, her mind and body combined – became acutely aware that she was suddenly just a human; naked, sweating, covered in slime, submerged in a lake, surrounded by giant sharks, and very, very alone.

For the first time in her adult life, Akyri wept.

The Arbilorn man named Tsci-Imili hustled two humans east along the dirt road, constantly glancing behind him as he went. He didn’t know what he would do if someone actually came after them but he at least wanted some warning.

He returned his sight to the road in front of him, only to have his despair redoubled. By the gods, what am I supposed to do? What are these two supposed to do?

And how am I supposed to know how to get them to do it?

But largest in his mind was the question, why did the Alaris pick me to lead this group knowing I’m so unreliable?

The young human man in front of Tsci-Imili suddenly slowed and began hopping up and down on one leg. “Stubbed my toe,” he said sheepishly.

“Well, you’ll live, Claren,” the elf replied, exasperated. “Go on!” How could Alaris think that someone this incompetent would be the key to entering Sanctuary?

64

“Actually, I’m glad he was the first to stop,” said the other human in between deep breaths, a woman who looked to be about forty years old – it being so hard for Tsci-Imili to judge human ages. “I’ve been sitting behind books ever since I got back from Torberepar. I’m not in good running shape.”

To emphasize her words, she fluffed her robe away from her neck, encouraging the heat to leave her body more expediently.

What would Alaris do? Tsci-Imili wondered. We have to go on, but it seems like they can’t! Do I try to push them, or do I rest them?

“Now, Delen,” he began, “we’ve barely gotten out of sight of Likton. We must keep going!”

Claren set his foot down, still panting. “Yeah, we do,” he admitted ruefully. “They might have familiars.”

Tsci-Imili twisted his lips into a grimace at the idea of enslaving animals.

Humans are so barbaric. “Very true. Even if the mages don’t come after us, it doesn’t mean that they won’t scout around the village.”

“I still don’t understand why the Alaris made us run from them,” Delen objected, planting her feet even more decisively on the road. “The Order of Humanity is no threat to us. Well,” she amended, gesturing at Claren and herself, “not us, at least.”

You’re so good at lying you could survive at elven court, Tsci-Imili thought halfway admiringly. I know full well that you’re the one that betrayed our presence to the Order, but you act like nothing happened.

Tsci-Imili decided to play along with her illusion. He began walking as he answered, making the researcher follow him or not receive her answer. “They are a threat to us, because Alaris is a threat to them, or at least their ideology.

He supports Apex Ferri, and they can’t have that. He is the single most influential figure in Pinnacle, and where he leads, many follow. Combine him with the Apex, and they will steal hearts right and left.”

“But Ferri has already been deposed,” Delen said.

The Arbilorn man whirled to look at her in alarm. Almost, he turned back to tell Alaris, but made himself stay. Alaris would know soon enough.

He just hoped that the great archmage would be in good enough shape to deal with it. From what he’d last seen, Alaris was barely in shape enough to deal with his own dinner.

“Didn’t you know?” asked Delen.

“How?” asked Tsci-Imili. “Is she dead?”

Delen looked at him curiously. “It sounds like you’re taking it personally.

Are you related to her?”

“I was her Seeker,” he said grimly.

“Seeker?” she said, sounding pleased. “How interesting! I’ve studied that 65

particular Talent—” “Is she dead?” he asked again, more forcefully.

“No,” Delen answered, “though from what I heard up in the Dominions it was a near thing – one can only fight so many duels before tiring, after all, and you elves don’t have much stamina. My understanding is that she abdicated and retired to her holdings on Tortryst to recover.”

Tsci-Imili sighed in relief. If she had made it to her lands on Tortryst, Ferri was surrounded by her strongest allies. Even if she was alone, anyone coming against her would find her no easy prey on her own lands. If she had been a human mage, her lands could easily be called a Dominion. She was as secure there as anywhere. If she wasn’t assassinated on the way.

Another thought struck him. Did Ferri see this coming? Was that why she sent all of her allies away from Pinnacle, where they couldn’t get caught up in a probably futile battle of succession? It was the sort of thing she would do.

He realized that he had slowed his pace as he was caught up in thought.

“Well, no matter,” he said. “That has nothing to do with our mission. Come, we can’t stop now.”

“When, then?” asked Delen. “I truly cannot go much farther! I’m used to sitting in a library all day, not going off on adventures.”

“Alaris didn’t push us this hard,” Claren added.

The elf grunted. “Yes, but he was running to something, not from it.

Now, will you please—” Tsci-Imili cut himself off at a faint sound behind him. Whirling, he took in the sight of one of the most wrinkled persons he had ever beheld. She wore a pure white one-piece article of clothing and carried a thin staff that looked to be made of white marble. Her slippers seemed to stick to the soles of her feet on their own as she jogged toward them.

At his back, Delen whispered the beginning phrase of a spell, opening her awareness of the metaphysical realm for easier access. Not to be outdone, Tsci-Imili fingered a carved wooden ring on his left hand in preparation for an attack.

The woman slowed her jog to a walk as she approached. “There’s no need for alarm,” her voice creaked. “I’m here to help you.”

“I will be the one to decide whether there’s need for alarm or not,” the elf responded. “Who are you, and why have you followed us?”

“I am Deaux,” the woman said. “And, as I already said, I followed you because I am to help you.”

The name was familiar. Only when he remembered why it was familiar did Tsci-Imili notice the necklace that hung down behind the cloth. “Let me see your medallion.”

66

A wrinkled hand dipped down and brought out a medallion that could be nothing but the symbol of the Seren, the servants of the gods. After she was sure he had seen it, she put it away.

“East Seren,” Tsci-Imili said with a bow, ignoring Delen’s gasp at the mention of the gods’ servants. “I apologize for the nature of my welcome, but the Alaris hadn’t told me to be expecting you.”

“I wouldn’t expect that he could have,” the Seren said. “The Alaris is very wise and very powerful, but he does not have the talents of the Prophetess in predicting people’s actions.”

“So,” the elf said dubiously, “he didn’t send you?”

“I am not a Seren to Alaris; I am not his to send,” she answered. “I conferred with Torunmem, and he rather agreed it was imperative that the Prophetess’s plans be thwarted.”

The elf was already slowly shaking his head. Caught between Alaris and a god.

This could turn unpleasant. “I’m sorry, East Seren, but we already have another mission – one that we cannot abandon. While we revere all the members of the pantheon, it is as you said a moment ago: we are not Torunmem’s to command.”

“Quite the opposite,” Deaux said, leaning on her marble staff. “Your mission is the one that will foil the Prophetess, so I will be the one to assist you. I cannot directly defy her without letting her know what I’m doing, just as she cannot openly defy the gods without similar consequences.”

“I still don’t understand,” Claren said. “Maybe I don’t know enough about the Prophetess, but why are we trying to do all this thwarting, and anyway, how are we supposed to do something that a Seren can’t? I’ve met Seren before, and you guys can be pretty scary!”

“I will explain as we go,” the wrinkled old woman said, using her staff to usher them forward as though they were sheep and she the shepherdess.

“Your first destination was the Floating Gardens, was it not, elf man?”

“My name is Tsci-Imili,” he corrected her as they walked. “Seeker to the Apex of Pinnacle.” Or should I have said former Apex? Gods, I hope Ferri is all right. “That is Peer Delen of the School of the Seen and researcher for the” he twisted his lips angrily “Order of Humanity. This man is Claren. He is,” the elf paused, trying to come up with a title, a distinction, any reason for his presence in this group that Alaris had cobbled together. “He’s an acquaintance of Alaris,” he finally concluded.

“Yes, I’ve viewed you all before,” Deaux said. “But, come, elf, tell me your destination. There was only a forty percent chance that Alaris would direct you to the Floating Gardens, but it was the largest probability.”

Tsci-Imili would have answered her freely, if it were not for the other 67

thoughts crowding out his ability to speak. Probabilities of the future? That sounds like the Prophetess. How can she be able to see the future unless she’s one of the Prophetess’s servants? Is she actually a Seren, or is she distracting us for Akyri?

“Yes, that’s where we’re going,” he finally said. He couldn’t figure out what side she was on right then, but telling her that much would not hurt either way. He would just have to postpone his decision until later. “Come on, we have to hurry.”

“The Floating Gardens won’t float away,” Deaux said, keeping her slower pace.

“Probably not, but there are mages in Likton that might come after us.”

“No, they won’t,” the Seren dismissed his fear. “There was only a two percent probability that the Alaris would not be able to distract Akyri’s puppets from noticing your departure. I stayed behind to cover that extra two percent, but there was no need; the mages who apprehended the Alaris were not overly interested in his companions.”

“Excuse me,” Delen said, “but did you say the Prophetess was behind the Order of Humanity confronting the Alaris?”

Deaux looked the researcher in the eye. “Yes.” “I find that hard to believe,” she said, crossing her arms. She noticed how ungainly it felt to keep one’s arms crossed as one walked.

“Why?” asked the Seren. “It was she who created your Order; why would she have done so if not to make use of it?”

“What use?” asked Tsci-Imili, interrupting Delen’s angry retort.

“To keep Alaris from snooping too deeply into her plans,” Deaux answered. “It has been one of her most successful ploys to date, concerning Alaris. Akyri evaluated his plans to stabilize Pinnacle through the establishment of the Arbilorn woman Ferri as the new Apex. She realized that it would be successful and Alaris would very quickly have extra time on his hands. Probability showed that he would use that extra time to learn of her plans for this world.”

“If she was able to keep her plans away from the Alaris, how is it that you know them in so detailed a fashion?” asked Delen. “You said that you had reported the plans to your god, not the other way around.”

“Well read,” the wrinkled Seren woman praised Delen. “Yes, I did learn of her plans. The gods… have certain priorities, certain rules, which keep them from observing or interceding in the affairs of Akyri, provided she does not cross certain boundaries. Call it an unwritten treaty. But that does not mean I cannot act on my own, without the help of Torunmem.”

Claren processed that before either of the others. He grabbed at Deaux’s sleeve to turn her toward him. “Wait. You’re here, but not acting in the 68

capacity of a Seren? Doesn’t that mean that you don’t have any of your godgiven powers?”

“Your understanding of the relationship between Seren and their deities is flawed,” the Seren said. “I am not without my ways, nor without knowledge that you will find you’ll need.”

“About that knowledge,” Tsci-Imili said. “Since you seem to be able to see the future of our mission, how are we supposed to cross the mountains into Water’s End after meeting this man in the Floating Gardens?”

“I cannot predict the future any better than you,” the Seren said. “Only the Prophetess and Pinnacle’s School of Divination have that talent, and the Diviners cannot predict that far into futures not connected with their own.”

“You gave me a probability earlier! How did you get that one?”

Deaux caught his eye with hers. “Given the premise that only the Prophetess has sufficient talent to divine future probabilities, how do you think I came by it?”

He stared at her, aghast.

“Wait, I’m confused,” Claren said. “Is there more than one Prophetess?”

“Of course not!” Tsci-Imili snarled. “She just all but told us that she’s working for the Prophetess that she’s until now implied that she was working against!”

“I did no such thing,” the woman said, frowning at his lack of logic.

“Even if you know only what the general public knows about her, you would know that the Prophetess does not use adults as her servants, let alone adults with links to the gods. I said that I acquired my information from her. That is all.”

“Then how did you manage that?” Tsci-Imili demanded. “I hardly think she’s so caught up in her prophesying that she would deliver the key to her demise to you in her shrine!”

“The answer would leave you even more confused, so I’m not going to tell you.”

Tsci-Imili suddenly barked out a short laugh. He waved away the others’ curious looks. Oh, what’s one more added to this kooky party? By the demons, Alaris might well have welcomed her. An elf who betrayed him leading a man who has no reason to have ever left the Holding he was living in and a woman who is part of the very Order that just arrested him. Why not a Seren who happens to be working for the Prophetess, too?

It felt like the road in front of him had gotten longer of its own accord.

“You’re sure this road leads to the Floating Gardens?” Claren asked TsciImili.

The elf sighed. “When have I ever Sought wrong?”

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“Pardon?” Delen asked.

“I am a Seeker,” Tsci-Imili said, wincing at having to concede the fact to her. It hardly a secret anymore that he was a Seeker, but knowledge was power, and he didn’t want to give Delen any more power than he had to. ““There is more than one type of Seeking, is there not? Would you be so good as to describe your ability?”

“I’m not sure if I can anymore.” His Seeking Talent had become erratic of late. Ever since meeting with Alaris on Kalard, he had been able to Seek multiple items/people/places all at once whereas before he had been able to Seek only one at a time. Alaris had termed his Talent a new Talent, not an alteration of his original Talent, but Tsci-Imili was unwilling to accept the diagnosis.

The first unexplainable and unavoidable evidence he had had of his new Talent was when he had named a place Alaris had sought. He had never done that before. Even more oddly, he had done it idly, not even listening to Alaris’s conversation. Alaris’s need had simply elicited the response from Tsci-Imili.

Pentagram, Tsci-Imili remembered saying. Of all the places to go, why there?

“Why not now?” Delen asked.

Tsci-Imili wrenched his thoughts back to the present, quickly scanned the conversation he had been having, and said, “It has altered somewhat.”

“Your best effort will suffice.”

Tsci-Imili felt goaded into explaining. “To Seek something, I have to understand what I am looking for – a person cannot say, ‘I’m looking for a thing, can you find it?’ It also helps if I have seen whom or what I’m Seeking before I Seek; previous contact increases my ability to sense it. When I acquire an understanding of the Sought thing, I start to travel. Once I get in a certain range, I start to sense where it is.”

“How close must you be?” Delen asked clinically.

“It depends on what I’m looking for. It’s sort of like different things will produce odors that can be smelled at different distances.”

“So your Seeking is like smelling?”

“No. But when I get close, I know it. My sort of Seeking Talent was perfect for finding things around Pinnacle – such a small environment to search, I could usually find what Ferri was looking for within a day. The librarians of all six Schools requested my help often to find lost or miscategorized volumes. But my Talent has changed slightly. For one thing, I can search for more than one thing at a time now.”

“To how many searches can your Talent be stretched?”

“Three, at least. I don’t care to try myself further; I was very distracted even at three. And another change that has come over me is that I have to 70

actually touch the thing I’m Seeking before I can get it off my mind.”

Delen nodded. “I believe I’ve read somewhere that a few other Seekers had that need for closure; they called it Finding, if I remember correctly. So your Talent is always precise in the end, but not in the beginning?”

“Yes.” Tsci-Imili was intrigued despite himself. She said pretty much what Alaris said! She really does know what she’s talking about. Some of the time, at least.

“Thank you for your explanation,” Delen said, falling silent at his side.

It was still early in the morning. The mismatched group crested the westernmost ridge of the valley in which the gardens took refuge only to find a mass of fog hiding their destination. The tiny underused road led into the almost palpable gray/white substantiality, making Claren nervous.

“Can you find the gardens if you can’t see, Tsci-Imili?” he asked.

“The entire valley is the garden, Claren,” Deaux said. “The plants float where they will. It is not a small patch of ground that we must find.”

“Still, how are we supposed to see anything?”

“The nature of fog is such that as one walks through it, one is granted additional vision,” replied the East Seren.

Delen looked at the woman sourly. “Merians,” she muttered. To Claren, she said, “What she means is that maybe from here it looks like you can’t see through it, but once you get into it, you’ll be able to see nearby objects fine.

Besides, by the time we get to the bottom of the valley the sun will have already burned off most of the mist.”

“Is there a god of fog?” Claren asked.

“No,” Deaux shook her head. “Fog is manifested through elementals, by the allowance of my god, Torunmem.”

As Tsci-Imili urged them forward, Claren asked, “So where does the fog originally come from?”

“There’s a river down there,” Deaux explained. “The water is very hot, so at night when the cooler temperatures settle in, the elementals urge the steam from the river out to expand to fill the whole valley. When the sun comes out the next day, she burns off the fog.”

“That’s how the plants survive,” Delen added. “They feed off the mist in the air because the river is too hot to touch directly. Every night they drink in the fog, and every day they gorge themselves on sunlight.”

“What an amazing place,” Claren said softly. He looked at Tsci-Imili.

“Does the Arbilorn Forest have an area like this?”

“Yes and no,” the elf said. “The plants you will see here cannot grow on Tortryst, despite the efforts of our splicers, but we do have plants that feed off air.”

“Splicers?” Delen cocked her head at the word.

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“Those among the Arbilorn who have chosen to create new plant life from old,” Tsci-Imili answered. “Theirs is a difficult task, not only in the imagination and creation of new plants, but also in making sure that their opuses will synchronize with the rest of the world.”

“You mean so there won’t be plant wars?” Claren asked with a smile.

Tsci-Imili glared at Claren. “I hear the mocking tone you use. Tell me, what would happen if one of my kin were to create and release a plant that fed on another plant for sustenance? Say, wheat?”

Claren’s smile faded. “Is that possible? Plants eat other plants?”

“Many plants are parasitic. Mistletoe, Witch Weed, Corpse Flower… the list continues. But parasitism is not the only problem a new plant species can pose. What if a splicer sends a new type of flower out into the world that attracts honeybees more than all the other flowers in the region? Within a few years, the lack of cross-pollination would kill off all other flower species. Or say that splicers create a new tree species so hardy that it eats all the nutrients in the soil, leaving none for any other plant? That could be the death of an entire forest.”

Claren walked in silence, thinking over the implications. He had always thought of Arbilorn as being pacific since they worked with plants, but the power they held over the rest of the world struck him full force. If they wanted to, the Arbilorn could kill off every food crop in the world, leaving nothing for humans or their herds to eat. It was an indirect form of resistance, but terrifying nonetheless.

“Don’t worry yourself, Claren,” Tsci-Imili said, deciding to be magnanimous since his point had struck home. “Splicers have been at their trade since the world began, and the world’s still around to tell the tale, no?”

“Yes,” Delen said deridingly. “Aside from a few blights and plagues and outbreaks here and there, the Arbilorn splicers have behaved themselves impeccably.”

Tsci-Imili pursed his lips angrily. “The splicers have ended more blights than they have started,” he said. “If they did not have the knowledge they did from creating such life forms, they would have been unable to stop diseases that mutated naturally.”

Claren sensed another elf-versus-human argument brewing, so he quickly asked, “Do you like the Floating Gardens, Tsci-Imili? You’ve been here before, right?” Am I going to have to be the peacemaker for this entire journey? Why can’t these two manage to stay away from each other’s throats?

“Oh, yes, I enjoy the Gardens,” Tsci-Imili said. “But they’re nothing like home. The plants of the Floating Gardens are the only plants in the world that have found a way to prosper to their full size and longevity without the 72

assistance of elves. While it is commendable, and all the plants here are truer to themselves than any other plant in the world, they are also more aloof than those of my homeland.”

“Plants have…” Claren hesitated, “—personalities?”

Tsci-Imili looked at him like he had asked if the sky was up. “Yes.” “Most plants’ personalities are imperceptible,” Delen said to Claren.

“They die too young to fully mature. Think of your children: when did they first show signs of personality?”

Claren thought as he was asked. He had left four of his children with his wife back in Kalard on Torberepar to accompany Alaris for reasons the archmage had never fully explained. He wondered if Eiry was recovering from her wounds; he wondered if the children were safe. He wondered and worried and made himself return to the conversation at hand. “Each one of my children was different right from birth,” he said finally.

“From before birth, actually,” Delen said. “But you were unable to see the signs of their personality developing. But as they aged, did they not show more and more quirks of increasing personality?”

Claren nodded slowly.

Tsci-Imili said, “The trees of your lands die so young because they have no elven presence to guide them through their next stage of evolution.

Without elves to show them the right path to take, trees waste their vital energies on fruitless expenditures.”

“How do you guide a tree to do anything?” Claren asked.

“There are ways to guide growth,” Delen said. “Types of soil, amount of water, trimming here and shading there.”

“And it can go further than that,” Tsci-Imili nodded in agreement.

“Much like dwarf smiths make moulds into which to pour iron, we elves can set metaphysical imperatives into which we can make plants grow.” Tsci-Imili realized he thought better of Delen after she demonstrated knowledge of a plant’s basic needs.

“So that’s how plants develop personalities? Elves make them live longer, so they have more time to grow into being themselves?”

“That is it, if you’ll pardon the phrase, ‘in a nutshell.’” Tsci-Imili said.

For once, Claren was satisfied.

Delen was not. “You did not mention trees grown from Life Seeds,” the researcher said.

“I did not wish to muddle the issue,” Tsci-Imili said. He looked down the descending road into the fog that was quickly burning away in the morning sunlight. It had been this high up, he was certain, since the road below his feet was moist yet there had been no rain clouds.

73

“Muddle away,” Delen said.

Tsci-Imili looked at her curiously.

“What?” she asked.

“I would not have guessed of your interest in Arbilorn culture.”

“Why not?”

“Your attitude toward elfkind has so far been one of great animosity.”

“What you do and what you’re like are similar, but not the same thing,” Delen said. “I don’t like a lot of what you elves do, but I am willing to learn more in the hopes of finding points in your favor.”

Tsci-Imili was again pleasantly surprised to find such an enlightened state of mind in Delen. So many humans were unable to differentiate basic philosophies from each other. “I am honored to impart knowledge to one so eager.” He bowed.

“Trees grown from Life Seeds are imbued or imprinted with the personality and soul of the elf from whom the seeds come. Thus, even before they germinate, these seeds have a personality – not completely that of a tree and not completely that of an elf, but somewhere in between.”

“Lo’are had a Life Seed marinating in her body,” Claren said. “Do you have one?”

Tsci-Imili winced. “Marinating?” Humans.

Claren shrugged. “Well, that’s what it’s doing, right? The Seeds soak up everything that makes you, you. So do you have one in you?”

“I do,” Tsci-Imili said. “And when I die and my seed is planted, it will grow with a bit of me helping it prosper. In the Forest, every plant is an experience. Walking through the oldest parts of the Forest and passing near those ancient titanic trees is like walking through a barracks full of sleeping people, if sleepers could project their dreams into the physical realm.”

“So your trees can actually project – what, ideas? Thoughts?”

“They exude experience,” Tsci-Imili said, nearly repeating himself.

“Dreams are unique to the individual; they teach, if we’re willing to listen.

“Most humans and very young elves find it uncomfortable to walk through the oldest parts of the Forest; they are too easily overwhelmed, their sense of self being too easily subsumed. That is one of the many reasons that we elves tend to keep our lands sacred from you humans.”

“Should I expect that from the Floating Gardens?” Claren asked.

“Not at all,” Tsci-Imili said. “None of these plants were grown from Life Seeds, Claren. But if you spend much time in the Gardens you will begin to recognize the plants’ personalities – which is more than can be said of most human-world plants. You’ll be able to ask the garden caretakers more when we arrive.”

74

True to Deaux’s word, by the time they had picked their way down the narrow road, most of the fog had dissipated. As they hit the valley floor, they approached a small building made of some unusual material.

“Ah, I’ve read of this!” Delen said, getting excited. “The extreme weather makes wood rot and metal corrode, so the garden caretakers had to have this material made by mages! No one knows what it is, anymore,” she added sadly, “or the spell for how to make it.” She sighed. “There’s so much knowledge we’ve lost.”

Tsci-Imili was irked at the return of her humanistic way of thinking. Here they were surrounded by towering colossi, plants that floated hand spans or body lengths off the ground, leaves of every shape and color, some with great bags of lighter-than-air gases to suspend them, others with metaphysical anchors, and she was interested in a building material.

A man and woman stepped from the hut at their approach. “Welcome to the Peace Gardens,” the man said amiably. “Do you wish to tour?”

The group paused in their trek. Only after Claren looked at him did TsciImili remember that he was supposed to be making the decisions, as leader of the group. How embarrassing. You have to get used to being leader, Tsci. “We had come here looking for someone, but how could we walk away without a tour?”

“That can be arranged. Who are you looking for?” asked the woman.

“H- The person’s name is Gedefarrn,” Tsci-Imili said. It had just come to him that he was not entirely sure that it was a man or woman; Alaris had not told him.

The woman raised her eyebrows. “He doesn’t have many visitors. What brings you to see him?”

“A favor,” the elf replied enigmatically. So it’s a man.

The male raised his head once as though appraising them, then brought it back down in a nod. “I will take you to him immediately, then. Perhaps he would like to take you on the tour, if he is not too busy. Despite his limitations, he knows the gardens as well as any of us.”

The caretakers strapped a pair of what looked like toothed grates onto everyone’s feet. “For your own safety,” the woman said. “The ground is in a permanent state of slipperiness.”

Off they went toward the only portion of the valley where there was still fog. Tsci-Imili was the last one in the group to start out, having felt the need to burden the donation box with some extra weight.

He soon caught up to hear about the garden, its plants, and how they were taken care of year by year.

“Now, before you ask,” their male guide said, “we don’t know where the 75

plants came from. None of our families have been here that long.”

“Your families live here?” asked Tsci-Imili, pleasantly surprised once again. This was the first instance he had found in all his life that humans actually cared about plants for more than their usefulness as food- or shadeproducing objects.

“Sometimes for generations,” the guide replied. “Of course some children don’t like it here and they leave, but there are always others who come to replace them – people who are fleeing the troubles of the world, people who are hopelessly taken by the beauty and serenity of the gardens and feel the need to stay and help. Sometimes it takes an entire family to care for a single plant, they grow so huge.”

“Like that one?” asked Delen, pointing to what looked like a small hill of vegetation.

“Ah, Lenorrei,” he said sadly. “Yes, she would have been a perfect example. She was one of the grand dames of the garden up until the storm last week. Lightning struck just as she was grazing the dew, we suppose. The gases in her pods are flammable.” He shook his head. “I was in the southern end of the valley, and I still felt the thump from the explosion.”

“How sad,” Tsci-Imili said sorrowfully. “When I return to Tortryst, she will be mourned by the Arbilorn.”

The guide smiled at him thankfully. “You’re very kind, sir, but her kin have already mourned her.”

“Kin?” asked Claren.

The guide nodded. “The next morning, nearly every plant in the valley made its way down here. The area was so thick with plants that we couldn’t even see what they were doing, but they’ve avoided this area ever since.”

Claren looked at Tsci-Imili and nodded. Personalities.

They entered the last patch of fog left in the valley. As they proceeded, the moisture became uncomfortably hot. The rustling of water could be heard, leaping over rocks in a river hidden by the mist.

The guide suddenly stopped and smiled, looking at a purple plant. “That’s not very gentlemanly, forcing your attentions upon an older lady.”

To everyone’s surprise, a voice answered. “Bah, the old biddy’s been down in the river again trying to rot herself to the core. If you were under here, you’d be able to feel all the pus-sores that I’ve already lanced.” The voice paused. “Who’d you bring with you?”

“Four visitors that say they’re looking for you.” The guide gestured them forward.

“Am I addressing Gedefarrn?” asked Tsci-Imili.

After a moment, the plant rustled and a pair of feet squirmed into view 76

from underneath the plant as though they were two roots suddenly wishing for the earth. More of the body followed the feet, and soon a whole man was visible. He tried to dust himself off, but the sap that stuck to his clothes and face did not come off easily. Grimacing, he wiped the dagger he was holding on his shirt.

“Who are you?” he asked, not looking at them. Again, he tried wiping the sap from his nose and closed eyes with the backs of his hands, but only succeeded in smearing it more.

“My name is Tsci-Imili,” the elf replied, then went down the list of who was with him.

As he talked, the man approached him and reached out a hand to touch his face. When the grimy fingers touched the tips of the elf’s pointy ears, the man grunted. “I guessed as much. So,” he said in a louder voice, “what does an elf, a mage, a Seren, and a nobody want with an old man who should be long dead?” Turning in the direction of the guide, he added, “Thank you, Hrejix, I can take it from here.”

“Very well, Gedefarrn, I’ll be over pruning Trili if you need me.”

“I can take care of myself,” the older man said grumpily.

“I would never insinuate otherwise,” the guide said innocently, moving back up the path.

Gedefarrn returned to his question, and his attention to the plant.

“Well?” he asked, feeling the plant for sores.

Tsci-Imili licked his lips. “The Alaris sent us to seek you out here. He indicated that you might be able to guide us over the mountain range?”

Gedefarrn’s gnarled hands paused in their search. “Headed to Water’s End, are you?” he mused. “Well, good luck. Goodbye.”

It took a moment for Tsci-Imili to recover. “Excuse me?”

The man continued to prune the floating purple plant. “Perhaps had the Alaris been more willing to look in on old friends every once in a while, he could have saved you a wasted trip.” He turned to face the group. “I’m sorry, pretty little elf-man, but, you see, I can’t. See, that is. I’m in no condition to do anything but garden. And I prefer it that way.” He turned his closed and apparently sightless eyes back to the task at hand.

Desperately trying to come up with a solution, Tsci-Imili asked a question to stall for time. “Is there any way for you to help us?”

“By warning you away from the mountains,” Gedefarrn replied. “It’s near suicide to try crossing even at the best of times, and now is not one of those.

There’s been freak storms all year, half coming from out of the mountains and the other half going in. There’s one massing right now; I can feel it in my elbow.”

77

“We can deal with a little cold,” the elf said. “Two of us are mages.”

“Aye, but your magic weakens the farther up you go. Surely you don’t need an old mercenary to tell you your trade, master elf.”

Actually, he had forgotten. Some leader you’re turning out to be. “What else will we face?”

The old man sighed, stopped his pruning, and leaned against the plant.

Despite having no anchor, it stayed exactly where it was as though rooted firmly into the ground. “Aside from the cold and the puny magic, there are crafty meat-eaters up there. There are things that can’t live in warmer environments, but are as scary as anything down here. Old magic experiments that nobody could get rid of get junked up there by Pinnacle and the Dominions all the time. Then, if you get to the other side, you have the wall of Water’s End to deal with. In the history of the Serene, no army has ever been stupid enough to try to come against that wall. What makes you think that you have it in you to surmount all that and survive?”

Tsci-Imili said the first thing that came to his mind. “Necessity.”

Gedefarrn made a noise like he was getting his tongue unstuck from the bottom of his mouth. “Yeah, the Alaris must’ve sent you,” he muttered.

“Nobody else would give an answer that asinine.”

“Look,” the elf said. “If you can’t—” “I’ll make you a map.” Gedefarrn looked surprised at his own offer. “It won’t be to scale since I can’t see and maybe things have changed up there since I accompanied Alaris over the last time, but it’ll give you guidance enough that you won’t starve while you’re crossing.” He smiled, sans humor.

“Presumably, that is.”

“Thank you,” Tsci-Imili said.

Gedefarrn grunted. “Don’t thank me. I do this under protest and I wash my hands of you and your mission once the ink is dry. So if you die up there, don’t come crying back to me.”

If I were Avilorn, I would probably be reveling in this.

Tsci-Imili asked himself again how he had ever let Ferri lure him from the beautiful groomed Forest of their people. In the Forest, there were no rivers of water so hot that you sweated. In the Forest, there were no mountains so high that you could barely see the metaphysical realm’s underpinnings. In the Forest, rain was gentle dribbles passed down from leaves above, not shards of ice so spiked that they could well draw blood.

He pulled his shirts closer to himself, not really thinking it was possible but trying anyway. Everyone in the party wore every piece of clothing they owned as they trudged up the side of the mountain, but they were still cold.

78

The elf didn’t know how Deaux was still alive with that one-piece article of clothing, or how she had any toes left. He certainly didn’t feel like he had any toes. Or fingers. Or nose, or ears, or…

Stop that, he told himself. It won’t help.

They had been going on like this for what felt like days, but he couldn’t be sure because they hadn’t seen the sun since leaving the Floating Gardens. The monstrous storm had come from the east, and for a while they had had a breathtaking view of Torunmem to the west while they stood under the black canopy of clouds. Then the clouds opened up and bombarded them with everything in their arsenal. The group continued forward, sure that a storm of such ferocity had to blow out soon. They kept thinking that and the storm kept defying their logic.

If anything, Tsci-Imili thought, it’s gotten worse.

As difficult to believe as it was, it had to be true. What started as simply being cold had turned into heavy snow, winds that knocked them over, and ice that covered every surface upon which they trod.

The wind and ice soon claimed their next pushover. Tsci-Imili thought he was hallucinating when Claren flailed his arms and started flying. Only when Claren was slammed into the mountainside did the elf realize that an extremely strong gust of wind that had picked the man up off his feet.

“Claren!” he shouted over the wind as he ran forward and knelt next to the fallen man.

“We can’t stay out in this!” said the human, shivering both from the cold and from the shock of having almost died. He hugged the ice-covered rocky outcropping he had landed on like he would never let go, and he looked away from the path down the side of the mountain.

Tsci-Imili looked down, too. If the wind had thrown him the other way, he’d probably still be falling…

Tsci-Imili nodded tiredly, chipping a metal artifact out of an ice-sealed pocket in his robes. “Give me a moment.” It might be more difficult to work the magic that surrounded them this high up on a mountain, but he could still do it. Fortunately, a moment was all that was needed. His eyes flew open. “I don’t believe it. There’s a Dominion up ahead!”

Delen caught up. “That’s impossible,” she shouted over the wind.

“There are no Dominions in Mer; the Prophetess wouldn’t stand for it!”

Deaux was next to reach the huddle. “We are over the technical border of Mer,” she said. “We are not yet into the lands of the Serene, but we are out of the Prophetess’s direct influence.”

“But still!” Delen protested.

Tsci-Imili held out the vermiculated metal slate to her. “You don’t believe 79

me? Try it yourself!”

She gazed at the slate, then shook her head. “I don’t have your elven eyes; I can’t see the magic up here well enough,” she shouted.

“If you don’t know what you’re talking about, then will you stop arguing for once!” he shouted angrily.

Hurriedly, the group stumbled along the path toward the hidden Dominion. Tsci-Imili turned off the route they had been following, taking a curving and backcurving road lined with high mountain walls.

After trudging along the new route far enough to be out of sight of the original trail, Tsci-Imili noticed it was of an even width – wide enough to pass a wagon, even around the curves – and the snow was perfectly flat. While that did not necessarily denote a graded road underneath the snow, Tsci-Imili had the feeling that there was one.

The winding road led directly onto a half-bridge extending over a deep chasm and ending well before it reached the face of the mountain toward which it pointed. A small obelisk protruded from the ground in front of the half bridge. Both were covered in ice from the storm.

“Great! We might as well be trying to cross the Whirlpool!” called out Claren, flinging himself to the ground in despair. “I thought you never Sought wrong, Tsci-Imili!”

“He found it,” Delen said. “That mountain face is an illusion; the bridge really is how we have to get in.”

“Hah!” Claren said. “You want to walk over the edge of that bridge, be my guest. I’ve already had my flying lesson for today!”

“At least in this area we are shielded from the wind,” Deaux noted. As though angered at her statement, the wind howled particularly fiercely through the chasm in front of them.

Claren shuddered. “Yeah. There is that.”

Delen stood near the obelisk, studying it. The others began arguing about whether to go on or try to use the relative shelter of the smaller space here to wait out the storm.

“Tsci-Imili,” the researcher called the elf to her side.

“You think you have something, Delen?”

The woman wiggled her hand to show vacillation. “I remember reading something about a hidden Dominion that had an entrance exactly like this.

The bridge is real, and the obelisk was a sign that held the key to entering the lands. The problem is that I thought it was a myth, so I didn’t put much effort into remembering the exact tune.”

“Tune?”

“The key to the Dominion is a set of vibrations calibrated to the human 80

voice. The problem is that I cannot remember the exact melody, and time has eroded parts of the obelisk. Apparently, everyone who comes in these days knows the pass-song already, and has no need of this reminder.”

“Would it help if I melted off the ice at least?” Tsci-Imili asked, knowing that the human might not be able to see the magic she needed to do it herself.

Delen looked at him sharply, expecting to see some sort of sarcasm or superiority. When she found none, she checked herself and said, “I would appreciate that.”

Tsci-Imili reached out with his senses to twitch a bit of the metaphysical realm, then held steady while he watched the resulting heat permeate the physical realm around the obelisk. He released the metaphysical realm while the ice still melted, sure that the residual heat would finish the job.

Not wanting to admit to Delen how tired casting that single spell had made him, Tsci-Imili returned to the others to wait. He knew he would be as useless as Delen had been in verifying the existence of the Dominion, if he tried to decipher the code on the obelisk.

Delegate, Alaris would say. Let every member of your party do what they do best.

Tsci-Imili wished for the umpteenth time that the Alaris was here, or, preferentially, that he himself was not.

The East Seren took her place at Delen’s side. The mage took out a pen and small book, then, realizing the ink was frozen, put them away.

Not much time passed before Deaux was singing complicated sets of pitches toward the obelisk. The two women had figured out what markings went with which pitches, but some of the markings had been rubbed away.

Deaux had to settle for singing the notes Delen had deciphered, then inferring notes where there were supposed to be some.

As Deaux prepared her eleventh try at the melody, Claren approached Tsci-Imili. “Why would a mage make a Dominion so easy to enter? Aren’t Dominions the homes of the mages who live in them?”

“The home, and much more,” Tsci-Imili agreed. “But each Dominion has its master’s mind controlling it. Some Dominions are open to anyone passing through them, mage or not. Some have physical walls around them, while others have familiars or golems or such things posted as guards. If you don’t know, you wouldn’t want to enter a Dominion without letting the master know that you’re there, and asking his or her permission.”

“I know, Alaris told me. But isn’t that what we’re doing right now?” asked Claren, as Deaux began her next run of pitches.

Good point. “In a way. You see, out here, every time Deaux misses a pitch, the spell resets itself. I would imagine that on the inside an alarm goes off, letting the master know that someone has tried to gain access.”

81

Claren turned toward the half bridge and yelled, “So why doesn’t this master just let us in?”

As if at his demand, a gray stone castle shimmered into view from where it hid in the mountain face. As the illusion fell away, the castle’s drawbridge fell into place at the half-bridge’s cutoff. The drawbridge had rails on both sides that matched up perfectly with the rails on the bridge.

“I don’t care for the melodic choice,” Deaux said with a frown. “Hardly makes any theoretical sense.”

“Chat later, let’s get inside!” Delen said. “The spell is wavering!”

Tsci-Imili tried to stand only to realize that he had been sitting for so long on the cold ground that his weary numb legs no longer responded properly to his commands.

“Claren, carry me!” the elf said, not really knowing whether it was an order or a plea. The man picked him up and threw him over his shoulders.

Deaux and Delen were already inside, gesturing to them to hurry. Claren made it two paces onto the drawbridge before the door began to clank and rattle its way back up. The unsure footing combined with the side wind from the chasm to make Claren topple, almost throwing Tsci-Imili over the side of the drawbridge but for the railing. The last few paces were made sliding on their backsides as the drawbridge came to such an abrupt angle that they had no other choice.

Claren and Tsci-Imili hit the floor and tumbled apart into increasing darkness. Right as they slid to a halt, Tsci-Imili’s body convulsed.

“Danark!” the elf choked out.

The drawbridge slammed shut, completing the darkness.

“What was that, Tsci-Imili?” Delen asked.

There was no reply.

“Tsci-Imili, are you alright?”

All three others moved to Tsci-Imili’s side as quickly as they could through the utter darkness, considering their semi-frozen condition. After finding that he was still breathing but that talking to him and slapping at his wrists did not rouse him, the three humans sat together in cold and silence and sightlessness.

Claren was the first to speak. “Was that a word?”

There was a rustle in the dark. “You heard something?” asked Delen.

“No, I meant what Tsci-Imili said. Was it a word?” Claren asked again. It felt strange to be talking about someone directly over that person’s body.

“I believe so. At least, it sounded familiar,” the mage answered him.

“Do either of you have a light?” asked Deaux.

Silence answered her with an obvious negative.

82

“As good as it feels to be out of the cold, I get the feeling we’d better leave,” Claren said.

Delen said, “If we can.”

“Why couldn’t we?” Claren asked.

“By the look of that drawbridge, I’d say this is the type of Dominion where you have to have permission to enter, and have permission to leave as well. We’d better find the master of this Dominion, whoever it is. Claren, can you carry Tsci-Imili?”

“Sure,” he agreed. “But I can’t carry him and feel where I’m going in this darkness. How about I stay with him while you go find a light?”

“No!” Delen said forcefully. “We need to stay together. Every Dominion has its rules, and until we figure these out, we may learn that we need each other at an inopportune moment.”

What could a mage need a non-mage for in a Dominion? Claren thought back to what Alaris had told him about Dominions when they had entered Lady Kel’s Dominion in Nir many days ago. Alaris had tried to give him a few basic tips to keep him from getting himself killed by accident, but he had not covered anything like what he was encountering in this Dominion.

“Can you produce magelight?” asked Deaux.

There came a sigh in the dark. “I already tried one of my artifacts, but it failed. Light is hardly a difficult spell, but being so high up this mountain, the metaphysical links are so tenuous I don’t know if I can cast anything.”

“Will you at least try?” Claren asked.

There was a whisper of clothes, then the whisper of a voice. For a moment, there was a glimmer of light, and all three could see a crystal held in Delen’s hand near her face, but it faded to black.

“Now, that shouldn’t happen,” Delen said, frown evident in her voice.

“That should never happen, even up here.”

“What do you mean?” asked Claren.

“I cast the spell successfully; its duration should not be lessened no matter the surrounding metaphysics.”

“Maybe you miscast it?”

“I wouldn’t miscast an apprentice-level spell!” she snapped back at him.

Then, in a conciliatory tone, she said, “I’m sorry, Claren. I have a gnawing headache that’s getting worse, and I’m worried I’m going to find that I have frostbite on my toes and ears.”

“No help for it,” Deaux said. “We must find this Dominion Master; he or she will have the answers for us.”

“The master may be angry at us for disturbing their privacy,” Delen said.

“If we had been completely welcome, someone would have greeted us at the 83

entrance; that they didn’t even allow us light is not a good sign. In my experience with Dominion Masters, I have found that any who do not have apprentices and such running around usually want to be left alone.”

“Either way, we cannot sit here and wait for light to come to us,” Deaux said.

“Actually, maybe we can,” Claren said. “I think I see one.”

“Where?” both women asked.

“Well, I see it out of the corner of my eye over there,” he said, pointing even though he knew the others couldn’t see him. “But when I look at it directly, it’s gone.”

“Let your eyes adjust,” Deaux urged him. “We have not been out of the outside light – what little of it there was – for long enough, if the light is very faint.”

Soon, they all could discern the weak light coming from an upwardleading staircase. Cautiously, they felt their way along toward the source of the light, Tsci-Imili back on Claren’s shoulders.

They arrived in a small courtyard with a huge slanted glass ceiling. They could still see the clouds far above, and the white residue it threw against the mountainside. Something kept the snow from catching on the glass roof, so the upward view was unblocked.

Though it was a large courtyard, if it had been used for its intended purpose it would have looked very small indeed. The entire area was filled with planters empty of anything except dirt. Emphasizing the lack of plants, here and there lay iron chairs and benches that would not have looked out of place in a lush garden.

In the center of the courtyard there was a perfectly cylindrical wall made of what seemed to be a single seamless stone. At first Claren thought it was a support for the glass ceiling since it extended all the way to the glass, but he decided it could not be. It did not fit in with the rest of the décor, and seemed to have been added as an afterthought.

His eyes continued to wander, and alighted on something that brightened his disposition. “Now, that’s more like it!” Claren exclaimed at the sight of several lamps lined up in a row, wicks neatly trimmed and, as he examined them, reservoirs full of oil.

Deaux, however, was paying attention only to Delen. “What thoughts does your expression mean?”

Delen’s head jerked slightly toward Deaux, but did not meet her gaze. “It means that I have a headache. And that I think we’re in trouble.”

Claren groaned. “Oh, please don’t say that.”

84

“Truths cannot be ignored into falsehood,” Deaux said philosophically, then turned back to Delen. “What seems to be the problem?”

The mage gestured to the bare courtyard. “Most Dominions have their own gardens and crops that help to supplement the food supply. Especially with a Dominion being this far away from any food vendor, they would need to grow almost everything they ate right here on grounds.”

“So this Dominion is abandoned?” asked Deaux.

“Abandoned, or haunted,” Delen answered.

Claren’s eyes grew big, and he came back to stand next to the two women, still carrying Tsci-Imili on his shoulders. “Ghosts?”

“Doubtable,” Deaux assured him. “The Goddess of the Afterlife does not normally allow souls to stay on this world for very long after they grow apart from their bodies. The number of angels is sometimes not up to the job of meeting every soul as it leaves the body, especially during wartime, but they eventually get around to nearly every soul.”

“By haunted, I meant that there are some magic traps or creatures still left around, and the Dominion Master is dead,” Delen explained. “There are a few Dominions in Nir that have that problem – the master died unexpectedly, or before naming an heir to their lands, and left some of their creatures or traps still active.”

“So, sort of like somebody died in their house and left the door bolted from the inside?” Claren asked.

“Sort of.”

Deaux checked on Tsci-Imili. He did not appear to be bleeding anywhere, nor were there any contusions or bruises on his head to indicate a concussion, but he still showed no signs of waking.

“Can anybody ever get back in to a Dominion once it’s gone wild like that?” Claren thought of the position they were in, and added hastily, “I mean, can anybody get back in safely?”

“Some of the more enterprising archmages coming out of Pinnacle try to tame these wild Dominions. Sometimes they succeed, sometimes...” Delen shrugged, rubbing at her temples.

“The more you two say, the more I want to leave,” Claren said. “Delen, how can we get out of here if there’s no Dominion Master?”

“Force the drawbridge down,” she answered. “But I think that we would need quite a few people to do that.”

“Can’t you just cast a spell at it?”

“I’ve tried casting very simple spells in here three times already,” Delen said. “Every time, the spell has just begun to take effect, then has sputtered and died. And my headache has gotten worse. I’m not willing to further tire 85

myself until I know the reasons behind what’s going on here.”

“Besides,” Deaux added logically, “we shouldn’t walk straight back out of this castle with nothing to show for our troubles, or we will be worse off than when we came in, Claren. We need to find warmer clothes, more food. We need to help Tsci-Imili, if we can.”

Claren lit the wick of the lamp. “Then let’s get searching.”

They descended the stairwell they had come up on their way to the barren courtyard. When they reached the entrance, they saw burn marks on the drawbridge. Two mars in the soot showed where Claren and Tsci-Imili had slid down the drawbridge as it shut.

“Someone tried to burn their way out,” Deaux surmised.

Delen pondered for a moment, then merely said, “Let’s keep moving.”

They descended further into the castle, the stairwell rotating in an everwidening spiral. As they went down further, they soon began to take note of large colorful arrows drawn onto the wall with paints and chalks.

“They’re just directions,” Claren said, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Who would need directions inside their own home?” Deaux asked.

“I agree,” Delen said. “These weren’t put here by the master. They were drawn later, at separate times.”

“Do we follow a set?” asked Claren resignedly.

Deaux shook her head. “We start at the bottom and work up.”

When they reached the bottom of the stairwell, they found the last door gaping widely at them, greedily swallowing the lamp’s light. Gingerly, all three humans stepped forward, and Claren shoved his lamp inside the threshold before setting foot across it. Nothing bit it off, so he moved farther in until he could see the contents of the room. He wished he hadn’t.

“Mercy, Kyr!” Delen whispered.

In perfect order lying on the floor were almost a hundred skeletons. All wore robes and clutched a staff.

“This has the look of a temporary internment,” Deaux noted calmly, “with an unexpectedly long interim.”

Claren worriedly put his fingers to Tsci-Imili’s wrist, then breathed a sigh of relief. The skeletons had unnerved him into thinking that maybe he had been carrying around a dead body. He didn’t know what the difference was between the bone structure of elves and humans, but he guessed that the thinboned skeletons had to have been elves, and those outnumbered the humans by almost three to one.

“What could have caused this, Delen?” asked Claren, covering his mouth with his shirt. “Plague? A revolt?”

Delen leaned heavily against a wall. “If it were a plague, they would have 86

just left the Dominion. A revolt, we would have seen signs of violence all over the place – mages would not be content to run around hacking each other with swords; they would employ all the magic available to them. Besides, neither answers the question of who arranged them so. I doubt the skeletons got up and came down here on their own.”

Claren gulped.

“I feel there is,” Deaux said, pointing to the far corner, “a progression of sorts. From there, to this one,” she pointed to the nearest skeleton.

“What do you mean?” asked Delen. “Rank? Age?” “I don’t know,” Deaux mused. “These graves give me an impression of a lessening in power. The one in the corner seems to be the most powerful, or have the strongest personality left. I don’t know how to describe what I’m sensing.”

“I’ll tell you what I’m sensing,” Claren said glumly. “I’m sensing that we’re not going to find that Dominion Master. No Dominion Master, no leaving Dominion, right?”

Deaux gathered herself. “We do no good staring. Come, let us continue our search for useful knowledge.”

Again Claren led the way, carrying both lantern and elf. The next several rooms appeared to be storage rooms, then doors to bedrooms appeared out of the spiraling stairwell. They climbed approximately three flights of steps without any doors at all, then came a large portal set with a rolling door. The two ladies pushed it open, and Claren poked the lantern into the room.

Directly inside was a smaller ironwork staircase that led both up and down to the long, tall rows of shelves that covered every inch of wall space. The shelves were filled with shapes large and small, flasks and books, sculptures and mirrors. Down one flight was the floor of the chamber, signs and sigils painted on and carved into it. A huge triangular table stood in the middle of the room, with a thick candle standing next to a closed book on the table’s surface.

“Ah,” Delen said.

Claren looked at her, slightly hopeful. “That sounded very satisfied.”

“It was,” she answered him, hands having dropped away from her temples for a moment. “I think that if we are to find our answers, they will be here.” She lifted her arms to encompass the whole room. “And I am the one to find them. I’ve come home.”

“Home?”

“To a researcher, any laboratory is home.” Delen walked down the steps, gesturing for Claren to follow her with the light. “And since a lab is where a researcher works to garner what knowledge she may, if there is information to be had in this Dominion, it will reside here.”

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The three pairs of feet made their way over to the table, and surrounded it on all sides. Delen lit the candle from the lantern, adjusted the downward reflecting mirror near the candle, then produced a glass figurine from one of her many pockets. She dropped the little figurine on the book and stepped back quickly.

When nothing happened, she frowned and picked up the figurine to examine it closely. With pursed lips, she tossed it at a corner of the room, where it shattered. “Useless,” she muttered, digging in another pocket.

“What was it supposed to do?” asked Claren.

“It should have flashed blue if there was a ward on the book, or yellow if not. Unfortunately,” she said as she continued to test varying artifacts from her pockets, “it seems as though not a… single one of my… artifacts is in working condition.” She stopped withdrawing things from her robe, then shrugged and placed a hand on the book’s cover. “I suppose that means that there can’t be a trap on this, then.” She delicately opened the book, and when it remained open without incident she began to read.

“What does it say?” asked Claren before she even flipped the first page.

Delen speared him with a look. “It appears to be a diary. I have no idea why a diary would be in a laboratory, or what it says yet.” She continued to look at him, and he started to squirm. “Would you like me to learn more than that?” He nodded, abashed. “Then be silent!”

“Better yet,” Deaux said calmly, “why don’t you and I search the rest of this castle for other clues, Claren. You can leave Tsci-Imili here with Delen. I think we can all agree it’s improbable that someone will attack us.”

Delen studiously ignored even that comment.

There was little of the Dominion left to explore that they could access. A second drawbridge stood at the opposite end of the castle, but since it was closed in the same way as the first one, they could not reach the protected Dominion lands outside of the castle. All the bedrooms were empty. A larder devoid of anything edible was attached to a small functional kitchen. High above the common castle rooms, a solitary human skeleton lay crumpled in an aviary at the top of the castle’s only tower.

“I guess that’s who arranged the other skeletons,” Claren said.

“That is a logical assumption,” Deaux nodded.

They gathered up the bones of the skeleton into the robe in which it still lay and respectfully descended the stairs to lay the skeleton with the others of its kind. Looking around the room full of bones, Claren reflected that this was not the first time on this trip he was both thankful that his family was not here and yet at the same time still wishing for their presence.

After Deaux had commended the deceased to her goddess Torunmem – 88

a fitting tribute no matter who they had primarily worshipped, since Torunmem would be their bodies’ final resting spot – Claren and Deaux returned to the magic laboratory to find Delen still engrossed in the book. Her face was so close to the pages that, had the ink been wet, she would probably have a blackened nose. Her hands massaged the sides of her head, and she was whispering to herself as she read.

Claren brought the lamp over to sit next to the book. “Need extra light?” he offered. “I can fetch some more lamps from upstairs.”

Delen blinked at the sudden addition of light, then squinted at his face.

“That would be nice, thank you,” she murmured. “His handwriting is so tiny, and that illusion I cast to magnify the page sputtered like all the others. And my headache is all the worse for it, too.” She sighed. “At least I know why, now.”

“Casting spells is giving you the headache?” asked Deaux.

The researcher shook her head no, then yes, then put a hand up for a moment to gather her thoughts. She spoke. “A Danark, as Tsci-Imili correctly surmised the thing to be, was a spell used in combat long ago. When cast, it would call into being a force which would attach itself to a magical source, draining it of power. Magic users, especially Surian Combat Mages, often used it in a preemptive strike against a foe to take away their capacity to cast larger spells. Then, when the caster had subdued their foe, they would dispel or dismantle the Danark.” She tapped at the book with her fingers. “This would make a fascinating study, were the subject not chewing on me as I read about it.”

“I take it you cannot do that?” Deaux asked from where she was examining Tsci-Imili. “Dispel the Danark, that is?”

Delen shook her head. “No. The original caster would be the only one with the knowledge of its components and construction; Danarks are almost as invisible in the metaphysical realm as they are in the physical.”

“So why did the caster not dispel it?”

“The Master of this Dominion was researching the Danark spell, trying to figure out how to make a more powerful one that could disable more than one magic user at a time. That was the reason he created his Dominion so far from sea level, and normal access to the metaphysical realm. He wanted to make sure the Danark would be completely reliant on him for sustenance.

“I’ve read what I believe to be the session in which this particular Danark was created. To experiment on the spell, they had to sustain it long enough to alter it. They cast it successfully, then carried it up to a special tree they had planted in the courtyard that kept it fed with a small trickle of magical power from the metaphysical world.

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“Neither the master nor any of his apprentices,” she gestured toward a row of books on the shelf, “know what happened that night, but when they awoke, the Danark had already attached itself to them. They tried to dislodge it, but their attempts failed. They were unable to leave, unable to stay.

Fortunately, the Danark is likewise unable to leave because it would have to leave its only permanent food source – that tree – to go anywhere, and it would starve on the long trip down the mountain.”

She riffled the pages beyond where she was. “The next many pages after his last entry are from mages like us who have stumbled into this Dominion and been trapped by the Danark.”

“Do you have any ideas of how to fight it?” asked Deaux.

“Hundreds.” She pointed to one of the bookshelves where a smaller cluster of papers stuck. “Many of our predecessors have been quite thorough in documenting their every action. Some outline plans that have been tried and failed, some tell of plans that the mages were about to enact, with no entry of success or failure afterward for obvious reasons.”

She looked down for a moment, cleared her throat, and continued. “All the plans can be broken down into three major archetypes: injure or destroy the Danark, bind or stun it long enough to get away, or relocate it.

“The last woman who was here was able to draw a correlation between all the failures of the first type of plan: no one had enough power to sufficiently damage the Danark. I have reason to believe that any one of six plans might have worked, had one of the earlier mages known what we know now, but it has grown too powerful for any of the more recent temporary residents.” She smiled ruefully. “How funny. We have the knowledge, but not the power.

They had the power, not the knowledge.”

“What do you mean, they had the power? Weren’t those mages fed off of as well?” asked Deaux.

“Yes, but not on as grand a scale. Though it’s lost its capacity to feed on multiple subjects when they’re far asunder, the Danark has definitely grown over the years.”

“How, with a meal coming along only once every hundred?”

“One of the earlier mages asked that question himself. He realized that the tree in one of the courtyards – you remember, the one the Dominion Master had the Danark nurse from – had specialized taproots extending into the metaphysical realm that the Danark had been feeding off of it in between mages. The man’s last entry was that he was headed to the courtyard to chop it down. I know neither how he was prevented from doing it nor how the Danark even realized what he was doing, but the next mage to come found that cylindrical wall around the tree with the other man’s skeleton laying just 90

outside it. Apparently, the Danark has overstepped its original boundaries and has found a sentience of sorts.”

“One of the premises of your fellow researcher’s correlation is slightly flawed, Delen.”

Delen looked toward the Seren but winced at the movement and rubbed her head faster. “How so?”

“It is not necessary for you to have the power to defeat the Danark.” The Seren waited patiently for Delen to sort it out.

She couldn’t, and said so. “I know you Merians love to teach, but now is not the best time for a quiz.”

“Yeah, she has a headache,” Claren said defensively. “Give her a little slack.”

The Seren turned toward him. “You, however, do not have a headache.

Your brain gets so little exercise as it is, why, it would be nothing short of criminal if I gave you the answer.”

He looked at Deaux sourly. “Does that pass for humor in Mer?” The woman smiled slightly, the first smile Claren had ever seen on her.

She turned to Delen. “What is said to be the greatest enemy of man?”

“Himself,” she answered slowly. Then she understood. “Have it defeat itself, since we cannot. Brilliant! What’s your plan?”

Deaux continued to look at the researcher. “I know nothing of the manipulation of metaphysical forces. I have no idea.”

Claren grumbled something, but the Seren held up her hand.

“However, I can guide your endeavor. Remember the basic standards by which all beings live: we act when we feel we are accomplishing or gaining something necessary to our survival or the betterment of our circumstances – for example, moving to better shelter, or fighting for food.

“Your best course of action will either be to fool the Danark into believing that it is a threat to itself, thereby making it fight itself, or by showing it a location which has better food or shelter to make it leave us.”

The researcher scribbled notes in the well-worn journal. “Thank you, Deaux. That gives my research a focal point; things should go faster now.

Hopefully I will be able to find some information before…” Delen’s eyes avoided Tsci-Imili’s slack form “…before this headache gets any worse.”

Delen closed her eyes for a moment, slowly beginning to lose the fear of becoming unconscious. The pain in her head had spread, making her entire being feel like one big headache. Even worse, she could now discern the metaphysical teeth of the Danark actually chewing on her, working her over like she was a piece of fruit with delicious juice but inedible pulp.

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Tsci-Imili must have it good, being unconscious, she thought jealously. Elves are so weak, fainting at the first sign of adversity. I wonder what Alaris sees in them, that he would support one for the Apex of Pinnacle and plan on taking another as his wife.

A cartilagenous crunch from her nose as her face smacked into the table woke her back up with a shock. It hurt less than the rest of her did, but it was a pain she could locate and recognize.

She reopened her watering eyes, blinking, and patted gingerly at her nose.

Somehow the more pinpointed pain helped her to center herself.

The page in front of her held three flowcharts of plans that she had created. Unfortunately, they all had one fatal flaw: they all required magic.

With a soft moan, she shoved the paper away. It’s hopeless. How am I supposed to communicate with a metaphysical being if I can’t access the metaphysical realm?

It’s like trying to talk to someone when I don’t have a mouth! Delen was reminded of why she had turned down the School of Metaphysics when they had offered her the entry examination for a Peerage: everything in their realm of research was too theoretical. Nothing that existed solely in the metaphysical realm was solid enough for her way of thinking.

She returned to her pockets, more to feel like she was doing something than with an actual hope of finding something useful. String, useless. Fennel, useless. Lightning amulet, drained of magic, useless. Ink. Microscope, drained of magic, useless. Flask of Nirian brandy, dangerous to contemplate right now. Slippers of Silent Steps, drained of magic, useless. Coins and purse, useless.

On she went through every pouch in her robes until everything she owned was on the table before her. She fluffed her robe out, not being used to having it feel so light. Nothing of immediate relevance other than my staff, but if I summon it, the Danark will just attach itself to the staff, too. All the other entries say so – the bigger the artifact, the more appetizing.

Clearing a space on the table, she went to lay her head back down.

Realizing what she was doing, she made herself stand up, groaning at the effort it took. Her body was fine, but it was getting harder to summon the will to move, to think.

Maybe I shouldn’t have sent them away, Delen thought. If I fall asleep – no, say it, woman – if I lose consciousness, there won’t be anyone to wake me back up.

She had asked Claren and Deaux to search the castle thoroughly for any extra hint, for anything out of the ordinary. She didn’t think they would find anything, but she couldn’t handle them being in the same room as her. Even when they weren’t staring at her like she was their only hope, she was still distracted by their neediness.

Delen walked toward the stairs that led to the main stairwell, but her sluggish feet tripped over each other, and down she toppled. Instinctive reflex 92

took over, and her hands threw themselves out in front of her to lessen the impact.

Lying on the floor was very comfortable, except for the fragment of glass that pierced her hand. She stared at it dully, watched the beads of blood forming and combining around the glass shard to begin their trek down her palm toward the floor. Oh, yes, I threw that glass figurine over here, didn’t I? Not like me, to dirty up a lab.

Something about the little piece of glass caught what little attention she had left. Magic? But that can’t be; it didn’t work. None of the other artifacts have any magic left, so why would this one?

She plucked it out of her hand, ignoring the rivulet of blood that leaked onto her robe as she sat up. What about this one artifact makes it special? If I broke open the other artifacts, would I find some magic left at their core? Was this artifact too small for the Danark to notice? Did I break it before all its energy could be drained?

Standing again took less effort this time, since she had a purpose in mind.

Delen returned to the table and dug her microscope out from under the pile of artifacts. After fiddling with it, she dolefully remembered that it was drained of its power; it was just a piece of metal and glass, now.

Sighing, she reached for her spell book. Easily the heaviest thing that she carried with her, she had written in it countless times. Many mages would scoff at its being called a spell book since most of its pages were taken up by notes and random thoughts to be researched later, but unlike her brethren she was not interested in the number of spells she could learn, or in the most destructive spell she could find.

She flipped through the middle pages, knowing that she had written down the make of the glass figurine. Technically, it could be any old piece of glass, but she liked to do things with a touch of class when she could.

She found the page, and started to review how the artifact had been made.

To help herself concentrate, she read aloud.

“Let’s see. Purified sand to heat, web of arachnid to trap, liquefied amber to free, magesand to power, human hair to spring.” She dismissed the words of the exact spell; they could mean nothing. Going through the actual creation process, she was reminded of when she’d had it made while she was still in Brelia. That glassmaker wasn’t too keen on the idea of a mage meddling with his creation, but the coins certainly soothed him quick enough.

The smile on her face faded as she read the spell’s last word. Nothing. She had been so certain that the answer lay in the artifact’s creation!

She reread the spell, this time collecting the spell’s components from their resting spots on the shelves, hoping, but doubting, that the answer could be found there. Idly, she felt approval at the arrangement of the lab, and at how 93

well it was stocked. It was nice to be back in a proper lab, unlike the peculiar outdoors amphitheater-lab in Lady Kel’s Dominion. If she was ever placed in charge of one of her School Lodge’s laboratories in Pinnacle (no Dominion for Delen: she wasn’t interested in the power struggle, only the knowledge) she would pattern it after this one.

Delen picked out three wax-paper envelopes full of spider webs, took a single nugget of amber from a jar, then went to pick out the proper sands.

That took a little while longer than she had expected, as the lab was very wellstocked with different sands from all over the world. There was ground crystal from the beaches of West Mer, Brelian Desert Sand, Formastian Desert Sand, Tortryst Volcanic Sand, and a great assortment of others. Below each of the larger jars of sand stood a smaller jar of the same sand that had been altered into magesand.

She could remember the days that she had spent as an apprentice making magesand. The task was so tedious only apprentices and those being punished spent their time making magesand in Pinnacle. Depending on the dexterity of the mage, it could take an entire morning to make as little as five grains of the precious material, so it was in high demand. It was useful in every form, from strengthening spells, to creating spells, to lending the power that artifacts needed.

The worst part of it for Delen was that there was never anything new or interesting about making magesand – it was a repetitious, boring, stodgy job, and was one of her most hated memories of her Pinnacle training.

She looked over the choice of magesand that stood on the shelf in front of her. Not knowing which sand would be best, she decided to make a mixture of all of them to be sure that she got the proper effect. Into one cup she sprinkled a spoonful of each of the plain sands, then prepared another cup to carry the magesand.

Her hand tingled as it touched the tiny scoop in the first magesand jar, and she giggled. Most mages didn’t like the slight metaphysical sensation that magesand elicited, but she always thought it tickled.

She had already scooped magesand out of three of the little jars before it finally struck her what she was handling.

“Magesand!” she roared in delight, for a moment forgetting the everworsening body-ache. “May the god of knowledge smite me!”

Claren came running into the room from where he had sat right outside the door. “What have you learned?”

“It’s not sand!” she said, shaking the glass cup of magesand at Claren with a ferocious sparkle in her eyes.

He rolled his eyes. “Kyr take us, we’re lost.”

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Delen dropped everything else she had brought with her and started filling her robe pockets with the little jars of magesand. “Look around you,” she commanded. “What do you see?”

“Shelves,” Claren said dubiously, “jars, magic stuff. Why?” “No, not magical!” she said on her way back to the table, grabbing him by the collar and dragging him along. “Feel these artifacts, look for the signature.

There’s nothing. The Danark feeds off of them, just as it can feed off of us.”

Claren tried not to show the worry on his face. She knew that he couldn’t see magic signature; he was not a mage. Is she still lucid? “You’ve said that.

What of it?”

She again shook one of the jars in front of her face, the granules making a shy, shucking noise against the jar’s lid. “Magesand.”

The man shook his head, lost. “Delen, I—” “Mage-sand, not normal sand! Why would a starving creature that feeds off of magic leave such masses of a magical substance simply lying on the shelf there for years?”

Deaux’s voice answered from the door. “Because it can’t eat it, or can’t see it?”

“Correct on both accounts!” Delen crowed. “The smaller the magic, the less interest the Danark has!”

“Great!” Claren said enthusiastically. “Now what?”

Delen’s headache returned. Gods. That was only step one. “Oh. Well. Right now, you and Deaux go down to the crypt and gather up all the magesand you can find from those mages’ pouches and bring it back here.”

As joined Deaux to do Delen’s bidding, Claren looked askance at the researcher. “Do you think she knows what she’s doing?”

“Do you know what she’s doing?” Deaux talked to his real question.

When Deaux returned with her load of magesand, she found Delen with her face in a book, her torso collapsed across the table, and her legs hanging over the edge.

“Delen!” she raised her voice sharply. Not receiving any response, the elderly Seren went over to the woman to try to shake her awake. Still failing in her attempt but noticing the dried blood crusting the woman’s nostrils, she yanked hard on the broken facial outcropping.

“Gaaagh!” Delen grunted, stirring upwards. “Whamurflehuh?”

“You’re dying,” Deaux said calmly. “Rise. Walk.”

A second attempt on her nasal protuberance made Delen realize that, yes, she really did have to get up. As she did, Deaux attended to Tsci-Imili.

“His pulse is weaker,” she noted. “Can anything be done for him?”

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“We have to wake him, but not yet,” Delen said, still not fully lucid. “I need his ability with magic. I know what to do, but I can’t see the metaphysical realm well enough to carry through with my spell.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Deaux asked.

“Produdove,” the researcher tried to say, shook her head, then tried again.

“Pro-tec-tive. Yes. Protective coma. The elf being exists more in the metaphysical realm than does the human being, so he’s more susessible – er, susceptible to the Danark than I am. His body is trying to isolate him from the Danark as much as it can.”

“So what is your plan?”

Delen flapped her arms and bent her knees, getting her blood flowing to her extremities. “What does this thing want? To survive and prosper. Survive it has, off of that magic-producing tree, but it can’t grow bigger way up here on the mountain, and mages only stumble in here occasionally. From the writings of the deceased, I’ve learned that it’s been trying to leave this castle to get to a richer food source so it can grow. We need to fool it into believing that there is a way to get to one.”

“Go on,” Deaux urged.

“The pent-up magical force in that magesand would be enough to make the Danark drool, but as we already said, the Danark can’t see it. Tsci-Imili is going to have to convert or combine that power into a single large food source for the Danark.”

“And when he has?”

“When the Danark has attached itself to the food source, we open the drawbridge and throw the cursed thing down the mountainside! It won’t be able to come back, and it will starve to death when no one picks it up.”

“There’s no guarantee of that. What if the Danark is more hardy than you believe, and can make it back up here? What if the Danark makes its way to Pinnacle?”

“Yes, out of the question,” nodded Delen. “We can’t buy our freedom with the downfall of all magic-users in the world. …We’ll drill a hole,” the researcher announced. “Straight down, all the way through the mountains.

Nothing fancy, just a straight, long, slick hole.”

“What will that do?”

“The Danark will have to make a choice between the artifact and us when we drop it down the hole, so the artifact will take the Danark with it to the bottom of the mountain or beyond. By the time the Danark realizes what’s going on, it will be too late for it to return to feed on anyone else, and will eventually die of starvation.”

“There’s no guarantee the Danark will choose the artifact over you, 96

though,” Deaux pointed out.

“Just like any other being, it wants the biggest and the best. I’m willing to bet my life on it.” The look in Delen’s pain-wrinkled eyes said that she knew she actually was betting her life on her theory.

The Seren nodded. “I must say, I’m surprised you have the power to drill a hole that far down, even with this large of a quantity of magesand.”

Delen clapped a hand on Deaux’s shoulder. “I don’t. Besides, I don’t think your god would be too happy with me taking such liberties with his continent.”

Deaux removed the mage’s hand from her shoulder. “No.” “Yes!” Delen rejoined. “It’s the only way!”

“No! I would need my god’s permission to manipulate his lands to such an extent.”

“It’s his continent, so isn’t it yours, too?”

“I act only through his guidance,” Deaux began to say.

“Didn’t you come here to help us without his guidance?”

“My powers—” the Seren tried to say, but again was cut off.

“—are enough to cause this mountain to collapse. You’re the Seren for the whole continent, and you expect me to believe you can’t drill a well?”

Deaux raised a hand. “My god might be able to make such an exact hole.

Perhaps if I could pray to him to ask for his direction—” Delen sagged. “Pray to him, then.”

Torunmem’s Seren opened her mouth as though to reply, hesitated, stopped short. Taking another half-breath got her mouth running. “I foresee a problem with such a direct prayer.”

The look on the researcher’s face made replying unnecessary.

“Torunmem seems to be,” Deaux paused, searching for the right word, “distracted, of late. Were he paying his usual attention to my mission, he never would have allowed me to walk into such a trap as this Danark.”

Delen’s face did not change, nor did her breathing. After a few moments marshaling her patience and wits, she simply said, “Try.” With a slight bow, Deaux left.

When the letters on the page start playing leap-frog, you know you’ve been studying for too long, admitted the researcher ruefully, slapping the book shut.

“Claren?” called Delen. As he came into the room, she noticed that he was beginning to show signs of wearying. How long had it been since they had last slept? Add the stress of the situation to the long, frozen hike they had endured before entering the Dominion, and she was surprised that any of them still stood.

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Schooling herself to unsympathetic reason, she gestured toward the elf who still lay where he had been put so long ago. “Wake him.” Rummaging around on the table, she produced a pouch of herbs and a tube of red powder.

“Make tea. Pinch the powder into it.” She met his eyes meaningfully. “One pinch only.”

“What is it?” Claren asked as he set about preparations, dumping some of the lamp’s oil into a tiny laboratory heater.

“Battle drug called Body,” Delen said wearily. “Elves are too slight to handle much.” She tried to sit down, and missed the chair completely. From her sprawled position, she mumbled, “Better yet, we’ll share a cup.”

Claren went to her side to assist her back up into the chair. “Not to sound argumentative, but I learned a little bit about drugs like this from Sardai.

They’re supposed to give warriors an extra edge in battle. Are you sure it’s safe for you to be taking them?”

“It’s not safe to refrain,” she said with a shrug. “Our bodies have taken as much of a beating as everything else.”

She diverted his further questioning by indicating the tea’s unprepared condition. As Claren tended to it, Delen took up her book once more.

It should work, she thought. It has to. It all makes sense.

Gathering knowledge from the journals of the first Dominion’s residents, she had constructed a spell with a signature that would lure the Danark better than any other form of power. She made her final copy on the last page of her book, one of the few that did not have marks on it already. Her handwriting was precise, the ink was the perfect thickness, and the models into which she had placed the wording lent additional meaning to the words. All was ready for the spell to be cast.

Admit it, she told herself. It bugs you that you won’t be the one to cast your spell for the first time. You’re feeling pride of ownership, that’s all.

She looked at Tsci-Imili with a frown. But did it have to be an elf?

Delen stood to reexamine her preparations. Into all the proper wards carved into the laboratory floor she had measured out a sparing amount of magesand to assist in the spell, adding more form and power to it. She measured more than was really necessary into the ward denoting east, making an offering to the god of the eastern continent.

Thinking of that request, she looked to Deaux, who had been sitting in the east corner of the room in deep meditation, her staff laying slanted across her body and her medallion clutched between two fingers of each hand and her forehead. When Delen looked at her this time, Deaux had modified her position to a more relaxed one, her medallion was put away, her staff was at her side, and her eyes were open.

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Delen walked over to her, ignoring the now ever-present throb going through her body with every movement, every thought. “Tidings?”

Deaux met her eyes. “I am intensely hesitant to say.”

“I take it by your answer that you were at least able to contact your god,” Delen said.

Deaux shifted her body uncomfortably in her seated position. “That is why I am hesitant. I did, but did not. No,” she said, holding up a hand to forestall Delen’s next words, “I will explain; you needn’t prompt me.

Torunmem has always been a powerful and wise guide to his Seren, choosing our uses with a tact that no other deity can claim. He makes himself wholly available to us whenever we need him on one of his missions. Unfortunately, in this situation, I am not on one of his missions, precisely. He did agree that assisting you was important, but he cannot interfere in any greatly meaningful way.”

“What?” Delen scratched her head. “A god can’t do anything?”

“Even the gods have rules amongst each other,” Deaux reminded her.

“But that is only part of it. Ever since I first came to him about this difficulty with the Prophetess, Torunmem has been the most distant I have ever felt him. When I communed with him just now, it was as though he was talking with someone else and gave his consent to my plan just so he could get back to what he was doing. I have often witnessed mothers similarly dismiss their children when they were busy,” she said wryly.

“But he said yes!”

Deaux continued to frown. “Does yes mean yes when the speaker is half asleep? I believe I cannot act in good conscience.”

I’m gonna kill her. Delen forced the hands that had been lunging toward Deaux’s throat to instead come down on the woman’s shoulders, albeit very, very hard. “Deaux. I’ll be the first to admit that I have not studied the relations between Seren and their gods, and, frankly, I’m still not interested.

But I do know a little about power, and hierarchies. The head of said hierarchy will give power only to those whose judgement they trust, who will only act in their best interest. Look at how much power Torunmem’s entrusted you with; can’t you make a single decision without him looking over your shoulder?”

At the last question, Deaux startled. With a self-deprecating sigh, she muttered, “Ignoramus.”

“I beg—” “Not you, me.” Deaux levered her withered body out of the chair with the help of her marble staff. “You just pointed out to me that I do have to make the decision on my own, because if I don’t make the decision, I may as well be saying no, and consequences will manifest either way.” She paused 99

once she had regained her feet. “I’ll do it.”

Well, finally! “Thank you,” Delen said in her most sincere voice. “Can you make the hole just outside the door? I’ll want to rid us of the Danark as quickly as possible once the spell is completed, but I don’t want the carved wards in the floor to be disturbed.”

Deaux shook her head. “I’m afraid I won’t have much control over where the rift comes out, mage. I wish I could be more precise, but without my god’s guidance, I’m going to have to… go a little overboard.”

Chills ran up and down Delen’s back. Normally the woman was so precise. “How overboard?”

“I cannot be certain until after I’ve done it. The hole you request will need to start its formation far below us, and a lot can happen between there and here. Hopefully, the rift will be only a few paces across, but if I misjudge and the rift grows out of control, I might cleave the entire continent in half.

There was more than one reason I wanted my god’s assistance,” she said disapprovingly to Delen. “But, come, if your preparations are done, I need your help. Yours, too, Claren,” she called.

Delen and Claren soon found themselves holding opposite ends of the Seren’s thin marble staff at waist height while Deaux herself studied it from all angles. When Delen had asked her what she was doing, she had replied that she was finding her bearings, whatever that meant. For quite a while the Seren spent her time in utter silence, placing fingers at different portions of the staff, then measuring between the points. At first she started very near her holders’ hands, while gradually working her way inward.

“Ah-ha!” Deaux said triumphantly, placing a wrinkly finger on a point of the staff somewhere in the middle and to the underside. “We are here!”

The two non-Seren looked at the tiny piece of marble which was covered

by Deaux’s finger, exchanged a glance, then shrugged.

“Is this some sort of map?” asked Claren.

Deaux looked at him as if she had forgotten his presence. “Yes,” she said, “it is that and more. It is linked to the continent: you, Claren, hold the north, and Deep Harbor, while you, Delen, hold the south, near Bastion.”

Claren suddenly looked like he would enjoy nothing more than to have the staff out of his hand. “Deaux, what happens if I drop the staff?”

The Seren dismissed his fears with a wave. “Never you worry, young Claren.” She took her medallion from around her neck, and as an afterthought slipped the chain off it. “Fortify your positions.”

Claren and Delen both widened their stances, not quite sure what the woman meant. Deaux began to breathe more and more deeply, widening her own stance, tensing her whole body. To Delen’s magically trained eyes, the 100

Seren looked like her entire being was quickly becoming centered around the medallion in her hands. Delen swallowed, and held onto the staff as tightly as her condition allowed.

With the eye-defying speed of a viper and the roar of an injured lion, the elderly Seren threw herself, medallion first, at the staff. At the exact point on the staff where Deaux’s finger had touched, the metal of her medallion met the marble of her staff. For a bare instant Delen and Claren were caught up in an indescribable feeling of vast, luminous grandeur; of the sort of irrefutable might that likened the power of making an earthquake to the power of a shrug. Then the staff was driven out of their hands and Deaux, medallion, and staff flew past them into the room.

Claren went quickly to her side to help her up, while Delen contented herself with asking, “Well, where’s our hole?” As she had held the staff her body’s ache had momentarily been chased back to a localized headache, but the pain was rallying quickly.

“It will be here in a—” The floor underneath Delen suddenly heaved, tossing her backward into one of the shelves. For one terrifying moment she had pictured the hole opening directly under her feet, but that moment quickly passed as the roiling floors and walls lessened their movements to mere trembles.

Delen’s first thought was that she couldn’t see out of her stinging right eye. Only when her hands reached her face did she realize that it was blood slighting her vision.

As Claren came over to treat her, Deaux went to look for the hole. The Seren returned with the report that the hole had successfully been made.

“I thought as much,” Delen said without much animation. “I felt the Dominion snap. With no master to hold it together, you broke the Dominion, whatever else you did. We can leave whenever we want. Now all we have to do is lose the Danark.” Being able to see had restored much of her good will.

“I’m all right, Claren. Go see to waking up Tsci-Imili.”

She also felt the first tendrils of cold coming into the room, and knew that the Dominion’s protective temperature would not last long against the bonenumbing cold outside. Delen wanted to get done with the spells as soon as she could so as to not add bodily lethargy to her problems, too.

“Deaux,” Delen said quietly as Claren searched through the mess that had come of the laboratory, “one more thing. If this doesn’t work – if Tsci-Imili and I are still under the influence of the Danark – will you promise me you will warn Pinnacle about this place?”

“Do you think the Danark will let us go that easily?”

“You’re not enough in the metaphysical realm for the Danark to notice 101

you,” Delen said. “You haven’t been affected yet, so I doubt you ever will be.

Please, promise me?”

Deaux nodded.

“Found it!” Claren assessed the teapot that had been upset during the earthquake. Much of the liquid inside had sloshed out onto the floor, but there was still enough for a half a cup of tea. He poured the mildly warm tea into one of the laboratory’s many glass beakers, and brought it first to Delen for a sip, then to Tsci-Imili. Holding the elf’s head up, he poured it in, a dribble at a time.

After the third swallow, Tsci-Imili pursed his lips and showed signs of reanimation. When Claren held his nose closed, Tsci-Imili eventually opened his mouth again, but when he had accepted the remainder of the tea he spit it back out.

“Enough,” he croaked. His hand flopped toward the cup. “Too much,” he said in a stronger voice. Already he was trying to sit up out of Claren’s enfolding arms.

“Tsci-Imili,” Delen said to attract his attention. “We have entered a Dominion that is—” “I know!” Tsci-Imili growled, sitting up under his own power. “Gods, you humans are daft. The body may be in a coma, but that doesn’t mean the mind is in one, too!”

Delen’s eyebrows shot into her hairline, stressing the deep cut she had received earlier. “You could hear everything?”

“Of course. Help me over to your spell book. Quickly!”

The two mages shuffled over to the triangular table. Tsci-Imili’s limbs were shaking as though he was cold, but as Claren looked closer, he realized the elf seemed energetic enough to take on an army. Alone.

“Yesss,” Tsci-Imili said, reading the spell book. “Yesss, it makes sense, this spell will do finnnnnne. You two, out! Closethedoor!” His voice started to grow stronger and faster despite his efforts to keep it contained.

As Claren and Deaux raced up the stairs that led out of the multilevel laboratory, the elf turned on Delen. “Staff!”

Delen could not help but feel a twinge of sorrow as she prepared to retrieve the object for Tsci-Imili. The staff was the sign that a mage was powerful and knowledgeable enough to become a full-fledged high mage, just as the creation of a wand was the sign of the end of an apprenticeship. No one was ever shown how to make either. The knowledge and power had to come from within.

The researcher reached into the world of metaphysics to the side of her body where she nestled the staff, where all mages kept their staffs. It was a 102

warping of the rules of the world, true, but they were never punished for it.

Quickly drawing the physical portion of the staff from the metaphysical realm back into the world to join the rest of its attributes, she set it on the table and stepped back out of the wards carved into the stone floor.

Tsci-Imili gestured and the jars holding the extra magesand tipped over.

The magesand flowed through the air into bits of the carved wards that Delen hadn’t thought necessary to fill. Now that they were and with the proper types of magesand, she could somehow see they made the spell more like a painting of an entire scene rather than a crude stick figure. She blushed when she thought how much effort she had put into the spell, only to have Tsci-Imili – with his elven capacity to see forms better than any human could – correct her mistakes in a matter of moments.

The jars, now empty, went flying into the corners of the room, and TsciImili yanked the triangular table away from the floor, bodily throwing it out of the wards as well. Delen had to leap to the side to avoid being flattened; he truly had forgotten her presence.

The wards began to glow, and the magesand began to quiver and shimmer. Delen felt the Danark’s hold on her loosen slightly as it focused its attention on a more palatable foodstuff. But Tsci-Imili was not finished.

Reaching into the metaphysical realm himself, he yanked out his staff.

Swirling it over his head, he raised some of the magesand out of its receptacles and into intricate shapes in the air. With a final movement, he brought the head of his staff down on top of Delen’s staff. Much of the magesand on the floor and in the air jerked toward the staffs as the magic grafted through the sand leapt that way, then, as the magesand became mere sand once more, fell to the stone floor.

All the great magic that Delen had ever seen done had been accompanied by chants, by loud claps of power popping in the air and yells and grunts of effort. All that she had just seen had been carried on in near silence. Had she been able to see any less of the metaphysical realm, she might still be waiting for the spell to begin.

Tsci-Imili’s body shook uncontrollably. Unable to keep his legs steady enough to stand, he fell. “Delen!” he yelled in a strangled voice. “Take!”

Delen ran forward and took up her staff, wondering how her hand did not burn up in the metaphysical conflagration. She went toward the door but a hiss from the downed elf made her turn back around. Now unable to talk, he looked pleadingly at his own staff. Without questioning him, she gathered it up, too, and bound up the steps and through the doors.

Standing several paces up the corridor, Deaux gestured Delen forward.

Together, they ran up the steps until they reached a fissure that headed down 103

the length of the castle and neatly crossed what was left of the Dominion courtyard. Without any ceremony, Delen dumped the two staffs down the seemingly bottomless fissure.

She stood utterly still, staring at the two pieces of wood as they fell quickly out of view. She could feel… something… tugging at her, more and more insistently. One frightening moment of actually wanting to jump after them bloomed into a full-fledged terror as she thought the Danark might actually be picking her over the staffs. But then it vanished.

“It’s gone!” she heard herself sob. Suddenly freed of all the responsibility, the pain, the dread and panic, she collapsed into a shivering, crying mass. “It’s gone, it’s gone, it’s gone…”

Deaux wrapped her frail arms around the woman, murmuring comforting words.

Deaux had not always been connected to a god. She had started her life as a Merian child, and as such she was eternally geared toward thinking rather than feeling. She had never known her blood-father since her mother had ceased cohabitation when she realized she was pregnant, as was only proper in Merian society. She also had never known her blood-mother since she had been given to the Prophetess to be one of her servants. Deaux’s final life alteration had come when Torunmem had removed her from the Prophetess’s service and had taken her into his own as a Seren.

Despite her strict Merian upbringing, even before her term of service to the Prophetess had been oh-so-abruptly terminated, she had learned that one could not simply ignore the potency of emotion in how the human, elf, dwarf, brownie, sprite, and undead acted. Over the past few days, Deaux and Delen had placed Tsci-Imili on the track to recovery. It had been a great surprise to the elf to wake and find an Order of Humanity mage tending to him – the last time he had woken in the hands of the Order, he was being tortured – so Delen’s mere presence was helping him greatly by soothing an old wound.

But he was not quite back to himself. Laying flaccidly abed from the side effects of the drug, he had had plenty of time to mull things over. He had taken all the blame for the situation upon himself, as he had been the one to make the discovery of and decision to enter the Dominion.

“I’m no leader,” he had said. “Delen should take over before I lead us into another death trap.”

“Why are you so worried?” Deaux had asked. “ Delen told me of your magical prowess – what you did in there could be likened to my trying to reverse every river and stream on the continent at the same time. Besides, Alaris is an able-minded fellow. If he didn’t think that you could complete this 104

mission, he wouldn’t have assigned you it, yes?”

“You’ve illustrated my point perfectly. He wasn’t even sure of his own ability to enter Sanctuary based upon the timetable he set, even despite his years of experience. He had to have known that I couldn’t. He was acting out of desperation when he found out he couldn’t lead us, that’s all.”

“Well, I don’t think that he would have intentionally wasted the time of any of his allies on a fool’s mission. Perhaps he knows something that you don’t. Do you trust Alaris to know what he’s doing?”

Tsci-Imili had jumped. “Of course I do!”

“Then trust in his trust of you,” Deaux had said, trapping him with logic.

Only, when she said it, he seemed to become even more upset, and rolled over in his bed.

Delen, however, was a different matter. Her experience with the Danark had been more invasive than Tsci-Imili’s. On the other hand, the shared ordeal and the teamwork necessary to rid them of the threat had forced Delen to rethink her prejudices toward elves, leading her to be more amiable toward Tsci-Imili. The whole group benefited from the newfound camaraderie until the elf decided to add a fifth member to the group.

Deaux looked across the Dominion courtyard at the new man once more.

He just seemed… wrong. That, combined with her continued inability to talk with her god was what had prompted her to take her leave of the party.

She had woken up this morning ready to set out from the broken Dominion as they had planned out two nights before only to find Delen and Tsci-Imili dragging a steaming, naked body over the drawbridge. Had the body been female, Deaux would have killed her without asking a single question. As it was, the man reminded her all too much of the Prophetess. To have a second person with such similar powers in this world (would he be called Prophet, perhaps?) was a worrisome thought.

She had tried to speak with her god about her finding, but she was still being put off. The only way to really get his attention was to speak to Torunmem in person, and the only way to do that was to Sleep.

It would take days to reach one of her sacred sites, but she felt there was nothing else she could do. She was unwilling to enter Serene lands with so powerful a potential enemy in her midst. Torunmem had long ago relinquished part of his sovereignty over this small plot of his continent, and had given it to his counterpart, TorVenn. Of course, that did not mean that it was part of TorVenn’s continent – the Western Seren did not hold power there – but Deaux held just as little power.

The story Tsci-Imili told her this morning had only confirmed her feelings of the new man’s abnormality, and had redoubled her unwillingness to tread 105

Serene lands where she had no powers to protect herself.

“We both felt it, Delen and I. We woke up separately, and met at the gate on our way out. Delen didn’t want me to go out and investigate, but I knew it couldn’t be the Danark.

“It was a struggle to get there, despite these – what did you call them?

Snow Shoes? – but once I got there, I knew it. All the snow was gone, or at least it might as well have been. It still looked like snow, but it acted like water swirling around my legs. The sky looked blue in one direction, and black in another, depending on which way you turned. But when I stepped on a stone and it squished under my foot, I really started to wonder.

“Before I could stop to study what was going on, I hit a portion of the air that felt not quite solid, but definitely harder than it should be – like the air was a runny cheese. Just as I hit it, I could make out someone in the snow up ahead. He was steaming like he is now, but any time I moved him farther through the snow, he heated up even more. I had to carry him on my shoulders or else he might have gotten too hot for me to carry.”

Delen and Tsci-Imili had done what done what they could for the man, cleaning his body, clothing and feeding him, soothing some metaphysical part of him that the East Seren could not see. Partially they did it for philanthropic reasons, but partially because they both worried about the possibility that whatever had incapacitated the man might still wait in store for them. He was a powerful archmage, Delen and Tsci-Imili agreed, but despite his power, neither recognized him.

Deaux’s fears were not allayed when the man woke up but did not say a word. There was intelligence behind his eyes, fearful intelligence, but it was clear he could not or would not speak.

In truth, Deaux could not say what it was about the man that had reminded her of the Prophetess. Indeed, now that she looked at him, there was absolutely nothing that even hinted at a resemblance in body, mind, emotion, or soul. But, if anything, that sudden and utter lack of a trace of evidence made her even more suspicious.

Her duties had been met. She had helped Tsci-Imili in his mission. Her suspicions would not be soothed. They festered. She departed without a word, allowing Torunmem to swallow her up, making her vanish entirely.

106

Xjoopxjoh!Povtft!

“Why did you not see fit to assume your throne?”

Eiry had been expecting the question for so long now that when Abbess Dier finally asked, it came almost as a relief. Almost. She would not allow herself to feel relieved. While the Abbess was around, Eiry worked hard against feeling anything.

Instead of answering, or rather as part of her answer, she ignored the woman who strolled just behind her left shoulder. At least, Eiry ignored her question. Again Eiry found herself wondering just how much the Abbess understood about politics in Seighn, and how the woman’s knowledge could be used. And how the Abbess likewise planned on using her in turn. For example, how did Dier know to automatically take position behind and to the left while walking in the Royal Gardens of Avard? She had had training, and Eiry doubted that a minor Brelian noble family would have spent time educating a daughter so thoroughly in cultures not her own. No, the Abbess’s knowledge had roots coming from the Abbey, along with a thousand other deadly secrets.

Stooping near a particularly exquisite Fire’s Breath, Eiry picked the enormous yellow-flecked red flower carefully with both hands and held it to her nose. It brought back memories of countless mornings in the gardens of her home in Links. Despite this garden’s quality - unquestionably more exquisite than the four gardens surrounding her old palace - she still longed to be able to go back when it was only her and Helef and her mother there.

“I’m sure you had good reason,” the Abbess continued more amiably.

“You’re an intelligent young woman and you have an eye for subtlety with your countrymen. What was it that made you turn from the road to your throne on to a new trajectory? And what are you aiming at now?”

Still Eiry kept silent. Resuming her standing position she made eye contact with the royal garden-keeper and, with a smile, placed the flower in the basket that Dier carried with her. The gardener would keep track of all the flowers that she picked, and would have tasteful arrangements made for her rooms from her choices. The gardener smiled in return. He had been one of the assistants at the palace in Links, and remembered her love of the gardens.

It felt good to be appreciated.

“Was it the welcome fanfare? I was certainly surprised at that, what with all the trouble we went through to conceal your arrival. Or was it…”

Memories of that morning flashed through Eiry’s mind. Her retinue of nine – nine! – Abbesses and all the servants they required had been cheered madly by almost every person in Avard, straight up to the Pure Fortress.

107

“Eiry, I would appreciate an answer,” Dier said quietly.

She smiled. Even though she did not have the Abbess’s talent for discerning emotions and she could not see the woman’s face, Eiry still had her right where she wanted her. “Did not waiting make you more anxious, more interested? Do you not have more invested in my answer now?”

“You hardly need lecture me on basic human thought.”

“I’m not.” Eiry bent to pick out a silvery, nine-petal flower that she didn’t know the title. “I was answering your question. Oh, my, this flower is heavenly. You must smell it.”

The Abbess took the flower from Eiry’s hand, going against custom that required any flowers picked by a member of the royal family remained untouched. So she doesn’t know everything, Eiry thought in a most satisfied way, forgetting to suppress the emotion until it was too late.

“I’m afraid your majesty has left me behind in her giant leap of logic,” the Abbess said wryly. “Would you be so kind as to assist me?”

Oh, that felt good. Now I know what Alaris must feel like all the time. Eiry composed herself before answering.

“The barons,” Eiry began. “I’m making them wait to know my intent. It will make them more docile, more compliant once they get here.”

“That’s all well and good, but why would they come?” asked Dier. “You didn’t take the crown, so you can’t order them here by a royal edict.”

“Goodness, but you’re as forward as a foreman!” exclaimed Eiry, knowing that the phrase would catch her off guard – it being an extreme insult in the Abbey, but a broad compliment throughout Seighn. “Why, that’s about the worst thing that I could do. Think about it. After years of civil war, and all the blustering that goes on during one, every one of them has a vested interest in seeing no one else on the throne. What would they do if they find out that someone has taken it under their noses? Especially considering that person does not have an army to back her word!”

“Still in all, they won’t come,” Dier grumped. “You may have no army, but you won’t ever have one without at least some of the barons’ support.”

“Oh, they’ll come,” Eiry said absently as she reached overhead to one of the hanging flowers. It still amazed her that she could be one hundred percent surrounded by flowers – growing on the ground, on tree trunks and walls, drooping from the limbs overhead. Truly, Seighn’s royal gardens were one of the wonders of the world. “Each baron has informers in all the other baronies, and most especially here. Certainly by this late at night most of the barons have already learned of my return, and that I have not taken the throne. They will be asking themselves if their information is accurate, if it really is me, if I could be alive after all this time. Then they’ll have to wonder why I didn’t take 108

the throne. Do I mean to take it later, if at all? Do I mean it for one of them, perhaps? Do I intend marriage to one of them, for a husband to take the throne at my side?

“Some will come for curiosity’s sake. Some will come to protect their interests because they know they wield little influence from far away, particularly when they see the other barons bearing down on Avard. Possibly one or two will come out of loyalty to my father or me, or to the royal line.

But the important thing is that they will come.”

“And if they do come, what then?” asked Dier, ignoring her brilliantly colorful surroundings, the heady perfume of flowers that never diminished in this one of many secluded sunken groves in the palace grounds. “Why, you could start the worst of the war again all on your own, gathering them here like that! Avard holds the authority over this country. What you order from here, happens! That was why we went to so much trouble to keep your arrival a secret, so you could take the throne without dispute.”

Eiry let go of the hanging flower and watched it lightly bounce upward; it looked pretty where it was, but it didn’t have enough body to stand properly in a vase. “You forget, Abbess, that though Avard is in name the head of the state, this head has been removed from its body for much too long. I must reattach the two before the head again gives commands to the body. And they” she paused, “will” she paused again, “be firmly reattached before I allow the barons to leave this fortress again.” She smiled. “They will spend several months here, I think, enjoying themselves on holiday, while every one of them gets the idea of being ruled driven back into their heads. And in the mean time, they will be far, far away from any army.”

“Putting you on equal footing with them,” murmured the Abbess in admiration. “Instead of trying to raise an army of your own, you’ll just take away all of theirs, and any chance of a civil war with them. Brilliant!”

You don’t know the half of it. Eiry was careful to not gloat while she was still nearby. Yes, the plan would work – she knew her countrymen well from watching her father standing court over and with them – but the true beauty, the true brilliance, was the secret plan within her master plan.

She had been working on exactly what she had to do and what she could expect since well before the most recent kidnapping. In a way, having her children kidnapped had made things easier for her, though it wrenched at her to admit it. Many of the Seighn nobles who would gather here over the next many days would have seen her as a new mother, and easy prey. Her chances of dangling a possible royal marriage would have been shot. Even her supporters, who would have been overjoyed at a queen returning with a builtin heir, would have seen the children as liabilities without a noble sire. And not 109

only was the father not noble, Claren wasn’t even on the same continent.

Also, because first impressions made such a powerful impact, she had asked Paedre to continue past Avard and stay at an inn about a day’s ride west.

Not only was it for her image, but it was for his own good. A man who disliked human beings in general would hate being the center of attention that he would be, being the companion of the returning queen. He would feel wretched amongst the inevitably cabalistic Seighn nobility.

Juggling the Abbey into the whirling combination of obligations and responsibilities she had already and would soon assume had actually been relatively simple – for the first few days, at least. She had halfway listened to Abbess Dier’s plans as they traveled incognito across the breadth of her nation, nodding and murmuring all the way, then as soon as she was in position, she had set her own plans in action, ruining all the Abbey’s machinations. It would take days for the Abbesses to recover their momentum, and if all went as planned she would be able to trip them up yet again when the time came.

Traveling from the easternmost reaches of Seighn through to Avard had given Eiry an up close view of the countryside. She was saddened to see the signs of the skirmishes between rival baronies: the burned-out village here, the abandoned farmland there, a laden gibbet or two. Only one barony had not shown any worse for the wear, except for additional guards and fortifications along the borders.

The travel time had also given Eiry the chance to refine her plans as rumor upon rumor came in waves. She did not have much experience with sifting fact from rumor – usually she and her father had had advisors who did that for them – but she picked it up quickly enough. Extrapolate the nouns that were common to the rumors – who did what where was too complicated a piece of information to survive whole and unaltered between villages.

Instead, when one heard that This Person had done Something Bad in This City, and one also heard that This Person had done Something Worse in This City, one could infer certain conclusions.

The most disturbing and increasingly more common rumor as she had approached the Pure Fortress was that Baroness Ilear had been crowned Queen. Eiry knew the rumor to be untrue – there had been no proclamations, and there would have to be innumerable proclamations, festivals and such if it had occurred – but the rumors pointed out a way of thinking about the Baroness that was still highly disturbing.

Some of the rumors placed the Baroness in Avard itself, while others had her in her own barony. As it so happened, it was another baron who had been in residence at the Pure Fortress, though not ensconced in the royal chambers.

Apparently, very soon after the assassinations of the royal family he had 110

entered Avard with his armsmen to hold it for “safekeeping” until the whole business had been set aright. By the time he realized the other barons weren’t about to accept him upon the throne, he also had to realize that if he dared leave the fortress, he would be beset. It was this man that had been the one to receive Eiry – or at least make the attempt.

Eiry bristled at the man’s temerity. Imagine, trying to admit anyone into her own home, let alone trying to do so to one of royal blood!

“What’s troubling you, your majesty?” Abbess Dier asked.

Remaining angry took no effort, since she was annoyed with herself for forgetting where she was and whom she was with. Answering the question took a bit more effort.

“Don’t call me that,” Eiry commanded.

“But you are the Quee—” began Dier, only to be cut off.

“I am not… the Queen. And if you keep calling me ‘majesty’ then every noble within hearing range will discern that I have my eye on the throne.”

“Don’t you?”

“Haven’t you been listening?” Eiry turned, breaking etiquette herself.

“My power comes from their uncertainty; my strength comes from their weakness. No one can know my intentions. No one! I thought I could trust you to be more circumspect, or I wouldn’t have even told you.”

“Of course you can trust me,” the Abbess replied, all too smoothly for Eiry’s taste. “It’s a good thing you did tell me, too, otherwise the other Abbesses and I might have been working against your efforts.”

That was close. She regretted having to show anger, but emotion was a tool that she used rarely enough with Dier. She’d had to put the woman on the defensive so that she wouldn’t go too far down that path of thought.

The truth was that she wasn’t sure about the throne. She hadn’t been sure even when she had begun her preparations back in Kalard when she had first remembered who she was and where her responsibilities lay.

The biggest part of the problem was exactly those responsibilities. During the when she had forgotten who she was, she had acquired new responsibilities, husband and children being foremost among them. Even now, she could not reconcile what seemed like two different people – the royal princess-turned-queen and the happy young bride/mother.

It also worried her that she and/or her children might be part of one of the Alaris’s vicarious plans. As she had more time to think about it, she realized that the archmage would never have hidden her out of mere altruism.

He was getting something out of the arrangement and the fact that he had sent Lo’are to keep track of her told her that he was still planning on exacting some sort of payment for his earlier services. She just wished that she were better at 111

piecing together all the parts of the puzzle; she had lost her touch with politics during her long exile.

That was another factor in her predicament. She didn’t feel properly prepared for the throne. Not only would there be inquiries into where she had been and what she had been doing for those years, but she had not had the time to recuperate from her all-too-recent ordeals. Additionally, she had lost valuable training time, training that she truly needed to be an effective leader of the populace of Seighn, if not the nobility.

Leadership. That was the last problem. Not so much the Seighn nobles – them she recalled from her father’s court – but the figureheads of other countries, organizations, guilds, and such. Especially the Abbey.

She checked a sigh, and forced herself to stare straight ahead instead of taking a glance at the woman behind her. Yes, Dier and the Abbey had good intentions, but it was the intentions that had been left unspoken that worried Eiry. Even worse, by accepting the assistance of the Abbey in her ascendance to the throne, she was placing a heavy debt in her pockets – one that she was not sure how she would be required to repay.

“I tire,” she announced suddenly. It was the truth; her dreams soured the measly bit of sleep that she got these days. Last night she didn’t sleep at all from anxiety, then when she arrived in Avard she found she’d had every reason to be anxious. Couple that with the grappling she’d just finished with the Abbess, and she felt wrung out – too wrung out, in fact, to continue. “Dier, be a dear and take the basket to the gardener. No, no, I will see myself to the door. I see a servant waiting for me. Goodnight.”

As she walked briskly toward the door, the servant bowed low to the ground. She did not recognize him. Admittedly, that did not mean much, as she had only visited her grandfather’s palace a few times as a little girl, but it still made her a bit nervous. Her days of blind trust in others were over.

“My Lady,” the bald servant said, extending a sealed parchment in front of himself with one hand and setting a lamp on the ground with the other. “A man from Links has just arrived bearing this communiqué. Apologies, my Lady, but he insisted upon remaining with the letter until it had reached your hand.” Had he not already been bowed nearly in half, Eiry was sure he would have bowed more, but in the end he settled to both knees.

He looks like he expects to be hit, she thought worriedly. How have the palace servants been treated recently to make him act this way? Out loud, she said, “That is as it should be. If a private message comes for me, it should hardly be passed around for all to read.”

Eiry looked at the man standing just inside the door, wringing his dusty hands nervously while looking at the letter. When Eiry gestured for the letter 112

to be opened, immediately the second man looked relieved.

The bald servant opened the wax seal on the parchment and opened it facing away from himself and toward Eiry. As was proper, he closed his eyes and tilted his face toward the ground while he did so.

To Lady Eiry, tearful greetings.

We come. We who failed you and your father and mother will not fail you again.

Do not drop your guard until we are there.

Trust no one.

-T.G., S.F., W.Z., and more “Burn it,” Eiry said when she was done reading.

The servant rolled the parchment back up before reopening his eyes, then bent to pick up the lantern. He lit one end of the paper tube and allowed it to burn to flakes while Eiry watched out of the corner of her eyes, only dropping it when it had reached his fingers.

Eiry could not be certain of the initials on the letter, but it sounded like the palace guards from Links. If that was the case, she would at last have people around her that she could trust… at least enough to guard her sleep.

Glancing again at the two men, she walked inside. The one was dressed in clothes still dusty from travel, while the other wore very fine vestments that did not bear the colors of Avard. Whose servant is he?

“How many horses did you run into the ground to get this letter to me so quickly?” Eiry asked the first man. She wished she could remember his name; she knew he had been one of father’s journeymen.

The man grinned, abashed, but did not speak, unless a deep bow counted for communication.

“You have done well,” Eiry announced. “You, there. See that this good man is fed in one of the dining halls – not in the kitchens, mind you – and that he has proper lodging.” She was going to have to remember to acquire some money from Dier. She hated to go to the woman asking for money, but to appear coinless would be tantamount to political suicide.

“Yes, Majesty. Lodgings. The Baron Jlavic also sends word that the royal chambers have been prepared for your arrival.”

Do not drop your guard until we are there. Trust no one.

“The royal chambers?” Eiry asked frostily.

The servant nervously bowed again. “Of course, Majesty.”

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“‘Of course?’” she asked sharply. “Has a queen been crowned?”

The servant did not rise from his bow. “No, Ma- ma- my Lady.”

“Has a king been crowned?”

“No, my Lady.” A bead of sweat dripped from the man’s bald head to the nearby stones of the floor.

She paused for a moment, to make sure the man was ready to leave the room as soon as she let him, then asked, “My father’s apartments. They are ready for my arrival, are they not?”

The man jerked visibly. “Of course, my Lady. If you would allow me but to run ahead to make sure the servants have all cleared out…”

Eiry waved a dismissal. Somehow, despite having his face straight down, the man acknowledged the signal by fleeing the room.

She turned to the journeyman. “Well?” Servants always had something to say, but it wasn’t always what you thought. Best to start the questions general and work to the specific. Something else her father had taught her.

“Well, Lady Eiry,” the man said with half a smile as he stared after the other servant, “I think you had better give that man a generous head start before going upstairs. Not only will the servants be in a panic, I think that you’ve just upset the Baron Jlavic to no end. First, you refuse the reception and feast he’d prepared for you, and now you’re kicking him out of the rooms he’d taken as his own.”

“Hmm,” she nodded as though simply agreeing with what she had not known a moment before. That might have been a mistake. Refusing the reception was an obvious refusal of his power over me, but I’m trying not to make enemies. “I take it that you would recognize the individual who wrote your missive?”

“Yes, my Lady.”

“I feel dreadful about offering you dinner and sleep and then asking you to forsake them for me-” The man did not verbally cut her off – that going entirely too far – but he did kneel to her and kiss one of the many rings on her hands. Every bit of her jewelry came from the group of Abbesses that Dier had somehow summoned from the Abbey. Eiry hated the necessity, and the rings were not her taste in metals or stones, but it did give the impression of riches that she needed at the moment.

“Lady Eiry,” the man said from his knee, “You have much of your father in you. Ask, my Lady, and you shall receive.”

“Go out of the palace, out of the Pure Fortress, and to the gates of Avard.

Wait there, and act as royal escort to those who are coming. Bring them directly to me, and let none suffer you to be turned aside.”

He leaped to obey, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

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Do no drop your guard.

Trust no one.

With a sigh, she realized how much she missed having Paedre nearby.

On the wood plate sat her children - On the silver plate sat her throne - In her hands were fork and spoon - She reached toward the plate with her children, and the silver plate tipped - She reached toward the throne, and the wood plate tipped - In front of her stood Claren/Paedre - She pushed the plates toward him - He didn’t have any shoulders/arms Abbess took the wooden plate from her, “I will take care of them” - The throne reached for her with fork and spoon Eiry’s shuddering gasp woke her. She lay in the dark on her satin-covered poster bed, in her room in the Royal Palace. For whatever reason, throughout her dream she had never forgotten where she was.

The dream had haunted her well before her return to Avard, but this time the ending was different. Before, she had tried to eat from both plates, but ended up spilling both. She would wake up crying, but not terrified.

Her breath stilled of its own accord at the feeling she was being watched.

Reaching under her pillow for a dagger her guards had presented her, she looked slowly toward the door. Sure enough, two figures were in the room with her. Her sleepy mind didn’t understand why they were so short, but then realized that, whoever they were, they were sitting down.

That’s not very assassin-like, Eiry thought. “Who are you?”

“Please excuse us, Princess,” came a soft treble voice. “We did not wish to wake you to tell you that we would be guarding you tonight.”

Eiry immediately connected the voice with its owner. She had never heard another like it: soft and treble, yes, but with a deeply powerful undercurrent. Eiry tried to visualize the face of which Abbess it was who spoke in that manner.

Dier had brought Eiry to an Abbey Embassy on their journey west through the eastern baronies. She had sent Eiry with one of the Enforcers to clean up for dinner while she had a meeting with the Mother Abbess in charge of the embassy. By the time Eiry had presented herself in the dining room, Eiry found Dier in charge of a contingent of Abbesses and Enforcers and servants – “proper escort for the Queen’s return,” as Dier had said to her.

Eiry had been wary of the Abbesses back then, and she was all the more so for having found them in her bedchamber uninvited. Who knew what sort of manipulation they could pull on her while she slept?

“I have guards around me, Abbesses,” Eiry said. “I thank you for your concern, but there is no need for it.”

“Can these guards of yours watch over your dreams, Princess?”

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Something the Abbess said just seemed to make sense to Eiry, but she was tired and flustered. Reaching overhead, she grasped the clapper on the copper bell and gave it a firm tap to summon a servant.

The front door to her chamber opened instantly. “Lady Eiry?” asked the guard. As he spoke, one of Eiry’s lady servants belatedly opened the side door to the room.

“Please escort the Abbesses to their rooms, and make sure I am not disturbed again tonight,” she ordered.

The guard gestured for the servant who had entered the room to usher the two Abbesses out into the hall.

As the guard made to step out into the hall and shut the door after them, Eiry called him back. “Why did you allow them in?”

The guard hesitated. “It… just made sense, Lady Eiry,” he said with a tentatively sheepish shrug.

“They didn’t make you feel nervous, or afraid, or obligated?” she pressed.

“Maybe worried about my welfare?”

“No, my Lady,” he answered her. “I would know if an Abbess were playing with my emotions; what good would I be if I let their witchcraft distract me? It just… it just made sense.”

“I see,” Eiry said without really ‘seeing’ at all. “Thank you.”

After the guard bowed his way out of the room Eiry sat in the dark alone and now fully awake. The tiny window in the far wall still showed stars, but barely, with the light of the sun goddess beginning to muddle the deep black of her sister’s night into a bluish background.

Thinking yearningly upon her lost sleep and the dubious coincidences that came with every appearance of Abbesses, Eiry rose and went to her writing desk. Like everything else in the room, the desk and its matching chair were ornate to the extreme – decorated to the point of being uncomfortable to prolonged sitting.

She sat on the front half of the chair, made her back straighten, and turned the little knob on the oil lamp to bring the barely visible blue flame into flaring yellow life.

Her fingers itched to write a letter to her children back in Kalard – the only three she knew where to write to them – but she knew she could do no such thing. She could not risk bringing attention to the Rhiorenne Family or her children. Instead, she set to the task at hand.

Letters, some opened and some sealed – more had apparently come while she was asleep, and the servants had not woken her – lay neatly on the desk.

Several larger packages indicated gifts from the letter-senders.

Browsing the wax seals of the letters, she sighed again. She could only 116

identify the owners of three of the designs in the colored wax. A true queen should recognize every single one, from her most powerful baron to the young merchant putting on airs with a personal seal. I have been too long away from my people.

She picked up her tools from the desk and selected one of the letters.

Opening seals with the long ivory reader had always been the most difficult part for her, but nobles never touched a letter with their bare hands.

She smiled grimly, remembering the trouble she had made for her parents with that particular subject. Eiry had hated trying to wield the long sticks of ivory against the wax seals on scrolls, so when she was in her room and no one was looking, she had always opened them with her hands.

The first of the two lessons her mother had taught her was that even when she thought she was alone, she wasn’t: someone saw her and reported to her mother about her handling of letters.

The second lesson came from her mother in the disguise of a timber merchant’s handwriting. Eiry had become so sick from the weak poison her mother had dried into the paper and ink that she couldn’t walk for days.

Though drastic, her mother’s tactics had cemented the necessity of caution in her like nothing else could have, and had probably saved her life since.

Eiry scanned the letter quickly. The letter began in exactly the same manner as the ones she had opened the night before – blah blah blah, overjoyed at your return, blah blah blah, you’ll do great things, blah blah blah, as a token of my fond wishes I send this fine blah.

Setting the letter to the side, she reached for another. The gifts that had come with the letters would be useful in establishing herself during the first days of her reign without having to rely on the Abbey for her money or jewelry. The less hold they had on her, the better.

The second, third, and fourth letters could have been written by the same man if he was prone to memory lapses. The fifth letter, though, she could not merely skim. She curled her feet up into the chair and under herself, letting her more fleshy regions warm her colder extremities.

To our long awaited Queen, hail!

I am thankful twofold for your safe return: thankful as the Baroness of a people who will now know again the meaning of peace and prosperity, and thankful as a woman who must deal with more difficulties in her position than any man ever would or will.

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I stand fully in support of your ascension to the throne, and in proclamation of my support I march tomorrow at the head of one hundred members of your new army. At your discretion I will stay or go, and the men are already yours to order.

It may be rumor alone, but – even though rumors spread as quickly as weeds in the garden, every rumor has a seed – I have heard that you entered the Pure Fortress at the head of a small army of Abbesses, and that they have taken up residence with you. If this is the case, I congratulate you yet again on your wisdom in choosing your allies. I myself have two advisors from the Abbey who refuse to leave my side, and are unflagging in their pursuit of their goals.

Expect me three days hence. We shall talk more in person, if it be your will.

Yours in name and reality, Baroness Ilear Eiry sat back to ponder, rearranging her feet to soothe her overly flexed knees. She had acquired great quantities of information about the baroness since her arrival in Seighn, but she could not reach a decision about Ilear without greater quantities. Half the rumors were extremely positive, while half were extremely negative. The only thing that was similar between the two halves was the extremity. People either loved her or hated her.

When read correctly, letters between Seighn nobles always said less, and more, than the mere words on the paper – less, in that there were some very basic ideas behind the largely superfluous words, and more in that the basic ideas could be expanded.

So what does this woman mean? Eiry mused. She first tells me that she will support me, but she does make a distinction between public and private life for some reason. The second point she makes is that she expects violence of some sort – otherwise she wouldn’t be bringing armsmen. And what’s this about the Abbesses? She seems to praise them, but couches the words in a negative fashion. I know that she can’t be happy about the Abbesses living here in the palace instead of living at their embassy outside the palace walls like they should – she’s the first noble to say as much, but they’re all thinking it, worrying about the Abbey impinging on Seighn sovereignty. She uses the word “their” twice, so she’s specifically saying that the Abbesses are pursuing “their” goals, not hers. Is she trying to caution me about my similar situation? She doesn’t mention what their goals are, either. That could be why she says there’s more to talk about that she can’t put down to paper, or she would have left 118

off the obvious request for an audience with me. What noble would come all the way to Avard in my support and not want to see me?

A servant approached her from behind, dragging his or her slippers on the floor to discreetly announce his or her presence. Eiry placed the letter in the opened pile and turned to find a young woman holding a serving tray before her. Eiry was temporarily confused at the sight of three cups on the tray – was she expecting company? – but just in time remembered the tradition of how servants were to approach royalty in the bedchamber in the morning.

Choosing the cup with warm milk would signify she was going back to sleep, the tea would denote her wish to be left alone to work, and the juice would send the servant back out to return with a different choice – a private breakfast tray for her chamber or a light snack to tide her over to a formal breakfast.

The beginning of her meal would notify other servants that she was ready to begin the day, and they would ready her wardrobe for her choices of clothing, jewelry, wigs, fans, and other odds and ends that a noblewoman was expected to have about herself.

Eiry chose the tea and juice, signifying she wanted some time alone before her breakfast was to be brought, then turned back to the letters. She had been gone so long from the pampered life, she found herself barely restraining herself from doing things on her own – a definite no-no for royalty. It was good that she had a few days before the barons arrived, because she could show no uncertainty in their eyes. As the Baroness Ilear had mentioned, no man could ever understand the fight a woman often had on her hands to win equal status among her peers.

And it’s so unfair! Eiry thought angrily. What is it that men have that makes them automatically the leaders and women the followers? Nothing, that’s what!

Quashing the unwelcome thought of so why does it happen, then?, Eiry reached for one of the letters with the seal that she didn’t recognize, and opened it with her ivory readers. At the sight of the handwriting, however, she leaped back, toppling her carved wood chair. A guard poked his head in the front door, but she waved him away.

Eiry righted the chair and reached for the readers again. Having spent the past few years around mages she had learned to recognize the telltale signs of metaphysical training in someone’s handwriting. Drawing magical diagrams required precision found in no other discipline, so even when writing in haste, mages’ script held bits of perfection here and there that were unable to be disguised.

Her hope that it might be a letter from Lo’are – or, she warily realized, even a slight hope that it might have been from Alaris – was washed away by a flood of anger when she saw who actually had written the letter.

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As the servants arrived to dress her a while later, Eiry felt quite proud of her self-control in not giving in to her first impulse to throw into the nearest fireplace any letter addressed to her by the Order of Humanity, let alone a ransom letter.

Being dressed, as compared to getting dressed, took much less mental exertion. All one had to do was move one’s arms and legs in response to the gentle guiding pressure of one’s servants. Eiry might have found the process boring if she did not have her mind on how to reply to the various letters from the morning.

Dier swooped into the dressing chamber as Eiry had the last of her layers of clothing added. Servants glanced at the Abbess, but went about their business instead of administering their proper curtsies. Female or not, advisors to royalty were expected to wait until their advisees were properly clothed at the very least. If an Abbess chose to ignore protocol, she could do without the curtsies otherwise due her.

The second layer of gloves made it nearly impossible to pick anything up, but Eiry knew that it shouldn’t matter since there would be a servant everywhere to do everything for her anyway. Still, after having fended for herself for so long, it was unnerving to have to give up her freedoms and have everything happen around her.

Idly looking through her closet, Eiry gazed at the garments in her arsenal.

The undergarments hanging on the back wall had all been here since before she arrived. They were her mother’s, left in these apartments against her parents’ next return. Fortunately, Eiry had grown into her mother’s figure, and if she were a knuckle or two taller than her mother had been, virtually no one would notice.

Above her head were arrayed all her dresses – again, mostly from her mother, but a few had come as gifts of welcoming from local seamstresses. If a seamstress were able to garner the attention of the future queen, she would reap great rewards. Eiry smiled again at the ability of those wondrous needle workers to take a single glance at a woman’s body and know her exact measurements.

Yet, despite having more clothes hanging around her than she had owned in years, Eiry’s dressing chamber was cavernously empty. She had room for more than ten times the amount of clothes in her current stockpile and she should have more being made for her all the time. Instead, she might have to wear the same dress twice within the same month. How embarrassing.

Eiry reined in her emotions. Dier. There’s an Abbess in the room; I can’t feel anything. Calmness. Contentment.

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There.

I’ve probably kept Dier waiting long enough, Eiry thought. There is a fine line between remonstration and degradation, after all. Waving away the two servants, Eiry turned to Dier and accepted her curtsy.

“Red becomes you, Lady Eiry,” the Abbess murmured. “You will certainly be easy to pick out from far away in a crowd.”

“Good,” Eiry replied stonily. She knew that Dier had meant “pick off” instead of “pick out.” An assassin with a bow and arrow would take her from further away if she made an easy target of herself – but she wanted all the visual superiority she could get, and red gave her exactly that. Besides, if assassins were going to attack, there was little she could do about it..

One of the servants slipped out the small back door, probably on her way to spread the word that Eiry was wearing crimson. All the ladies at court – even though there weren’t many there at the moment – would have waited to dress until they knew if the color they chose would clash with the highestranking woman among them.

“You will certainly attract plenty of attention on your inspection of Avard and the Pure Fortress, Lady Eiry,” Dier said.

Eiry gritted her teeth. An inspection had been exactly her plans for the day, but she had not let anyone know. Dier was trying to reassert her influence over Eiry, and what better way to do so than to start with something she couldn’t refuse?

Rather than look childish and ruin her own plans, she went with Dier and another Abbess on the inspection. It was still early in the morning – early even for tradesmen, let alone nobles – so the greatest number of faces she saw were those of servants rushing about in preparation for the day.

The inspection began with the palace, bottom to top. The majority of the rooms she remembered from her infrequent visits with her family, but there was a goodly set that she did not know. Several areas she had simply not been allowed access to, and other areas she didn’t remember well because her father or mother had always kept her close, never leaving her alone with her grandfather.

The rain cisterns and storage repositories were mainly in the dark recesses of the palace’s basements. Directly above them were the kitchens which, even at this hour, were fully populated. Eiry passed by the servants’ quarters briefly, then up further into the audience halls and sitting chambers, dining rooms and smoking cubicles and all manner of rooms for the trappings of state. Upward she continued past quarters for lower nobles, higher nobles, and royalty, even past the pigeon coves where messages were received from other parts of Seighn and occasionally from beyond the border, until she was in the highest 121

tower.

Climbing the last stair, Eiry would have let out a sigh of relief if she weren’t already panting. They would have been bad enough without the extra layers of weighty, restrictive clothing. That would definitely be one of her earliest changes to this country: simplify fashion.

Were the room bare, Eiry’s breath would have been taken away by the view she had. Had she been a merchant, she would have been pricing the enormous cost of the inches-thick glass that ran floor to ceiling to the north, east, and south of the room. As it was, Eiry had eyes only for the peculiar brass and glass contraption sitting in a well-worn groove at the middle of the room. Two liveried servants were fiddling with knobs while a third pressed his eye to a piece at the end and wrote in a small pad of paper.

Eiry had heard of this machine many times before, but had never been allowed up here, being considered too young despite her royal blood. Only royalty and those servants trained in the operation of the machine were allowed here at all. This was a room for the kings and queens of Seighn to keep watch over their people, a prominence they did not share lightly.

“Majesty!” one of the servants said, diving into a quick bow. The other two servants noticed the entourage then and made similar bodily gestures.

“What do you behold this day?” asked Eiry, fighting her body for control of her lungs. It had been a long, long staircase.

“Riders from the south, Majesty,” the eldest of the servants said. “One of the southern baronies by livery, but they display no flag at this distance. We were treated to a showing of magic last night, somewhere to the east. Oh, and there is considerable activity around Links, Majesty.”

Eiry approached the metal object slowly, thinking fast. Of course there would be activity in Links. There would be activity in every major capitol of every barony in Seighn, with the news of her arrival. What was the man trying to tell her? And what about that magic – did it have to do with the letter she had received last night from the Order of Humanity?

With a start, Eiry realized that she had already reached her destination. To cover, she waved her arm at the machine while looking at the servants. She knew nothing of its workings, so she had to be as vague as possible.

“Links,” the older servant said to the younger two. Quickly, they shifted the hulking metal contraption to an eastern-facing portion of the thick glass window. They turned knobs this way and that as the old man rattled off a series of numbers.

The servants backed away and Eiry put her eyes to the peephole. At first, she thought she was looking at a perfect painting of the old city of Links, but then she noticed the flags waving in the air. Her heart leapt at the sight of her 122

father’s – no, now it was her own – sigil on those flags. At least one barony was going to back her all the way.

The sight also reminded her of Lo’are’s plight. However, there was nothing Eiry could do to help the elf right now, so she put the whole situation out of her mind with amazing alacrity.

“Very good. Keep me informed.” As she walked towards the stairs, she asked the older servant, “How many men in that southern column?”

“Less than a thousand is all I can say, Majesty,” he called to her as she continued down the staircase.

Dier crept closer to her on the spiraling staircase, taking the narrower inside steps so she could catch Eiry’s ear. “Less than a thousand is still more than you have!” she hissed. “They can take Avard with that many!”

“But he won’t,” Eiry said. She had planned for the eventuality of several of the baronies banding together against her; one barony would not be enough to destroy her. In fact, a few extra men would be quite useful.

Eiry waved the Abbess back, gesturing for one of her Links guardsmen to come forward. “Take this message to all gates into Avard. In an effort to make sure that nobles are placed on equal footing during their stay, dukes and duchesses are allowed up to ten retainers inside the palace walls and fifty in the city, while barons and baronesses are allowed twenty and one hundred. In addition, the palace is incurring a tax of a five-coin for horseless and a oneingot for horsed palace residents. The tax is to be collected every noon. That should keep their numbers down.”

The guard smiled broadly and bowed as well as he could while walking down a steep set of stairs.

“Make sure that they know they will have to pay in coin, not by bank letter or any such thing.” Eiry smiled back at him. None of the nobles would have brought that much coin with them, she hoped.

As the guard scurried off, Dier returned to Eiry’s side. “That’s all well and good, even though you don’t need the money when you have the backing of the Abbey, but you still don’t know the intentions of that southern baron!”

“They don’t know mine, I don’t know theirs,” Eiry said dismissively. She was thankful to be descending, but her legs were already burning. “They know it’s a fair trade, so I knew that at least some of them would take it. My peers don’t like being caught unawares, let alone being kept so.”

After a light midday meal, Eiry continued the inspection with the two Abbesses at her heels and an ever-growing throng of petty nobles.

Finished with the main palace, she next led her flock on a complete circuit of the battlements of the palace walls. The view was not as stunning as from the observatory, but it had its own joys, the stroll alone being one.

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When Eiry descended the far staircase of the wall, she continued her tour into the palace’s satellite buildings that were behind the green-flecked marble walls of the Pure Fortress. Other than to notice the poor quality of horses, the stables held little interest to her, as she had grown used to the presence of large animals during her stay in Kalard. The barracks were only partially filled and many of the soldiers inside the buildings were of the baron who had failed in his occupation of Avard. Very few craftsmen were to be found inside the walls, most being in the town.

The one building that caught Eiry’s interest, one that she had absolutely forgotten about until she walked into it, was the library.

A plump man sat at a little desk at the entrance. As the relatively small passage into the library filled with Eiry’s entourage, the man’s eyes widened and he swayed on the chair a bit. Evidently it was rare for anyone to come to the library, let alone such a crowd as this.

He calmed down quickly as he adopted the manner of a narrated encyclopedia. Pointing out the various sections of the library as he walked, the best sections (in his opinion) and the areas where they were sorely lacking material (again, his opinions), he also explained its usage system.

“Wait,” Eiry said at one point in his speech. “No one can remove a book from the library? No one?”

The man’s equanimity vanished in a flash. Not only was a very powerful woman sounding very displeased, the entire crowd behind Eiry was divided between staring at him and staring at her.

“By law, my lady,” he said with voice quavering. “Your Majesty. There are sitting rooms. Comfortable ones, my la- Majesty. There are rooms set aside for royalty alone, if it be your preference.”

Eiry was also aware of her audience, but showed no sign as she placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “It is a good law,” she said. “Not one that I would wish changed. If anyone could take a book out of the library, not all would be returned, and we can’t have that, can we?”

The librarian fell over his tongue trying to reassure her and himself at the same time. She left with the promise to return soon.

Great, she thought. The librarian and gardener like me. You’re well on your way to winning over the country now, Eiry.

“Has my Lady Eiry considered giving audiences today?” asked Abbess Dier in a low voice as the entourage trailed them back to the main palace.

“As a matter of fact, I have,” Eiry said. I just haven’t decided yet. From here until the day of her coronation, whenever that might come, she walked a dreadfully thin suspension rope. Her main source of power was the monopoly she held on certain information. She would not simply give it up, but at the 124

same time, she did have to cultivate it. Finding the right people with whom to invest that information would be what made or broke her claim to the throne.

“May I suggest the sitting room of your personal chambers?” Dier said.

“It will limit the number of people who you will have to accept at a time, so we will be able to help you more.”

“Help?” Eiry asked sharply. Her worst fears of the Abbey’s powers rushed back. Would they influence those with whom she spoke? What was their intention, helping her take back her throne? How would they call their debt later on?

“As my colleague has a talent with the emotional states of anger and fear, so do I have a talent for feeling out whether someone is telling the truth or not,” the other Abbess murmured from Eiry’s left side. “With us sitting in audience with you, you would know both what someone says, and what they think. Would this be useful to you?”

Of course it would be useful, but what’s your price? Eiry asked silently. She had again been startled by the Abbess’s voice – it was the one out of her bedchamber from last night. Aloud, Eiry asked, “If Abbesses have this power, surely the barons and dukes will already know of it, and refuse to have you in the same room during any audience. I know my countrymen, and they will be terribly upset if I allow such a thing. It’s too close to magic for their tastes.”

And for mine.

“Abbess Scoraste’s talent is quite rare,” Dier said. “So rare that not even many Abbesses know of its existence.”

Abbess Scoraste looked at Eiry and Eiry realized it just made sense to have the second Abbess with her.

Eiry crossed through the palace entrance, her footfalls at first loud then blotted out as everyone else followed her into the echoing passageway.

“Find the list of audience requests. One of the servants will have it, I’m sure. I’ll try two today, and we’ll see about tomorrow. Tonight I expect to stay in the library, so don’t plan for more than that.”

After a dinner conversation that left her stomach tied in knots, Eiry was thankful to retreat to the quiet haven of the library.

Eiry walked through the main library entrance with only one of her guards trailing her. Finding the hallway cleaner than during her earlier inspection, Eiry smiled at the ability of the palace’s servants to predict what their royalty would be wanting. Imagine, a hundred men and women forsook every other duty to come to this building, all to make sure that I did not see any dust.

The same librarian was at the little entrance stool. He stood and bowed low, for some reason looking out of breath.

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“Your Majesty,” he greeted her. “You are most welcome.”

“I see that you were expecting me?”

The librarian bowed again. “Your Majesty’s visit brought about a renewal in your vassals’ interest in learning.”

Eiry raised an eyebrow.

“I have more visitors in the library right now than I have had in all of recent memory,” the man appended.

“I see.” Eiry looked around, but did not see anyone else in the library.

Evidently they were wanting to corner her privately, or take note of her research topics to know what to speak with her about in the coming days.

Neither would do. “I wish to view the royal reading rooms.”

“At once, Your Majesty.”

The librarian bowed for a third time, and Eiry gestured for him to take the lead. As she walked behind the man, she looked this way and that at the spines of thousands of books. She could not help but contrast the Avard library with Family Rhiorenne’s smaller library. She had grown used to Claren spending quite a bit of time over there, searching out as much knowledge as he could get his eyes on, oftentimes in the silent company of the Family’s Patriarch, Polleak.

Though the Family’s library was smaller, its variety of books was more eclectic because once a book went into the library it never came out – books being seen as too precious to throw away in Kalard, even if they were outdated or objectionable.

The librarian quickly threaded his way through the unpredictable warrens of the library to bring Eiry to the requested set of rooms. From somewhere about his body he withdrew a large ring of keys. Eiry was amazed at how silent they had remained on the little journey.

“Your Majesty’s rooms are the envy of the palace today, Lady Eiry,” he murmured as he turned the lock.

What are you trying to tell me? Eiry wondered. “Are they.”

“Oh, indeed, Your Majesty. I have had ever so many requests for entrance into these rooms today.”

Ah. “It is good to find my rooms so well guarded,” Eiry praised him as she entered the reading room. “I will not be wanting to receive visitors this evening, either.”

Her guard nodded and took position outside the door.

“It shall be so, Your Majesty,” the librarian bowed.

The room was lit with mirrored lanterns – another sign that the palace servants could predict her needs – and was even cleaner than the rest of the library. There was an obvious divide down the middle of the room, with the left side being taken over more with chairs and sofas while the right side was 126

full of settees and chaise lounges. The royal reading room was also set up for discussion, if the king or queen wished to bring in scholars or vassals.

The librarian cleared his throat. “If Your Majesty would care to give me a list of this evening’s interests, I would be happy to bring you the best resources I have on those subjects. Along with some extra miscellaneous books, of course,” he added.

Eiry pitied the man’s back, with all the bowing he was doing, but she would not dare to tell him to curtail his profession of loyalty; he would get flustered, she was sure.

“Topics.” Now came the worrisome part of her trip to the library. The librarian already knew to assist her in keeping her true reasons for coming to the library secret, with his offer of bringing books on random subjects, but he could have learned that from any noble who had frequented the facility. If the man could be trusted, as she thought he could, then everything would work out fine. If he were less impartial than she hoped, there might be severe repercussions tomorrow.

The librarian, interpreting her silence, moved to close the door. “My apologies, Your Majesty,” he said with yet another bow.

Eiry waved for him to stand upright. I will try the least questionable first, and work my way up the ladder. “I am interested in power structures,” Eiry began.

“Nations, including those on Tortryst. The Abbey. The Guilds. Pinnacle.

The Monks’ Reserve. I also want to find out about a few specific historical individuals, like the Alaris, some of the more well-known Seren, a few influential Seighn kings, and my grandfather in particular.”

The librarian stood silently, not moving, for a while after she finished her list of topics. She knew there was a reason, but she could not think of what it might be.

“Speak,” she commanded generally. She reclined on one of the divans.

“Majesty,” the librarian said, for once without bowing but yet not looking her in the eye, “I will do the best I can for your list, but some of these topics will be… difficult.”

Eiry circled her palm toward herself, trying to get him to say what was on his mind.

He obliged her. “Power structures I can provide you. Famous Seren, I know the exact book. But as to books with magical topics, I’m afraid that they are officially banned in the kingdom. And your grandfather is too newly off the throne for any writer to have taken a stance on his reign.”

No writer will take a stance on my grandfather? That probably means that everyone’s waiting to see what the attitude of the future monarch is going to have been toward him.

Nobody wants to take their life in their hands by writing a book contrary to the royal opinion.

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Eiry pursed her lips. But there’s ways around everything, especially when someone uses the word “official” as a qualifier.

“Any insight that you might find concerning my family’s ruling style would be helpful,” Eiry said. “Perhaps there are narrowly distributed texts.”

“There is… a set of personal insights that you above all people would be entitled to read, Your Majesty,” the librarian said hesitantly. “It sits in this room, under that chair’s cushion.”

“Very well,” Eiry said. Now, how to get him to bring me what I need about Alaris?

“I would also have you check the oldest storage rooms for texts that were overlooked in the ban. It may concern the safety of Seighn in as little time as this very year. I must have knowledge of what mages can do.”

The librarian nodded vaguely, apparently having gotten so lost in his thoughts that he forgot to bow. “I believe I might be able to glean some random items for Your Majesty. There were several shipments from the Temple of Knowledge from the new Lord of the Libraries just before City Aeterna was shut away; perhaps there was something that made it past the censors.” Then, coming back to himself, he made up for his oversight by bowing three times on his way to the door.

Eiry locked the door behind him and straightaway went to the chair the librarian had indicated, and removed the cushion. After playing with the wood underneath, she found purchase on a protrusion and lifted it to find a small leather-bound book hiding in the recess.

Carrying it to a table in the middle of the room, she set it down and opened it to the first page. “Grandfather!” Eiry said in surprise. The book was penned in her grandfather’s handwriting. The librarian had led her to the old king’s personal journal.

There was a knock at the door. “Your Majesty,” a soft voice came through the keyhole. “I have your first delivery from the Head Librarian.”

Eiry covered the book and set the cushion back on the chair before opening the door. She read the first book’s title aloud.

“Inoffensive Crochet for Proper Court Ladies?” The book had originally been written a thousand years ago by a long forgotten queen. The author was probably the only reason the book was still in existence. At least the librarian is intent upon confusing the spies out there.

Two more misleading books arrived. One was on yachting and the other on the application of herbs, before the first of Eiry’s actual requests came into her possession. She temporarily set aside her grandfather’s journal to read about the ruling bodies of the Fair Folk.

The elven kingdoms were the most numerous, followed by the dwarves, then three races that she had never seen, brownies, sprites, and wisps. All 128

combined, there were still more humans than Fair Folk.

The smallest three groups of the Fair Folk seemed to have no ruling social structure at all, other than a single leader. There was little information on them, so Eiry continued on to the elves.

Though they all lived on Tortryst now, the four elven kingdoms — the Arbilorn tree-dwellers, cave-bound Osilorn, Resilorn ocean elves, and Avilorn mountain folk — had separate monarchs and separate lands.

The dwarves, on the other hand, had chosen to come together in one location to live when all four groups mustered on Tortryst. Because of the proximity of the four races in Dwarfhome, they were soon intermarried, and became one indivisible race. They did have one king who presided over several clans, but the power of the king was not absolute.

Both elven and dwarven cultures also dictated that allegiance was not given to nobility alone. Eiry could understand the role of the dwarves’ craft taking some of their loyalty – the crafts were similar to guilds, but were only available through blood relations – but the elven animal societies called Totems were too foreign for Eiry to comprehend despite Lo’are’s tutoring.

Any time one of the monarchs died, the newest monarch and the old monarchs would convene to debate who led the most powerful race, and that monarch would become High King or Queen. The title was only enacted when a dispute came about between the kingdoms of the Fair Folk; otherwise, the monarchs governed their own peoples separately.

At least I know who to send envoys to, Eiry thought. But the question still remains of whether I should acknowledge the Fair Folk nations or not. I will gain allies, but lose others. Perhaps only the dwarves, to start; they are less controversial than any of the elven kingdoms.

Only when the door opened did Eiry realize that she had been ignoring several knocks while she had been trying to make sense of the convoluted Fair Folk political systems. The head librarian bowed slowly, obviously giving Eiry a chance to cover her readings before leading in a troop of his assistants with armloads of books. All but the head of the library left. He closed the door.

“With luck, Majesty, several of the books from Lord Olber in Aeterna were about the exact topics you requested. It seemed the Temple of Knowledge itself had just gone through an abominable purge, and the Lord was sympathetic to our trying to round out our list of available topics here.”

With that proviso, the librarian stepped to the side to display a little wooden chest on a wheeled cart. He wheeled the chest over to Eiry’s divan.

“A rather large portion of the shipment was specifically about the Alaris himself, actually. The archmage passed through town a few years ago, and someone around here became interested in him.

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“I’m afraid that I cannot tell you which books are fact and which are myths, so I brought them all,” the librarian finished, waving at the chest.

“Who was interested in the Alaris?” Eiry asked. “Do we have a resident expert on the subject?”

The librarian smiled bashfully. “Actually, Your Majesty, I admit it was me.

But I am not an expert on the Alaris; I have read all these books, but many are contradictory. Most seem far-fetched, but who can tell what is fancy and what is not when the subject is magic?”

Eiry’s heart sank as she looked at the chest on wheels. Reading everything in there would take the entire night, and then some. But she had to learn as much as she could about Alaris and his role in Pinnacle as she could, if for no other reason than to be able to guess what he wanted with her, and how he was planning on using her children.

She waved the librarian away. “Please send in my guard.”

The librarian was replaced with her Links guard. “Yes, my queen?”

Eiry let the reference to her royalty slip by as she always did with her most loyal guards. She pointed to one of the four writing desks. “Take quill, ink, and parchment to the highest tower and inquire from those manning the spyglass about the current position of the barons in relation to Avard. Bring the information directly back to me, then burn the page.”

The guard bowed. “Respectfully, Majesty, I am your only guard, as you requested. I cannot countenance leaving you alone, even locked in these rooms as you are.”

Eiry smiled fondly at the man. “You think I didn’t notice that we were being trailed? Honestly.” The man had the grace to blush. “Send one of them if you wish, or find a replacement and go yourself.”

“Majesty,” said a well-dressed servant woman while executing a distinguished full body flourish. “Baroness Ilear, ruler de facto of the South Central Barony and seventeenth heir to the Throne of Seighn announces her approach to Avard and requests Your Majesty grant her leave to enter your palace.”

“Road travel is always wearying, let alone at the gallant pace she has set.

You may return to your mistress with my invitation to attend me here in my sitting rooms at her convenience,” Eiry said.

The servant flourished again – Eiry could not call it a curtsy or bow, but something in between – and swiftly exited through the doors. The royal guards exited the apartment’s sitting room with her, leaving only two Abbesses for company in the frescoed, gilded room.

“What brought on that decision?” Dier hissed, leaning forward on her 130

couch.

Eiry did not reply.

“You knew she was coming,” the Abbess persisted. “Didn’t you! You weren’t surprised at all at that announcement.” Seeing she was being pointedly ignored, Dier sighed loudly. “Eiry, I cannot protect you if you keep such vital information from me! I do not ask you to pass on all your secrets, only those concerning your safety and the surety of your position on the throne!”

“I spent a long time in this room as a child, staring at these paintings,” Eiry said. “My father thought I didn’t know that he was trying to keep me away from my grandfather, but the only thing I didn’t know was why he saw my grandfather as a threat. Only over these past few days have I learned that it was the other way around – my grandfather saw everyone else as a threat, even his son, so what assurance was there that he would not see his granddaughter likewise?”

“Eiry!” Dier said sharply, drawing her attention. “I cannot stress to you how harmful your decision might have been. Baroness Ilear on her own is perilous to your throne because of the name she has built for herself, but she brings my kin with her.”

Eiry feigned surprise. “She acquired an Abbess?”

Her mouth twisting at Eiry’s choice of words, Dier said, “Two, one of whom is a Mother Abbess. A very strong Mother Abbess.” She cast her eyes down and halfway muttered, “Stronger than me, to be more to the point. She is one of four potential successors to the current Grandmother Abbess, now that she’s had experience being advisor to a high noble.”

“And you want to become my advisor,” Eiry murmured. “What a coincidence that is.”

Dier redirected her attention to the Abbess sitting next to her on the couch. “This is not a good place for you to be, my dear. Why don’t you return once the audience is finished?”

Abbess Scoraste glanced at Dier. “I think I could handle myself.”

“I don’t doubt it for an instant,” Dier replied evenly.

“As you command,” Scoraste murmured, inclining her head ever so slightly. “I will return soon.”

Eiry barely had time to compose her thoughts before the audience began.

The baroness must have been waiting right at the gate for her to receive the invitation so expediently. The servant ought to have announced her arrival, not her approach.

Baroness Ilear propelled herself into the room only after both double doors had been opened to their fullest. Despite the innumerable costly jewels woven into her hair lattices, the unmistakable sound of metal-bound boots 131

striking the floor under the violently orange dress, and the overpowering smell of a spicy cologne instead of a perfume, the thing that captured most of Eiry’s attention was the bigness of the woman.

No, not bigness, thought Eiry. Hugeness, maybe, or imposing bulk, but not just ‘big.’

‘Big’ is not a… big… enough word to describe this hulking creature.

If Eiry were to stand in front of the baroness on the tips of her toes, the crown of her head would barely touch the bottom of the woman’s ample bosom. And as to her weight, it would take three or more Eiry’s to equal the baroness – weight that was not all muscle, but was definitely not flab.

“Your gracious Majesty,” she said with the same deep bow/curtsy flourish that her messenger had used. “I thank you for your kind invitation to the palace, and wish to welcome you back to your rightful home.”

Even her voice is huge, Eiry thought. “You’re quite welcome, my dear baroness. Please, will you take seat?” So I don’t have crane my neck even when you’re curtsying. Bowing. Whatever-ing.

“Majesty is benevolent,” the woman rumbled. “With your leave, I have brought my own chair so that I might save your furnishings from becoming so much kindling.”

Eiry nodded her assent, pressing her lips together to keep from smiling in amusement and nervousness. The baroness turned and nodded toward another woman wearing the iridescent shirt and black skirt of the Abbesses.

The Abbess walked to the door and gestured in a pair of servants who had a massive chair by the armrests. The man and woman wrestled the chair into position behind the baroness, then bowed their way out.

The design of the chair was not lost on Eiry, but its implications were not entirely readable. What does she mean by bringing a model of the Seighn Throne?

Just as quickly, Eiry realized that she had been staring at the chair for some time, and the baroness had not yet taken seat. Rather, Baroness Ilear was studying Eiry’s reaction, and waiting to see further what she would do.

Schooling herself to outer calmness, Eiry gestured that the woman should sit in the chair. “Please.”

Baroness Ilear nodded to Eiry with a very significant look. She sat with a satisfied sigh. “Quite a journey we had to get here. Of course, I imagine my horse had the harder time of it.” She laughed.

Eiry smiled to cover her surprise. “You ride?” Only then did she notice that the orange dress was divided.

“It takes a draft horse to sit me, but I detest carriages,” Baroness Ilear replied. “They breed feebleness.”

Okay, you’ve made your point, you’re a big, strong, tough person, Eiry thought. Now why did you send me a letter saying that you support my taking the throne, then bring your 132

own little throne with you to our first audience?

Deciding that the woman was the sort who would appreciate a relatively forward way of talking instead of the usual political maneuverings she had had to do for the past several days, Eiry said, “That’s quite the impressive work that you have under you.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Baroness Ilear replied, affectionately giving one of the wood armrests a caress. “This throne was one of the first things I had crafted when I assumed the barony; it was frustrating, breaking or not fitting into all the chairs around the palaces.”

Palaces. Plural. So she’s shown this throne-chair off to other barons. But what are her intentions? Eiry was stuck.

“Of course, once I sat in this chair, there was no going back to smaller chairs, so I take it with me wherever I go,” the baroness said.

Ah. “Are you comfortable with the size of your… chair… or are you searching for a larger one?”

Baroness Ilear nodded slightly. “I am content with the… throne… I have. I will not carve a new one, but if I find a preexisting one that is larger and unoccupied…” She shrugged her powerful shoulders.

Eiry nodded in return and let the silence stretch for a bit as she digested the implications and girded her tongue for the next round.

“I wonder, with your years of experience in ruling, if I might solicit your advice on a quandary in which I find myself placed,” Eiry said.

“What wisdom I have is at your disposal, Majesty.”

“I know of no way to bring this up delicately, so I will be blunt. Links.”

Had Eiry not been so hyper vigilant at that moment, looking for every detail she could acquire, she would not have noticed the startled movement made by both Dier and the baroness’s Abbess. She was suddenly and unnervingly aware that there were two tactical struggles going on in the room.

Eiry had no idea with what Abbesses fought, but even though their battle was silent, it was obviously potent. Even more worriedly, Dier looked very strained. How much more powerful is the Baroness’s Mother Abbess compared to Dier?

Maybe I really should have warned Dier; she could have gotten some rest to prepare for this meeting. …I had better cut this meeting short, if I can.

“Had my father taken my grandfather’s place in Avard, he would have left his throne in Links to my brother, or to me, since my brother had already died in Sur by that time. As it is, I am the only acknowledged living branch of the primary royal family and the Links Barony.”

Ilear grinned. “What’s the problem? Two thrones, two buttocks.”

Eiry’s eyes widened of their own accord. Blinking rapidly, she knew that the fight against the blood rushing to her cheeks was already lost. Fortunately, 133

she was saved from having to answer – if she could find an answer to such a crass comment – by the baroness laughing and waving her left hand in a dismissing gesture as she spoke.

“Oh, your face was priceless. You’re worse than the men. They can always figure out a way to reply to something like that, but they’re never sure if they dare, in the presence of a” she made a comical simper “lady.”

She calmed. “In all seriousness, though, I do have a question for you before I give you the advice you requested. Why did you not claim the throne of Links before pressing your claim to Avard? Your right to the Links throne would be uncontested, and then you would have had an army and barony behind you when you came to the Pure Fortress.”

For once, Eiry had a preconceived answer. “I had considered it, but not for long. If I had taken Links, I would be seen as but one more baron brawling for the throne. The lands and people of Links would have suffered if I had brought them into a war. Besides, having an army behind me wouldn’t matter if several armies stood against me. No, I want to rule Seighn in peace, and peace born of bloodshed is rarely a lasting peace.”

Baroness Ilear stared at Eiry for so long that the Abbesses noticed the silence and turned to their respective aristocrats. The baroness’s Abbess reached out a hand as though to hold the large woman in place, but Ilear rose from her chair to approach Eiry. Abbess Dier stepped back with an inclination of her head, so Eiry knew she meant no violence.

The woman took a knee in front of Eiry and bent at her waist until her face was directly over Eiry’s right hand. She kissed the garnet ring Eiry wore that day and said, “Majesty will be a wise ruler. I am sworn to you and your house for as long as you shall live, if you will have me.”

Eiry’s heart leapt. She had been hoping for this moment, not daring to pray lest the gods take note and deny her request, but now that it was here, she was so choked by emotion that she could barely nod her acceptance.

“What does your Majesty wish of me?” Ilear asked, body still scrunched up before Eiry like a dam of water ready to burst open.

That’s right, what do I need from her? wondered Eiry for the first time, then further wondered why she had never wondered about this before. “Firstly, speak to no one of my intentions toward the throne.”

The baroness looked up wryly. “That won’t be too hard, since all you’ve done so far has been insinuate at me.”

“And for that I do apologize, but—” “No, your Majesty, you oughtn’t. Not ever. Not with me, not with any of these barons. Most of them see good manners as weakness,” Ilear said, clearly disgusted at the thought.

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“Secondly,” Eiry said, getting back on track, “There is a woman in Links, an Avilorn elf by the name Lo’are. She is being held hostage against my taking the throne. Send half of your armsmen to search her out and bring her to me alive – but be cautious: her captors are mages. There may also be Relocators with them. Capture those alive. Kill the mages.

“Thirdly, I need you to search out all the barons eager to swear to me, and send them to me before midnight tonight, one at a time. Don’t come with them, but send word to me of their intentions as they come for their audience.

Fourthly, search out those who are willing but hesitant to swear, and personally bring them to me directly before midnight tomorrow.”

“May I inquire as to what happens at midnight?”

“No. Rise.” Eiry struck the brass chime to her left, and a servant entered the room from the ever-present back door. Sometimes, Eiry wanted to wander those back corridors to see where they led and just how much of the palace was taken up by the ‘space between the walls.’ But, such things were not done; servants were not to be seen or heard, most of the time, so they were relegated to the equivalent of a city’s back alleys.

“Prepare lofty rooms for the Baroness Ilear and her party,” Eiry commanded. “Make her most welcome.”

“Majesty,” the baroness said as she flourished her way out of the room.

The double doors closed. Eiry collapsed against the back of her chair, and Abbess Dier rounded on her.

“Well, that could have gone worse, but it certainly could have gone better,” she said, stalking toward Eiry.

“How?” Eiry asked. “I mean, really, Dier, the woman is sworn to me!”

“Bah! That oath means nothing! If it were a contract on paper it wouldn’t even need any fine print because it is so empty! She’s sworn to you, yes, but not sworn to actually do anything for you. And what’s that proviso about as long as you’re alive? She’d picked those words out long before she came in here; she was reciting.”

“And what were you and that Mother Abbess doing while we were talking?” Eiry shot back. “Considering how domineering you Abbesses try to be, there was far too much silence going on for my comfort.”

“We were covering ourselves and you two as best we could while fighting to be able to see what the other pair was feeling.” Suddenly looking quite weak, Dier took the nearest seat. “By the gods, I’d forgotten what it was like to duel with another Mother.”

Did she just admit that she herself is a Mother Abbess? “What were those two feeling, then?”

“Of the seven major emotions they were emitting envy and greed, 135

mostly,” Dier said with a wave of her hand. “But that was to be expected.

There’s no doubt that Ilear wants the throne, and that the Abbess wants her to have it. At the same time, I think the baroness respects you much more than she did when she first entered the room; she’s trustworthy to a certain extent, but don’t read too much into that.”

Eiry held up her hand. “I thought you said that the Abbey backs me, that the Abbey would fight for me.”

Dier hesitated for long enough that Eiry had to prompt her to speak.

“The Abbey supports a woman on the throne to bring peace to Seighn.” “‘A’ woman.” Eiry looked at Dier, who did not raise her head. She raised her voice slightly. “Has the Abbey decided on which woman?”

“We didn’t know you were alive!” Dier said explosively. “Yes, we were prepping Ilear for the throne.”

“But I am alive. Are you telling me that only part of the Abbey is supporting me?” Eiry asked. “Is Ilear your backup plan still?”

Dier sighed, then took a deep, fortifying breath. “The Grandmother Abbess’s original plan was to find you and clear your way to the throne. When we weren’t able to find you, the civil war had already broken out. We needed a second plan quickly; Ilear was it.

“Unfortunately, being in Formast, I was not privy to the new plans. I was still of the impression that, if by some miracle you were found to be still alive, we would bring you back to the throne. When I found you, I immediately sent word to the Abbey that I was on my way with you.

“Now we cannot talk about the Abbey anymore in this matter; the Abbey is divided over who should take the throne. The Grandmother Abbess supports you, though, Eiry, and until she dies, most of the Abbey will follow her lead whatever their predilections. The only thing we need to worry about is getting you on the throne so the rest of the Abbesses have no choice about who to support.”

Comprehension dawned on Eiry. “That was why you were in such a hurry for me to take the throne. Whoever gets there first wins the support of the Abbey.”

Dier could not answer without lying or speaking badly of the Abbey.

Instead, she asked, “Eiry, what is to happen at midnight tomorrow?”

“I sometimes stand all night on the walls of my Pure Fortress and drink in the calmness of the night. It drowns the wildfires that tear through my head, and soothes me better than a night of torturous sleep.”

By the time Eiry’s grandfather had written this in his journal, he was 136

already losing his mind, but was still fighting with little mental techniques he had garnered over the years. Eventually he would lose the battle with his mind, the coup de grace being the death of his wife, yet his reign had graced his land with many years of peace and prosperity. Her grandfather’s journal had been of great use to her, not only for comfort and advice, but also for practical knowledge about the ruling of the kingdom. And, even more importantly, about the crown and throne of Seighn.

Eiry stood on the parapet of the palace’s green-flecked white marble walls, opening her mind and body to the quiet of the night, the coolness of the walk under her feet, the blessed tranquility of the breezes, in preparation for the night ahead. If she drank in enough, her grandfather’s words told her, she could bottle it up and recall it later to keep calm and composed.

“Lady Eiry, it’s time,” a guard announced from behind her on the stairs.

Opening her eyes once more to the delicate light of the stars above her, she nodded calmly. Still she stared from the palace walls. “All is ready?”

“All have been located, my lady,” the man said.

“Then let it begin,” she said softly as she turned and floated on unsteady legs toward the stairs.

She was escorted to her dressing chambers. The servants, having no doubt heard of her arrival time, were already awaiting her with ready hands.

The servants did find it questionable that two guards and two Abbesses came in with her, but they did not step above themselves to say as much.

“I wish to see my morning clothes for the morrow; I have an early start ahead of me,” Eiry announced as she entered the room. “There are two new dress packages in my room. Fetch them.”

Two servants bowed their way out of the room. As soon as they were gone and had shut the door, Eiry said, “Now!” The Abbesses leaped to the front and back doors while the guards went to Eiry’s side, daggers drawn. One of the servants ran to block their path while the others quailed back against the wall.

The guards tossed the servant out of the way easily enough, but hesitated when they got to Eiry.

Eiry raised her voice to end their reluctance. “Hurry! Cut it off!”

Down came the daggers, slicing through silk on both sides of her, as Eiry assured the servants that she was in no danger. As soon as the bulk around her was reduced to undergarments, Eiry grabbed up the tiny, stretching shirt and breeches from the package under what had been her petticoat. The guards, trying to avert their eyes while helping her with the strange garments, almost made more trouble than good, but soon enough she was dressed from chin to soles in skin-hugging shiny black material. Her hair she wet, combing the curls 137

into a straight line of hair extending down her spine and plastering it there with the help of some wax one of the Abbesses had provided.

As she was wiping her hands off on one of the halves of the ruined petticoat, Abbess Scoraste warned of the two servants’ return. The two guards went to the back door, and as the three women entered the room with confused looks, shut the door behind them and drew their swords.

More than one of the servants had begun to cry, and before they all started bawling in fear, Eiry stepped in to quash the downpour. “I command you to be silent!” Garnering most of their attention, she said the words that, had she not had the guards at the doors, would have sent about half the servants running to their true employers. “I go now to take the Throne and Crown of Seighn, but I will not have a bunch of ninnies running around spreading rumor. You will stay here under guard. If you try to escape, you will be killed. If you attract attention to this room, you will be killed. If you stay quiet, I will send you some nice blueberry wine to calm your nerves.” And send you to sleep, if the apothecary was correct in his dosages.

Out from the room Eiry swept, making herself take long strides to make sure that she would not start running. She knew the moment she entered the main hall when servants scattered right and left that the word was on its way to the higher nobles and barons that Something Was Amiss. She had to act quickly.

Eiry arrived at the Royal Audience Chamber to find all in readiness.

Those barons who had sworn to serve her were waiting behind the throne, arrayed most impressively in black just as she was, but with swords at their sides. The other nobles who had so sworn lined the walls. All benches and chairs had been removed, making the floor look very, very empty. Baroness Ilear stood near the entrance door, ready to admit the first of the barons who Eiry was relatively sure would swear to her if that were the general consensus.

As Eiry entered the chamber, the Baroness flourished, holding a sword in front of her. “Your Majesty’s sword.”

Eiry took the blade by the scabbard and walked quickly toward the elevated chair. She drew the sword, placed the empty scabbard at the side of the throne, and rested the naked blade across her knees as she sat. She had no training in swordplay, but all she needed it for was image.

“Bring in the first, Baroness.”

The first baron to enter the audience chamber was even younger than Eiry, having succeeded after his father mysteriously died from poisoning.

Looking very nervous already, his complexion was not ameliorated by having to stand in the middle of an audience chamber, surrounded by nobles, looking up at the eyes of a woman dressed in outlandish clothes and bearing a sword 138

across her lap.

“My Lord Baron will take his knees or will have them taken for him,” announced Baroness Ilear from directly behind the young man.

With a frightened look back – and up – he dropped to his knees so quickly he winced.

“My Lord Baron agrees that Seighn is one whole country?” asked Eiry.

He looked at her as though she was insane. This was not about asking obvious questions, was it? “Yes, my la— your Majesty.”

“My Lord Baron agrees that Seighn is ruled by one person alone?”

The young man was sweating, but already his mind had begun trying to figure out where this questioning was leading. “Yes, my… Majesty.”

“My Lord Baron will agree that Seighn is ruled by a member of the royal family alone?”

He threw himself down face-first on the floor. “Your Majesty, I do not want the throne! My uncle tried to make me take it, but I killed him for that!

Please, I had no designs on your throne!”

Eiry looked at Baroness Ilear, who shrugged slightly. It would be dealt with later.

“My Lord Baron will come to his knees.” Eiry took a firm tone, and soon the young man was back on his knees, albeit with a face moist from tears and mucus. “My Lord Baron will swear his allegiance to the royal family and the Throne and Crown of Seighn in front of his sworn peers.”

And so it went through the long list, no swearing taking more time than the first, some taking as little as half that with the noble or baron seeing through the trappings and immediately swearing allegiance. All told, Eiry could now count more than three quarters of the barons and nobles of Seighn as being under her influence.

“Send the messengers now,” Eiry commanded the Baroness. Then to the rest of those in the room she said, “Assemble behind me, my lords and ladies.”

Having sent messengers to those nobles not already sworn, Eiry set out through the hallways with her retainers at her back.

She did not have far to go. The sleepy sentries at the doors to the Throne Room quickly came alert at the unexpected influx of nobles.

“Open! Open for the Queen of Seighn!” roared Baroness Ilear.

Even though they knew that the title wasn’t quite correct until she took the throne and crown, the two sentries heaved on the doors, opening them just in time for Eiry to not have to slow her pace.

Behind her, she could hear the nobles rushing to their respective places in the room, even those who had never been in the throne room knowing exactly where to go. Eiry marched up the center aisle, sword in scabbard at her side, 139

throne and crown ahead of her.

She took the steps one at a time, and suddenly, there it was – the Crown of Seighn. After what she had read in her grandfather’s journal, Eiry couldn’t help but feel nervous reaching toward it. If she was found not worthy, anything could happen. She could be killed, the nobles behind her might know that she had been rejected, or the lands of Seighn possibly would wither and die until she passed the crown on to someone else. Eiry wanted to disbelieve the histories when she read them in the library, but they were not works of fiction.

The gods, especially Torberepar, were particular about who they would accept as their direct underlings.

Steeling herself, she bent to pick up the crown from the throne. The crown felt heavy, the gold inlaid with petrified wood from around the kingdom, and a sliver of the marble from the walls of the Pure Fortress.

Gently, she placed it on her head, turned, and announced simply, “I am Queen of Seighn.”

Nothing happened.

Her heart still pounding, Eiry took the last step of the coronation ceremony. Saying a quick prayer to Torberepar, she sat on the throne and again intoned: “I am Queen of Seighn.”

And she Became the Queen.

The Queen’s hands, clenched on the armrests of the gold throne, felt like the only thing that kept her anchored as the room suddenly seemed to float in water. She could still breathe, could still hear, but it was as though her body did not exist. The intentions of every one of the nobles assembled were revealed to her. The condition of the palace was made plain. The borders of her domain drew themselves from the ground up at the periphery of her vision; her eyes seeing the great distance all the way to Lej, to Brelia, to Weden and Formast and the Free Cities.

Slowly mastering the feeling, she made herself concentrate on what was really happening in front of her eyes, in the throne room.

Her sworn nobles were all on their knees looking at her. The one or two trickling in from outside, those who had not sworn, all had the same look.

They knew she was Queen as soon as they entered the throne room.

Not trusting her voice yet, she sat and waited for all the nobles to enter the room. All too soon, they were all there – those who were not with her in the room were far away, and were not headed toward Avard at all.

“I am the Queen of all Seighn.”

“My Queen,” the assemblage said, some murmuring, some shouting, some unhappily, some enviously, some rapturously.

“Those of you who would contest my rule, I command you, come 140

forward.”

The words had been part of the monologue she had devised with the help of Abbess Dier. They had not been meant literally, but literal they had become, with the throne’s power. None would remember they had been impelled in this fashion, of course, just as Eiry herself would not remember the power that the throne granted her over those present who were sworn to the throne. As soon as she stood from the throne, she would no longer Be The Queen. She would retain the title but it was the throne that actually made her into the being of power that was termed ‘Queen.’

From both sides of the throne room, Abbesses Dier and Scoraste descended upon the hapless victims, held in place by the command of the throne to which they had sworn before Eiry was even born. To each in turn the two Abbesses walked, pressing the front of their bodies against the rigid sides of the noble’s body, pressing their lips so close to the noble’s ears that lip brushed ear with every movement. By the time the Abbesses were done speaking into their hearts and minds, almost every breakaway noble had altered their loyalty.

Eiry concentrated closer on the Abbesses. Each had an effect upon the nobles to whom they whispered because each had a different way of manipulating them. She looked from Dier to Scoraste, Scoraste to Dier, back to Scoraste, and then knew his secret.

The four men who were left, one baron and the rest dukes, continued to stare at Eiry as their companions took their places in the assemblage and Dier and Scoraste returned to their niches at the edges of the room.

“Know this,” Eiry said to the four who were left. “I will not come against you with an army. I will not ravage your lands. I will not even depose you, so long as you do not move against any other part of Seighn. But I will defend my kingdom. If you attack any of my nobles, I will have you bound and gagged and caged, and left to hunger and thirst until your body decays. If you mistreat those of my people I leave in your charge, I will cast you out of this country, stripped of your titles and estates. Feel as disloyal as you wish with impunity; act on that disloyalty at your peril.”

Three of the men grudgingly nodded their heads and walked to the double doors to await dismissal. The fourth man suddenly and drastically had a change of heart, and swore to Eiry and the throne, and was accepted by his brethren. No matter where they went, they were still under her power so long as they were in the chamber. The throne was somehow connected to the chamber. Fleetingly, Eiry wondered if the throne and chamber was a magical artifact, or a gift from the Goddess Torberepar.

“It has come to my attention that in the absence of royalty, certain of my 141

nobles reached for my throne.” Many of the nobles in the audience cringed.

“I give these nobles the benefit of my doubt that they did not know I was still alive. Provided they remove their armsmen from territories that do not belong to them, no repercussions will be felt. But I warn you, hostilities will cease one way or another.

“Baroness Ilear,” called Eiry. The tremendous woman came forward and knelt. “Rise and turn. My Lords and Ladies, look upon the face of the Queen Regent. I am leaving Seighn on pressing matters of state. Until my return or the return of my blood heir, you are to obey her as you would obey me.

Whatever crimes she commits I will pardon when I return; whatever crimes you commit I will punish if you have not already been punished so to my heart’s content. All hail the Queen Regent.”

“Hail, Queen Regent!” the assemblage chorused.

“This audience is at an end. Let the doors open,” Eiry commanded.

The nobles filed from the room, even the most desperate to catch the new queen’s ear being turned away by Eiry’s hand rocking her sword back and forth on her knees.

“Ilear,” Eiry said quietly. “You may want to stay for this.”

The baroness-turned-Queen Regent bowed, this time without any hint of a curtsy. “Yes, my Queen.”

Dier and Scoraste approached up the steps to the throne.

“What do you mean by going away!” Dier growled. “You must stay to consolidate your throne! And how could you let those disloyal to you walk away freely? They will start the warring all over again!”

“It was my choice to make, and it was the only moral choice. I will not be giving my Queen Regent a throne soaked in blood to uphold as the rightful bloodline to Seighn.”

“What of your promise to take the throne?” Dier demanded.

“Haven’t I?” Eiry asked.

“You twist words like twine!” the Abbess roared.

“Though I am done with you, my Queen Regent will require your assistance during the coming years,” Eiry said, ignoring the Abbess’s words.

“You will give it to her freely, and never use your powers to coerce her.”

“What do you—” Eiry leveled the sword at Dier. “Swear it on the throne, or leave forever, or be killed,” she said. “Those are your only choices.”

Pursing her lips, Dier reached her hand to the throne and said, “Thus do I swear: to give my assistance to the Queen Regent freely, and never use my powers to coerce her.”

“I accept your oath.”

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The Abbess gasped at the sudden feeling that came over her. “How?” she whispered.

Eiry smiled. “You are sworn to the throne. Never reveal this secret.”

Dier looked desperately at Scoraste. “Don’t swear! Flee!”

“You are truly bound?” the younger of the two asked curiously.

The Abbess opened her mouth, but no words came out.

Scoraste looked resigned. “I thought as much when Her Majesty looked through me in that manner.”

Calmly, Scoraste touched the throne and swore the same oath, only flinching at the sensation of having his words literally bind themselves around his tongue. Finishing, he asked Eiry, “Just how much did you learn from your throne, if I may ask, Your Majesty?”

In answer, Eiry turned to Ilear. “Abbess Scoraste is actually something called an Abbot – a sort of male Abbess. Abbots are trained in the Abbey, but their existence is known only to a few because of their terrible power – to manipulate the thoughts of a person like Abbesses manipulate feelings.”

The Queen Regent looked closely at Abbot Scoraste. “But he looks so much like a woman – sounds so much like one!”

“He wouldn’t make a very convincing Abbess otherwise,” Eiry said.

“How is this transformation made possible, Abbot Scoraste?”

“Do refer to me as Abbess, if you please. As to your question, at the age right before the change of life, I was made a eunuch,” he replied. “It is the only way to keep the mind unadulterated in humans.”

“Why this difference between men and women?” asked Ilear. “Why is it that women are more stable?”

The Abbot looked for Dier to answer the sensitive question. Try as she might, she could not refuse to answer the question of the Queen Regent.

“We are not treated differently. Only the Enforcers are allowed to keep their bodies unaltered.” Abbess Dier’s face showed defiance, but her crumpled body posture belied other feelings.

“I see,” Eiry said softly. “As you once pointed out to me, Mother Abbess Dier, ‘all must make sacrifices for power.’” She silenced for a moment, then said, “Do you have any words for me, Queen Regent?”

Ilear shrugged. “A Regency is far from what I expected, but I’ll take it.”

“There was never any doubt in my mind,” Eiry said. She could feel the throne getting all too comfortable. If I don’t leave now, I never will. “Were your soldiers able to find Lo’are in Links?”

“They found where she had been held. The Order escaped and took your elf with them. They’re being hunted down, though. If any of them approach me with their ‘offer,’ I’ll send them packing.”

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Eiry quickly quelled the pain that welled up in her heart. She’d not said anything to Ilear about her children, but she’d been sure that they were being held with Lo’are. There was more to the letter from the Order of Humanity than readily met the eye, but she could not decipher everything.

“Were the Relocators captured?”

“Yes,” Ilear said. “Why did you wish them taken?”

“They are to be turned over to Abbess Dier,” Eiry said. “Dier, you remember what Eril wanted to happen to them?”

Dier nodded. “It shall be done.”

Eiry nodded in turn. She ran through the list of thoughts in her head, and found that all of them were taken care of but one. Looking at the sword in her hand, Eiry made her fingers loosen their grip, letting the sharp metal clatter to the throne room’s floor. “Make peace in Seighn, Ilear. Make my people healthy and happy again. That is my only command.”

“I would have done that even had it not been your command, my Queen,” Ilear said fervently. “I will strive to do my utmost.”

Eiry nodded, and stood up. The feeling of floating in the chamber washed away as soon as she left contact with the throne, and she set the crown back down on the pillowed bottom. She felt drained after standing; evidently, these sessions actually took strength from a monarch, so they could not stay on the throne forever.

But Eiry had had a temporary sitting in mind for this night. Leaving her Queen Regent standing in front of her throne, Eiry strode out of the room, out of the palace, and out of Avard into the breaking morning light.

Despite being tackled and bruised by them, Eiry was as enthusiastic to see Paedre’s dogs as they were to see her. She rolled in the dirt on the quiet little road with the two exuberant animals in primal pleasure until she heard Paedre’s voice from somewhere near her head.

“I told you they like you.”

Eiry grunted and laughed as a paw swatted her in the back. “So that’s why they’re trying to kill me down here?”

Paedre growled some words that Eiry almost recognized – was that a dwarfish accent? – and the dogs disappeared into the trees that lined the road. He offered her a hand up, which Eiry accepted. After having been at court, she was surprised when he almost yanked her arm out of her socket rather than giving her a gentlemanly platform from which to ascend.

Eiry took her arm back, rotating her shoulder a few times.“Should we go back to your inn to get your things? We have to go to New Sur.” He turned westward and started walking. “I never quite made it to that 144

inn. The night sky is so beautiful, I couldn’t resist sleeping under the stars.”

“Ah,” Eiry said. So that’s why you smell the way you do.

They walked thus until nightfall, both delighting in the leisurely pace they were able to take. They made camp. Eiry told Paedre of her escapades in the palace, and he listened silently, his only comment at the end being, “I’m glad you had me stay away from there.”

The morning brought dew on the cool grass and two dead rabbits – presents from the dogs, who’d had a good night hunting. Paedre and Eiry skinned, cooked, and ate the rabbits, taking their time with the little tasks. Eiry was surprised at how much more she enjoyed the breakfast made with her own hands than the royal fare the palace had offered. How much more refreshed she felt sleeping freely under the stars than sleeping monitored in a plush bed in her chambers. She had left almost everything behind, only taking some money, food, and Lo’are’s cloak with her.

Leisurely they got on their way, the dogs checking in occasionally along the road. They passed the Seighn/Free Cities border and continued south.

Fewer people used the road than had in previous years due to the siege of City Aeterna by the angels. Eiry didn’t know exactly what to think of the angels’ intentions. She had been convinced that they were after her when she had first passed through so long ago, then Sanct had mentioned that he thought they were after him, too, but it had never been resolved.

The border between the Free Cities and Angyest was unmanned on either side, so they passed through unchallenged. Only one other traveler was visible far behind them and he had been so long in catching up they felt him no threat.

As the lone traveler finally drew near to them, though, he slackened his stride and fell in with them.

Eiry got a good look at the man. He was pale white – so pale that he could be an albino. But that was only his head. The rest of his body was covered in exactly the same black garb she had worn on the night of her coronation. A black cylinder rode along his spine. And some ethereal property made her mildly nervous about him.

“So, what’s your name, stranger?” she finally asked after a fair number of paces had fallen behind them.

“My name?” His face did not change, but somehow, he looked troubled.

“Name… Ah, yes. Scruting.”

Eiry’s breath caught despite herself. “That’s not funny.”

The man looked at her blandly, then returned his gaze to the road and continued walking next to her.

He looked decidedly abnormal. He had a fluidity to his walk that reminded her of a snake’s slither, his face lacked a convincing amount of 145

animation, and that cylinder on his back tickled her memory of the Ballad of the Death Seren.

Unconsciously, she shied away from him and stopped walking. “You’re really him, aren’t you?” she asked, her heart starting to pound.

He stopped and turned toward her. With a clipped gesture, he motioned for her to continue walking.

“Answer me!” she said, nerves obvious in her shrill voice.

“I told you once. You did not believe me. Why repeat myself?”

Eiry’s legs wobbled. Coming up behind her, Paedre steadied her body against his.

“What’s wrong, Eiry?” asked Paedre.

“This is Scruting!”

Paedre offered the man a half-bow. “A pleasure to meet you.”

Scruting returned the bow. “And you. I’m rarely greeted so cordially; I appreciate it, holy man.”

Now is not the time for manners! Eiry grabbed Paedre by the cloth on his chest. “You don’t understand! This is the Seren of Death Herself!”

“Himself,” the Seren corrected her.

“Kyr is a goddess,” Eiry said dazedly.

“And my Lord Eleson is a god.”

“I’m not familiar with a god by that name,” Paedre said curiously.

“Most people do not know of Lord Eleson,” said Scruting, standing utterly still. “He… was divorced from our world long ago.”

“Banished,” Eiry said, even though she had a hard time believing the word herself. “He was Banished from the world.” Talk of the Banished gods was never considered pleasant conversation, and in some areas was even cause for severe punishment. To be speaking about it with a servant of one of those gods…

“That is the term most humans use, yes,” the Seren said, placing a somewhat derogatory emphasis on the “human.”

“Forgive me,” Paedre said to Scruting, “but I am confused. From what I understand of the Ballad of… well, the Ballad of You, you’re supposed to be the Death Seren.”

“Yes,” replied the Seren.

Eiry couldn’t decide whether he was asking for more, or affirming the supposition. Why doesn’t his face move more?

“But you say that you do not serve Kyr,” Paedre continued.

“Kyr is but the co-Goddess of the Afterlife,” Scruting explained. “Long ago when all the gods were yet of the same mind concerning our world, Eleson was the Lord of Just Death, as Kyr was the Lady of Merciful Death. This was 146

before the days of the Seren. Their servants - the angels of Kyr and the demons of Eleson - worked together to escort souls to the afterlife. When Lord Eleson was forced to leave this world, his servants were likewise banished, leaving Kyr the afterlife’s sole caretaker.”

I really seem to get more than my fair share of history lessons from Seren, Eiry thought. With her heart still thumping, she asked, “And where do you fit into this?” Politics she understood, and this sounded exactly like political wrangling to her.

Scruting blinked and focused on Eiry. “For whatever reason, the gods stopped coming directly to the world, and instead designated mortal servants, the Seren, to carry out their wills. When this happened, the non-Banished gods did not think to exclude their brethren from that rule.”

The Banished Gods can have Seren! Was Alaris wrong about Sanct? Feeling somewhat calmed, Eiry braced herself to ask what could be the most pertinent question of her life. “So, why are you here?”

For the first time, the Seren showed an emotional reaction. It was only a slight smile, but it was something. “I am not here to free your soul. We are both traveling to Tortryst. On my way, I am to do what I can to aid your efforts in attaining the continent safely.”

Eiry’s curiosity at meeting a world-famous Seren began to peep through her caution. “Are you going to kill someone there?” she asked.

“I am going to meet another Seren of my Lord Eleson,” he responded.

Startled, she asked, “How many of you are there?”

Scruting turned his head to the southeast, and gazed sightlessly thence.

“Only ever two,” he said softly.

“Who is the other?”

“We have never come together.”

“If you’ve never met him, how do you know it’s a him?” asked Paedre.

Still staring southeast, Scruting answered, “My Lord Eleson invariably picks men, as women are more prone to mercy. Kyr does not use human servants because she has her angels to do her bidding, though she suffers an Osilorn woman to be what might amount to a priestess.”

A chill shivered its way down Eiry’s backbones. She remembered when the assassin’s guild mistress had visited Alaris in Kalard. He has to mean Tiru.

Quickly rousing himself, Scruting took Eiry’s arm and pulled her forward along the road. “We must continue. Aeterna awaits.”

Eiry balked. “No, not Aeterna. We were headed to Fubar; it’s the nearest deep-water port that’s accessible.” Wait, Eiry thought. Did I just tacitly agree to accompany Death to Tortryst?

“Aeterna is accessible,” said Scruting.

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“Oh, you must not know. It’s under siege,” Eiry notified the Seren. By the gods, how can I get out of this?

Scruting pulled her forward again, shaking his head dismissively. “The angels of Kyr are no concern to me.”

Eiry noticed a disagreement in what he was saying. “Wait. If you’re on a mission from… your god… then you just came from the Sleep of the Seren, right? But if you just came from the Sleep, how do you know about the siege?”

Scruting suddenly looked uncomfortable. “My Lord Eleson Woke me a few years ago. This was only the second time he had ever woken me twice within a generation. He sent me after a quarry in Aeterna, after the angels had begun their siege. He escaped me.”

Eiry goggled. “Escaped death?”

He nodded. “Entirely. He bested me in combat, eluded the angels, then his spirit left the world. I can only assume he also was a Seren.”

“Is that what happens during the Sleep?” Eiry asked, distracted. She was considering a possibility that seemed too striking to be coincidence.

“Yes and no,” the Seren answered her. “Most of the soul and the energy that animates the body is shifted above the metaphysical realm during Sleep, but some contact must remain with the body or else it would decay. Even this man’s body was not left on the world, so I cannot track him in the metaphysical realm.”

“What did this man look like?” Eiry asked.

Scruting shrugged uncomfortably. “That’s another strange thing. I can remember every face of every quarry I’ve ever hunted. Except his.”

Unconsciously, his left hand came up to rub his nose. “All I can remember is his staff – a flat piece of wood twisted along its axis.”

Carefully, Eiry asked, “Are you still hunting him?”

He shook his head. “No need. He is, for lack of a better term, gone.”

Eiry nodded and walked along silently. Even though he said that he was no longer on that hunt, she somehow knew that it might be a bad idea to mention that she had been traveling in the same company as Sanct.

Paedre’s dogs were the last of the group to cross the South Bridge. They trotted up on both sides of the Eleson Seren on their way to check in with Paedre. Along the way, each politely licked the Death Seren’s closest hand.

Eiry found herself envious of their ignorance.

Seemingly able to read her face, he remarked, “Dogs always like me.”

Eiry’s eyebrows shot up. “They know who you are?”

“Animals are more perceptive than humans, wouldn’t’ you say?”

Paedre nodded. Eiry genteelly kept her opinions to herself.

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Scruting pointed to a hillock off the road. “We stop here.”

The area tickled Eiry’s memory like so many points had along the Aeternan Highway; maybe she had stopped to rest in this exact same spot years ago when she had traveled this road with Sanct and Helef. Sanct. Helef.

Everything about that trip seems so distant – the person I was, how clear-cut life seemed, who I thought my friends and enemies were. She remembered the time that Alaris had attacked them on the North Bridge. And you, I still don’t know what to call. Are you a friend to me, Alaris? And what am I to you?

“We can continue on for a ways yet,” Paedre said to Scruting.

The Death Seren shook his head against Paedre’s miscomprehension. “I need to prepare the four of you for our entrance into Aeterna.”

“Oh.” Eiry paused. “How?” “I need to loosen your souls from your bodies.”

Eiry cringed.

“It will not hurt,” the Seren assured her. “In fact, from what I have been told, it is most pleasant. Your soul will be floating nearer to the gods than it has ever been; basking in their realm is enriching and soothing.”

Eiry had yet another flashback to her days with the Alaris, and couldn’t help but contrast the two legends.

“You’re certainly free with your answers,” Eiry said.

“Why not?” asked Scruting.

“People usually don’t say things to frighten others, especially if they’re trying to get someone to do what they want.”

Scruting spread his hands. “What frightens you?”

“The idea of my body walking around without a soul…” Eiry said. She just couldn’t get the picture of a vampire out of her head. Lo’are had painted examples of the more exotic species of the world at Eiry’s request. Because of the Avilorn elf’s astounding ability with paints, the pictures had seemed so lifelike that Eiry wished she hadn’t seen the vampire.

“Your soul will remain anchored by your body, but… with a long rope for extra drift instead of being tied at dock, so to speak. As I said, I am not here to kill you. It is necessary to translocate your soul so the angels will not recognize you for what you are.”

“Can we walk without our souls?” asked Paedre unexpectedly.

Eiry looked at him. “Why wouldn’t we?”

“Some believe that the soul animates the body. If this is true, we would not be able to move.” Paedre looked up from rubbing the dog’s back.

“That is not quite correct,” Scruting said, “but you will not be able to walk, no. Without your soul, you have no willpower.”

“So what makes a vampire capable of walking?” Paedre asked.

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Eiry continued to stare at Paedre. She would never have though a question like that would come from him.

“Vampires were once mortals, and mortals by definition have souls,” Scruting explained. “Vampires have at least some traces of or claims to a soul – far less than what I propose to do for you.”

“Still, if we can’t walk, how will we get to the city?” asked Eiry practically.

“Are you going to kill someone for their wagon?”

Scruting waved his hand negligently. “I am as strong as I need to be. I can carry you all, and then some.”

“Including the dogs?” Paedre asked.

“Yes,” said Scruting.

“Dogs have souls too?” Eiry looked apologetically at Paedre.

“Did you ever doubt?” asked Scruting. “Simply through being made, all beings are connected to their maker. How could it be otherwise?”

Eiry nodded. I’d never thought of it like that before. Then, remembering what he had said earlier, she looked at her body, Paedre’s body, and the two dogs with a feeling similar to fear. How strong is he?

“Okay,” Eiry sighed. “I guess I’m done dodging. Let’s get started.”

“I already have,” Scruting said blandly. “I would suggest you sit soon.”

Eiry’s heart lurched, even though she had resigned herself to the ordeal.

“But I don’t feel any different,” she said, but immediately realized that she did feel different. Or, rather, that someone else felt the same. It was very disorienting. Eiry stood there, puzzled.

“Sit,” Scruting again said.

“Right.”

Paedre walked over to help her sit down, but Scruting waved him away.

“Your souls are already intertwined enough to make this difficult, holy man. If you touch her, the connection will increase.”

“Eiry, you need to sit before you fall over,” Paedre urged.

“Hmm,” she murmured.

The two dogs sat with heads cocked staring attentively, seeing even better than Paedre what was going on above and throughout Eiry. Two tails wagged appreciatively. It looked pretty.

“Would you prefer that your followers be next, or you?” asked Scruting of Paedre once Eiry crumpled.

Paedre looked at his dogs. “You’re sure your talent extends to dogs?”

“I have been called to sever the souls of more than humans before.”

Paedre nodded. “Better do him first,” he said. “She’s less skittish.”

As Scruting began the delicate process of unraveling the soul from the dog’s body, he said, “Thank you for your trust. Average people…”

150

“…don’t want to understand,” Paedre finished for him.

Eiry noticed that she was in what seemed to be, by the looks, sounds, and ghastly odor, the back alley of a large city. Oddly, she couldn’t bring herself to mind that there were cobblestones digging into her ribs, or that there was something with lots of legs crawling across her neck.

Only, she hadn’t even noticed those things earlier. They had still been happening, but she had only been aware of them. Quite abruptly she was not only noticing them but minding them very much.

With a back-throated utterance rife with loathing, Eiry made sure the many-legged creepy-crawly soon was no longer in any condition to creep or crawl, and evaded the rib-delving cobblestones. Once the basics were in order, Eiry got on to the task of figuring out where she was.

By the salt smell in the air, she was near the ocean. Cobblestone streets were unpopular in Kalard and Formast. That left only Brelia and… Aeterna!

Her memory’s resurgence was like an ocean’s wave on the beach, coming in hard and fast, slowing down as it filled in and spread out. Sitting up caused a minor light-headedness, but after her eyes cleared, she found herself looking at a comatose Paedre and furry companions.

“Paedre?” She crawled toward him with hands and elbows, cursing her semi-responsive legs.

“Wait.”

There was no menace in the voice. There was no power or manipulation.

There was only the single word and the single meaning of the word. It was so stark, so obvious, that Eiry’s temporarily diminished willpower was helpless but to obey.

Slowly turning her body back around to look behind her, Eiry saw a body dressed all in clinging black material. Seeing the alabaster skin and hair helped Eiry remember what had happened most recently to her, and what was apparently still happening to Paedre and the dwarven tunnel dogs.

As her mind shook more cobwebs free, it made an interesting notation: Eiry was no longer afraid of Scruting. She had greater respect for him and his power, and whatever she had just gone through had had a salubrious effect upon her.

“He’s all right?”

“Yes.” Scruting still stared at Paedre. “You see him as he saw you.”

Days ago, taking someone at his word would have gone against all her political savvy, but now it seemed silly not to. Instead, her eyes roved the alleyway, looking out into the quiet street, at the trash that seemed to have been piling up since forever.

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She shook her head at the amazing turns of events that had taken her from her home in Links to here. Sanct had had such difficulty in getting them all out of Aeterna alive secretly, and what did she do but return?

Still, it would be intriguing to see how the Aeternan Triumvirate had dealt with a years-long siege. Had they torn down some of the buildings to create space for crop fields and grazing grounds? Had they assumed military control of the populace? Perhaps a dictator had wrested authority from the Triumvirate?

Paedre’s hand stroked the dog to his left, inadvertently letting Eiry know that he was on the road to recovery. She felt confident enough in both their recoveries to work on standing and moving her jellied joints.

“I take it that we made it with no problems,” Eiry asked.

“Yes,” Scruting replied.

“Where exactly are we in the city?”

“Across from the Temple of Healing. If something went wrong, I wanted to be nearby for their assistance.”

“Ah.” Despite his admission that there had been a chance of his failure, Eiry felt even more confidence in the man. Another thought came to Eiry.

Didn’t Lo’are say that an elf in the Temple of Healing had been the one to help save my life?

Oh, what was his name? Lalt! That was it. I need to stop in there to thank him for his assistance before we leave, if he has time to see me.

Then Eiry noticed the one thing that had been missing to make City Aeterna feel more like a city: there was no traffic outside the alley.

“Where is everyone?” she asked Scruting.

“Many have died during this siege.”

Eiry nodded thoughtfully and started walking toward the alley’s exit.

“Don’t,” Scruting called after her.

“I’m just going to go across the street,” Eiry said. “Surely the Temple of Healing is safe enough for me to go into without an escort?”

“It will be in a moment.”

“Why wait?”

“The ghosts. I’m keeping them away from you while your soul is still getting reacquainted with your body. Give it some time.”

Eiry looked at him to see if he was joking with her. I should have known better, she thought ruefully as she saw his bland face. “Ghosts aren’t that common, you know.”

“In a city that bars Kyr’s servants from coming to remove the souls of those departed, the number of ghosts eventually grows to outnumber the living.” Scruting stood and stared at her. “Wait.”

Abashed, Eiry complied.

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“So, where to next?” asked Scruting.

She felt mental whiplash. He had just given her a command, and now he was turning command over to her? “What do you mean? I thought you were the one with the plan on getting us out of Aeterna!”

“I can facilitate your exodus at any time, but since there is no Serene ship in the harbor I cannot provide transportation. If we are in need of a ship, you must hire one.” Scruting continued to stare at her.

“Why can’t you hire a ship?”

“I do not make use of money or barter in my normal missions for my Lord Eleson,” Scruting answered. “I only know how to speak because my Lord saw it necessary to educate me in the reading of maps and letters.”

Eiry was surprised to hear of such weaknesses in the most feared man in the world, but it did help her view him as a man instead of a legend.

“Our first stop should be the harbor, I suppose,” Eiry said. “That’s the only place to find the ship we will want to hire, if any of them will take us seriously. When will we all be ready to go?”

“Soon,” Scruting said. As though to emphasize his words, one of the dogs gave a good shake to his head, the thunderous flopping of his ears echoing throughout the alley.

“Hello?” A soft voice came from the street. “Is everyone all right?”

Eiry turned to look as a smallish man walked toward them. For a moment in the indistinct light the billowing pants looked frighteningly similar to a robe, but soon she recognized the white shirt with red piping as the uniform for a cleric.

“Yes, we’re fine, thanks,” Eiry said. “Just taking a rest out of the sun.”

The man slowed his steps as he caught sight of Scruting, and of Paedre lying on the ground. “You’re sure now, miss?” he asked, his light voice betraying him for an elf. “All is well?”

“You’re very kind,” Eiry said. “But we really are fine.”

With a slight bow and one last searching look at Scruting, the elf departed the way he had come.

Paedre sat up and stretched. That one stretch continued out into a full stretching routine, only at the end of which was he willing to speak. “That was an amazing experience,” he said to Scruting. “Thank you.”

Scruting nodded pleasantly.

Eiry knew she was missing something in the relationship between the two men, but thanking Scruting seemed a little much.

After some time had passed, Scruting declared them both fit to brave the streets of Aeterna. The three humans and two dogs ventured outside the alleyway to find the Temple of Healing looming in front of them, all the 153

decorative trees cut down as far as the eye could see, and a lack of people on the wide cobblestone boulevard.

Eiry felt a swift twist to her heart. Even though she did not rule this city, she still felt a condescending responsibility to assist those below her. For this number of people to have died was horrible.

“Not everyone is dead,” Scruting said, reading Eiry’s expression accurately. “Many relocated. Since there is but a trickle of food coming into the city, many have torn down buildings to make room for farmland, while others have learned to live entirely off of the ocean.”

True to Scruting’s word, as the group came nearer the port, signs of human activity came into being. Some drying clothes outside what used to be a store indicated recent laundry, loud shouts from the harbor itself were vaguely audible, and, finally, some humans themselves – two children rolling a ball back and forth between them.

The sight sent Eiry’s mind to wondering about all of her own scattered offspring. Where are they? Are they safe? Will I ever see any of them again?

One of the dogs came to pad along directly beside her leg. Smiling fondly, she reached to scratch his back. “Good dog.”

Their walk brought them harbor side, where they saw the largest amount of activity they’d seen in the city yet. Compared to the former traffic of City Aeterna it wasn’t much, but there were plenty of fishers and crab catchers, and here and there the occasional sailor.

“The biggest ship is the Buxom Broad,” said Scruting, pointing to one end of the harbor. “Does it cost more to rent a bigger ship?”

It took a moment for Eiry to process what he had said into something comprehensible. “We don’t rent a ship, we buy passage on it. And we’re not necessarily taking the biggest ship because the biggest isn’t always the fastest.”

The reminder of the Seren’s naivete amazed Eiry all over again.

Eiry took the lead and walked the group toward the southern end of the harbor, examining ships for steadiness, readiness, and speed as she went.

When she found the ship that was to take them to Tortryst, it seemed an obvious choice. The ship was fast, a partial complement of sailors was still on board, and there was some other unidentifiable tasteful quality to the ship’s presentation that appealed to her. The only thing that did not appeal to her sense of good taste was the alliteration in the ship’s name that copied so many names in the harbor.

“Hello?” she called up to the sailors that were on the deck of the Briny Blessing. “Is the captain or bursar aboard?”

One sailor looked up angrily from the game he and his fellows played.

“Let me guess: You want to buy passage out of here. That joke stopped being 154

funny years ago, woman.” He glared back down to his game.

The venom in the sailor’s reply left Eiry temporarily at a loss for words.

Rallying, she said, “What we want is none of your concern, my good man.

Now answer my question.”

“Just tell her and get her out of here so’s we can get back to the game,” mumbled one of the other sailors to the group’s speaker.

“Captain Sydron’s at a meal house on Southside called the Raised Anchor,” the sailor shouted over his shoulder, not bothering to stand up again.

“Specializes in seafood,” he said with a guffaw.

“I know where that is,” Scruting said.

“You do?” Eiry turned to him. “How?” “I had occasion to locate someone there once.”

“Oh.” Eiry looked back to the ship and graciously added a loud “thank you.” “So what is this place like?”

“It was the sort of place that ship’s captains would go to meet land merchants to work out their deals. You would never find a sailor in there; it’s much too rich for truly salty blood.”

They reached the meal house quickly with Scruting’s direction. For there to be a guard at the door during these troubled times in the city indicated that Scruting’s assumption of high quality clientele had remained true through the current tribulations.

With a sidelong glance at the dogs, the guard allowed the company into the meal house. Immediately, a man right inside the door greeted them.

“We’re looking for Captain Sydron,” Eiry said evenly.

“Very good,” said the waiter. “I have the pleasure to announce?”

“Lady Eiry,” she answered, knowing that the man was not interested in the entire company – only in the ‘important’ personage.

The waiter glided purposefully through the half-full tables to one of the secluded booths near the back of the room, bowed, and gestured toward the entrance. After a small discussion, the two figures at the table apparently agreed to see them, for the waiter returned to escort them.

“If I may be so bold as to mention, Lady Eiry,” the waiter said delicately, “there is not enough room at the table for so large a company…”

Eiry searched the man’s face, trying to decide whether it was the wish of the captain to only have one person with whom to speak, the waiter’s dislike of dogs in the establishment, or if it really was only table space “My retainers and I have had” she almost said “a long journey,” but knew that the siege would have made that impossible for anyone else so she said, “a troubling day. We will be wishing to leave soon, but now is the time for rest.

A table by the door for my men.” She pressed a three-ingot into the waiter’s 155

hand. “And a fine wine.” She added a one-ingot to the first ingot. “And water and deboned fish for my guards.”

The waiter glanced at the dogs, weighed what was in his hand, then bowed. “I shall see to it immediately,” he said.

Eiry indicated she would see her own way to the table. Only when she had gotten up close to the table did she realize that one of the chairs was of a special design. The back and legs looked the same as any other chair in the meal house, but where a person’s legs would be when seated was a little set of steps, making the chair look almost like a miniature throne.

For someone to need such a set of steps they would need to be a young child. Or a dwarf.

Eiry held back her surprise at seeing a dwarf sailor. Dwarves were notoriously mistrustful of anything that would change as often as the ocean.

They lived mostly underground in their great carved kingdom on Tortryst, named in the utilitarian dwarvish way as “Dwarfhome.” To see a dwarf on a ship usually meant a dire emergency. Finding a dwarf who would make a living off of the ocean was a rarity indeed.

“A fine, healthy pair of tunnelers you have there,” said the dwarf man rumblingly. “To have kept your dogs alive for so long after meat became scarce says good things about your heart, madam.”

Eiry judged what the height of the dwarf would be if here were standing instead of sitting, and guessed that he would be no taller than the dogs he complimented. She had never thought of it before: dwarven tunnel dogs would stand as high to dwarves as horses did to humans.

“Your eye for dogs does you proud, sir,” Eiry replied, wincing at the flimsy compliment – almost not a compliment at all, considering she had inadvertently complimented herself with the comment.

She had not come ready for an encounter with a dwarf, so she had already lost points in the dwarf’s eyes as she had not complimented the host immediately upon reaching the table, so she had some ground to regain.

Dwarves were very stolid folk in physique and manner. Once shrunken to his or her adult height, a dwarf could walk all day with twice their own weight on their back and still be fresh enough to walk through the night.

Likewise, once they promised something, they would steadfastly never take it back. First impressions were therefore of extreme importance – if you said something wrong and the dwarf dismissed you, you would never have another chance to speak with them.

As a result, dwarvish culture had many a ritual that kept dwarves speaking to each other. One of the easiest was to trade at least one compliment at first meeting, it being much harder to pick a fight with someone who had just paid 156

you a compliment.

“Indeed, your eye for dogs must only be surpassed by your eye for ship design,” Eiry continued. “Yours must be the fastest ship in the harbor!”

The dwarf nodded his head to indicate his pleasure at a proper compliment. “My companion and I were just speaking of ships,” he said.

“Would you care to join us?”

“Indeed I would,” Eiry said, thankful to have been accepted to the table.

Now there was little chance of being dismissed. As the waiter brought over a goblet of what could only be wine, she said, “I thank you both for your welcome. To your health.”

The dwarf blessed her in turn, but his companion, a human woman of perhaps forty years, had yet to make a vocalization.

What a strange pairing, Eiry thought. A dwarf ship captain picking a female human first mate.

“I wonder if you might satisfy my curiosity,” the dwarf asked amiably.

“Likely so,” Eiry said, gracious, yet cautious.

“Your traveling company,” the dwarf said. “Two dwarf tunnel dogs belonging to someone who looks like he would have no use for them, and a man who by my account would scare most humans right out of this building if they recognized him for who he was. These are not the usual retinue of a lady of noble blood.”

“We have mutual interests,” Eiry said. There was no way that she was going to try to explain the bizarre circumstances of their conjoining, nor admit that she was of royalty.

“And,” the dwarf asked, “my other question. How and why would these gentlemen escort a lady into a city that’s under siege?”

Eiry was left floundering. She had thought, coming into this conversation, that her biggest problems would be convincing the captain that she had come into the city today, and that Scruting was who he was.

“Come, don’t deny it,” said the dwarf. “You and your companions are too well fed to have been in the city for long. You still have two dogs that would have been on the dinner table long ago – someone else’s, if not yours – and you don’t have the defeated air of someone who’s trapped somewhere for years. What’s more, you wouldn’t be seeking out a strange ship captain if you didn’t have somewhere to go.”

“I wouldn’t deny it, sir,” Eiry said, leaning forward in her chair. “If you’re willing to be so candid, I will follow your lead. Yes, I have come from outside the city, and yes, I have a way back out. I came to Aeterna because it has the ships I need to get to where I want to go. As to the how, you need look no further than my companions.”

157

The dwarf glanced meditatively at Scruting and Paedre, then back at Eiry.

“Why did you choose the Briny Blessing as your ship?”

“You’ve the fastest vessel in the harbor,” Eiry said. “And because you have the courage to try.”

The woman finally spoke. “Courage?” she slurred, the force of the word jerking her torso partially erect. “Whatcha mean, courage?”

“Captain,” the dwarf quieted the woman.

Captain? Eiry thought. Have I been speaking to the wrong person?

Quickly, she changed the tone of her conversation. “Your ship is one of maybe ten at most in the harbor that’s low enough on the waterline to have its hull full of cargo. Your sails are in good repair, there aren’t many barnacles on the ship, and you’re keeping a crew onboard. That means that you haven’t given up hope after all these years that you’ll get out of here.” Eiry knew that she was speaking to a drunk, but she had to try.

“Once the siege is lifted, yeah,” the captain said. “Not before. I’ll be no meat on a hook to see if the angels are still biting in the harbor.” She swigged another mouthful of her drink.

“Captain Sydron, this is no experiment,” Eiry insisted.

“Yeah, I bet that’s what the Serene thought, too,” the woman said, her eyes widening but not seeing the table in front of them. “Heard the shouts from on deck, so I went up. Both halves of their ship were sinking fast.

They’d tried to sneak out, and the angels cut their ship in two.” She shook her head. “Not my ship. Not mine.”

“Captain,” the dwarf interceded, “angels will let one of their own past.”

“What, do you have a little angel in your pouch?”

“This woman brings with her the Death Seren,” he whispered. “If anyone can get us out of this accursed city, it would be him.”

The woman snorted as she returned to her mug. “Go jump in the water, Bellis, it’ll clear yer head. Death Seren. Hah!” At the first whispered mention of his title, Scruting had crept inconspicuously up behind the captain and dwarf. Now, he placed a firm hand on Sydron’s arm, pinning it to the table just out of range of her ale.

Sydron twisted her neck to look at the person who had obstructed the flow of liquid to her already drenched throat. Her other hand reached for the small dirk she kept at her waist at all times, but just as hand made contact with handle, her eyes met his eyes and her body went utterly still.

For a terrifying moment Eiry thought that the Eleson Seren had killed the captain with his gaze, but then he spoke and drove away her fears. After all, she thought, even HE wouldn’t be creepy enough to try to have a conversation with a corpse he was holding by the arm.

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“Alcohol makes for bad judgement,” Scruting said in a hollowly ringing voice. “I give you one chance to rethink your decision.”

Everyone in the room instantly ceased conversation at the sound of his utterance. There was something in the inflection he used that made his voice reverberate through their bodies as though they were listening to echoes play in their own freshly dug graves. A universal shudder rippled across the shoulders of all present.

“Remind me, Bellis,” Captain Sydron whispered. “What were we charging for passage on this voyage?”

“A two-ingot,” the dwarf replied instantly.

“Then it’s a five-ingot for you, and anyone who’s associated with you,” the captain said to the Death Seren.

Eiry was completely impressed with the woman. Sydron’s voice could not hide the fear that she felt, but she was fighting back, and using her brains to do it effectively. Had Eiry been in the same situation, she didn’t think herself capable of saying a word.

“I’m sure that can be arranged,” Scruting said, releasing the woman’s arm.

“We leave the harbor at twilight.”

“That can’t happen!” protested the dwarf. “There’s still half a crew that’ll need hiring, there’ll be victuals for the voyage that need buying-” “As the world rises above Aiz it will be moving farther away from the lava lake, so the whirlpool will be running faster and the tide will be lower,” the captain said to Scruting. “But my ship can manage it… if you have a real need for twilight.”

“Angels are at their strongest at dawn,” the Eleson Seren answered. “I am at my strongest at twilight.”

The captain seemed to ponder his words for a moment, then nodded.

“Make it a one-bar each, and you’ll have a twilight departure, Seren.”

“Captain!” protested the dwarf.

Sydron turned to her companion in a more businesslike fashion than Eiry would have given her drunken state credit for. “Bellis, in all your years as my first mate, you’ve never left me stranded at departure. I trust you’ll not do so now.”

The dwarf sighed so largely that his body seemed to wilt to half its girth.

“Aye, captain.”

“We will meet you at the ship before twilight,” Eiry said as she left.

“One more thing,” the captain said, grabbing Scruting’s arm where he had grabbed hers earlier. “If this doesn’t work – if I have to go down with my ship – I’ll not be going alone.”

Scruting looked incredulously at the woman who was cutting off 159

circulation to his hand, and burst out laughing, startling Eiry. “Deal.”

After the curious group had exited the building and the pair of them had fielded the questions to their resolve from doubting captains in the room, Sydron and Bellis had a moment to themselves.

“Why did you agree?” asked Bellis quietly. “I know it’s not because you were afraid.”

“To the contrary, my friend, I was motivated entirely by fear,” Sydron admitted. “But not the fear that you think. In his eyes I saw reflections of my own death, or maybe I should say the manner in which I might die.

“If I chose against taking them, he wouldn’t have killed me, or you. He would have just found another ship. But eventually I was going to die anyway.

Because of that,” she said, gesturing at the half full mug of ale. “That’s not what I want for my life, or my death. Fortunately, like he said, he gave me a chance to rethink… everything.” She shook her head in amazement. “It’s amazing how one person can change your life so fully.”

Bellis looked at his captain closely. “If I’m to provision and crew a ship by twilight, I’d better get started right away. What extra cargo?”

The captain made a tsk sound with her tongue. “I didn’t ask them the destination. Ugh, I’m a drunken idiot.” Sydron paused, then handed over a heavy pouch of coin and ingot. “Forget the cargo, but if you can, make some bets along the way.”

“Bets?” asked the dwarf.

“That we’ll get out,” she said with a smile. “We either want to come out of this rich, or not at all. And don’t hire any desperate crew, either. I get the feeling this voyage may sap the heart out of the strongest person.”

Bellis silently agreed with her. As much as he was happy about escaping Aeterna, the means by which he was able to do so felt much like the old saying, ‘out of the dragon’s mouth, into his stomach.’

“Well, Eiry?” asked Paedre as they walked out the door.

“She’ll do,” Eiry answered him. “We leave at twilight.”

Paedre nodded. “What ‘til then?”

“You two go on to the ship and reserve our cabins there – the best cabins, for the price we paid, mind you,” Eiry said. “I need to go make my thanks known to someone for a service rendered unto me.”

“I will accompany you,” Scruting said.

“That might not be the best idea,” Eiry said. “You’ll scare people.”

“Many have died in this city,” said the Seren. “But not all evildoers have had the courtesy to do so. They will see in you a soft target. I will accompany you.”

160

Paedre headed to the Briny Blessing while Eiry retraced their steps to the Temple of Healing. She climbed the stairs and entered the welcome foyer.

“Welcome to the Temple of Sante, madam,” said a cleric coming forward to admit her to the temple. “What may—” The cleric gasped at the arrival of the Death Seren. “You!” he whispered. “I remember you!”

“Be at peace,” said Scruting. “I come to guard life, not to take it.”

Believing his ears to have deceived him but hoping for otherwise, the man asked their business at the temple.

“I am Lady Eiry. I am here to see a member of your order,” Eiry replied.

“Lalt, I believe his name is. He is an elf.”

“But a moment,” the cleric said, not taking his eyes away from theirs for an instant. He backed away, tripping and stumbling as he went, but not wanting to turn his back on Scruting.

The message was soon received, and they were admitted into Lalt’s plantoverrun office. Though they wouldn’t know it until much later, he greeted them comparably enthusiastically.

“Scruting!” the Arbilorn man said. “Was that you that I felt playing around with souls across the street earlier today?”

“It was,” the Seren answered.

“You two know each other?” asked Eiry, surprised that Seren from such opposite gods would be acquainted.

“Not personally, no,” Lalt said. “But he is the only Seren to Eleson I’ve ever met, so he’s rather easy to pick out. But enough about us Seren, Lady Eiry. Tell me about Alaris.”

“Alaris?” asked Eiry. “What about him?”

“Didn’t he send you?”

“No, I came to thank you for explaining to Claren and Lo’are how to help me when I was dying.”

“Oh! Well, you’re more than welcome,” said Lalt, waving his hand dismissively. “But are you sure you don’t have any message from Alaris? I haven’t heard from him in some time now, and I’m becoming worried.” He thumbed a sparkly earring he wore. “I was sure that you were assisting him in whatever madcap scheme he’s dreamed up this time.”

“Well, we’re headed to Tortryst to meet him,” Eiry said reluctantly.

Lalt half-raised an eyebrow, and his head twitched sideways. “Alaris wouldn’t set foot on that continent.”

“All I know is that’s where we’re supposed to go,” Eiry said. “My guess is he will be there himself, but if not, whoever will meet us should know where Alaris is.”

“Where on Tortryst?” Lalt asked.

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“I don’t know,” Eiry said. “I’m going to go to New Sur in the hopes of catching him before he goes any further inland.”

“I find it hard to believe that Alaris would not have told you where to meet him,” Lalt said. “Unless he was planning on finding you, instead of the other way around?”

Eiry lowered her eyes. “Alaris gave most of his instruction to Lo’are.”

“Ah, Lo’are!” Lalt beamed happily. “Where is she?”

“We were separated.” Eiry thought it better to keep the details of Lo’are’s kidnapping and ransom to herself. “That’s part of my problem. I’m hoping to find that she is making her way to Tortryst, too.”

Lalt gazed at her, calculating. “You already have a way out of the city?”

“We do,” Scruting said.

Lalt tapped a finger on his lower lip. “There’s more to this story. Please, take seats and fill me in on what’s been happening outside the city in regards to Alaris’s plans, whatever those may be.”

Eiry did as he asked, leaving out only those details that she considered too personal to share. When she was done, the cleric shook his head, as though he was disagreeing with what she had said.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” he said. “What you’re saying and what he’s doing don’t coincide.”

“What do you mean?” asked Eiry.

“The last I’d heard from Alaris, he said he was headed toward Pinnacle.

From the sound of the goings-on there, there would be no reason for him to leave the continent any time soon.” Lalt paused, propped his legs up on a small stool and brooded in silence, the only indication of his thoughts being his head’s intervallic cocking this way and that. Eventually, his head stopped moving and he looked up. “I’m going with you.”

Eiry’s eyebrows raised. “You can just drop your duties here?”

“I do my god’s work everywhere I go,” he assured her. “Besides, assisting Alaris might be what my god wishes of me.”

“You are not certain?” asked Scruting.

“Either way, I’m not certain,” Lalt said. “My Lord has been… quiet, almost distracted of late. But if Alaris needs my help, I’m sure that My Lord Sante would not be cross with me for going to his aid. I swear, sometimes I think that if Alaris was not already a god’s servant, he would have my job.”

Eiry barely made the connection. “Alaris is a Seren?”

Lalt started, then shook his head. “I’ve said too much already.” He stood and walked to the door. “Lady Eiry, would you be so kind as to inform my young protégé at the end of the hall of my plans to leave with you? I will have some last minute work to accomplish.”

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“Why are you getting rid of me?” asked Eiry shrewdly.

Lalt smiled. “Because what the Eleson Seren and I need to discuss is between Seren alone. If you please?” he gestured toward the door again.

Scruting, Lalt, and Eiry muscled their way through a crowd at the harbor side to make it back to the Briny Blessing.

“What happened? Why are all those people here?” asked Eiry of Bellis as they boarded the ship.

“Word spread quickly,” the dwarf answered her as he pulled the boarding plank onto the ship deck. “This is the first attempt anyone’s made to leave since the Serene ship got split in two. There’s a fair bit of betting going on, but I tell you that even those who are betting money against us aren’t doing so in their hearts.”

“Because if we make it out, they’re going to try?” asked Eiry.

“Exactly,” Bellis answered her.

Nearby, Scruting paced back on the deck to the captain’s tiller. “If all is in readiness, cast off,” he said to the captain.

“I thought you said you were strongest at twilight,” Sydron said.

“I did.”

“Well?”

Scruting looked annoyed, for once. “I thought you understood logistics.

I need to be at the siege point confronting the angels when I’m strongest, not be tied to dock piddling around with mooring lines; if I’m still here at twilight, you squander my advantage!”

Captian Sydron turned and shouted to her crew. “Cast off!”

Running forward to be heard over the tremendous shout of encouragement from the crowd on the pier, Bellis asked quietly, “Can we not wait a little longer? There’s my last crewmen right over there, making their way through the crowd with most of our water and food.”

“Not according to him, we can’t,” Sydron said, jerking her head toward Scruting. “We’ll just have to put everyone on half rations.”

“More like quarter rations,” Bellis grumbled.

“Bellis!”

“Aye, Captain.” The dwarf scowled as he went off to hurry the sailors along on their duties.

The noise of the land-bound well-wishers faded quickly as the ship made way, leaving a peculiar quietude in its place. Eiry knew from previous journeys that, coming out of port, sailors were usually in high spirits, singing and cajoling each other. But, despite every body aboard being on deck, the only spoken words were direct orders from the captain.

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“Rig for deep water,” the captain said to Bellis.

“Rig for deep water!” bellowed the dwarf. At the command, crewmen scrambled hither and thither, loosening bonds on furled sails and stacking cargo farther back on the deck.

The sheltering arms of the harbor receded. The waves became choppier, and the ship began to pick up speed. Wind flicked bits of salt water at everyone’s faces. It was a beautiful day to sail. Eiry was terrified.

“All right, where are they?” muttered Captain Sydron to herself.

“Right… here.” Scruting braced himself.

Everyone and everything on the ship that was not firmly in place was thrown forward as the ship ran into… nothing. The captain yelled emergency orders to crewmembers as masts creaked, dangerously overburdened by extra sails with nowhere to go. Sailors ran this way and that to see to their duties, but somehow every one managed to have enough time to skirt widely around the Eleson Seren striding calmly to the foredeck.

Compounding the upheaval, an angel rose from near the ship’s figurehead and alit on the foredeck. The light of the angel’s presence could be likened to a second sunrise in the dusk, making peoples’ eyes water. Everyone on the ship felt a tugging like every hair on their body was being magnetized toward the angels. The angel’s beauty was completely overwhelming and captivating; it reeled at the mortals’ souls.

The form into which an angel manifested itself in the physical realm was as far beyond an elf’s body as an elf was from a human. The angel was less fleshy yet had a more curvaceous bone structure than an elf, and was taller than a human. If the angel had a gender, any physical clues as to what that might be were hidden by a material that clothed, yet could not be called clothing.

Looking like a cross between a cloud and a baby bird’s down, the material was attached to or grown from the angel’s skin in smartly appointed patches rather than being secured with belts or suspenders. The material blended into and over the angel’s fluffy wings that flared up and out from the scapulae.

S/he scanned the deck, looking around at all the people. The angel then pointed toward Eiry and said, “Kyr’s Light shines here.”

The Eleson Seren responded in a voice that chilled everyone around him.

“Yet it does not cast Eleson’s Shadow. You have no authority over this life yet. Depart.”

The angel riveted its eyes on the Seren. Two other angels appeared from the prow. Many people were thrown on their backs again as the ship lurched back into action, released by its captors. Those crewmembers who had not yet abandoned their tasks did so now, enthralled by the beautiful yet terrifying spectacle unfolding in front of them.

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The three angels opened their mouths to speak in so perfectly timed a manner that they could have been choreographed. When they spoke, it was not three voices that issued forth, but a single voice of overlapping tones.

“We are servants of Kyr, of Merciful Death. No mortal may supersede our will. Stand aside.”

Scruting strengthened his own voice in turn. “I am a servant of Eleson, of Just Death. This life will not be judged today. Depart.”

The angels’ wings flared and ruffled as though in a breeze at the mention of Eleson. After a moment’s hesitation, they all partook of fiery swords from the air and chanted: “After birth, after life, After death we come.

After breath and after deed Come we to bring you home.”

None could now turn their attention away from the front deck. Several individuals were retching over the railing of the ship, the voice was so rich in its promise of… something.

The three figures in white slowly advanced. Just as they came within striking distance, the figure in all black produced his sword, still in its scabbard, from around his back and read an inscription that no one else could see: “Death is Life, Life is Death.

Death will overcome all.

Death to Life in endless Death; To Death we eternally fall.

“I judge this life-taking to be Unjust. The one who left his mark on this mother no longer resides in her and the one for whom you originally sought no longer resides in this city; he eluded us both. Depart.”

At Scruting’s third intonation of the command, the balance of power tipped in his favor. What exactly happened was hard to tell for Paedre, because his eyes were tearing from the emotional trauma of hearing the full voice of the Eleson Seren from so close. However, he could see the blurred white recede from the blurred black, and heard the angels say, “We greet our brother, and concede the judgement of Eleson.”

The angels vanished. From distant City Aeterna everyone on board could hear a noise like a porcelain bell, followed by shouts of celebration.

The captain coughed, blinked her eyes, and turned around to see the 165

havoc that her deck had become. The crew was, of course, to blame, and would be working double shifts until everything was back in proper order.

Only when the crew was too busy to notice anything but their tasks did Captain Sydron return to the foredeck where Scruting stood. She slugged his shoulder in a brotherly fashion. He jumped as if he’d been stabbed.

“So you have that effect on people that aren’t drunk, too,” was all the explanation she would give as she walked away with a self-satisfied smile spanning her lips.

A day out of Aeterna Harbor the crew had had sufficient time to lubricate sea legs that had grown stodgy from too many years spent ashore. Sydron mentioned as much to her first mate.

“Indeed. I’ve never seen a crew in higher spirits,” Bellis remarked. “With a perfect sky, release from imprisonment, and simply being back on the waves, why, we could have made them pay us for such a voyage!”

“Bellis,” Sydron said with a half smile, “once we return to Aeterna and collect our winnings from all those bets, we’re going to be rich enough to build our entire fleet. We won’t be living coin by coin anymore; we’re going to be talking bars! And you, my friend, are going to have validation for your craft.

Validation and honor. Provided, of course,” she added slyly, “that you have the architectural plans ready for all the ships.”

The dwarf guffawed. “You know they’ve been ready for years. The trees I planted on Tortryst should be the right size by now, so the only difficulty will be finding ship craftsmen talented enough. Alright, Sydron, what’s that look you’re giving me?”

Sydron cast her eyes to the side, keeping her hands on the tiller. “It’s times like this that I realize how old you are,” she said. “You had planned on building these ships so long ago that you planted the types of trees that you would need, and you’ve watched them grow all these years. It’s just strange, to me.” An uncomfortable silence fell on the two, so Sydron broke it with a question. “By the way, you’ve never told me why you planted your trees on Tortryst. Why not grow them where you were planning on building the ships, to save shipping space and time?”

The dwarf smiled sadly. “Back then, I had planned on building the ships on Tortryst with the help of some apprentices. But that was before I was labeled a pariah.”

Sydron was sorry she had brought the subject up at all. She knew that Bellis had abandoned his clan’s craft – a rare occurrence on its own – for an entirely new, and foreign, one. Shipbuilding was not a craft that the dwarven race needed, or so the elders of the dwarven clans had ruled. It could be a 166

hobby, a theoretical curiosity, but not a craft. The ocean was too inconstant for any family to pass on knowledge to other generations, so it would remain a thing of the fickle short-lived humans.

Therefore, Bellis, without an occupation considered a true craft, was considered jobless. Being jobless meant he was not allowed to marry into any clan. Additionally, without a craft, the dwarven councils would never bestow upon Bellis the titles of Master or Journeyman, so he would never be able to take on an apprentice to perpetuate his work.

“But where on Tortryst would you build them?” Sydron asked, trying to change the subject without making it obvious. “The elves don’t condone building ships from trees that were cut down when they were still alive, so they won’t allow you to use their shipbuilding yards. The New Sur colony relies on its parent kingdom for its ships. Who else is there?”

“There is a place,” Bellis answered enigmatically.

“Bellis,” the captain drew out the dwarf’s monosyllabic name, “as coinvestor in this fleet, I consider this a necessary piece of information.”

“Oh, very well,” said the dwarf grumpily. “Won’t let me have a single secret, will you? Dwarfport.”

Sydron kept sailing, hands on the tiller, expecting an answer, until she realized that the answer was already given. “Excuse me? A Dwarf port?”

“No, not a—dwarf—port, Dwarfport. Like Dwarfhome. Not many humans remember its existence, not that I blame you,” Bellis added. “It was in use, oh, many thousand years ago. Back before vampires and elementals; back when TorVenn stood a little higher above the waves. What with all the trade from the west ‘dried up’ as it were, and the creation of the Elemental Range right atop it, why, it just became too costly in money and lives to keep the port active.”

“It’s in the midst of the Elemental Range? Surely it’s been destroyed a hundred times by now!”

“It’s still there,” the dwarf said softly. “Seen it with my own eyes.

Shipyards greater than any but the old Formast docks, with year-round beautiful weather. Good, solid stone buildings, made to last. That’ll be my home. Mine, and anyone else brave enough to live there with me.”

The companions fell silent, allowing the sounds around them to occupy their minds as the ship carried them onwards through the waves. The sails rippled fully laden, the crew sang one of the few chanteys that the captain tolerated (being not about the size of a woman’s this-or-that, or half-fish Resilorn girls jumping out of the water to seduce sailors) and the ship’s wooden bones creaked and groaned.

“If the dwarven elders can see fit to meddle in the affairs of mages, let 167

alone to actually support an Arbilorn elf as the Apex of Pinnacle,” Sydron said softly, “perhaps their views on what’s proper and what’s not have changed since your last visit to Dwarfhome.”

Bellis snorted loudly at the rumor. “Dwarves getting involved in mage politics and on the side of an elf, no less? I’ll believe it when I see it. No, wait, I take it back: I won’t believe it even then!”

“Talking about elves, have the crew been commenting on our passengers?” asked Sydron.

“Aye,” Bellis growled in his deep voice. “If we keep a fine wind straight to New Sur, I doubt there’ll be any problems, but when uncertainty enters the human mind, it’s bound to become rash.”

Bellis normally tried not to let on how childish he found most humans to be, but on occasion he could not help himself. Humans’ life spans were less than a quarter the span of dwarves,’ so they were not graced with the time to grow in wisdom like dwarves. Their immaturity was exemplified by their inability to grow down to a proper size.

Dwarves did grow “up” for a while, like humans and elves did until they reached puberty, but when dwarves reached that stage, their bodies sloughed off all the unnecessary flesh, leaving a concise, nonredundant, properly hardened dwarf body. Thus, walking about in a crowd of humans always made dwarf elders feel like they were surrounded by silly adolescents.

“What would they do?” asked Sydron. She had a fair idea herself, but she had relied on Bellis for advice since the day that she had been first mate and he was but an architect.

“If any are stupid enough, they’d try to kill the Death Seren, even though he saved all their lives at Aeterna. You humans aren’t comfortable with the idea of dying, so they’ll try to escape any manifestation of it for as long as they can.”

The dwarf shook his head in disgust.

“The crew doesn’t know how much they paid for passage, or else they might be eyeing the royal baggage, too,” Bellis added. “But they don’t, so they won’t. Plus, if fear of two Seren won’t keep the crew in line, then nothing that you or I could do will.”

“Hmm.” Sydron hated being told that she couldn’t do something – often trying it even if she knew that it was pure idiocy. It came from being a woman in a traditional man’s job all her life and as such rarely having total acceptance as a full-fledged crewmember.

“Talking about that second Seren, how do you think they talked the elf into coming on what could have turned out to be a very short voyage?”

“I’m more interested in why a cleric would be willing to do anything in tandem with the Death Seren,” the dwarf muttered. “As much a blessing as 168

getting out of Aeterna was, having them on board gives my innards the flopping heebie-jeebies.”

The captain kept her hands on the tiller, her eyes straight ahead, and her lips firmly clamped together to keep from bursting out into laughter. The laughter that so threatened to burst from her suddenly evaporated.

“Bellis?”

“Yes?” Sydron pointed ahead. “Do you see that?”

Bellis peered over the prow of the ship. “I see nothing, but you know that means equally nothing.” Bellis’s dwarven eyes were spectacular for catching out tiny details up close, but were not the best for seeing distances – probably something having to do with dwarves never needing to see long distances underground.

“I think I see trouble ahead,” Sydron said.

Bellis looked to her concernedly.

“Fetch my spyglass from my cabin please.”

Below decks in Eiry’s cabin, Lalt definitively removed his hands from Eiry’s abdomen and his medallion to clasp them in his lap. “Do you want the good news, the bad news, or the worse news?”

Ouch. “I am a woman of Seighn,” Eiry said stoically. “Reverse order, please, and get it over with.” All the same, I’m glad for our private cabin.

“Due to complications with your wounding, you are now barren,” the elf began.

Not as bad as it could have been, Eiry thought. She had considered the possibility long ago that whatever her body needed to carry a child might have been cut out of her along with her lastborn, but she hadn’t known definitively until now. For a while she had considered it a blessing, but…

“The bad?” she asked, determined to persevere.

“Permanent tissue and nerve damage,” Lalt continued. “If you haven’t already, you will find that you will have troubles with elimination, and you will never again be able to overexert yourself without the possibility of starting fatal internal bleeding.”

“I hope the good news is you can help her,” Paedre said from his cot.

“In fact, it is,” said Lalt. “I can’t help you as much as I might if I were at the temple – I’m missing some holy objects that I would rely upon – but I can alleviate some of your symptoms.”

Eiry nodded. “I will appreciate any assistance you might lend.” It’s over.

Thank the gods.

Somehow Paedre’s dogs knew something had finished, and they got up, 169

stretched, and went waggling tails and snuffling hands all around. When Paedre ordered them down, one laid her head on his lap, and the other laid his head on Lalt’s lap.

Eiry had noticed the oddity the first time Lalt and Paedre had come into each other’s presence. They had approached each other cautiously, circled, then hugged as though they had been great friends all their lives. During their embrace, Eiry could have sworn that Lalt had licked Paedre’s ear just like a dog might have. Similarly, Paedre’s dogs had greeted Lalt as one of their own, and the elf had greeted them in turn.

As much as she wanted to, though, Eiry knew that she could not ask what had happened. Her brief time in Avard had refreshed her social tact, and her feel for knowing when a question would be answered and when it would lead her into trouble.

“Now,” Lalt said, moving his hands together to his stomach. “I really must ask you again for more information about Alaris’s actions over the past few years. Even if you cannot tell me his plans, you can at least tell me what he has been doing recently.”

Eiry settled back in her cot, making herself as comfortable as possible in the little passenger’s cabin. The open shutter helped it seem a little homier, but that was the only thing that was comforting in the slightest. Whoever had designed this ship had not drawn it up with bodily opulence in mind. For one thing, the ceiling was definitely not tall enough, nor were the beds long enough.

“Where do I start?” she half-asked.

“With why Alaris was hiding you,” the elf answered.

Eiry gave Lalt a look. “Maybe we don’t know the same Alaris,” Eiry said caustically. “The Alaris I knew hid every bit of information he could, and disguised everything else.”

The elf laughed lightly. “I realize that Alaris can be a trying fellow, but you have a keen mind, especially attuned to political strife. Before your appearance, he was meddling with intercontinental politics, then as soon as you came along, he dropped everything to race to your side. You must have been very important to him. I find it hard to believe that he gave you absolutely no clue during all the years you were together.”

“Originally, it wasn’t me he was after,” Eiry said, then amended, “or at least I think I wasn’t. Ah, Paedre, would you make sure we’re alone?”

“They’ll warn us,” Paedre said, indicating his dogs.

Eiry nodded once. It must be nice to have such trust in and reliance on one’s companions. She said, “Promise not to tell Scruting? Right, then.”

Eiry settled herself, preparing for a long explanation. “There was a man with me when Alaris came after me. His name was Sanct.”

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Lalt smiled widely and leaned back further. “The plot thickens.”

Eiry shot him an exasperated query. “Do you Seren get together for family reunions or something?”

A worried sigh replaced the elf’s joviality. “I met him on a Seren mission a few hundred years ago, and I saw him recently in City Aeterna. Despite my familiarity with him, I can tell you more about Alaris than I can about Sanct; that should tell you something in itself. But I think that you are incorrect in thinking that Alaris was not interested in you. He may have wanted to find Sanct, but Sanct found you. If ‘A’ is interested in ‘B’ and ‘B’ is interested in ‘C,’ might not ‘A’ be interested in ‘C’ as well? I cannot write that off as a mere fluke of overlapping timelines.”

Loud footsteps thumped along the corridor outside the cabin door to pause with twin shadows cast over the threshold. A knock came.

“Captain wants to talk to you.” The sailor spoke the sentence through the closed door and left without eliciting or allowing a reply.

“What is this about, I wonder?” mused Eiry aloud.

“Little good,” Lalt said with an expression of wariness.

Eiry, Paedre, Lalt, and the dogs arrived on deck to find the crew moving with a highly purposeful air. Mystified, Eiry led the group toward the captain at the prow of the ship.

“Captain?” Eiry announced their presence.

Sydron lowered her spyglass and glared at the group. She pointed toward Paedre, then toward the hatch from whence they had just come. “You, get those dogs out from underfoot.” Grabbing a passing sailor, she ordered him to find the first mate.

“What is the problem?” Eiry asked to forestall further unpleasantness.

Her finger pointed out to sea. “That.”

Eiry peered in that direction, holding out her hand for the spyglass. “Are those storm clouds?”

The captain handed the glass to her. “Yeah. Nasty ones. And they’re holding their own against a wind that should be blowing them away. That means that it’s a rogue elemental or a magical storm, and mages don’t just hang around in the middle of the ocean making storms for no reason.”

Eiry noted the accusatory look the captain was delivering her. “You think it has to do with us?”

“With Aeterna Harbor closed, we’re the only ship that could be expected in this entire swath of water. But there’s another ship out there just outside the storm. That means either that the storm is coming from that ship, or it’s centered on that ship and we happen to be in the way.”

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“You can’t sail around it?” Eiry asked.

The captain gave a withering look for idiocy. “Gee. Why didn’t I think of that.”

“How can we assist you?” asked Lalt calmly.

“You can tell me what sort of enemy you’ve brought down upon us.”

Eiry, relieved of the brunt of the captain’s anger, turned the spyglass on the looming clouds.

“Well, it is definitely not a lesser elemental,” the elf said definitively. “The storm would have already broken. The lesser of the elementals don’t have enough patience or attention span to rein in a storm this long. And if it were a greater elemental, it would look more natural: the waves below are much too calm for clouds that big to have formed.”

“I don’t care who it’s not,” Captain Sydron snapped. “Who is it?”

“Elves,” Lalt said, squinting toward the clouds. “And not my Arbilorn brethren, either. I can’t tell much from here, but for a weather-spell’s signature, it seems too well formed to be anything but Resilorn. Lots of Resilorn.” Lalt frowned and shook his head in denial of what his eyes told him. “As if well over half their nation is behind the spell.”

“And that tells you what, cleric?” asked the captain.

“That it isn’t that other ship’s passengers that are creating the problem, if you were thinking of trying to attack.”

“Well, where are these elves?” she asked. “I don’t see any other ships.”

“The Resilorn live most of their lives in their capitol under the ocean.

Why would they decide to build a ship? For your sake?”

“But if they’re under the water, how can they control a storm above it?”

“I’m surprised you didn’t pick up more about magic from Alaris, Eiry,” Lalt chided. “Just because you sit on a riverbank does not mean that you cannot fish.”

Sydron slammed the spyglass shut. “You’re saying these fish-elves are fishing for us?”

Lalt hesitated. “I extend my apologies. That was indelicate of me.”

Captain Sydron stood frozen in angry disbelief for a moment, then shook herself. “All right. Never mind. Just tell me how we fight them.”

“Do you have any mages among your crew?” the elf asked.

“Just you.”

“I am not a mage,” Lalt advised her. “I am a cleric.”

“All you elves do magic,” the captain argued.

“No. That’s like saying all humans can swim whether they’ve been trained or not. Elves have the capacity to do magic and some of us can do it naturally when we need to, but it’s the uncommon elf who wants to do it as a 172

profession.”

Sydron crossed her arms. “No human swims as their profession.”

“What of the pearl divers of Sur?” Lalt pointed out, but raised his palms.

“Please, I know my limitations. Unless you are shipping highly powerful magical artifacts that I might use in such a battle, I cannot fight these Resilorn mages.”

“I don’t carry magic,” Captain Sydron said, uncrossing her arms. “That’s just asking for trouble.”

“Then you have nothing aboard that can even reach our attackers.”

The captain punched her fist into her palm. “There has to be a way!”

“Well, they aren’t going to oblige and come up on the deck to fence with you,” Lalt said. “And you can’t throw a harpoon at what you can’t see. The only thing we can do is outrun them. They’re faster than us, but they won’t have the endurance to keep up with us and keep their spell going.”

“The Blessing won’t be able to stand up to that storm,” the captain said.

“I wouldn’t suggest going in there anyway. You would be slowed down far too much.”

“Then what exactly would you suggest?” the captain said angrily as her first mate joined the conversation.

“Turn northward as far as you safely can,” Lalt replied. “The farther north you go, the faster the current will be.”

“Because the farther north we go, the closer to the whirlpool we get!” the captain said, flinging her northerly arm out toward the water. “This is a sturdy ship, but she hasn’t been tested in that sort of current.”

“She’ll hold, captain,” said Bellis. “For as long as we can stay close enough to the edge that we can escape the whirlpool’s pull, the Blessing won’t come apart.”

“I think Lalt’s idea is a good one,” Eiry said, offering the looking glass back to the captain. “The other ship seems to be doing the same thing.”

Sydron accepted the glass and looked for herself. After verifying the information, she lowered the viewer and tapped it in her hand. “We’ll need my charts,” she said to Bellis, walking toward her cabin, everyone but the first mate summarily dismissed. “As big a safety margin on both the whirlpool and storm sides as possible.”

“It’ll depend on how much cargo you’re willing to dump,” the dwarf said as they disappeared below deck.

“That cargo was written off years ago,” Sydron said. “Dump it all.”

The deck beneath Eiry’s feet was wet and heaving, but thankfully had been treated and grooved to reduce slipperiness. After having been stuck 173

down in her miserable tiny cabin for she knew not how many days, as soon as she had heard that the storm had broken, she came on deck to see the result.

Judging by the menacing waves that jostled the ship and the winds that physically shoved her this way and that, Eiry was left to wonder if the sailor who had brought her the word had been playing a trick on her.

A sudden clamor from the foredeck caught Eiry’s attention. Eiry thought her eyes were deceiving her, but when sailors right and left began grabbing things they could use as weapons, Eiry knew her sight to be true.

Near the prow of the ship Scruting confronted a shiny, scale-covered biped. The two faced each other, each remaining completely and utterly still in relation to the deck despite the heaving of the ship. Scruting slowly raised his hand to the sword at his back, and the scaled biped raised what looked like a hand to what would have been a human’s belly button. Both hands touched their targets, Scruting’s hand caressing the sword’s ebony hilt, the scaly one’s hand rubbing a metallic scale that almost did not resemble a scale. Then they brought those selfsame hands to their hearts, bowed slightly, and neatly sidestepped each other.

The crew, most of whom had some makeshift weapon in their hands, did not give ground so easily to the strange apparition. Their courage was bolstered when the captain and first mate loped on to deck.

Slowly, the scaled figure walked through the crew, seeming to examine each member carefully. Every footfall was completely silent; each movement precise.

“Death Seren, do you know what that thing is?” called the captain.

“It’s one of those fish-elves!” yelled one crew member.

“It is not an elf of any sort,” Lalt said, raising his voice above the noise.

“No, it’s an ocean-fin,” said another sailor. “See the light?”

“It’s only sparkling, not glowing,” an older, grizzled sailor corrected the man. “And ocean-fin don’t have feet. They’re fish.”

“Mammals,” muttered Paedre, startling Eiry. She had not heard him come up behind her.

She remained startled as the pacing figure stopped near her and stayed there. Her apprehension turned into alarm as the scaly one seemed to ‘squint’ and shifted aside two translucent scales that served as protective eye coverings, revealing a set of very human eye orbs.

“You are referred to as mother?” he or she asked in a voice rough from disuse. No lips seemed to form the words; scales covered the entire face.

Eiry nodded hesitantly.

The humanoid took a bright orange flower from behind a scale and placed it behind Eiry’s left ear.

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“Great TorVenn places his trust in mighty Magae, and eagerly anticipates TorVenn’s return.” With that said, the figure blinked its eye coverings back into place, strode to the railing, and dove overboard.

The crew relaxed slightly, some staring at Eiry, others at the captain. The second spoke first. “All right, you all, there’s nothing to kill. Drop that stuff and get back to work. We’re not clear yet!” She walked by Eiry and said in a low voice, “You attract all kinds, you know that?”

Eiry grimaced. “No matter what I do.”

“Do you have any idea why he gave you the flower?”

“What flower?” Eiry asked.

“The one he put in your... wait, where did he put it?”

Eiry looked perplexed. “Who put what where?”

“I,” the captain said, then stopped and looked around. “Didn’t someone come onboard just now?”

“In the middle of the ocean?” scoffed Eiry.

“We’re not in the middle, we’re in the west,” the captain said with an expression of intense thought. Whatever it was, the thought was well and truly gone. She refocused her attention. “And that’s what I needed to talk with you about right now. Come to my cabin. You too, Death Seren.”

Eiry and Scruting added Paedre and Lalt to their number and descended from deck to enter the captain’s cabin. A lamp hung above a map-strewn table over which both captain and first mate hunched. As they entered, Eiry and Lalt were shooed away from the table.

“If you get water on these charts,” Bellis started to threaten, but Captain Sydron calmed him.

“Well, elf,” Bellis said, “your idea of outrunning your cousins seems to have worked out all right.”

Lalt shrugged in reply. “Even if they cared to summon such a storm again it would take some time, and they are tired.”

“As is my crew,” Captain Sydron said. “But we have another problem.

Last night through the first break in the clouds, I took a reading of the stars and figured out where we are. It seems we’ve come full circle around the Whirlpool. We’re almost back to where the storm hit us first. We’re actually farther away now, since we had to slingshot out of the whirlpool.”

“It’s all right,” soothed Eiry. “We are still in plenty of time to reach our destination. There is no problem.”

The captain smiled bitterly. “Ignorance is bliss. If you want bliss, leave now.”

Eiry sat resolutely.

“Because of the Death Seren’s timeline for leaving Aeterna harbor, I 175

wasn’t able to gather all my rations. We’ve been on quarter food and water rations for the whole voyage, but even with the crew that I lost overboard, even cutting rations in half again, we’re going to be too weak to sail the ship to New Sur harbor. I’ve already had the crew dump all my cargo; we’re going as fast as we’re going to get.”

“We’re much closer to Aeterna, in that case. Can’t we turn around?” asked Eiry.

“And go against the flow of the whirlpool? This time of year it would take us longer to do that than to try for New Sur. Normally I would drop sails and wait for another ship to come along this shipping lane, but there are still Resilorn in the water somewhere. Even if they can’t pull up another storm, if there’s as many as you say, they could come up, swarm the ship, and fight us hand to hand; my men are too fatigued from dealing with the storm to put up much resistance. No, no matter what we do, we go forward.” The captain threw herself angrily into her chair.

“What of the islands of TorVenn?” Eiry asked.

“We could feed a crew this size for a day or two on each island, no more,” Sydron said. “They’re not exactly lush.”

“Is there nowhere closer on Tortryst we can land?” asked Paedre.

“The western peninsula is full of giant insects,” Bellis said. “Any ship unlucky to enough get blown near it has to ward off the crickets from eating through the mast, let alone trying to land there among the ant colonies. And the northern peninsula is full of vampires.”

“Why can we not stay in the ship and send a search party out for water and food on the northern peninsula?” asked Paedre, staring at the map of Tortryst spread out on the captain’s table.

Eiry was surprised at Paedre’s question. It did not seem like the sort of comment that would normally come out of his mouth. Indeed, it might have been the longest statement she had ever heard from him.

“The amount of time that would take would more than equal the time necessary for any number of vampires to come out to the ship, sink it, then take us out of the water one at a time. Vampires can smell a human from that far away, if the smell’s coming off the ocean.”

“What if we used the landing craft to go to the southern end of the peninsula, past the vampires?” Eiry suggested.

“We would starve before we got to safety.”

“There is really only one option,” declared the Eleson Seren quietly.

The captain drew her attention to Scruting. “I’m afraid to ask.”

“Make landfall on the Northern Peninsula of Tortryst,” the Death Seren said. “In full force.”

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The captain’s face darkened immediately. “Absolutely out of the question,” she snapped. “You’re an idiot for even suggesting it!”

“We’re going to starve if we stay on the ship, you said so yourself! If we make landfall, we at least have a chance!” Lalt interjected.

“I’d rather be dead than undead, elf!” she snarled. Lalt blanched and clutched at his medallion.

“If I must make that choice for you,” Scruting’s voice snaked its way between the two, “your wish will be granted.”

Everyone’s heads turned back toward him.

For some time, the captain’s head was bowed, looking at the table. She spoke. “Everybody out. Except you.” Everyone knew whom she meant.

“Gladly,” Lalt choked. He swayed with unsteady steps over the heaving floor toward the door, followed hurriedly by the rest of the group.

The door shut behind the departed. The captain did not look up.

“You know something.”

The Seren inclined his head. “Yes.” “Share it with me.”

He hesitated. “Captain, a Seren cannot-” She snapped her head upwards, eyes blazing. “My ship. My crew. My passengers. They’re all my responsibility and that makes this MY gods-cursed choice. You said that your god is interested in justice, didn’t you? Search your heart and I dare you to tell me nothing.”

He sat with his usual blank face, staring into her eyes, searching her, searching himself. He made his decision.

“If I know one thing, it’s death. I know that if you take the time to reach a man-made harbor, we will have to resort to cannibalizing at least-” She quickly held up a hand to cut him off. He paused. “I’m sorry I cannot make this easier on you.”

They both held their stances. The captain finally spoke again.

“Is there any other choice?”

“You can execute some of your crew and dump them over the side. That would leave you enough water so that the rest of your crew would make it.

You would have to choose which of your crew members died – I would be overstepping my god’s sanction by making such a choice – but I would be willing to carry out your will in the most painless fashion.”

“What are my crew’s chances of getting off the northern peninsula alive if we land there?”

“Some will make it,” he said. “Some will not. But at least it won’t be you making the choices.”

She stared at him wordlessly for a moment. Then the tears she had been 177

holding back started to squeeze out silently, one chasing the other down her cheeks. Scruting remained with her.

Out in the corridor, Lalt, Eiry, Paedre, and Bellis stood awaiting the captain’s decision. As he waited, a question popped into Paedre’s head.

“What did she mean, she would rather be dead than undead?”

The other three looked at each other to see who would answer. The duty fell to a very unhappy Lalt.

“The northern peninsula of Tortryst is inhabited by two things, namely the cold-blooded and the even colder-blooded: vampires. Being giant lizards, the cold-blooded are quiet this time of year, as it’s not warm enough for them to be up and about. The vampires, on the contrary, find this weather perfect for hunting.”

“But what does it mean to be undead, and why would the captain or anybody else become it?” asked Paedre.

“No one really knows how it happens, but sometimes when someone is bitten by a vampire, the soul and the body invert from their natural states.

That means that the soul cannot be set free of the body – like the body is sitting on the soul, instead of the soul floating above the body. The body traps the soul from floating toward the afterlife, and the result is an eternally halfliving… thing.”

“So this happens to humans?” Paedre asked.

“Humans, elves, dwarves, sprites, brownies, and tortoises,” said Lalt.

Eiry and Bellis stared at Lalt and simultaneously said, “Tortoises?”

“A little known fact, but entirely true,” the elf said sagely. “In fact, out of all of them, tortoises are the best adapted to vampirism since they are the only group that has shelter from the sunlight built into their bodies. All you have to do is stay away from any shell that looks like a mirror on the outside and you will be fine.”

Just as Eiry and Bellis looked at each other, the captain’s door opened to emit Scruting who gravely said, “Prepare to land on the Northern Peninsula.”

178

Tvoesz!Nvtufsjoh!

“I find it hard to believe that something that big could be manmade,” Claren said. After having spent most of his memorable lifetime amidst the modest dwellings and pastures of Kalard with his wife and children, the structure he peered down on more resembled a work of the gods.

Tsci-Imili silently agreed with Claren’s statement, but for different reasons.

Elves would never consider creating such a monstrosity as the Wall of Water’s End. To manifest something that was in no way alive went against everything that an elf was; to spend generations doing it was a ghastly waste, to his way of thinking.

Delen also seemed impressed with the wall. It would make sense, though, with her specialty being research into magic and ancient weaponry. He could not see any blatantly obvious signs of magic, but he knew they were built into the very foundations of the wall. The weaponry in plain view atop the wall was certainly unrivaled by anything he had ever seen.

Trebuchets as large as houses were placed at regular intervals along the wall alongside mangonels of similar size, but those were about the only siege engines for which he knew the name. All the others looked nasty and pointy, though, and he knew that they would be effective.

The one thing Tsci-Imili couldn’t see was any sign of inhabitance. This was naturally a ruse since the barrier would be useless without anyone to man it. They had been able to see wagons moving to and from the wall in between it and the city when they had been further up the mountain. But now that they were near the base of the mountains, all they could see was the anonymously covered guardhouses atop the wall.

Tsci-Imili turned back to the group just in time to catch the end of a disdainful glance by Mem directed toward Claren. Not seeming to notice, or perhaps not caring that Tsci-Imili was staring at him, the man returned his gaze to the wall. The elf saw exactly what he expected to see in that face: calculation. The eyes flickered over all the different parts of the wall, from the engines on top to the foundations lost in the ground, all the while searching for exploitable weaknesses.

The three original group members still didn’t know much at all about the man who had introduced himself as Mem. He was an archmage, of that Delen and Tsci-Imili were sure, but he was powerful enough that he could hide his power even when he was asleep. Indeed, the only reason they knew he was a mage at all was because of his entrance into their party.

Tsci-Imili’s gag reflex still kicked into action even now when he remembered that semi-soft air that he’d had to breathe. He’d had a sense of 179

foreboding then, and it had strengthened the further he’d gotten to know the man. Seeing Mem studying the wall with the eyes of an experienced military commander preparing for assault did little to soothe him.

“All right,” the elf said, tearing his gaze away from the archmage. “Before we part, tell me the plan one more time.”

Delen gave him a humorous look. “Oops,” she said, “I forgot it.”

Catching on, Claren added, “It’s so complicated, you know.”

Tsci-Imili put his hands on his slender hips. “That’s not funny.”

Mem pointed in a southeasterly direction and said, “Isthmus. Wait.”

The elf looked them over, and nodded. “Right, then. I’ll be off.”

As funny as paring down his plan into two words and a gesture could have been, Tsci-Imili wasn’t able to laugh at Mem’s declaration because it hadn’t been intended to be humorous. The man was relearning how to speak.

He was learning exponentially fast, but still in all…

The elf wished he knew what had happened to Mem to make him lose his ability to speak like that. Mem had retained his ability to walk, to understand most speech, and to cast the most amazing lexicon of spells, but was unable to speak for a day or two after he had been found. Even now, despite his quick study, he was only giving complete sentences with proper grammar about once out of every five tries.

Claren had mentioned a story about a man who Alaris had kept company with who had started out with a similar problem, but in that story the Sanct fellow had lost his memories, too, whereas Mem had not. Still in all, the two men had so many similarities in their lives that Tsci-Imili wished he had formally met Sanct so as to have a basis off of which to judge Mem. Delen’s guess was that Mem had had a spell go awry that had landed him in hot water. She had wanted to know if the ending of the Dominion or the removal of the Danark had had something to do with Mem’s arrival, but Mem seemed to not understand her question.

Tsci-Imili wanted to agree with Delen’s hypothesis, but even if a miscast spell was the case it still didn’t tell him where the man had come from, which worried him most of all.

Being the Seeker to the Apex of Pinnacle gave Tsci-Imili access to many secrets and powers that a low-ranking Peer like him would otherwise never see.

Ferri would grant him almost any artifact he requested from the archives before sending him off on a mission. She would place other more powerful mages under his command if he asked for them. She also kept him well informed of what was going on in the political realm of Pinnacle, as he was often caught up in it.

That meant that he had to have a working knowledge of every single 180

archmage in the world, their abilities, and their political affiliation. All the elven archmages he had known since before Ferri had been chosen as Apex since he had lived with them for thousands of years.

Humans were the difficulty. Every year another few thousand youngsters were covertly escorted to Pinnacle to study the ways of magic. Most eventually muddled through their first grains of magesand and many of those left would figure out how to make an artifact, subsequently becoming apprenticed. Less than half the original number of trainees would fashion wands to become mages, and out of that severely reduced number, fewer than a hundred each year were able to lay claim to the status of archmage.

That was why Tsci-Imili fretted about not recognizing Mem. He could easily understand missing a student or apprentice, as they were as numerous and noteworthy as seeds in a forest, but for someone to have reached the topmost echelon of magekind without Tsci-Imili having heard of him was nigh to impossible.

Unless Mem has never been to Pinnacle, Tsci.

Tsci-Imili shuddered and walked faster.

The sun was still low in the sky, making the shadows long but lighter than their evening cousins. The wind was strong in the extreme, as nothing higher than his waist grew anywhere within a day’s walk of the Serene wall - yet another safety precaution.

The elf wondered if a similar edifice around his homelands would work to keep the humans cowed. Almost as soon as he thought of it, he shook his head. No, nothing would ever keep the Surians at bay. Hatred got in the way of logic.

Still in all, this wall had done exactly that for the Serene for all these years.

Originally, this land the Serene occupied had been part of Mer. Since the lands were across the daunting Merian mountain range that no one ever needed to cross, no one had learned that the Serene had settled in the lands until the wall was already complete. By then, they were so firmly entrenched that no army would ever be able to dislodge them. To even get this far, an army would lose half its personnel just crossing those snow-covered mountains. Once they arrived, they would have no siege engines, no horses, and little heavy weaponry.

The wall was simply a final way for the Serene to say, “Keep out.”

That left the ocean as the only entrance, and who would be stupid enough to attack the Serene in their natural environment? Wherever they had originally come from, the Serene were now the undisputed masters of the ocean. It was one of the worst kept secrets in the world that their ships were capable of sinking under the waves and rising back up to the surface; what could they do while they were under an enemy’s ship?

181

Tsci-Imili eventually realized that all his thoughts were becoming more and more fatalistic. Well, it goes with my mood, he defended himself from himself.

I’m supposed to scale a wall that an army couldn’t take. If I don’t die doing that, I present a piece of wood to someone (who hopefully won’t shoot me before I can do so) in the hopes that they’ll understand what it means even though I don’t. Then I get to Seek out a single person I’ve never met in a city of who knows how many thousands and ask that complete stranger to help me break an archmage out of their equivalent of a jail.

The wall, having not grown any larger on the horizon, left a long way to walk before reaching it and further to go before he reached the actual inhabitance of Water’s Earth. The wall surrounded all the land the Serene used for crops and herds and for the trees they used for building their ships, instead of only their living quarters.

Water’s Earth, Water’s End. Tsci-Imili pondered the strangely dichotomous pair of names for the same place. One made the Serene seem like they owned a portion of this continent, the other made the Serene sound like their sovereignty stopped at the coastline. He had never gotten a Serene person to fully commit to one name or the other; they used the two interchangeably, as did all the other peoples of the world. As he did himself.

Again Tsci-Imili wondered where the Serene had come from originally.

The land upon which Water’s Earth had been founded had been free of human habitation for thousands of years since it was surrounded to the north, west, and south by the tremendous mountain range he had just crossed, and to the east by the ocean. Then, suddenly, the Serene had been there, and before anyone knew it, they had built themselves a city. That level of organization and their access to materials told Tsci-Imili that the Serene had come to Torunmem after they were already a society.

But where could they have incubated such a society? The only lands that were uninhabited were uninhabitable, so the Serene would have either been noticed or have died off before reaching such a level of sophistication.

Tsci-Imili had many times heard the Serene say that they came from east of east. Most people took ‘east of east’ to mean Water’s Earth, since it was the easternmost portion of the eastern continent. But Tsci-Imili believed otherwise. He did not believe that the phrase had started out as ‘east of east,’ but as a specific moniker, ‘East of East.’ Tsci-Imili had spent three years looking at the islands in the West – all that remained of the sunken continent of TorVenn – trying to make his theory of ‘East of East’ meaning ‘West’ work, but he found no evidence of any small-scale civilization. It left him stumped as few things ever did. He was always able to Seek some clue out, but since he did not know exactly what to look for, there was nothing for his Talent to latch on to.

182

Maybe I will find some clue while I am in the city, Tsci-Imili thought.

The elf glanced back over his shoulder toward the ravine that he had recently vacated. Hopefully, his companions were following it southeast toward the isthmus that Alaris had said would be there. Hopefully, by the time he picked them up, Delen would have been well on the way toward figuring out how Claren was supposed to be the key to entering Sanctuary.

He shook his head. Hope, hope, hope. No one had asked the obvious questions like, “What if Alaris was wrong about there being an isthmus?” Or, “What if Alaris was wrong about that wood pass for getting over the wall?”

Or, “What if Alaris was wrong about the ship builder being willing to help us?”

Or any of the other ‘what if’ questions. Alaris himself had admitted that he had not been here in years, that things may have changed.

“That doesn’t matter,” Tsci-Imili said aloud. “I will pay my honor debt, or be thankful to die trying.” He would, of course, prefer the first option.

Seen from up close, the Wall of Water’s Earth seemed both less and more intimidating – less in that there were plants and mosses growing all over it, but more because he could not see the top. The only thing that he could think to compare it with would be the tallest trees of his homeland.

Tsci-Imili whistled sharply five times. He stared upward for any signs of activity, which soon came in the shape of a descending rope ladder.

One point in favor of Alaris, Tsci-Imili thought. May many more such points be in the making.

The rope ladder made climbing an adventure in itself. At the sway and give he was reminded of his youth when he would spend days at a time in the wilderness trees, the breeze in his leaf-filled hair, the subtle movement of the branches under hand and foot as his slight weight bent them. The fond memories helped him calm his racing heart to the point that he felt better after his climb than he had at the start.

“Pass?” said one of the five sentries at the top of the wall before he was allowed off the rope ladder.

Tsci-Imili slowly reached into his pouch and brought out the wooden plaque to hand to the sentry. He could feel the points of his ears being scrutinized suspiciously by all three humans.

The man frowned at the plaque, and turned away. “Keep him there,” he said to the two women who were on duty with him. They nodded, and kept their weapons pointed in his general direction.

He had known to expect this treatment, but he was still nervous. The system was effective: it would keep a person on the rope ladder until their identity had been verified. No one can make a sudden move from a rope 183

ladder, and even if the first guard would miss, the second could shoot.

The sentry returned. “That’s a pretty old pass you have,” he said, his previous frown unchanged.

“Not really,” Tsci-Imili replied as he had practiced. “I only got it about two hundred years ago.”

The guard blinked, and concentrated. Tsci-Imili knew exactly what was going through his mind: To an elf, two hundred years wouldn’t be that long.

“All right, you can come up,” he said finally. “The next wagon leaves for the city from our sector at midday.”

“Thank you,” Tsci-Imili said to the guard, and also to the gods.

The two women heaved him off the rope ladder and began retracting it by means of a winch. He made his way down a proper set of stairs, every step of the way thankful that it was not another rope ladder; his knees were too weak to be of much more use.

Evening shone its light down on the dumpy little city of Water’s End as Tsci-Imili arrived. He thanked the driver and got off at the first stop, sure he could find his way. On his wagon ride in, he had been struck at the abnormal dichotomy of having a wall that put every other wall in the world to shame protecting a city that better deserved the title of overgrown town. No building was over two stories tall, and there was no obvious central place of business or government since the thin city clung closely to the coast of the immense bay.

The entire town was only two roads thick, each road running parallel to the ocean harbor.

Alaris had not given Tsci-Imili much information about where to go to find whomever he needed to find, but there was no need. Even before he had hopped off the wagon into the city, Tsci-Imili felt the familiar tug in his body that told him he was close to what he Sought. Wasting no time, he walked north along the inner cobblestone road, homing in on his target.

Just as the sun took her final look at the world rising above her, Tsci-Imili took his first look at the building in which his Talent said he would find who he needed to find. The building backed up to the water and slightly overlapped it in the form of an attached boathouse. The frontal end looked like a combination of house and business, though Tsci-Imili did not know what sort of business it purported to be. Looking above at the small inlay in the wood above the door, he tried to make out the name of the resident, but was unable due to age and weather.

Receiving no answer to his first summons, Tsci-Imili knocked again. This time a voice answered him.

“What are you waiting for?” asked a younger man’s voice.

Tsci-Imili slid the latch back and stepped inside. Not surprisingly, the 184

room into which he stepped looked like the inside of a Serene ship – everything made of wood, every bit of space used for multiple purposes.

There were many little curiosities placed here and there in the room from all over the world.

There are too many varied objects for one person to have collected them all, Tsci-Imili thought as he shut the door behind himself.

The person who had spoken stood up from his chair in surprise.

“A foreigner! My apologies, sir, but I have never received anyone from outside at my father’s house before. Please, will you sit while I prepare the seaweed?” The young man stopped in his movement toward his kitchen.

“Oh, wait, you’re not Resilorn! Do you eat seaweed?”

Tsci-Imili said, “Please, do as your custom deems proper. It has been long indeed since I have spent time among the Serene.” The only time he ate seaweed was when he visited Estuary. He had found seaweed to be palatable when dried, but slimy when wet. Still, it would not do to offend.

When he returned, the young man brought a tray of green, blue, and red seaweed, each hand-sculpted into fanciful shapes. Only after the little treats had passed his lips did Tsci-Imili realize how empty his middle felt.

The elf likewise realized that his host was staring at him. Tsci-Imili started by complimenting the seaweed’s taste and decoration, then introduced himself.

He offered his palm to the Serene man, who touched the middle and wrist with his ring finger. Tsci-Imili felt relieved; his Seeking was alleviated once he made physical contact. It was like someone who had been pulling on his hair had suddenly let go, except the relief Tsci-Imili felt was body-wide. Feeling all around more comfortable, Tsci-Imili delicately settled into business. “A friend of mine told me to speak with a man by the last name I saw above the door of this house about a short trip.”

The young man looked both perplexed and intrigued. “Oh? And who might this friend be?”

“Well, more of an acquaintance, really. About two hand spans taller than me, gray and red clothes, some peculiarly colored eyes.” Tsci-Imili didn’t know whether to say Alaris’s name out loud, or to keep it an utter secret. For all he knew, the man Alaris had said to find was no longer alive.

“A peculiar color, huh?” The young man leaned slightly forward. “Must be another foreigner; all Serene are blue-eyed. Perhaps if you could tell me how old your friend is?”

“Fairly aged, I’m afraid. He couldn’t make the trip himself, something to do with his guild.”

Nodding slowly, the young man sat back. “So, the Alaris has sent you to see my grandfather. I imagine that it has to do with the favor he was owed?”

185

Seeing the elf’s hesitation, he gestured plaintively. “Come, let’s end the charade. I’ve been plain with you, have I not? My name is Valedde.”

The elf bowed from the waist in his chair, still being cautious. This could still go wrong. “I… actually know very little about what your grandfather would be willing to do, but the Alaris did send me to you. The Alaris was planning on coming himself, and was detained.”

Valedde’s eyes shot up. “Detained? Is this the same Alaris who saved my grandfather and the rest of his Hand when they were on mission? I know of no human force that could detain him so.”

Tsci-Imili answered with a shrug. “His own sense of justice did him in.

Representatives of Pinnacle contacted him in Likton, and he sent me off in a hurry just before they met up with him.”

“Now that is believable, from what grandfather told me,” Valedde said, setting the seaweed tray aside. “So, you have my attention. In what way are we being granted the opportunity to pay back the family debt?”

Tsci-Imili decided to go full gusto. “He told me that you – or, rather, your grandfather - would be able to get us into Sanctuary.”

The expression on Valedde’s face was one of confusion and amusement.

“You’re kidding. Sanctuary? No one in my family has been a mage in six generations, let alone being in charge of the island’s wards.”

It’s on an island? Tsci-Imili thought sinkingly. By the gods, Alaris, how many more obstacles are you going to throw in my path? “Look, the Alaris is a very knowledgeable man. I’m sure he had some reason to believe that your grandfather could do it. Perhaps did he leave behind a magical artifact, or instructions about a secret way of getting into Sanctuary?”

Valedde shook his head at both suggestions. “My grandfather was in and out of Sanctuary many times, being part of a Loving Hand, but I’ve never heard of such an artifact. There’s no back door, no lock to pick; it’s magical.

You know, it might be better to wait for my father to come home; he would know more than I do.”

“All right,” Tsci-Imili said heavily. “When do you expect him?”

“Given the news we have that City Aeterna is closed to us, he’s going to be a bit detained. I would put his ship’s arrival at twenty days.”

The elf winced. “I take it back. Not all right. Time is more precious to me than a foolproof plan. We need to be leaving within a day, preferably before morning so no one will know we’re going out. And we’ll need to pick up some companions of mine before we head to Sanctuary.”

Valedde waffled. “Tsci-Imili, there’s no delicate way to say this, so I’m just going to say it. There’s a difference between having a plan that isn’t foolproof, and not having a plan at all! I could take my family’s boat near the 186

island, but Sanctuary is guarded by magic! I have no control over that!”

“Alaris has given us the means by which to bypass the spells of Sanctuary,” Tsci-Imili said, hoping that he wasn’t lying as he spoke the words.

Come on, Delen, you may be human, but you’re good at what you do! “It will take some doing, but I believe it’s possible to get in there.” As an added bonus, he said, “Even if we can’t, and you’ve tried to help us in every way available to you, I will consider the debt paid.”

“It’s not only that,” Valedde said with a slight snap to his voice. “I don’t mind doing something dangerous, but you’re asking me to break into Sanctuary. Whether your plan works or not, if I’m caught, that would disgrace the family name more than reneging on grandfather’s debt!”

“At least in this I can alleviate your fears,” Tsci-Imili responded. “Lady Kel is not a criminal. She went into Sanctuary voluntarily. Alaris needs her because she is a powerful ally of his; she was a Dominion Master before she entered Sanctuary.”

“Hmm,” Valedde murmured. “Sending another to do his work with a half-formed plan for calling in a debt just so he can call in another debt? This desperation really doesn’t sound like the Alaris’s way of working.”

Tsci-Imili couldn’t help but laugh heartily. He understood exactly what Valedde meant.

Valedde and Tsci-Imili stood inside the house’s attached boathouse and watched as air hissed out of a floating metal contraption that kept the boat out of the water when not in use. Tsci-Imili was anxious to go, but Valedde explained that there was no way to speed up the process.

“This float model is built to be raised and lowered by a single person,” Valedde dictated. “It’s slow going down, but if it makes you feel better, it’s even slower coming up – the bellows take forever to pump out the water.”

The ship settled into the water without so much as a splash, the float below the boat disappearing all but for two pipes that stuck out of the water for later retrieval. The air ceased its departure from the hollow metal float.

The two men loaded supplies for the journey onboard, gave the boat a thorough check for ocean worthiness, and cast off into the bay.

As they sailed out of it, Tsci-Imili looked back at the Serene city. There was not a bit of beach on the entire perimeter of the ocean. It was all made of buildings and docks, all very carefully fit together. Tsci-Imili commented aloud at how symmetrical the shoreline of the bay was.

“It took our ancestors a long time to get it just the way they wanted it,” Valedde said absently as he altered a line up to the mast.

The elf shook his head in wonder. So that’s where they found all the material to 187

build their wall. Humans. Why do they always have to change their environment to fit themselves instead of the other way around? Aloud, he asked, “Can’t this boat go underwater? It would be better if we weren’t noticed leaving.”

“The vessel is physically capable, yes,” Valedde answered. “But unless you have the spells to make the ship sink underwater, keep it balanced, and make it move forward, it’s not going to happen.”

“So your only way of making ships go underwater is by magic?”

“Yes and no. If the ships weren’t built the way they are, we’d have no air left to breathe, so it’s partially design and partially magic.”

“What happens if a ship’s mage dies? Does everyone else die, too?”

“No,” the Serene man answered. “For one thing, on a full-size ship, there is always more than one mage in a ship’s crew. Some of the spells are continuous once started, like the forward motion spell – something about replacing the water from in front of the ship to directly behind it – but some, like the displacement spell that keeps the ship under, require constant manning.

If the ship’s mages were to die, the spell would be released and the ship would pop directly to the surface like the air bubble it is. As a second backup plan, there’s even emergency magical powder that returns the ship to normal – surfacing the ship, strengthening the wood against impacts, blowing extra air throughout the ship, that sort of thing.”

Magesand! Tsci-Imili thought excitedly. “Some of the spells are built into the ship itself, then?” If magesand can activate these features, then maybe the ship is full of built-in artifacts!

“I don’t know,” Valedde shrugged. “I know little about magic; it doesn’t run in the family, remember?”

“I’d like to view this magic powder, and where you’re supposed to place it,” Tsci-Imili said. This might solve a great many problems.

“I’m sorry. I was talking about a full-size ship, not my family’s private yacht. We have no such emergency measures.”

Tsci-Imili dismally crossed off one more plan of escape from Sanctuary.

Being a Seeker had its benefits. One of the biggest was that one could travel the world many times over, thereby increasing one’s worldly knowledge, and increasing one’s wealth, as well. Tsci-Imili had not put much thought to sailors or sailing during his first many ocean crossings as a Seeker, preferring to stay in his cabin away from contact with the rough salty humans. But that all changed quickly when a disease had broken out on his ship, leaving over half the crew bedridden. He and the few passengers who had proved immune had had to become sailors in a day, or allow the ship to take the path of least resistance to the whirlpool.

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Thus it was that Tsci-Imili turned out to be more of a help than a hindrance to Valedde throughout the first leg of their journey. The elf was particularly adept at racing betwixt the higher reaches of the vessel in the rigging. He was high up on the mast when he spotted both isthmus and his companions before Valedde could make out either.

As the landing craft skimmed toward them, those on shore waded out to waist deep water to get onboard. The group’s disgruntlement at being soaked was not enough to dampen their spirits at seeing Tsci-Imili rowing the little skiff.

“It didn’t take you very long,” Claren said happily. “I don’t suppose we’ll even be dry by the time we get back to Water’s End!” “We’re not going back there,” Tsci-Imili said. “Sanctuary is on an island somewhere east of Torunmem.”

Delen, who had been reaching her hand up to Tsci-Imili to get his assistance in climbing aboard, dropped her hand back into the waist-high water with a little splat. “That complicates things.”

“I suppose it does,” admitted Tsci-Imili. Seeing her face become irritated, he asked, “I’m sorry, did you mean in some specific way?”

“Yes,” the mage said, reaching her hand back up to the elf. “As you asked me to, I’ve been studying Claren’s ring to see whether that was the key to Sanctuary. I think you’re right.”

Claren flipped his lithe body into the boat, settled himself, then turned to help Mem. With surprise, Claren watched the man go from standing only ankle-deep in the water to stepping into the boat.

Claren looked over the side of the boat, but he saw no rocky outcropping upon which the man could have stood. He passed his hand through the water.

He looked at Mem, whose eyes were fixed on Delen. Claren noted the difference between them: Mem was already dry.

Delen continued in what she was saying to Tsci-Imili. “Alaris definitely twiddled that ring. He didn’t tamper much: the main spell’s signature remains the same, but the activation is reversed. The ring’s original spell has to do with blocking effects on the mind from another spell; that probably means that there’s a spell surrounding Sanctuary. If you say that Sanctuary is an island, we can’t know where that spell is, so we’re likely to float into the spell somewhere in the ocean surrounding the island.”

“What are the effects of walking into this spell?” asked Tsci-Imili, slowing his rowing as he approached the boat. Before he had collaborated with Delen on defeating the Danark, he never would have trusted a human in the School of the Seen to accurately describe a spell. But when he had woken from his protective coma in the Dominion and read Delen’s spell, he had found a spell 189

that had been thoroughly and solidly written, and one that was easily accessible to any high mage. She had earned his respect that night, and in many other ways since.

Delen caught the end of the rope ladder by which Tsci-Imili had recently descended from the deck of the larger boat. “All I know is that his ring blocks the effect of some specific spell,” Delen said. “I would guess that if this spell is surrounding a prison-” “Sanctuary is not a prison!” Valedde objected strenuously from above her.

“There’s a difference!”

Delen looked up at the Serene man, then dismissed him. “Regardless,” she continued, “a spell that’s meant to keep people in an enclosure, and probably keep people out of it, too, is bound to not be salubrious.”

Tsci-Imili braced the bottom of the rope ladder and gestured for Mem to climb up first. “But the ring definitely blocks the other spell?” Tsci-Imili asked.

He had to pointedly ignore the searching gaze of Mem; it was easy to forget how intense such scrutiny could become after a while.

“Yes,” Delen said. “At least, that’s what it’s designed to do.”

“Whoah! Whoah there!” Claren exclaimed, getting up to pace. Realizing too late that there was not enough room, he sat down, even more agitated than before, and continued. “Okay. I’ve been listening to you guys all but saying that I’m going to have to go in there alone. That’s scary enough, but now you’re saying that I might not even make it past this spell? I’m going to be like a canary in a mine?”

“Claren, Claren,” Delen tried to soothe him, “we’re just discussing options, probabilities.” The word brought Deaux to her mind, and her talk of the Prophetess. With her mind distracted at the thought of the Prophetess having something to do with this, Delen’s voice tapered off.

“It might end up that we’ll all be able to go with you,” Tsci-Imili reassured him, picking up from Delen. “We might be able to toss that ring back and forth across the spell’s barrier and cross it one at a time.”

“The point is, Claren, we won’t know until we get to Sanctuary, to the spell itself. Until then, it’s needless to worry. You next?” she asked, pointing to the rope ladder.

That’s right, Delen, Tsci-Imili thought. Why worry now? We’ll certainly be doing plenty of worrying when we’re there.

When Tsci-Imili awoke, his innate elven sense of time told him that the sun goddess had relinquished her reign of the sky but recently. His ears told him that either there was no wind or the sails were furled. The gentle rocking of the boat let him know that they were very likely in shallow water. They were 190

close to land.

Making himself presentable, he clambered onto the deck to find an island looming largely in front of himself and no one on deck except their Serene pilot.

“Good nightfall to you,” Valedde greeted Tsci-Imili.

“And to you,” the elf replied. Distractedly he sniffed the air. “Strange.”

“What is?”

“The smell of the air. It’s salty.”

Valedde smiled and broke eye contact.

“I know the ocean is salty,” Tsci-Imili groused. “But this water is too salty, and too warm. It reminds me of the smell of the water around TorVenn, not Torunmem. Is all the water east of Torunmem like this?”

Valedde’s smile faded. “Much of it is, yes.”

Tsci-Imili grunted. “I take it we’ve reached our destination, then?”

“We have,” Valedde said, becoming more businesslike. “That thing your comrade Delen put on the prow did its job:: it lit up the instant it touched the spell. I’m glad it’s night, though; it wasn’t very bright.”

“How far away is the spell barrier, then?”

“Don’t walk much farther, or you’ll find out.”

Tsci-Imili took a nervous step back. “The boat is touching it?”

“The boat is bisected by it,” Valedde said. “Don’t worry, none of the folks below are in any danger. I’ve set two anchors; the drift is negligible.”

The elf realigned his sight to look for something this close, and immediately saw why he had not noticed the metaphysical signature of the massive spell. Tsci-Imili was reminded of the old joke, “I can’t see the wall, all these bricks are in the way.”

He looked all around the panorama, taking in the short cliff in front of the boat, the ocean spreading out in all other directions. His sharp eyes picked out a dark dot in the distance.

“Valedde, do other ships travel these waters often?”

“No. Most ships have no reason to come out this far east. There’s no trading ports on Torunmem’s east coast, and the currents are unfavorable to most travelers, so the Nir-Sur shipping lanes are all to the west of Torunmem.”

Tsci-Imili pointed toward the black dot. “Well, that’s either a ship, or it’s another island.”

Valedde made no comment.

Sensing a sudden tension from Valedde, Tsci-Imili watched the man from out of the corner of his eye. What is it that I said that made him clam up? Tsci-Imili wondered. I’d better change the subject.

“How long have we been here?” the elf asked, sitting beside Valedde.

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Tsci-Imili startled back up when the signature of the spell became much more obvious. It was as though a breeze had suddenly stirred a mirror-clear lake surface into frothy ripples.

Tsci-Imili located the source of the ripples instantly. Mem was standing halfway ascended through the hatch down to the lower decks, and was blowing through pursed lips toward the spell. The elf could see that he was obviously engaging in magic, but he could not see any spell being cast. How was the man doing it?

Mem relaxed his lips and tapped them in a syncopated rhythm with his pointer and middle fingers. When he stopped blowing, the spell disturbance smoothed out. The ripples continued up, out, and around the island in everwidening rings, but no more were forthcoming.

“Fascinating,” murmured Mem in between his fingers. Turning halfway to Tsci-Imili but keeping his eyes on the spell, he pointed toward the island. “I recognize the make of this spell.”

Anger outweighed curiosity in Tsci-Imili. “And every mage on the island is going to recognize what you just did!” he snapped. “The whole island has been alerted to our presence, thanks to your recklessness!”

The archmage took the deck with a shrug and a light shake of his head.

“Doesn’t matter. Your mission is a failure anyway; we should go.”

“Explain yourself.” Tsci-Imili could not help but get angrier. Who does this man think he is, to declare our mission over?

“You can’t get through that spell the sneaky way without months of preparation,” Mem answered. “With this sort of spell, the longer it’s kept going, the longer you need to prepare, and this one’s been up for centuries.

Weigh anchor; let’s go.” He twirled a finger around above his head and pointed in the opposite direction of the island.

“Defeatist,” Delen harangued the man from below as she came on deck, escorting Claren. Like the others, they were both barefoot. “We just got here, and you want to leave? At worst, we can study the spell and get some useful information out of it!”

“Delen,” Tsci-Imili said, “do only as much studying as you need to get Claren across that spell’s threshold.”

“Come, Claren,” Delen stepped into full researcher voice.

They walked over to where the spell intersected the ship. Out of her satchel Delen produced the few tools she had been able to reanimate with magic since their encounter with the Danark. Looking at the paltry items with which she could test the spells, she wistfully remembered the laboratory high up in the mountains.

Taking Claren’s hand and guiding it toward the spell threshold, Delen 192

watched the reaction of both spell and ring. She brought the two as close together as she could without actually touching, then backed away. It would have been better if she could get closer, but they were on a ship, and ships had a tendency to drift.

“So far, so good,” she muttered. The ring and spell had been matching up signatures the entire way toward and from. With her limited equipment, there was only one more test she could run.

She selected a hand-length divergent metal rod. This particular instrument was her own invention, made after having seen a man tuning a harp at the Nirian Conservatory of Music. Just as tones had frequencies to go with their sounds, so spells had frequencies to go with their signatures.

Delen lightly tapped Claren’s ring with the divergent half of the rod to capture its frequency, then held it next to the spell’s threshold. Holding her breath, she waited for any sign of a disturbance. There was none.

She let her breath out in a whoosh. “It will work,” she announced. As she put her tools back in her pouch, she smiled. “And Alaris pulls yet another trick out of his pouch.”

Claren asked, “What about what Tsci-Imili said?”

“Which was?”

“Will I be able to take the ring off and throw it back across to you guys once I pass through the spell?” Claren started to get agitated. “I don’t have any special powers, and I don’t even know what this woman looks like! If I have to go alone, I won’t be able to do it!”

Uh oh. He can’t get cold feet now. “I would like you to cross first,” Delen said carefully. “Once the ring has passed through the spell, I’ll be able to tell whether it can be taken off, or have enough power for more than one person to return.”

“I say this is folly,” Mem said diffidently. “But do what you think best.”

He’s goading me! Tsci-Imili thought. That’s the only explanation for his behavior.

“Claren, it’s now or never,” the elf said hurriedly. “I’m not going to make you go; this is your decision. But go now, or we leave.”

The young man took in all the faces staring at him – contemptuous Mem, anxious Tsci-Imili, desirous Delen, noncommittal Valedde. Without really knowing why, Claren took three steps back, toward the prow, across the threshold, and froze.

“By the gods,” he whispered, tears suddenly streaming down his face. “I know who I was!”

“It’s like meeting an old friend you thought was dead!” Claren said with a happy, quivering smile.

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“Claren, that’s wonderful, and I don’t mean to belittle your blessed discovery, but you must hurry!” Tsci-Imili insisted.

“But you don’t understand!” Claren protested. “I couldn’t remember it until now, but I was born here, and I lived out my entire childhood here!” A surprised look skittered across his face, and he looked at the ring on his finger.

“And I think I know exactly where to find Lady Kel!” “Good man!” said Tsci-Imili. “Go get her quickly!”

Claren took a running head start to his leap overboard. His long, powerful strokes through the salty ocean soon brought him to an inhospitable cliff, but he remembered the easiest way up and around. Climbing these cliffs had been one of his favorite pastimes as a child. Skirting the worst of the cliff, he made his way up and over the edge.

Just as he remembered it, the wide, rolling hills of green stretched out in front of him. Dotting the landscape were the little cottages that he now understood served as prison cells or hermitages to those brought to Sanctuary.

He could faintly guess at the ones that he had spent time in here and there during his tenure on the island.

Try as he might, he could not guess which one had been his parents’ hut.

He knew he had had parents, but they had died while he was young. His mother had fallen in love with his father when she had first come to Sanctuary, and try as they might, the Serene had been unable to keep them from bringing a child into Sanctuary. They had been as unsuccessful with Claren’s father as with Claren’s father’s parents. There had been a single child on Sanctuary for generations in defiance of all the magical contraceptives the Serene employed, and when that child grew up, he always had another single child.

When he had crossed the spell threshold, it was as if the child Claren had been when he had left Sanctuary had merely blinked. It was disorienting, at first, because he felt like both a man and a child, each trying to figure out the other with their own thought processes, trying to function in a body at odds with half his memories. Fortunately, both of him focused on the same thing at the same time, bringing about unification: what had happened to separate them.

What exactly had happened was still a mystery to him, but Claren knew that it involved the woman who he thought might be Lady Kel, and the ring on his finger. That was his last childhood memory: he had entered her hut, had a meal, she had put a ring on his finger, and the next truly lucid memory he had was of the Temple of Sante in City Aeterna.

It was difficult reconciling the two halves. Part of him still had all the feelings and intelligence levels of childhood, while another part of him had children of his own. But the difficulty did not outweigh the joy of finally 194

feeling whole.

A wave of pleasure welled up from his chest into this throat, restricting his breathing. He wished he could just sit down and simply think for the pleasure of it, much as a child trapped in a chair at school might wish to run, to laugh and yell. But he had a mission to complete.

Thinking of his mission, Claren found it odd that he had not needed to be more secretive in his infiltration of Sanctuary. He had not seen anything happen to the spell on the boat, but the three mages had definitely seen it.

Why were there not guards running all over the place? Then again, why was no one in sight at all? Where were all of the people who lived here?

He increased his pace to a jog. If everyone on the island had been brought to a central location until the abnormality in the spell could be investigated, how could he get to Lady Kel and get her back to the boat?

Right as he reached what he hoped was the proper cottage, with the help of the dim starlight, he saw in the distance a contingent of five robed figures striding from one toward another of the little huts. Claren knew that could mean either that they had thought they had found the perpetrator, or that they were searching all the cottages. This would have to be quick.

He walked into the snug little house, and immediately knew he was in the right place. His memory from right before leaving Sanctuary was so fresh it was like it had happened moments ago, so he could hardly have forgotten this room. Strange drawings and items lined the walls, the floor, even the ceiling.

A few birds twittered around inside the cottage, free to go whenever they wished but choosing to stay inside for some reason.

The woman looked at the same time older and younger than when he had last seen her – older to the child’s eye, but younger to the man. She wore a plain white robe without any pockets, had her black hair long and straight, and wore sandals. She sat up and eyed him shrewdly with her ice-blue eyes as he entered the hut.

“There’s something strange about you,” the woman said, “and I don’t mean only that you lack the neck collar or wrist bracelets.”

“Madam,” Claren said with a half-bow, not quite sure of what he should say (and berating himself for not thinking of this earlier), “I’m going to tell you something about myself that you might find hard to believe.”

The woman kept looking him over. “Is that my ring?”

Claren choked back what he was going to say. “Yes.” “How did you come by it?”

“You gave it to me.”

The woman locked eyes with him. “You’re him, then?”

“A little older and wiser, but yes.”

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She tapped the point of her nose as she spoke. “Then that didn’t work out at all. I had expected something entirely different to happen. If you came to any harm due to my meddling, I apologize.”

“Madam, I-” Claren redirected his question. “What is your name?”

“A name?” she asked, looking surprised. “Who needs a name?”

“Please, we haven’t much time. What is it?”

“Silly things, names,” the woman said, pulling on the metal collar around her neck. “No one around here has one. You don’t, do you?”

Frustrated, Claren realized that one of the side effects of being a prisoner in Sanctuary was that one lost all memory of who they had been.

“May I have my ring back, young man?” Miss Anonymous asked.

“If you can take it off,” Claren muttered, pondering his problem too hard to remember that he needed the ring to pass back through the barrier.

The woman pinched the ring hard between her fingers, and it widened in opposition to her pressure. Once off Claren’s hand, she relaxed her grip and the ring shrank to the size of a bead.

“You tampered with it,” she appraised. “What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything to it,” Claren said. “I travel in the company of mages. One of them did something.” Alaris had taken Claren aside when they had been traveling through Nir, and had spent some time waving two tiny magical wands over this very ring. I wonder what Alaris did to it.

“Yes, that would make sense,” she murmured. “The great magic I felt in you as a child is gone now. But then again, that magic was never yours to begin with, was it?” She squeezed on the bead and it again resisted her pressure, hollowing its center until it returned to its original ring form. She restored it to her finger and stared at it.

Claren went to the window to see if any of the Serene guards were anywhere close. They were not, but by the time he could see them, he knew that they would be able to see him, so he couldn’t wait.

“Please come with me,” he said.

“Where are we going?”

“To see my friends.”

“No, I’m sorry,” she said. “I have to stay here.”

“Please, I’m begging you!”

“No,” she said, her face clouding, “I really think I have to stay here.”

Claren bit back a snarl. “Why?” “I,” she paused, “don’t… know.”

“Then come with me!”

She made no reply, seemingly lost in thought.

“Please!”

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Still there was no response, verbal or physical. Claren seemed to have vanished from her life, for all he knew.

“Fine,” he said, steeling himself. “I’ll carry you.”

Hoisting her onto his shoulders and holding one arm and one leg, he walked out the cottage door sideways.

“I’m to go back to the cottage,” he could hear her say quietly in his ear.

“They’re telling me to go back now. I should go back to the cottage. What am I doing outside? I’m safe in the cottage.”

Claren started walking as quickly as he could back the way he had come, but then realized that if he took her that way, he would have to either climb down the cliff with her still on his back, or toss her over the side into the ocean. If he did that, the depth of the water might not be enough for a safe entry. Plus, she might not have sufficient will to dive properly to keep from injuring herself. Instead, he took a longer route, one that would take him even farther away from the boat, but would get them there safely.

After dodging from cottage to cottage to remain unseen, Claren arrived at the water’s edge safely only to encounter another problem. He had never swum with anyone larger than a child depending on him, and that was in the chest-deep pond in Kalard, teaching his children how to swim. Now he had a full-grown woman depending on him, and he was already tired from his swim in, climbing a cliff, and lugging her cross-country.

He experimented in the shallow water with how to take her. Carrying her above his head was out of the question. Swimming like a frog with her on his back made most of his attempts at lifting his head for a breath unsuccessful.

Dragging her along by her long hair while he swam on his back at first seemed cruel, but she floated on her own and it kept her face out of the water, so that was what he ended up doing.

The salty ocean water was cold, but the brisk night wind made it seem comparatively warm. At first, Claren kept lifting his head every few kicks and stroke to scan the receding beach for observers, but as there were none and the beach quickly rose into cliffs, he kept his head in the water. Despite carrying the extra load, Claren found that he was actually calming down: the lulling sound of water in his ears, the beautiful stars right in front of his eyes, and the gentle caress of passing waves made it difficult for him to worry.

Claren ran into only one more problem on his way back, but it was a big one.

The boat was nowhere in sight.

“Mem,” Tsci-Imili said as he walked forward on the deck of the ship.

“I’ve been looking at the spell surrounding Sanctuary, trying to help Delen 197

create a backup artifact just in case the one Claren has doesn’t hold out for both him and Lady Kel.” “Good for you,” the man said, keeping his eyes closed and fingers folded across his chest. “I hope you’re finding it entertaining.”

“Given a year or two to study it, I would,” Tsci-Imili said, “but as it stands, I am hoping we have little time. Claren should be back very soon, and if we don’t have something set up by then, we may be in trouble.”

“And this concerns me how?” Mem asked in a tired, ‘leave me alone’ voice.

“You said you knew the spell,” Tsci-Imili said. “Do you or not?”

“No.” “So why did you say you did?”

The archmage sighed as he pushed himself more erect. “I didn’t say I knew the spell, I said I recognized its make,” Mem replied. “Is there not a difference here?”

Tsci-Imili wished he could bite out his own tongue. Patience, Tsci-Imili. Get the job done, don’t think about embarrassment. “Well, that’s better than Delen or I. Will you please help us?”

“What do you need,” Mem said in his long-suffering voice.

“Well, for one, who was its artificer? Human or elf?”

“How should I know who made it?” Mem asked.

Tsci-Imili gritted his teeth. “You really could try to be more helpful.”

“What, you want me to guess?”

“Yes!” “All right. Human.”

“Why do you think so?” Tsci-Imili asked, relieved to have finally gotten something out of the man.

“It’s a guess, that’s all. That’s what you said you wanted.”

Before Tsci-Imili could explode, Delen cut in.

“Where did you see it first?” she asked, breaking it down to a very basic question Mem couldn’t wiggle out of.

“You’ve never been there,” Mem said offhandedly.

“Mem,” Tsci-Imili said, shielding his eyes in frustration. “I’ve spent my life crisscrossing the three continents and even searching the sunken fourth.

There is no city I don’t know, no tract of land I haven’t visited.”

“I’m somewhat of a professional wanderer myself,” Mem said, “and I assure you, I’ve seen far more than you.”

“I know the entire face of the world!” Tsci-Imili tried not to rant, but he had a feeling that he was losing.

Mem stared at him for a little while without saying a word. Then, in a less 198

caustic voice, he clarified, “Perhaps the face of this world is not all there is to wander.”

Tsci-Imili folded his arms. “I’ve searched the lowest caverns to the highest mountain peak, the physical and metaphysical realms, and have even Sought out things that didn’t quite belong to either exclusively.”

Mem’s taunting voice returned. “Then maybe you haven’t had time to fly up to the castles in the clouds?”

“Quit saying foolish things!” the elf said in disgust. “You can’t fly.”

“Can’t fly?” the man asked with a shocked look on his face. After a moment, he burst out into laughter. “Gotcha!” he yelled, pointing at TsciImili. “Oh, God, you’re so gullible it’s pitiful!” He continued his giggling.

Tsci-Imili did not join in. Gullible I may be, but I can recognize genuine confusion when I see it. That means that either you can fly, which no mage has ever done before, or you’ve never tried to fly and didn’t know you couldn’t.

Looking at Delen, the elf saw that she had noticed it, too. He wished he could discreetly take her to the side and talk with her privately, but there was no such thing as privacy on a vessel as small as this without being obvious about huddling in a corner.

“Oh, very well,” Delen sighed. “If you don’t know anything, then go back to sleep. We can handle it without you.”

Mirroring her sigh exactly, Mem handed her an illusion and went back to his former reclining position.

What? An illusion that can be held? How is that possible?

Tsci-Imili and Delen were both shocked. The elf reacted faster than Delen, moving to block her muscle spasm that would have thrown the construct over the side of the ship. To her terrified and angry facial expression, he shook his head rapidly.

“It’s blasphemy!” Delen said almost silently.

“We didn’t create it; the gods can’t blame us!’ he mouthed. ‘We can still use this diagram!”

“No!” Delen whimpered, yanking her arms out of Tsci-Imili’s grasp and throwing the illusion over the side. Shockingly, there was a loud ‘plop’ when it hit the water. Eyes streaking with tears, rubbing her palms against each other frantically, Delen silently ran below the deck.

Tsci-Imili sighed, half in regret, half in relief. He had seen enough of the diagram to know that it was the workings of the spell in front of them – it would have been useful to have as reference. But Tsci-Imili could not fault Delen for her trepidation: Mem’s handiwork had definitely been a break of the gods’ rules, and the gods did not take lightly to blasphemy. Even if they did not use it, Delen had touched it; depending on which gods dealt the 199

repercussions, she could be in no trouble or a great deal of trouble. For the first time, Tsci-Imili was glad that Deaux had left them.

Tsci-Imili turned angrily on Mem, then stopped himself. Come on, TsciImili, what are you gonna do against him? Tickle him to death? Here’s a man who can apparently fly against the strict forbidding of the rules of magic, who can cast spells without leaving any signature, and can create tangible illusions – or realities that seem like illusions – or whatever that means. Face it, Tsci-Imili. You’re not his match.

“What do you want?”

Tsci-Imili only realized he had asked the question out loud when Mem popped an eye open to regard him.

“What do I want?” the man repeated thoughtfully. He opened the other eye. “What do I want. Well, about the only thing I don’t have right now is some silence. Do you have some? Can you give me some silence?”

“I mean why are you sticking around with us?” Tsci-Imili said. “We helped you out in the mountains, but once we descended you were the picture of health. You could cast up any number of ways to get out of Serenecontrolled lands, if that wasn’t where you were headed anyway. Why are you still with our group, whose meager power you seem so disdainful of all the time? Why don’t you leave?”

“Because I like you!” Mem said in surprise. Then his expression changed to confusion. “Or was it because I feel gratitude toward you? Or maybe I’m using you. Hmm. That’s about the most intuitive question you’ve ever asked me there, little guy! Let me think and get back to you.”

Mem shut his eyes with a sense of finality and satisfaction on his face.

Head full of whirling, convoluted questions and theories, Tsci-Imili headed to the hatch to try to console Delen. Just before his head dropped below the level of the deck, he heard a familiar voice shout in denial.

At first, Claren thought that he had swum the wrong direction, or that the ship had moved a little bit further up the coast to where he had climbed up the cliff. But, treading water to hoist himself above the higher waves, he could see no boat anywhere.

“No!” he shouted angrily, unwilling to give up yet. He wanted to search further out into the ocean, but he knew that he couldn’t cross the spell without the ring on, or something bad would happen to him. Maybe they were seen, and had to sail away. Maybe they figured out how to get the ship to go under the water, and they’ll be back later. Maybe“Claren?” shouted a voice distantly.

He looked all around, but still saw no boat. “Hello?” he called.

The woman he was dragging coughed and spluttered. Having no forward 200

movement had reduced her capacity for flotation, and she was breathing the waves.

“Claren, look over here!”

Claren swung his head all the way around. “I don’t see you!”

“What do you mean, you don’t see me? You’re about ten strokes away from the ship!”

Tsci-Imili! Claren realized excitedly. They ARE here!

“Oh, yes,” Mem’s voice murmured sedately, “I made our presence on the water a little less visible. I thought it a sensible thing to do, since we are trying to hide.”

“Thank you for doing so, but couldn’t you have told us?” Tsci-Imili said in exasperation.

“Oops,” Mem replied flippantly.

“Claren,” Tsci-Imili called out in a voice tinged with mingled relief and annoyance, “just swim toward my voice.”

He did as was suggested. On he swam toward the voice, each stroke bringing him closer to his goal. His arms burned, his legs felt like falling off, but he kept going.

“A little to your left, Claren,” the elf’s voice guided him. “You’re going to bump into the ship right… about… now.”

Claren’s hand scraped against the wood hull of the ship, and with that touch, the entire boat sprang into view. Taking his hand away to hold his passenger’s head up, it disappeared again, but he knew where it was now.

“Pull her up!” he called. “She’s unconscious, and I’m too tired!”

“Claren, we can’t cross the threshold.” Delen’s voice rose out of nothing, seeming a bit scratchy for some reason. She cleared her throat. “You’re going to have to do it on your own.”

“I can’t even get myself out of the water, let alone her,” he groaned.

Claren could hear voices in conversation. A decision was reached.

“Claren, put the ring on Lady Kel’s finger,” Tsci-Imili ordered.

“Done,” he replied wearily. “At least, I think so.”

“What?” asked the elf, greatly confused. “Is it on, or not? Look.”

“Oh, the ring’s on her finger, all right,” Claren said, checking quickly to make sure it hadn’t fallen off in the water. “But I’m not sure it’s Lady Kel.” “Then why did you bring her, dolt?” Mem’s voice asked angrily.

“Mem!” Tsci-Imili’s voice came warningly. Then, in a softer voice that was still tinged with exasperation, “How can you not be sure? Didn’t you ask her?”

“It would take too long to explain right now,” Claren said, “but nobody in Sanctuary knows who they were before coming. It’s one of the things that 201

makes this prison so effective: you don’t remember what you have to return to, so you have no urge to return to it, so no one attempts escape.”

“Maybe if we talk to her,” Delen postulated dubiously.

“It’s like she’s asleep,” Claren said at once. “She can’t talk.”

This time, instead of discussion, argument broke out on deck. Claren wished he could plop his head back into the water so he wouldn’t have to listen to it.

“He has to go back,” Mem said.

“And what?” said Tsci-Imili. “Lead the entire female half of the island’s population back to our boat? Excellent idea! Brilliant!”

“The ring can only be used three more times, if that,” Delen said. “So he could only do it once. Either way, we should get this woman onboard before we send him back looking for another. It might be her. We should get her across the threshold and see.”

“Folks, we don’t have enough time for him to go back,” Valedde reminded them from his place at the helm. “I’m surprised we haven’t been found out yet, despite whatever Mem has done to my boat.”

“Everyone stop. Get her on board. If it’s not her, we’ll discuss what to do then.” Tsci-Imili suited his words by picking up the rope he had dropped, and raising his voice. “Claren? Claren!”

“What?”

“I’m throwing a rope to you,” the elf said. “Tie it around her chest, under her arms, then wrap it around her from her shoulders to her waist, pinning her arms to her sides. We’ll drag her over the threshold in the water, then take her aboard.”

Tiredly, Claren did as they asked. He was amazed at how much a wet rope could weigh, at how easily it could scrub away soft, wet flesh. He hoped there weren’t any sharks surrounding Sanctuary. A morose smile came to his lips. “Done.”

Delen, Tsci-Imili, and Valedde pulled on the rope, dragging the body through the water quickly in case the woman turned over and started sucking water instead of air. What they did not expect was a wail unlike anything they had ever heard before.

“Noooo! Oh, gods, no! They’re dead! They’re all still dead! Oh, gods, nononono….”

The three pulled the rope up and Valedde hoisted the woman over the side of the boat. She was a deadweight, neither helping nor hindering him.

As soon as the Serene man had plopped her on the deck, Delen waved him away from her, thinking that his presence would be more unsettling to her.

“What is your name, dear?” she asked. Getting no reply other than the heavy 202

weeping, she asked, “Who’s dead?”

“My apprentices,” the woman managed. “My fault. My fault…” Her body was wracked by sobs again, her hands clenching and reaching at intervals, her arms still pinned to her sides, her drenched white robe clinging to her torso and pooling around her exposed legs.

“What is your name?” Valedde asked insistently.

Tsci-Imili knelt down to touch the woman’s arm. When he made physical contact, a look of relief crossed his face. “Never mind, Valedde,” Tsci-Imili said. “It’s her.”

Mem started forward with his mouth open, but checked himself back, and a look of intense scrutiny came over him.

Delen gazed at Tsci-Imili curiously. “You Found her?”

Tsci-Imili waved her to silence, and motioned for Delen to untie the woman. “Claren,” he called out, “can you still hear me?”

“Yes,” came the reply.

“It was her. Good work, man.”

“Fine. Throw me the rope.” Claren asked, too tired to bother with social niceties.

“Wouldn’t do much good,” the elf advised. “You don’t have the ring.”

“Pinch it off and toss it to me,” he said. Then he realized what he had asked. If he didn’t catch the ring, which he probably wouldn’t since he couldn’t see it, the ring would disappear under the waves. “No, don’t!”

Tsci-Imili laughed. “I wasn’t about to. Look, we’re going to put the ring in this box on the deck right next to the spell threshold, then move the ship forward so you can get it. All you have to do is board up at the prow.”

“Oh, all I have to do, huh?” Claren muttered to himself crossly. “And how am I supposed to be able to do that?

“We’ve been sighted!” warned Valedde, pointing to the cliff.

“How is that possible?” demanded Delen of Mem. “We’re invisible!”

“Can’t you mages see when magic is being done?” challenged Valedde.

“Have no fear,” Mem said. “Even if they attack, the magic signature is five boat lengths away.”

“How could I have not noticed that until now?” Delen looked where he pointed, then at the ship itself. “I’ve never heard of anything like this,” she said in awe. “It’s like metaphysical ventriloquism. How do you do it?”

“It would take you too long to learn,” Mem said, dismissive. “In the mean time, your friend is still in the water. Get him out. Now.” “Mem, can you send my signature away like that?” asked Tsci-Imili.

“If necessary, yes,” the man said.

“And can you extend the invisibility to Claren when he’s not touching the 203

boat?”

After a pause, Mem said, “Done.”

Tsci-Imili was amazed and frightened at the alacrity with which the man could do magic. He used no artifacts, no wand or staff, and yet he was not fatigued in the slightest. The elf hadn’t even felt a change in the spell. “Then get ready to cover my signature. Claren?”

“Yeah, I see them too,” the man answered.

“Forget about them. I want you to lay face up with as much of your body touching the surface of the water as you can, and then keep wiggling until I tell you to stop.”

Receiving no reply, Tsci-Imili surmised that he was being obeyed. He turned to Delen and asked for some spell components. She gave him the ones she had available, and he proceeded with the spell, Mer crystal in right hand and vial of pure water from melted snow in the left.

Tsci-Imili knew that he didn’t technically need the spell components. No spell truly needed components, if you were strong enough to cast a spell without them. But, every spell did have shortcuts that made them faster, levers that made them less strenuous to cast. He didn’t feel like taking any unnecessary risks right then.

Posing his body in proper casting position, Tsci closed his eyes and looked toward where he thought Claren was. He pointed his crystal-holding right fist toward Claren, the other hand touching the inside of his right elbow.

Holding the metaphysical part of the crystal steady, he pushed power from his left hand up his right arm and through the crystal.

This would be so much easier if I could see! Tsci-Imili chased the errant thought from his head. He also had to keep himself from responding to Claren’s alarmed cries for help. He heard Delen telling him to quiet down, that the people on the cliff could likely hear him.

Almost high enough, Tsci-Imili thought. A little bit more power to the spell, and he opened his eyes to make sure. He smiled in satisfaction at what he saw, and ended the spell’s effect.

Claren was frozen into the top of a tiny glacier next to the ship. It had grown underneath him, then, continuing to grow in the manner of glaciers, had slowly heaved him out of the water as it grew in size both down into the depths and up out of the water.

Something made the water five boat lengths away from their boat erupt skyward. Claren looked over at it, and wiggled harder. He knew magic when he saw it.

“I’m stuck!” Claren said softly, staring at the sky from his frozen position.

“Can you melt me out?”

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“Not safely,” Tsci-Imili said. “Did you keep wiggling like I told you?”

“I’m more shivering than wiggling now, but yes,” he replied, his teeth chattering. “Gods, this is cold!”

“Then it’s only your clothes that are stuck,” the elf said in a satisfied manner. “You can wiggle out of them.”

Claren pursed his lips and stopped moving, only to start shivering again.

“Ah, I’ll just go below to gather up some blankets and get a pot of tea brewing,” Delen said politely. “Master Kel, would you be so kind as to accompany me?”

“Don’t call me that,” the woman said dully. “I no longer have a Dominion.” But she followed Delen.

The water in the distance erupted once more.

“Expedience would be ideal,” Mem said. “I don’t know how long those folks on the cliff will remain fooled.”

Claren got out of his icy, hardened clothes and jumped from the mini iceberg to the fore deck of the ship. As he retrieved the ring from the box on the deck, Tsci-Imili melted the ice to nothing so that they would leave no trace of their passing when they left. Claren’s clothes caught fire the heat was so intense.

“Thanks for letting me get out first,” Claren said humorously as he stepped across the threshold.

“All right, Valedde,” Tsci-Imili said. “Let’s go.”

“No!” yelled Claren with a horrified look on his face. “Not again!”

“Claren, what’s wrong?”

“I’ve forgotten who I was again!” he answered, shaking his head slowly.

“Gods, no, I don’t want to live my life like that anymore!”

As Claren turned around, Tsci-Imili saw what he was planning. “Claren, don’t be a fool! That ring might – I say again, might – be able to get you across the threshold but it’s almost sure that you won’t make it back!”

Still shaking his head, Claren stepped forward through the spell that he couldn’t see. “I have to. I have to.”

“Claren?” Tsci-Imili said when the man stopped. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” the human replied. “Yes. I remember.”

“Tsci-Imili, we have to go!” said Valedde, pointing toward a ship that was quickly rounding the island. Despite their invisibility, once the other ship reached their point, they would be able to hear and smell that there was a ship there. “I’m raising back anchor.”

“You have thirty seconds, then I kill you and we go,” Mem said impersonally, looking at an odd leather and glass bracelet on his wrist.

“But what good does it do me?” Claren whispered to himself. “As soon 205

as I cross the threshold, I won’t know again. I can’t write it all down. Oh, gods, what do I do? Do I stay and remember, or go and forget?”

“You can’t stay,” Tsci-Imili said heavily. “No matter what, you can’t stay, or those Serene will find out about us, and come after us.”

“Fifteen seconds,” Mem announced.

“Stop it!” the elf commanded angrily. “You’re not helping!” Turning to Claren, he said, “Tell me the basics of your life, quickly. I will tell you again once you’re across the threshold. Hurry!”

Claren spoke rapidly as he moved. “I wasn’t a criminal. I was born here, and when my parents died I lived a couple days at a time with anyone I wanted to, switching cottages whenever I felt like it. I was always welcome; I was the only child anyone ever saw on the island since the Serene take contraceptive measures with everyone who’s brought here.

“When I visited Lady Kel’s cottage, she saw something in me that made her try out a magical experiment on me. When I put her ring on I disappeared from Sanctuary, and I must have ended up in Lej, because that’s where Eiry told me she and Sanct-” Claren stopped in mid-sentence, then sat down heavily on the deck. As the boat glided away from the island, Claren looked up at Tsci-Imili dully.

“You were able to tell me about who-” Tsci-Imili started to say.

“I know,” Claren said in a melancholy voice. “I remember the words I just said. But I can’t find the memories that triggered those words.” He sighed, and cast his eyes downward. “Weird.” Claren found himself wishing for Eiry’s arms to be around him.

The elf went forward on the deck to nurse Claren’s mental wounds. Mem went below, only to be shooed back on deck by Delen, with the addition of a few blankets for Claren.

“Sorry about the interruption,” Delen said to Lady Kel, settling back down at the bolted-down table. “Men always seem to butt in when they’re least wanted, don’t they?”

Lady Kel smiled wanly. “How true.”

Delen was amazed at the difference that single gesture made to the woman’s appearance. “You know, when I’ve heard of you, people always talk about how smart you were, and never mention how pretty you are. It’s good to see you smiling.”

“It was like waking from a dream where you’re falling,” the archmage explained. “At first you’re physically violent, then you calm down quickly, but you still feel jumpy.” She paused, then said, “It was an interesting spell, don’t you think?”

206

“Indeed,” Delen agreed, “but not one that I would particularly care to pass through, would you?”

“Yes,” Lady Kel replied immediately. “I would.”

Delen was at a loss for words.

“Which brings me to my next question,” the archmage said eventually.

“If I went to all the trouble of avoiding Kyr’s laws against suicide by having my memories removed in Sanctuary so I could live out the rest of my life in oblivion, why have you all come to disturb me?”

This was not going at all the way Delen had foreseen. “Actually, it wasn’t our idea, really,” Delen said. “The Alaris sent us. He needs you.”

Lady Kel’s eyes hardened. “He of all people had no right!”

I really should have insisted that Tsci-Imili tell me more, Delen decided. Personal or not, that information could really be useful right now.

Just as quickly as she had flared up, the archmage’s temper extinguished.

“Never mind,” she said wearily. “You can’t put the rain back in the clouds.”

She nibbled at one of the tea cookies the lesser mage had made available to her.

“How long was I in there?”

“You don’t know?”

Lady Kel shook her head. “One moment I was entering Sanctuary on a Serene ship, the next I was being dragged aboard this one. My skin is more wrinkled around my eyes, my hair is thinner, so I know I’m older, but by how much…?” It was not quite a rhetorical question, but she knew she would not be receiving an answer from present company, so she asked a different question. “Why did you agree to get me out?”

“Well, for one thing, I didn’t know that you had chosen voluntary exile,” Delen said guardedly, then, feeling generous, added, “and I honestly don’t think Alaris knew either.”

Lady Kel rolled her hand a few times to say “go on.”

“I am not very powerful,” Delen said. “I was barely accepted for a Peerage in the School of the Seen, if that gives you some idea. Fortunately, my School’s Pedagogues chose to focus more on my strengths than my weaknesses, and they made me a researcher under their tutelage.

“Alaris promised me that if I would help him, he would give me a daylong interview on any topic of my choice, other than his life. Who wouldn’t have taken him up on that offer?” she finished defensively.

“So you’re one of Alaris’s followers?” asked Lady Kel. “I’m not Laurian, no,” Delen said. “I’m with the Order of Humanity.”

Lady Kel raised her eyes. “You’re taking commands from an elf, while you’re working for the Alaris, and you say you’re with the Order? Have things changed that much since I’ve been away?”

207

Delen took a breath, but felt caught. She shrugged helplessly and said, “So some of my beliefs have been challenged since starting on this mission.

What can I say? I haven’t seceded from the Order’s charter.”

Lady Kel finished her cookies and daintily brushed the crumbs from her fingers. “To be fair, Alaris has great gifts to share,” she commented. “But those gifts aren’t as free as you might think. And that is all I have to say on the subject,” she said, forestalling any questions. “Now. Where and when are we to meet him?”

“He’s at Pinnacle right now. We’ll meet him on the southeast Surian coastline, but only Tsci-Imili knows exactly where and when,” Delen said. “He won’t tell anyone else. Oh, but since you’re onboard, we’re headed there.

Maybe he’ll tell us now, since Valedde has to know where to sail.”

“So that’s not where you came from to get me,” Lady Kel mused aloud.

“You came indirectly from Nir or from Mer?” “The latter,” Delen answered. “How did you know, Master Kel?” “Don’t call me that,” Lady Kel said again. “In answer to your question, this is a private Serene vessel, piloted by a young Serene man who normally doesn't sail. That means you all came from Water’s End, or Water’s Earth, whichever you call it. That meant you crossed the mountains from Nir or Mer, and if you didn’t come from Sur then that meant Alaris sent you alone while on his way to Pinnacle. What did Alaris have to do at Pinnacle that was so desperately important that he would risk losing me to Sanctuary?”

Again, Delen could do nothing but shrug. “Some of my old comrades in the Order came to escort him to Pinnacle from Likton.”

“To escort the Alaris. And he went.” Lady Kel reached for another cookie thoughtfully, and Delen quickly placed more cookies on the plate.

“Why?” she mumbled through the crumbs, even in her absentminded pondering being careful to not make a mess. Then, she asked a direct question of Delen. “How strong has the Order become, to be able to escort Alaris and expect to be obeyed? And what do they gain by doing it?”

“They have gained control of Pinnacle,” Delen said. How strange, to be talking about my former compatriots as ‘they.’ “One of the Order Founders, Traidic, is Apex. Ferri was deposed less than a year ago, so they’re solidifying their control. What better way to make sure of no challenge to their authority than to kill or discredit Alaris? I’m sure they had some plan, but I don’t know what it was.”

“Is the former Apex dead?”

“From what I hear, she abdicated after a series of duels and fled to her lands on Tortryst. But do us all a favor, will you? Don’t talk about it when Tsci-Imili’s around. He only found out when I told him, after we left Alaris in 208

Likton. He’s taking it very personally, since he—” “-was Ferri’s personal Seeker, yes, I’ve heard of him,” Lady Kel said absently. “I will need to talk with him later, too. Since Tsci-Imili was in the same party as Alaris, I take it this means that Alaris did not know about Ferri’s demise either?”

“Not as far as I know, Master Kel,” Delen answered.

“Don’t call me that,” she said absently. Then she refocused on Delen.

“I’m being deadly serious, Peer Delen. Do not call me that again. Even if it were merely a matter of taste, I would make my return to the world as simple Lady Kel. As it is, my potential time of servitude with Alaris may be made on terms that are not entirely to my liking.”

“But would your status as a Dominion Master not help you in your transactions with the Alaris?”

“No.” “I know titles mean little to Alaris, but-” “You know nothing of Alaris.” Lady Kel lessened her verbal assault.

“Please pardon my manners. What I meant to say was that what Alaris seems, he may not be.”

“Meaning?” Delen was not about to let a piece of information that tantalizing drift out of the conversation without at least asking.

Lady Kel thought quickly. “Did you know that Alaris created all the Dominions? No? I didn’t think so. No one does, except for select Dominion Masters. I doubt even the Primaries and Apexes know.”

“He’s the Master of every single Dominion?” Delen said dubiously.

“Yes and no. He founded every Dominion, or at least every Dominion I know of, but he foisted each off onto someone else once it was founded.”

“Why would he do that?”

“He never discussed his motivations with me.”

The former Dominion Master sat back in her chair with an expression that Delen was sure many people had seen on her face – an expression that said, “I’m thinking, leave me alone.” The lesser mage, hearing the ‘ready’ whistle from the teapot she had clamped onto the stovetop, poured some for her superior, then for herself, and made ready to climb on deck.

“Inquire from – The Serene man’s name?” asked Lady Kel as Delen moved toward the ladder.

“Valedde,” she answered.

“Inquire from Valedde how long we have until we reach our destination,” the archmage said. “Then when you come back down, bring Tsci-Imili with you. I mean to have Alaris’s plan worked out by the time we meet up with him. I do not look favorably upon surprises.”

209

Tsci-Imili had been in innumerable perturbing decorum situations, but this one was so confusing it reminded him of the Centurion Soiree back home; when all four elven nations sent representatives to a neutral gathering for continued good relations every hundred years. During Soiree, one knew one’s social standing in one’s own kingdom, but there was no set way of translating the nobility titles between the kingdoms, so no one knew for sure exactly who stood above whom. To make matters worse, the totems were forced to intermingle at the Soiree while trying to not show that they knew each other too well and spill the secret of their animalistic affinities.

After Delen’s return to the deck, Tsci-Imili’s excuse for staying on deck had been the possibility of pursuit by the Serene. But, after the light of the stars had one by one been drowned out with the coming of the sun goddess, he had reluctantly turned toward the hatch to confront Lady Kel. On the surface, he was a direct assistant to the Apex of Pinnacle, so technically any mage below the status of the six School Primaries should abide his wishes. But Lady Kel was a Dominion Master, and the Masters were notorious for flaunting the dictates sent to them by Apexes – they abided by the rules of Pinnacle and were not foolhardy, but they considered themselves powers in their own rights. However, to add difficulty to the situation, Ferri was probably no longer Apex so Tsci-Imili was no longer the Apex’s assistant, and Lady Kel did not consider herself a Master.

If dominance was to be decided by magical ability, as it so often was, Lady Kel would win without a fight. If it came to designated authority over the party, Tsci-Imili would win because of Alaris’s dictates.

But if it comes down to force of personality, I’ll be blown away, Tsci-Imili knew. The only reason he had retained leadership of his group so far was that none of the others were dominants: Deaux had been a passive observer, Claren was a tool, Delen was more interested in research than in people, and Valedde still felt like an outsider. And try as he might, Tsci-Imili could not create a mindset that included Mem as a part of their group. That left only Tsci-Imili to take charge, to keep the mission moving forward.

That was the only problem he had with turning over the reins to Lady Kel. Honestly, he would rather that someone else be in charge – he was a natural follower – but until now there was no one else who would take over.

However, Tsci-Imili did not know the former Dominion Master’s intentions, and he was unwilling to cede leadership of the party, however unofficially, until he was sure she could be trusted with Ferri’s welfare.

Thus, Tsci-Imili took so much time in readying himself for the encounter that by the time he made it down the ladder, he was the last one to have done 210

so.

“Has our ‘pursuit’ fallen behind?” Lady Kel asked with a perfectly straight face.

Tsci-Imili swallowed his statement; that had been exactly what he had planned on using as his opening line. She’s good. Rather than answer the question head on, he said, “I’m not worried. Valedde has a fine boat, and we have an excellent wind. How are you feeling?”

Lady Kel remained reposed amongst the many cushions that Delen had found for her. “I am collecting my thoughts; they are scattered. That is why I called you down.”

“I will do what I can to assist you,” Tsci-Imili said, then immediately changed the subject. “We’ll need to get those off of you.”

Lady Kel looked at the bracelets on her wrists. “I will do it later.”

“Claren mentioned that he had needed five clerics to help him remove his when he escaped Sanctuary,” Tsci-Imili cautioned her. “Don’t do anything to them until we know their true nature, or you might lose more of your memories.”

“Don’t be foolish, Seeker,” Lady Kel admonished him. “From what Claren told me, and I’m sure he told you the same things, we can deduce that these artifacts aren’t active unless they are inside Sanctuary. The memoryblanking spell that surrounded Sanctuary was not any part of these five metal bands on my body.”

Tsci-Imili thought about it for a moment. “So Claren’s restraints-” “-could have come off at any time, if he’d had a mage nearby who knew what she was doing,” Lady Kel said. “The reason he went mad when he was… removed… from Sanctuary through the memory-blanking spell was that he was conceived in Sanctuary. When he passed the spell threshold, he lost all memory but that which an unborn child would have. His neural pathways could not be completely erased without removing his brain from his head, but they would be so garbled that his condition would look like madness to non-analytically-minded commoners.”

“So what is it that Sante’s clerics did for Claren?”

Lady Kel shrugged. “The mind is not my area of specialty. I would imagine that they cobbled together whatever reactions he had left over in his brain and body, put them in some semblance of order, and tossed him back out in the street.” The archmage peered at Tsci-Imili. “I’m surprised that Alaris did not tell you more about his condition, and how he would have been useful to you in retrieving me.”

“He was in a rush.”

“Yes, Delen told me of your rather hurried departure from Likton,” Lady 211

Kel said. “Is that when he placed you in charge of this rescue?”

How much does she already know from the others? “I’m the one he outlined the plan to, at least.” Tsci-Imili knew that he dared not hit her head-on with the subject of leadership if he wanted to have any maneuvering room later. There had been too many mistakes made on the journey toward Sanctuary, and almost every one had been both avoidable and his fault.

“Then tell me more of his plans,” the archmage said, waving him to a seat near her reclined feet. “I need to know what I will be asked to do, if I am to prepare for it.”

“I don’t know what his plans are,” Tsci-Imili answered honestly. “He barely had enough time to tell me how to get you out of Sanctuary.”

“But I know that you were with him for at least a few days before his apprehension,” Lady Kel pointed out, worrying Tsci-Imili further with her extensive knowledge. “I also know for a fact that Ferri was in cahoots with him on some very shady Pinnacle business. I find it hard to believe that you know nothing.”

Tsci-Imili was trapped. “Ask questions and I’ll answer as best I can.”

“Thank you.” Lady Kel looked away for a moment to gather herself.

“What do you know of Alaris’s connections with the Dominion Masters?”

“Many are beholden to him, as are many in Pinnacle.”

“Including Ferri?”

“A bit.”

“That’s not how I understood it,” Lady Kel said with a raised eyebrow.

“I’d heard that she was handed her position by him, and that she couldn’t hold on to it without his support.”

Tsci-Imili bristled, but found that he had no words to defend Ferri. He would have vehemently denied it, had it not already come true.

“You seem like you miss the old Apex very much,” Lady Kel followed up the statement. “Were you close?”

She said it to needle me! Tsci-Imili realized. And she probably knows the answer to that question, too. What is she getting at? Where are all these questions leading?

“Ferri and I are about as close as you and Alaris,” Tsci-Imili said, without even really knowing why. I’m getting too defensive.

But apparently his improvised verbal tactic had worked, for Lady Kel paused in her interrogation to ponder his words.

“That may be,” she said distantly. Then, coming back to herself, she said, “I believe that Alaris and Ferri were planning something on Tortryst.

Something big. It involved a great number of mages, both powerful and weak.

I only caught a whiff of it from one of the older Masters a few days before my accident, so I didn’t have enough time to ask Alaris. Now, Tsci-Imili,” she said, 212

focusing on him. “Given that information to work on and the short timeline that Alaris has set, tell me what else comes to mind.”

“Such as?”

“Anything that either of them mentioned about Tortryst, about a large group of Dominion Masters, about transportation between two continents, large monetary transfers, buildups of supplies or relocation of key magic artifacts. Anything that was scheduled to happen between now and the next full moon on Tortryst.”

“Why then?”

“If it were any later, Alaris would have waited to break me out by himself instead of sending you,” she answered. “As it is, he needs me beside him before he can safely set foot on that continent.”

Tsci-Imili’s mind was busy arranging bits of information that he hadn’t pieced together before. He was gradually getting a picture of something so big that he was amazed that he had not stumbled across it before. It was so intriguing a picture that he forgot about his power struggle with Lady Kel. Perhaps it was kinder that way for him since he did not have to face the fact that he had already lost tacit control of the group.

Delen leaned toward Claren even more, but kept her buttocks firmly planted. “Alaris can’t go to Tortryst without Lady Kel? Did she say why?”

“No,” Claren answered back quietly. He took his ear away from the hatch for a moment and leaned toward Delen. “I still don’t like idea of eavesdropping. It’s wrong.”

The mage sighed. “Claren, I know that you don’t understand, but it is absolutely necessary for us to know what they’re saying.”

“You’re right,” Claren said. “I don’t understand. Why do we need to know? Won’t Tsci-Imili tell us?”

Delen gestured toward the hatchway. “Keep listening.”

As Claren put his ear to the hatch again, he could feel his cheeks begin to burn anew. Not only did it feel wrong to be listening in on the two mages’ conversations, but he had to do it with both Delen and Valedde watching him do it. Valedde was ostensibly sailing, but there was no way he could be ignoring what was happening on the deck right in front of him.

Well, Claren thought grimly, at least Eiry would be understanding. She’d probably even approve; she knows all about political “necessities.”

Delen took her time and chose her words carefully. She did not want Claren to act any differently toward the Dominion Master lest the woman grow suspicious of “the meek powerless researcher.” At the same time, she needed Claren’s set of eyes and ears to let her know if Lady Kel did anything 213

out of the ordinary. This eavesdropping was the perfect example of his usefulness: neither Tsci-Imili nor Lady Kel would ever expect the guileless Claren of such an act, and would thus not guard against it.

“A few things she said make me believe that Master Kel may not be totally sane anymore. As unlikely as it may be, we need to be prepared to counter her if she turns on us.” Delen monitored Claren carefully for his reaction to her words. Upset and still reluctant, but concurring. I’ll take it.

“Can’t you just listen to them with your magic?” Claren asked.

Delen immediately shook her head. “They’re both better mages than I am, Claren. I’m sure that they would notice if I cast a spell like that; they would probably even notice my metaphysical presence next to the hatch if I was that close, which is why I have you listening for me.”

“Wait,” Claren cut her off, listening intently. “She said that Tsci-Imili’s not the only one with a talent – I think she means his Seeking talent. Does that make any sense to you?”

Delen absorbed the information. “Maybe.” She continued to speak, but quietly and more to herself. “Master Kel has a Talent? What Talent could help Alaris get to Tortryst, though?”

“What’s a Talent?” Claren asked, now that the conversation had resumed its usual plodding course.

“They’re exactly what it sounds like – a Talent is a rare ability to do something,” Delen answered distractedly. “Actually, elves have an innate Talent to make things grow simply by their presence. Dwarves have an innate Talent as well, to make things more ordered whenever they are near. That’s one of the main reasons elves and dwarves don’t normally get along; their presence negates each others’ Talents. Claren, are you listening still?”

Claren nodded. “Nothing interesting. What are Talents? Spells?”

The researcher pursed her lips. She wanted him to relay every word of the conversation, but she knew she couldn’t push him too far. “Talent is never found in individuals who are not at least capable of basic magic, but Talents are not spells. Many mages have studied them over the years, but we have never learned their source.” Delen frowned. “I’ve gone through the list of recorded Talents, and I can’t think of one that would help Alaris on Tortryst. Of course, it would help if I knew what Alaris needs help with. Maybe she made a breakthrough with her study of elementals just before leaving for Sanctuary…”

Claren took his ear away from the hatch in surprise. “Elementals? I thought Alaris was just making fun of me, telling those stories!”

“What stories?” Delen asked. The Alaris would not be as guarded around this innocent one, either. Maybe he left me some clues I can use.

Claren shrugged, embarrassed to say. “Beings you can’t see that control 214

the weather. Mountains of liquid rock that could burn a palace to the ground, winds that move in circles like the Whirlpool, that sort of thing.”

“It’s all true. He was talking about the Elemental Range, I take it?”

“Yes!” Claren said excitedly. “It really exists?”

Delen nodded. “Yes, on the western peninsula of Tortryst. …Tortryst…

Keep listening.”

Days of sailing brought Valedde’s boat out of the choppy waters of southeast Sur. Everyone was on deck enjoying the lovely weather. The sun was barely beginning to rise, bringing with it a finality to the night that one can only find when on the flat of the ocean. Tsci-Imili was at the helm giving Valedde a rest, Claren and Delen were playing a game involving painted pieces of paper, Mem was basking in the sun, and Lady Kel was going through the process of binding a new staff to herself since her stay in Sanctuary had deprived her of her original.

Tsci-Imili looked at the work the archmage was doing and shook his head in disagreement and denial. Her work was unorthodox, even for a human, despite her obvious Pinnacle training. Yet, whatever else her work was, its effectiveness could not be questioned.

But its aesthetic qualities are totally lacking, the elf thought, eyeing the piece of wood distastefully. Honestly, a woman of such refinement picking up half a spare plank from a ship and turning it into her staff?

Elven mages took years in selecting the species of tree they would use for their wand or staff, then further years trying to winnow down exactly which tree they would take the wood from, and finally, waiting for the tree to grant them the privilege of acquiring a fallen limb. No Arbilorn elf would cut off a living piece of wood from a tree, especially a tree grown from a Life Seed.

Thus, for Lady Kel to have taken the first piece of wood available, squared and splintery and all was appalling to Tsci-Imili.

Even if she would sand it down a little bit, maybe carve some basic wards into it, or -Mind your own business, Tsci-Imili, the elf chided himself. Humans will be humans; they can’t help it.

He turned his attention back to his course. “Does that rock look like a pair of lips to anyone else?” asked the elf, pointing toward the shore.

“Yeah, and it’s blowing kisses at you, too,” Claren quipped, leading the others to rib him as well.

“We’re close to Alaris’s secret harbor,” Tsci-Imili endured the joking good-naturedly. “Keep on the lookout for a rock fitting that description, will you?”

Alaris had given only enough direction to him to get Tsci-Imili close 215

enough for his Seeker’s talent to kick in, no more. The elf wasn’t sure if Alaris had given such cursory directions because of time constraints, or if he had wanted to make sure in case the group was caught by the Order that Tsci-Imili could not give them enough information under duress.

The thought brought back terrible memories to Tsci-Imili’s mind – memories that he had tried to bury, but were too fresh to remain out of sight.

His hands tightened on the ship and his throat clenched so that he could not breathe for a bit. He was almost reliving what had happened to him in Kalard.

There were too many…

Mem whipped his body around, and he came to his feet. At the same instant, a long thin oddly shaped metallic object appeared in his hands, and he placed it against his shoulder and eye like a crossbow.

The other three magic users on the ship looked at him curiously, then as one jerked their heads toward the coastline. Moments later, Claren and Valedde heard a boom, much like thunder, except for the cloudless sky.

“What do you think, Horizontal Lightning?” Tsci-Imili offered hesitantly.

“Looks like it,” Delen said, using the same tone of voice with which TsciImili had just spoken. “But that’s a pretty big signature, if that’s what it was.

Can you imagine the size the bolt would have to be?”

“Enough to flatten a Daughter Tree back home,” Tsci-Imili said. “But that’s not what interests me. I don’t recognize the owner.”

“Owner of what?” asked Claren. “What are you talking about?”

“The signature of the spell that was just cast,” Tsci-Imili explained cursorily. “I have to be familiar with the signature of every archmage and above that’s come through Pinnacle, and whoever cast that spell is no one I know.” He looked accusingly at Mem. “Sort of like you.”

“You know him,” Lady Kel said tersely, setting her half-formed staff aside, “you’ve just never seen him cast a spell before.”

“Who?” asked Tsci-Imili and Delen.

“Alaris,” Mem said, making the odd metal object disappear but not returning to his previous seated position. He continued to stand, staring over the water at the Surian coastline, and his hands slowly came forward to clench the ship railing. His shoulders hunched as he leaned his body weight against his arms.

All three mages turned toward him, each with different body language.

“How did you know?” said Lady Kel in astonishment. “You told me you’d never met him!”

“He was right?” Tsci-Imili asked.

“But we’ve seen Alaris cast spells before! Who in Pinnacle hasn’t?” Delen protested.

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“Have you noticed he never casts spells raw?” the archmage snapped at her, then turned back. “Well, Mem? How did you know it was him?”

“I’ve seen his work,” the man said, pointing at the ring on her hand.

“You were able to piece together a full signature from this patch-job pittance?” Lady Kel said in disbelief, holding her ring hand up limply.

“I don’t understand,” Tsci-Imili said flatly. “Why doesn’t Alaris cast raw spells?”

Lady Kel looked at him with an unreadable expression, then said, “Valedde, get us in to shore as quickly as possible. There’s no reason to wait at a harbor; we can find Alaris and whoever else is with him by going to his signature. He’s in desperate need of our help. Tsci-Imili,” she said as the elf relinquished the helm to Valedde, “when we get to shore, find yourself a staff.

It doesn’t have to be your permanent new one, but I don’t want to walk into whatever’s going on over there unprepared.”

Delen, who had been thinking on what Lady Kel had said, suddenly gasped. “Oh, gods, it’s true!” whispered Delen, staggering back to her chair with an awestruck expression on her face. “I can’t believe it! How has he kept a secret that profound for so long, Lady Kel?” “I have no idea,” the woman replied. “But it probably helps that he’s hid it so far out in the open that it seems preposterous.”

“What are you two not telling me!” asked Tsci-Imili. “Why won’t Alaris cast spells without components?”

Glancing at the two non-mages, Delen walked over to the elf and whispered in his ear. “It’s not that he won’t cast raw spells, it’s that he can’t. …Alaris is Injured.”

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Bellis looked stonily on as the last vestige of his first and only ship sank below the waves. Had he been alone, he would have already burst into tears.

As it was, the only thing that prevented him from doing so was the pride in his heart. The Briny Blessing hadn’t gone down without a fight – it had taken past nightfall to sink her, when they thought they would have her down by midday.

“Damn near unsinkable,” he growled proudly, albeit slightly choked, arms still crossed. “What an end for her.”

“Think of her brothers and sisters, Bellis,” Captain Sydron said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “We have to get through this to bring them to life. An entire fleet.”

“An entire fleet,” the dwarf repeated grudgingly. Turning to see all the overpopulated landing craft standing still in the water, he roared, “Row, what are you waiting for, the ship to come back?”

Eiry gasped and pointed down into the water. “Look!”

Contrary to the dwarf’s orders, several of the crew peered over the side of the little boat.

“Ocean-Fin.” Captain Sydron nodded. “They’ll keep the Blessing company for us on her lonely nights, Bellis.”

Eiry thought that she had never seen any single thing quite so beautiful in her life. The creatures had an iridescent glow and were easily as big as the entire crew of her landing craft, but the most beautiful thing about them was the grace that they embodied.

At first, she had thought that they were glowing manta rays, but she quickly changed her opinion when she saw them move. Each looked like a giant “x.” Every time they moved forward, either the two upper and two lower portions of the body would come together, or the two right and two left portions would. No gesture was wasted effort; no movement was in the least out of place.

“A rare sight,” one of the sailors said as he pulled back on his oar. “They don’t normally come up to the surface. The vampires eat them just like they eat us.”

Eiry made a face. “Ugh, why did you have to tell me that?”

“Keep your tongue to yourself, Olipic,” said the captain.

But the damage was already done. For a blessed moment, everyone had had their minds off of what lay ahead of them, once they reached land. Now, it was back.

Blood. Vampires. Death. None of them were pleasing topics to the mortal mind, especially when they were in all likelihood so close to them.

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The oars of the landing skiffs dipped quietly and rhythmically through the water. No one spoke. Other than those manning the oars, everyone scanned the shoreline, seeing a beautiful beach, envisioning hordes of undead waiting beyond the tree line.

“A question for you, if I may, first mate,” Lalt said.

“Very well,” the dwarf answered. The two had not gotten off to a very good start, and with dwarves, that meant that they probably never would. But Bellis needed little help in reading a crew, so he knew these needed something else on their minds, even if the topic came at his expense like this one probably would, given that the elf was asking permission before asking the question itself.

“Your name is… unusual, for a dwarf,” the cleric said. “At times, it sounds like it should be two syllables. What is the proper way to pronounce it?

Please, you’re the only one that I would trust to advise me correctly in this matter.”

Ah, yes, a controversial topic, indeed. Maybe not to humans, and certainly not to elves, who thought the idea nonsense, but dwarves were very protective of their names. Forgetting another dwarf’s name was considered one of the worst insults a dwarf could give, since it meant that you didn’t regard them as being important enough to remember.

A uniquely dwarvish custom took place on the 100th birthday of every dwarf, male or female, rich or poor. The Centenary was the announcement of the guest of honor’s attainment of adulthood. The highlight of the evening (or whatever time of day or night the dwarf had been born) was his or her announcement of his or her new name. Much like their bodies sloughed off extraneous flesh during their adolescence, dwarves forever cast off their childhood two-syllable name in favor of a monosyllabic one.

Which syllable they would use was a major decision. The childhood name was given by the parents at birth, each parent bestowing one half of the name.

If the dwarf wished to honor one parent especially, he or she would choose the syllable that the parent had given without making any change in the inflection.

If the dwarf was to change clans – for example, if a marriage was imminent – the syllable would have the first letter of that clan’s name added. In rare cases, the dwarf might pick an entirely new syllable – new stress, consonants, and vowels - usually indicating a break of familial ties due to displeasure with upbringing. This also served as a safeguard against bad parenting: to be dishonored in such a way was a great social blow. It might go so far as to cause the parents to be exiled from a clan, if the one-hundred-year-old was well liked by all.

Bellis’s parents, when he was a child, had pronounced his name like “Bay 219

Leaves” minus the “v.” At his Centenary, he had delighted some and shocked most when he flaunted the traditional rules by keeping the original lettering of his childhood two-syllable name, only changing the phonetics to sound like musical “bells” with the “s” sounding like “snake” as compared to “zebra.”

Committees were formed, tongues wagged, but no official decision for or against could be unilaterally reached. In the end, the dwarven nation had to accept the name. That was Bellis’s first and only victory over the stifling traditions to which his fellow dwarves had bound themselves. Some day he hoped to have a second victory when dwarves took to the ocean, and made it bend to their will.

“I pronounce my name Bellis,” the dwarf said, bringing himself back to the conversation at hand. “Exactly like it looks on paper, minus the “I” and drag out the “s.” What about your name, elf?” he added challengingly.

“I have no apostrophe or hyphen in my name because I am of low birth,” Lalt answered calmly. “Despite my venerable age and rank in my profession, I have not risen to a higher name because my fellow Arbilorn do not consider my work in helping suffering humans to be a noble cause.”

The boat fell silent at his comment. With the exception of Bellis, everyone on the boat was a human, and felt acutely – some angrily at elves in general, some warmly toward Lalt for his convictions, most irreconcilably torn between the two feelings.

Sydron selected the landing site. On the flat, sandy beach there was little that was inhospitable to landing craft – only to its occupants.

“What do we do with the boats?” whispered the leader of another vessel as it came up on the sand. “They’re a dead giveaway that we were here. Shall we burn them?”

“We’re trying to avoid vampire noses, and you suggest lighting the biggest bonfire on Tortryst?” said the captain calmly. “No. Take them a ways into the jungle.”

Scruting rejoined Eiry. “They’re already here,” he said. “Put your cloak on, and stay close to me.”

“How many are there?” she whispered, covering herself the rest of the way with the cloak. Her son had left her a magical gift – the cloak tended to activate itself nowadays when she felt frightened.

“There are twenty-three.”

She fidgeted. Don’t ask questions you neither need nor want the answer to, she berated herself. You learned that long ago from having a husband.

“What are they waiting for?” she made her voice return to normal speaking level. “And how long will they?”

“They want to test our strength, to see if we have any mages among us,” 220

Scruting replied. “More than that, they want to be out of line of sight. Even a simple crossbow bolt can kill younger vampires, if it’s aimed right.”

“How do you know they’re young?”

“Their elders live more inland, and aren’t so desperate for blood,” Scruting said calmly. “They would wait for us to come to them.”

A flurry of sand and a receding, quickly foreshortened scream were all that indicated to the crewmembers that they were less one man. Those who had been carrying the skiff into the woods with the unfortunate froze for an instant, then as one dropped their load and ran back to the beach.

Captain Sydron clapped her hands together. “Like we practiced on deck!” she yelled in her on-deck-during-a-storm voice. “Groups of three!”

In the time it took the crew to move into this configuration, two more men had presumably lost their lives in the dense, dark jungle. All were pasting the depths with wide, unblinking eyes, handling weapons they were afraid they would never have the chance to use.

Eiry swallowed the bile in her throat, guiltily wondering if three fed vampires evened the odds of the rest of them – no, be honest – of YOU – getting out alive. Hesitantly, she whispered to Scruting, “How many of them are there now?”

“Thirty-seven. Thirty-eight. Forty.”

Hurriedly, Eiry said, “Thank you, Scruting.” She clamped her jaw shut, the muscles in the front of her neck straining to keep from whimpering. They were all scared; none of them needed someone starting to cry. She was a woman of Seighn; she would persevere.

Still, she couldn’t help peering into the dark jungle in fear. She had heard of the Speculation as a place of unpredictable nightmares, but she had never thought to enter it. Why would she have needed to? The Spec was a place of wilderness, no civilization of any sort. Not even the Fair Folk entered it without dire need, and those who had to cross it always did so in caravans on the single road between Dwarfhome and the Arbilorn Forest.

An albino falcon circled down from the sky. First it landed on a tree branch, then it glided its way down to land directly in front of Paedre and his dogs. The bird clutched and ground at the sand under its claws, peered at Paedre, then screamed as it took back to the sky.

With a curious and longing expression on his face, Paedre started to follow the falcon into the woods.

“Paedre!” Eiry called out anxiously.

He startled and turned his head back to Eiry. His dogs stopped in their tracks, and one whuffed at him. Paedre glanced at the dogs, looked back up into the forest after the retreating falcon, then indecisively walked over to Eiry.

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The dogs sat where they were.

“Do you still stand by your advice?” quietly asked Sydron of Scruting.

“The beach would make for faster travel, but these men wouldn’t last the night so exposed. Going through the jungle will be better,” he said.

The captain, looking like the Seren had not given her any answer at all, gave the order to move into the jungle.

Before landing, they had practiced on deck how they were to move. One of the oldest sailors had been a soldier before hearing the call of the sea, and rehearsed a movement he called the “Covered Wheel.” In essence, one group of three would walk forward and stop, being on guard while all the other groups went forward, three at a time, and stopped along the trail. When the first group became the last, they would walk forward along that same safely guarded trail of groups of three.

Three by three the sailors disappeared into the jungle. Sydron had insisted on being the last one to leave the beach, and Bellis led the way in and south with his unerring dwarven sense of direction. Eiry and Scruting accompanied the captain as the last group.

“Isn’t that thing on your back a sword?” Sydron asked Scruting.

“Yes.” “Gonna draw it any time soon?”

“Even had I need of additional protection, I would not,” the Seren replied. “This sword is not meant for everyday battle.”

“You call fighting vampires everyday battle?”

“Yes.” “Well, you may not want any additional protection, but I certainly do,” the captain said. “We work as a team, defending each other, so be ready.”

Scruting looked askance as they walked through the jungle, meeting up with another group of tense, nervous men every four paces or so. As they passed, Captain Sydron praised here and there, reminded some groups to keep their eyes on the treetops too, others she simply nodded approvingly. After she had passed by, each group’s crewmembers’ backs straightened, and they looked a little less hunted.

Their group reached the furthest group, and Bellis broke off from it to join theirs and walk forwards.

“The lads aren’t holding up too well,” the first mate said in a voice so quiet that Eiry was amazed to hear come out of his mouth. “Once we turn due south for a while, we’ll find an easily defended spot to take a stand until dawn and get them some respite.”

“Keep your eyes open for such a place,” Sydron replied as another group came up behind theirs and forged ahead with Bellis leading them again. “All 222

we need to do is stay alive until dawn.”

“Give me your swords,” Scruting said suddenly.

Sydron looked at him levelly. “Give me a reason.”

“You said you wanted more protection,” the Seren answered. “I’m unwilling to draw my sword, but I will protect you. Give me the swords.”

Sydron gave him one of her ivory-handled short swords, still keeping an eye on the jungle. Scruting accepted the blade, and calmly ran the sharp edge over his tongue. Smearing his own blood down the flat of the cold metal, he flipped it over and did the same to the other side. He returned the sword, and gave the same treatment to its twin.

“Do you mind telling me what you’re doing?” Sydron said, unnerved. It didn’t help that they had an audience of three sailors passing nearby.

“The blood of the Seren of Eleson will mean an instant death to a younger vampire if it so much as touches their skin,” Scruting explained. “The elders, it will take a break in the skin to hurt them, and that little blood still might not be enough to actually kill them. But it will act as a deterrent.”

“So why didn’t you do that to all of my crew’s weapons?” the captain demanded angrily.

“I only have so much blood,” the Seren replied. “And my tongue will only bleed so much.”

“And that’s another thing,” Eiry said with a shudder. “Your tongue?

Couldn’t you have cut something that would have hurt less?”

“A cut to the inside of my mouth will not show if I am forced to fight,” Scruting advised her. “And I can heal it faster. But before it heals entirely,” he said as he reached toward Sydron’s chin. Pulling her toward him, he licked both sides of her neck, from collarbone to directly below the ear. He blew on both of them lightly, urging them to dry quickly. “That should keep anyone from your neck.”

Lalt silently counted the number of humans in the dale that were actually sleeping, however fitfully, and how many were merely laying still in terrorstricken silence. The ratio was heavily in favor of the latter. He decided the best use of his clerical powers would be to assist their minds in finding rest, instead of trying to heal minor injuries.

He stood, self-consciously dusting off some grime from his otherwise pristine red-piped white clothing. He avoided the sight that lay in the front of the little dale just as everyone else did.

Bellis had guided them to this place of rest. He had known of its existence long before they had actually achieved the site itself – something he said his feet “told him” likely the innate dwarven knowledge of the earth.

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Either way, the fellow had led them safely to this spot, where they could easily cover one another from the unseen enemy.

Having been asked whether he was sure that there were actually vampires out there when they were keeping so well out of sight, Scruting had replied that he had said the young vampires were desperate, not stupid. No one questioned his judgement again.

The next order of business was how many guards to set. The ex-soldier conferred with Scruting, and Sydron picked out who would stand guard. Lalt had seen the captain walk over to the Death Seren and say something to him, but he couldn’t hear what. When they had finished talking, Scruting had walked close to the edge of the jungle. No one had called out to him in caution as they would another of their comrades.

Slowly out of the jungle stepped a vampire. He appeared to have once been an elf boy. He had no clothes on his body and no hair on his head. As beautiful as elves normally were was as ugly as this vampire was; no one could quite pinpoint what about his face made it so ugly, but ugly it was. He plodded one step at a time toward the Death Seren.

Crossbows raised all along the human front, but the Seren was in the direct line of fire. Now people shouted for him to get out of the way, to let them fire, but he still did not move, even as the vampire came within arm’s reach… within hand’s reach… directly pressing its body up against his.

With a graceful gesture, the white-skinned Seren bent his neck and kissed the young vampire on the lips.

The vampire crumpled in a heap.

As Scruting turned, he noticed that everyone’s eyes were on either him or the dead vampire. “Eyes on the jungle,” he had said softly as he walked away from the motionless corpse.

Everyone had quickly readied themselves for rest or watch. The captain had walked over to the Seren once she deemed the camp settled and asked, in a voice too soft for anyone but Lalt (and the vampires, surely) to hear, “What was that all about?”

“I was doing as you asked,” he replied.

“Not as far as I can see,” she had said.

“The vampires are now as wary of us as your guards are of them,” Scruting had said. “They will hesitate before attacking.” He shook off her questions to meditate.

Lalt shook his head to clear the memory. Being caught between undeath and death; what a predicament.

Walking quickly between the resting and pretending forms on the ground, Lalt made sure that everyone he passed was fully asleep before he moved on to 224

another. He was so intent on his work that at first he did not notice one of the sailors crawling on hands and knees toward the jungle.

“You there!” Lalt called out, startling the guards and making them notice the man. “Stop! You’re caught by a vampire! Stop!”

His words having no effect, Lalt ran toward the man to physically stop him, but before he could get there, a vampire swooped out of the jungle and snatched the man away, leaving only crossbow bolts embedded in the ground to mark its passing.

The jungle was blessedly quiet.

Lalt turned sadly back toward the camp. There was no reason to wake anyone just to tell them that someone had died; if the company did not notice his loss once they awoke naturally, so much the better.

An instant’s warning was all he had before a vampire’s fangs sank into his neck from behind. The closest guards, cranking their crossbows from the last attack, could do nothing for him.

Reacting with the same speed that had saved his life innumerable times over his several thousand years of life, Lalt dropped to a knee and flipped the vampire over his body. The tremendous weight that unbalanced him suddenly lessened as the vampire’s fangs sheared through his collar bone and came out of his body altogether.

Lalt screamed in agony and his body shook from the sudden shock, but his mind was still working. With one hand, Lalt snatched at the medallion around his neck, while the other slammed into the creature’s torso, near where its heart resided. Touching the medallion gave him access to his god’s granted powers, which he turned on the vampire.

Awake or asleep, friend or foe, everyone who had not been watching the scene now turned as one and looked toward the cleric at the revolting squelch they felt. Several of the sailors afterward likened it to the tug of the water’s surface when completing a dive. Eiry had an unpleasant flashback to her first labor pains, except in reverse.

The body of the vampire lay as though boneless. This one was just as ugly as the first had been, but this was, or had been, an elderly human man.

Gibbering madly, a large group of undead that were still hidden in the thick jungle streaked away into the night.

The Death Seren walked near, but had eyes only for the fallen vampire. “I hadn’t realized that the followers of Sante could be so malicious.”

“The only reason to end life,” the elf said, collapsing slowly down where he stood, “is to save equal or greater life. But vampires are not life.” He placed his medallion over his savaged shoulder and started the process of knitting muscle, bone, and vein back together as quickly as possible. He groaned 225

through gritted teeth. By my Lord Sante, that hurts.

“But it had a soul,” Scruting murmured.

“A soul that was no longer developing in tandem with the rest of its entity,” the elf said, thoroughly exhausted but not wanting to give up the argument. “Life is growth and change, and by that definition, vampires’ souls die while their bodies live on.”

“I remain surprised that Lord Sante has granted his servants the power to administer death,” the Death Seren grated. “Death is mine, not yours.”

The elf began to retort, but stopped when he noticed others listening. He motioned for his fellow Seren to kneel closer to him out of earshot before continuing. “At times a soul becomes trapped against its body when it should be available to the angels. On occasion this happens to individuals in the care of the Temple, so Sante and Kyr reached an agreement which allowed my lord’s followers to facilitate a soul’s predetermined departure.”

Frowning, Scruting nodded. “I still don’t like you trespassing in my god’s realm of power, but if Kyr made the agreement on behalf of all the afterlife, I must abide it.” Scruting often encountered obscurities of which god’s realm and will received precedence when he was working with other Seren since his god’s realm held such great significance in mortals’ lives. It became doubly confusing when he added Kyr’s will to the equation.

“What exactly did you do to that vampire?”

Lalt let go of his medallion for a moment and made a plucking motion with his hand. “I separated the soul from the body. I was working blind, though. These undead have their souls off from the gods, so it’s difficult.”

“And what happens to the soul now you’ve divorced it from its body?”

The elf looked wearily at his Seren counterpart. “That’s not up to me.

Like you said, death is not my specialty. Please, I must concentrate; I’m still losing blood.” Lalt picked his medallion back up and bowed his head.

Scruting rose and walked back toward his sleeping place.

Eiry, still awake, asked Scruting as he passed, “Do most vampires wear clothes like the one Lalt… killed?”

“Any healthy vampire does, yes,” Scruting answered. “But it takes energy, so it is not a priority with those who are starving.”

“It takes energy to wear clothes?” wondered Eiry dubiously.

“Vampires grow their clothes from their bodies,” he said.

Eiry blinked. “Like how sheep grow wool?”

It was Scruting’s turn to blink. “If sheep had fangs. Sleep.”

Usually, the rising sun signaled an end to resting, a start to the day. This sunrise meant an end to nightmares, or at least a temporary respite. The guards 226

woke their replacements, and went to a much-needed rest – just because the vampires would not attack in daylight did not mean there was nothing else in the wildness of the jungle against which to guard.

Paedre sat with his dogs, stroking their fur as they slept. One of them, the apparent culprit of Eiry’s waking, seemed to be having a dream that involved running and sniffing. Paedre had slept the night through, and looked refreshed to Eiry’s eyes. She wondered what she looked like.

I should have brought a mirror, she thought, raking her hair back with her fingers. “How are they holding up?” she asked, indicating the dogs.

“They’re excited to be here,” Paedre answered. “They’ve been urging me to go faster ever since we landed.”

“I thought dogs were never hurried,” Eiry said with a challenging smile.

“Before today, I would have agreed with you,” he said. “It’s like they want me to leave the group and run off with them.” He kept his eyes firmly fixed on the dogs’ flanks. “Like they’ll go on their own if they have to.”

Eiry’s heart jumped at the tone of his voice. By the gods, is he going mad?

Surely he can’t be thinking of leaving on his own – he’ll be killed! But, under that logical voice, another was piping, Would he really choose his dogs over me?

“I’ve been wondering,” said Paedre absently. “I’ve never seen a tree of that color before, have you? The dogs don’t seem to like it.”

Distractedly, Eiry turned around to behold in the dawn sunlight a tree with stark white trunk and branches, and ebony black leaves.

“I don’t know what tree that is,” she said. “It looks like an oak, except for the color. Maybe it’s a fungus. Lalt,” she said as the Arbilorn elf walked carefully past her position, cupping his left arm in a makeshift sling, “do you know what happened to that tree to make it look like that?”

The elf turned his body, rather than his neck, in the direction Eiry indicated. Just as slowly, he turned it back and walked onward.

At first indignant, Eiry checked her feelings against thoughts. He’s never been rude like that before. With their love of trees, it may be taboo to the Arbilorn to talk about diseased ones. I suppose that would make sense.

Excusing herself from Paedre’s presence, she went over to Captain Sydron to inquire about the tree.

“They’re known as black oaks,” the captain answered. “They spring up any time an elf gets killed by a vampire and their body isn’t recovered, or doesn’t turn into vampire. That’s why the Prive exist.”

“Begging the captain’s pardon, but that’s not exactly accurate,” Bellis intervened. “They are called black oaks, but they don’t grow every time a vampire kills an elf. It happens often, but not always. And, of course, the elf has to be old enough to have a Life Seed.”

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“I’ve heard of those,” Eiry said, remembering a conversation she had long ago in Kalard with Alaris’s betrothed, Lo’are. Even though she was too young by several hundred years and not an Arbilorn, Lo’are had had a Life Seed. “So when the elf is killed by a vampire, this Life Seed has the chance to grow into a black oak?”

“Exactly. And that’s why elves hate those trees so much,” the dwarf continued. “Ergo, the Prive, like the good captain was saying. The Prive consists of a bunch of elves who’ve lost their bonded mates to vampires. They spend their lives out here in the wilderness, hunting for black oaks to destroy and vampires to kill. They say the elf’s soul is freed when the tree is destroyed.” Bellis shrugged, clearly not believing it.

“That sounds like a dangerous lifestyle,” Eiry said. I’m a long way from Seighn.

“It is,” Bellis agreed. “When an elf joins the Prive, they give up their name and their position in society, and their Life Seed is removed and planted right then so it won’t have a chance to turn into yet another black oak. In essence, they have their own funeral, then go spend the rest of their lives hunting in the wilderness.” He paused, then added, “It’s said that the Life Seeds of the Prive grow into trees that have a remarkably lifelike feel to them, since those Seeds went through no death.”

“So does Lalt plan on killing that tree before we go?” Eiry asked.

“If he could, I’m sure he would,” the dwarf said. “I would do it, even if it’s just spit in a vampire’s eye, but it’s not that simple to do. For one thing, the wood of black oaks doesn’t burn. They have to be chopped down and the root ball exposed, or frozen to death from highest leaves to lowest root, and either choice takes time and power. For another, a downed black oak draws vampires like children at the dinner bell, and while one Prive member can often high-tail it away from a tree fast enough to escape the notice of the congregating vampires, our group wouldn’t be able to.”

“Why do the vampires meet at dead black oaks?”

“No one knows, not even the elf mages,” said Bellis.

“Very informative,” Captain Sydron interjected. “Thank you, Bellis.”

Being of genteel birth, Eiry knew a dismissal when she heard one.

“Last night, you said you could feel this dell through your feet,” the captain said to Bellis when Eiry was out of earshot. “How far away does this ability extend?”

“It’s not a magical thing, Sydron,” the dwarf cautioned the woman. “I shouldn’t have used that statement. It’s more a knowledge of the earth that you humans don’t have; seeing the contour of the land, the type of rock and soil, knowing which plants grow where and why, that lets me know what will 228

be coming up next. What do you need to know?”

“Can we make it to another safe spot before nightfall?”

“I should think so,” the dwarf said. “It depends on when you want to set out. The lads have had the wind taken out of their sails; they need rest.”

“We also need to stay alive,” the captain said wryly. “And getting out of vampire country will help with that. How late can we let them rest and still make it to the next defendable spot by nightfall?”

Bellis spread his hands in agreeing acquiescence. “Halfway to midday.”

“Wake me then. We’ll need to set a hard pace.”

Walking through the jungle in the daylight was much more uplifting than doing it at night with large fanged creatures ogling you. In fact, their group made such a racket clawing its way through the jungle that the large predators that inhabited the terrain stayed far away from them.

While the crew stayed in their original groups of three, they did not use the Covered Wheel formation so they could move faster.

Even though there were no vampires around, more than one of the crew thought Paedre certifiably mad when he went off on his own with his dogs.

Though Eiry’s heart was in her throat at the idea of Paedre already showing signs of straying, at least she could still hear the effects of his romping nearby.

More than once, though, she could hear the call of a falcon – the same falcon that had met Paedre on the beach, she was sure.

Most of the crew had removed their shirts to keep cool. The weather kept the bugs away, and chopping their way through the increasingly denser growth every few paces was heavy work. Only Eiry, Sydron, Scruting, and a few sailors who had been soldiers kept their shirts on their bodies. When Lalt peeled his red and white clothes down to his waist, more than one human could have sworn that he suddenly looked more at home in the forest, blending into the environment.

More than one of the crewmembers eyed Scruting askance. He still wore his black clothing from chin to toes, but didn’t seem to be sweating at all. Also, despite their predicament, he seemed negligent of danger, barely even taking in the trail, or so it seemed. He almost looked distracted.

“Keep your eyes open, Seren,” Sydron admonished him. “Just because there are no vampires around doesn’t mean that you can’t step on a snake.”

“I am aware of my surroundings,” Scruting replied evenly. “I am also aware that you have sweated off my protection from your neck. Come to me when night falls; I would be sorry to lose you.”

Eiry startled at that statement. She didn’t think that Scruting even realized he had said it, but she was sure that Sydron had heard it from her slight trip 229

over her own feet.

Scruting noticed Eiry staring at him, and stared back.

“I was wondering why you don’t take off your shirt, like the other men have,” Eiry stammered. “Aren’t you hot?”

“I do not remove my clothing in sunlight,” Scruting said.

That intrigued her to no end. “Do you have a skin condition?” she asked, being reminded of how rare skin so pale as his was amongst the average human population.

“No,” he said. “I prefer to keep my skin white.”

“Why?” Eiry asked.

“To camouflage the scars.” He looked off into the distant east.

“But you’re the Death Seren!”

“That doesn’t mean that I’m immune to injury,” Scruting said. “In fact, I’m more prone to it than any other. My Lord Eleson uses me to bring to death only those who otherwise would not come voluntarily. That takes an incredible amount of power, to thwart Kyr and her angels, and that means that I am sent to give death to only the most powerful people in the world. I virtually never get from Sleep to Sleep without taking some wound.”

Eiry was silenced while she digested what he had just said. She tried to imagine what such a life would be like, knowing that every few days you would have to face one of the most dangerous beings alive, that you would be subjected to terrible pain just as often. The concept was awful to her.

“So I guess that despite all the troubles there’ve been, comparatively speaking, guarding me has been more of a vacation from troubles for you,” Eiry said half-jokingly.

“Guarding you is only my secondary mission,” he reminded her.

Suddenly, Scruting’s distracted state took on a whole new meaning to Eiry. He had told her back on Torberepar that he was headed this way anyway, and by his looks, he seemed to be getting closer to his main goal.

Would he abandon their group while they were still surrounded by vampires on all sides? Worse, was he leading them toward whomever he was supposed to kill – and possibly getting them caught between himself and that powerful person?

Eiry desperately wished that Paedre was here, but he was ranging far afield, so far ahead that she couldn’t hear him or his dogs crashing through the undergrowth. I’m getting abandoned again! Eiry thought, feeling the beginnings of panic edging up her spine. Every time I start to rely on someone, they abandon me! I’m never going to see my children again! I’m going to die out here!

“Do you really need to breathe that much?” asked Scruting, keeping his eyes on the path.

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Sydron thwacked the Death Seren aside and made her way over to the younger woman to calm her. Scruting walked on with the rest of the group.

“I understand what you’re going through. I thought I was crazy at first,” the captain confided in Eiry once she had lessened her terror. “Feeling comforted by the presence of the Death Seren? What an insane notion, right?”

Eiry laughed shakily and blew her nose into a kerchief. “But we can’t be the only ones to think that,” she said. “Even though everyone’s afraid of him, they’re thankful he’s here.”

“All the same, I think it’s a little different for us,” Sydron said. “You and I are used to being in charge, of having to take care of everyone else around us, because we’ve always been the strongest and everyone looked up to us. Even though it’s frustrating to have to admit that someone is stronger than you, it’s kind of nice to have someone that you can look to for protection, for answers.”

Eiry nodded in agreement, even though she hadn’t really thought it through – it would be rude and hurtful to do otherwise to the woman. She quickly tried to reconcile Sydron’s statement with her relationship with Claren, but could not because she had been the stronger personality. She then guiltily tried to do the same with Paedre, but came up with merely a neutral feeling; the man would defend her if he was around, but he seemed to always be off on his own. In fact, the last time she had felt protected was when she had been under the care of Alaris.

With the advent of that realization, she understood what Sydron was saying. It’s annoying to have someone take charge of your life, but it also feels good to not have the burden of responsibility for what comes of your actions, to not need to come up with every plan, to have someone upon whom to rely.

“Come on, Eiry, we’re falling behind,” Sydron said, rousing her back to the arduous task of staying alive. Neither of them mentioned it, but they both noticed that daytime was rapidly slipping away.

The sun goddess Aiz took with her much of the group’s courage and all their equanimity when she departed.

Bellis actually argued with Captain Sydron over her choice of camping sites. He said that he could feel a much better site just up ahead, and he was sure they could reach it in time to set up a proper defense. The captain was adamant about staying where they were. Bellis continued to protest.

“Scruting?” Sydron asked. “Your opinion?”

“We have left the younger vampires behind,” Scruting said. “The ones nearby are older, more powerful.”

“Captain, the sun goddess will watch over us,” Bellis said.

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“I’m not willing to take the chance,” Sydron said firmly.

Sydron was proven right. Even before everyone had time to set down their packs, the crew was attacked. Miraculously, the codger who had been the target of the attack had gotten his crossbow up in time and placed the bolt directly through the vampire’s mouth. Being in apparent pain and being unable to bite down on anything anyway, the undead creature fled shrieking through the jungle.

The old man received a great deal of praise that he accepted while he hastily cranked his bow back into place. Yet, even that small victory was overshadowed by the sight of something that had once been a man, now able to continue to function with a crossbow bolt sticking through its head.

Captain and first mate were not the only two to have arguments, though.

Several sailors got into scuffles about who would be first on watch, and Lalt seemed to lose Seren-to-Seren respect for Scruting when the man curled up to sleep in the bifurcation of a dead lightning-split tree.

“You did know that you were going to offend him by getting up there, didn’t you?” Sydron asked Scruting wearily. The elf was now sitting at the opposite end of the camp, back to everyone but one guard.

“I do not accept responsibility for his code of ethics,” Scruting said. If it had been anyone else the answer would have sounded glib, but since it was Scruting the statement was no more than the truth as he saw it.

“Will you at least apologize to him?” asked the captain. “He’s sitting dangerously close to where vampires can get at him.”

“He can take care of himself, as he demonstrated nicely last night,” Scruting said icily. “He is a Seren. And being Seren to his particular god makes him more susceptible to being angry with me. What one Seren sees as an affront, another Seren might see as a sign of good favor from his or her god.

This is one of the many reasons I so rarely work with other Seren,” he concluded, sounding slightly disgusted.

“And you see a dead tree as a sign that your god is happy with you?”

Sydron recapped, disbelieving her ears. “Then how about sleeping on the ground near that fallen tree? It must be more comfortable; at least you could lie down!”

“Dead or alive does not matter,” the Seren explained. “A tree that is split perfectly in half all the way to its deepest roots is my sign. It is how I came to be in service to Lord Eleson.”

So he did have a reason. Sydron felt her frayed nerves gain some slight balm.

“How was that?”

Scruting stayed silent for a moment. Sydron did not know if he was deciding what to tell her, or if he was refusing to answer her.

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“I was born here, on Tortryst,” he finally said. “Or so I am told. The elf that found me said that my mother’s caravan from Dwarfhome to New Sur was attacked by vampires, that they killed my mother and I was expelled from her body after she was dead. He took me to New Sur so that I could be raised by a human family, but no human would accept me since they were afraid I was ‘tainted.’ So, I grew up in the Avilorn Aeries until I ran away to live on my own, out in the wilds of the Speculation.

“I was wandering on my own under a clear and starry night when lightning struck directly in front of me. The force of the bolt deafened me and threw me back, but when I had recovered and the smoke had cleared, I approached the tree that it had hit.

“I found this,” Scruting patted the sword in its cylindrical sheath, “sticking out of the middle of the root ball of the tree. I had no idea what it was, and I still have no idea how it ended up being in the middle of a tree’s trunk, but when I touched it, Eleson made contact with me.

“Other Seren that I have met have told me of their contact with their gods through their medallions. Mine was not quite the same. I could understand his wishes, his intentions, but he could not speak directly to me. Yet, I reasoned out enough to accept his proposal.”

Sydron’s lips parted. “You’ve been a Seren since you were a child?”

“Asking how long someone’s been a Seren is considered rude.”

“And since when have you been a stickler for manners?” she retorted.

He began to smile, then the expression was replaced by alertness. He hopped down from his perch. “They’re coming,” he said loudly.

Sleepers were woken and told to get their crossbows. The fires were built up so the shooters could see better and everyone gathered in even tighter than before. At the command of the ex-soldier, every fifth man stepped back into the center of the circle to watch the skies for aerial attack.

No attack was forthcoming.

“What’s this?” muttered one man. “The Seren’s got a case of nerves?”

“They’re out there,” Lalt said, defended Scruting, surprisingly. “But they want to scare us before they attack.”

“Is that normal?” asked someone else in the circle.

“In our case, yes,” Scruting said. He still hadn’t drawn his sword. “We are no longer considered easy food. These older vampires know we got through the younger ones; they see us as a threat.”

One of the sailors laughed nervously. “They see us as a threat?” .

“They are worried that if we find their lairs during the daytime, they will be helpless,” Scruting said. “We must be close to where they live.”

“They do not live,” Lalt objected angrily.

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Eiry tried not to ask, but she couldn’t help herself. “How many?”

“Five,” Scruting answered her.

The night wore on with aching slowness, punctuated by people leaving the circle to keep the fires lit. More than one person commented on how fortunate it was to have the moon and stars shining their brightest.

When the moon began her travel back down the night sky, Bellis asked Sydron if she wanted two or three of the crew to take sleep shifts in the middle of the circle, to get at least some rest that night. Scruting immediately answered that, in sleep, it was easier for a vampire to entrap someone’s mind and make them act in whatever way they wished. Suddenly no one wanted to sleep.

Another man was sent to build up the fires again, but Scruting stopped him with a sharp word. After a wait, the Death Seren asked, “Lalt?”

“I feel it, too,” the cleric answered, not turning around. “I just don’t know what it is. Do you?”

Scruting shook his head. “No. It’s too mixed a signal.”

There was an abrupt thrashing in the jungle undergrowth, then stillness.

A second thrashing came, then a third. With the fourth and final, a few grunts were heard, then there was only silence.

“Hello the camp,” called a woman’s voice. “I’m coming in nice and slow.

Don’t shoot, or you’ll regret it.”

With that strange admonishment, a beautiful woman strode into view, shoulders straight and hands clasped behind her back. Her long curly hair shone red with the light of the fire, though her eyes reflected none of that light.

She looked short enough to be a tall dwarf, but her curvaceous figure belied her as almost certainly human. She was clothed with a black silky body suit and a dark green cloak that offset her red hair.

Both Paedre’s dogs whined, but softly, as if confused as to what to do.

There was no hint of confusion in Scruting’s voice. “Keep your bolts at ready,” he commanded.

“Now, is that any way to greet your savior?” The woman gave a closedlipped smile.

“You can’t tell me you killed five vampires alone,” Sydron objected.

The woman unclasped her hands and brought them into plain view from behind her back. They were dripping with blood. Several people exclaimed loudly at the sight, but Scruting shushed them.

“Why did you kill them?”

“To help you out,” she answered. “And because they were arrogant.

There’s only enough room for one egomaniac on my continent.”

“Why help us?” Scruting asked implacably.

“But that’s what Seren do for each other,” she said, stepping forward.

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“You can’t be Seren,” Lalt growled.

“Who but a Seren could kill five vampires?” demanded Sydron.

The elf answered sharply: “An older vampire!”

A crossbow went off, and the woman dodged it faster than their eyes could register. “Did you really mean to fire?” she said intently, locking gazes with the man who had loosed. “Or should I chalk that up to nerves?”

Scruting stepped in front of the quailing man. “Show me a medallion right now, or we’ll see just how many bolts you can dodge at a time.”

With her smile growing more mocking by the moment, she ruffled her long red hair back from her forehead, revealing a headband with a medallion smelted to the centerpiece.

Lalt’s medallion shone sullenly in acknowledgement. The elf staggered away from the circle and vomited.

The vampire’s teeth shone suddenly in a smile that seemed too big for her small frame. Teeth that put a jaguar’s to shame were passed over by an overly long tongue.

“I don’t understand,” Scruting said as he waved the crossbows away from their intended target. “How can a vampire be… so beautiful?”

Eiry glanced at Sydron, but Sydron’s eyes were not directed at Eiry.

The vampire gave a mocking curtsy. “Well, that’s the sort of thing a girl likes to hear. I will accept your compliment in apology for your frigid welcome.”

“Unholy monster!” Lalt wiped bile from his lips and turned on the fieryhaired vampire grasping at his medallion.

“You don’t want to try me,” she said, her voice suddenly altering to become as threatening as black clouds on the ocean.

“Lalt,” Scruting dragged out the name, “don’t.” Slowly, he went over to the cleric and unwound his fingers from around the medallion. It dropped to his thin chest.

“I will expect a separate apology from you later, elf,” the vampire said.

“I called you what you are,” Lalt spat. “No apology is forthcoming!”

“Just because I’m a vampire does not mean I am a monster,” she said.

“I’ve known monstrous elves; does that mean that elves are monsters?”

“Vampires are murderers and worse! You slaughter your own kind for food!”

“I am not a human, elf, or dwarf. I am a vampire. What ‘kind’ do you mean?” the vampire asked. “You slaughter intelligent creatures for food – deer, cows, ducks. Do you think cows consider you murderers? And if they did, would you care?”

“Enough!” Scruting said, shoving Lalt back then turning on the vampire.

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“You have been of help, but that does not give you carte blanche to taunt him.

Now, have you completed your mission, or were you sent here to escort us to safety?”

“Well, I can hardly escort you during the daytime,” she said drolly. “But I will certainly try to keep things on the level during this night.”

“And whom do we have to thank for this intercession?” asked Sydron warily.

“Tortryst sent me. Or if you were asking who I am, my name is Ennen Darkjoy. My mistress bids you be welcome to her continent.”

“That’s how,” Lalt said dully.

“How what?” the vampire asked.

Lalt pursed his lips, then reluctantly answered. “For many years, there has been great debate among Seren about who Tortryst’s servant was, and how the person could be older than even we elven Seren.”

“Yes,” the vampire said, “and proud of it. I have no need of the Sleep to sustain me. Besides, Tortryst would not be willing to place me in such a precarious position as the Seren Sleep. I am far too valuable to her.”

“Scruting?” Lalt interrupted, grasping his medallion again.

“Ennen, what is that?” the Death Seren asked, looking to the northeast.

“What else?” she said, the “s” cutting across sharp incisors and molars.

“More vampires.”

The new group of vampires came floating out of the sky like a covey of black swans. No one needed Ennen Darkjoy to tell them to not fire their crossbows; something about the way these new vampires presented themselves gave no indication of violence or subterfuge.

One by one they alighted on the ground, making perfect landings and not taking a further step. They stared at the circled group in between the two roaring fires. They took in the sight of Ennen and Scruting confronting each other. One by one, fifteen of the seventeen vampires stepped back and squatted more gracefully than most people sit.

“Ennen Darkjoy, Seren of Tortryst,” said one of the two vampires still standing, stepping slightly in front of the other. “We did not expect the honor of your presence.”

“Sloppy of your master, Wrive First,” Ennen replied. “Doesn’t he usually send you off better prepared than that?”

“I thought you’d told me that Ennen Darkjoy was civil,” commented the second vampire.

“Hush, Michel,” Wrive First commanded. He brought a hand up to contemplatively stroke his full beard once. He spoke again. “We all know of 236

your battle prowess in your mistress’s name, Ennen, but you know you are no match for we eldest. I think that your mistress would rather you give up your prize than lose your life in such a useless fashion.”

The second vampire, Michel, glanced back at one of the other vampires, then interceded. “Wrive First, I doubt she is here to oppose us,” he said.

“Had she been so inclined, she wouldn’t have let us land one at a time without challenging us in like fashion before we could regroup.”

“You were brought here to observe, not interject, Youngest,” Wrive said, chiding the other vampire. He returned the conversation to Ennen. “Is my protégé correct, South Seren? Are you here to accompany us?”

“I’m here to make sure that no hanky-panky happens while you all do business, Wrive First,” Ennen said. “No more, no less. As in everything, my Goddess Tortryst welcomes everyone equally, so long as they do not destroy each other.” She stepped from between the two groups, and as she did so she drew her green cloak around the front of her body, covering her shoulders, arms and hands. “Be good, now.”

The pair of vampires glided forward past Ennen Darkjoy, staying in their same one-in-front configuration. When the lead vampire, Wrive, stopped, the second, Michel, stopped as uniformly as if they were wheels on the same cart.

They also bowed in the same motion, and stayed bent.

“Venerated Seren of Just Death,” said Wrive, “we are forever in your debt. The Firsts and I have all come to you so that we might make your travel easier and more expedient.”

Scruting glanced back at Lalt, but received only a glare in return. The Death Seren looked at Ennen, who returned his stare noncommittally. He turned back to Wrive.

“You come from the northeast.”

“To which we shall return, of course,” came the muted reply. The vampires had still not unbent.

“South Seren, may I ask-” Scruting began.

“This is not the concern of my goddess,” Ennen cut him off. “Her role in this is, as it must be in all things, solely that of an arbiter. She will guard you from them, she will guard them from you.”

Scruting frowned. “You will guard all of them from me?”

“You know what I mean,” Ennen said accusingly.

None better than Eiry could read the struggle inherent in the Death Seren’s facial expression. She knew he was trying to decide something, but if she did not know the question, she could not help him answer it. She decided it was best to keep silent.

“And these?” Scruting asked, gesturing backwards toward Lalt, Bellis, and 237

the crowd of humans.

“My companions will take them with us,” said Wrive. “No need for them to be left to animals.”

“A vampire will take us nowhere!” said Captain Sydron angrily.

“Quiet,” Scruting said absently without looking. “Rise, Wrive First. Call your companions forward, into the light. Let me see their faces.”

The two vampires straightened smoothly, and the other fifteen vampires walked into the light of the fires. Every one of them displayed their faces clearly.

“And every one beautiful,” Scruting murmured. “Tell me, Wrive. What is it that makes you and yours so different from the lesser vampires that have been plaguing us until now?”

“A thought-filled question, O Holy Seren. It is worthy of you to realize that this is indeed the symbol of the difference.” Wrive turned to Michel.

“Recite your catechism, Youngest.”

Michel turned blandly toward Scruting. “When one is reborn, whether the choice of death or undeath was made or no, the newborn vampire has a fresh choice to make: accept their gift and who and what they are, or reject the gift and reject themselves. It is this choice-” “We don’t have time for the entire catechism, no matter how relevant, Michel,” Wrive said. “Only the most pertinent passage, if you please.”

The younger vampire continued the recitation in the same bland voice.

“As the living’s eyes reflect the condition of their souls, so the entire face reflects the vampire’s soul. Ugliness denotes a putrefied soul, while beauty reveals…”

“Reveals?” prompted Wrive.

“Beauty reveals preservation and holiness of soul,” Michel finished.

“Quite right,” Wrive said. “Servant of Eleson the Just, I know that you come with us. What of the others?”

Scruting turned halfway around so that he could see both vampires and humans. “They must decide for themselves.”

Lalt stepped out of the circle to confront Scruting. “You would truly go with them?” the elf said, disgust evident. “These things that break the laws of all the gods, but most especially your own?”

The Death Seren laid his hands on the elf’s shoulders and whispered in his ear. When he was done, he touched the hilt of the sword jutting from his back.

The cleric, in return, touched his medallion and swiftly walked toward the jungle, away from the vampires.

“Tarry, elf!” called Bellis. Turning to Sydron, he simply met her eyes.

Then, he sadly backed away a few steps and placed his back firmly toward the 238

group. Most of the sailors walked with him toward Lalt.

“Is there nothing you can do to help them?” asked Captain Sydron of Wrive First. “They still have the whole of the Speculation to cross!”

Wrive looked behind himself to a different vampire than he had looked at before and said, “Kreveleigh First. Lend them your strength.”

The vampire’s jaw dropped. “Are you serious?”

Wrive narrowed his eyes. Something passed between the two for in the next moment, Kreveleigh nodded with a carefully blanked expression.

“As you wish Wrive First,” Kreveleigh First said. The vampire walked forward, punctured the pad of his middle finger on one of his teeth, and flicked his arm twice – once horizontally and once vertically – at the departing crew.

Eiry could not see if any blood actually touched the crew, but she wasn’t sure it needed to.

Scruting walked up behind Sydron and put a hand on her shoulder.

When she looked at him, he nodded encouragingly.

“Good riddance to deadweight.” The South Seren crossed her arms.

“Well, hurry up! I want to be to our destination before even the first hint of Aiz’s return. She doesn’t like me very much. I’m prettier than she is.”

“Pray tell, what is our destination?” Eiry asked.

“Have you not told them who you’re here to execute, Seren of Eleson?” asked Ennen in surprise.

“I did not have reason to, and was never asked.” Scruting shrugged.

“Who, then?” asked Eiry.

“You remember I mentioned another Seren of Eleson when we were back in Angyest?” Scruting asked.

“Yes,” Eiry said. A chill ran down her back. “You two are having to team up on someone?” Gods, how powerful can this target be?

“No. I’m here to execute my fellow Seren.”

Eiry’s jaw dropped. “That’s horrible!”

“Considering who it is, I’m surprised that you would espouse that opinion,” Scruting said in a rare conversational tone.

The short, red-haired vampire clapped her hands excitedly. “Oh, goody!

I can hardly wait to see their faces! I simply adore surprises!”

The other vampires moved like the shadows’ distorted flicker from the waning bonfires to encircle the remaining group. As the South Seren voiced her glee, most of them wrapped their arms across the chest of a human and Jumped far to the northeast. The humans’ howls of terror melded with Ennen Darkjoy’s mad cackling to create a cacophonic takeoff.

Only when she was already in the air did Eiry realize that Paedre had 239

neither gone off with Lalt’s group nor come with hers. He had never entered this night’s camp at all. He had already left her, without a word.

She suppressed a sob.

“Fear not,” rumbled the vampire carrying her. “I will not drop you.”

“Or drink a drop of me?” Eiry asked crossly, focusing on the anger instead of the panic.

“Most assuredly not,” the vampire spoke into her ear against the wind.

“None amongst the Lich’s flock would dare allow a drop of your holy blood to be spilt, let alone so debase themselves by allowing such a drop to pass their lips.”

Eiry twisted in the iron grip. It was secure, but it was crushing very tender parts of her. “You mean to tell me that you know me?”

The vampire did not answer her immediately. “I spoke out of turn. We may, perhaps, speak later, but for now I have little I can safely say.”

“What’s this about my blood being holy?” Eiry asked, trying to crane her neck enough to see the vampire’s face. If the face is supposed to reveal their entire soul, it must be useful to me to see if he’s lying.

But the vampire would not answer.

Exasperated Eiry said, “Will you at least tell me your name?”

Eiry thought he would not answer, but after a moment of consideration, the vampire obliged her. “I am Salis.”

“Nice to meet you, Salis First,” Eiry said, trying to keep the grump out of her voice.

“Second.”

“Excuse me?”

“I am most commonly called Salis Second.”

“What makes you different from all those other vampires?” Eiry asked.

“Why are all of them Firsts?”

“Not all of them were Firsts,” Salis said. “Michel is the Youngest. The others were the Firsts.”

“So your ranking system goes First, Second, Youngest?” Eiry asked. It did not sound quite right.

“The Lich has called far more vampires to himself than those you have already met,” Salis said.

From higher up in the sky, Sydron could see Eiry, and a few of the other vampires with her crew below her. Being carried by the highest jumping vampire meant that Sydron was the coldest and most wind-blown, but it also gave her the most amazing view of her entire life. Add to that her possession of her ship’s spyglass, and she felt she could see forever. Far to the east, she could see the tiny human city of New Sur clinging to the tip of the eastern 240

peninsula of Tortryst. To the west, the flashes of light and color indicated the Elemental Range, of which she had only heard tales – elementals running wild, causing storms to appear and disappear, the earth shaking underfoot, forests that sprang up and died off in a season. And to the northeast, much closer than she wished to be, was a huge castle.

She could see not a single detail, so she didn’t know why she called it a castle except that was the feeling the building exuded. It was a hulking mass, but it could never be seen from a ship at sea because it was recessed into an irregularly shaped valley. The stone it was built of was pure black, but with a rough edge that made Sydron sure it could not be marble. It had no windows, and there was not even a front gate that she could see. And the closer she came, the greater became the percentage of black oaks in the forest.

Sydron looked all around herself in the night sky, here and there distantly spying other vampires and her companions, but not finding the one she was looking for. She resigned herself to waiting.

“That’s where you live?” she asked the vampire carrying her, not knowing why she was attempting to strike up a conversation. Maybe because this situation is just too strange to contemplate.

“Yes.” “Huh.” What do you talk about with a vampire? Come on, Sydron, what similarities do you have with the undead? “Um… live there long?”

“Forty-four thousand five-hundred nineteen years, ninety-three days.”

Sydron felt her body convulse. She was being carried by something that had been dead for forty-four… “Let go of me!” she shrieked.

“If you wish it,” the vampire said, and let go.

Sydron suddenly found herself clinging to the vampire’s right ankle, looking down at the ground below her. I’m going to get you for this, she promised Scruting. If you don’t get killed, I’m going to feed you to the sharks.

“Either crawl back up here or let go,” said the vampire, making it obvious which option he would prefer. “You’re throwing off my balance so much I’m going to need to make another Jump.”

“I thought you said you’d take care of us!”

“Wrive First pledged that we would not visit harm on you,” the vampire said testily. “He said nothing about stopping you from suicide.”

Sydron knew when to cut her losses. She swallowed hard, and with it, swallowed her pride. “I can’t climb back up. If I let go with either arm, I’m going to fall.”

With a “tsk,” the vampire brought his ankle up to his left thigh and plucked her off, as if she were something indelicate he had found on the bottom of his boot. “Now be quiet, and stop wriggling around like the worm 241

you are.”

Sydron gritted her teeth. It was getting to be too much, but she could not in all conscience ignore what he had done for her. “Thank you,” she managed to grate out.

There was a pause in the conversation. Then, the vampire responded.

“You… are welcome.” A second, longer pause ensued. “That is the first time I have ever been thanked for anything by a human.”

The woman absorbed that. The first time in forty-four thousand years? She actually felt sorry for the vampire. Then she rallied. “Well, was that the first time you’ve done something to deserve thanks?”

She felt the vampire move slightly, and turned her neck so that she could see him. He was staring at her with an amused expression. “Touché.” He resumed his forward-looking posture, and spoke again. “Speak on, human; I find you a charming little diversion.”

Sydron could not decide whether to take it as a compliment or snub.

Despite being the last to depart, Scruting was the first of the human party to arrive by a significant amount of time. That phenomenon was not lost on the Death Seren.

“Are you expecting trouble?” he asked Ennen Darkjoy, the vampire who had claimed rights on carrying him.

“Relax, Scruting, they’ll be along.” Seeing him still hesitant, she said, “I have my mind’s eye on every single one. You have my word as a Seren.”

“Tell me they are fine, and I will relax.”

She hesitated, then said, “Only one is in any danger, and she put herself there, so I have no sympathy.”

“Eiry or Sydron?” asked Scruting, for once showing real concern.

The diminutive vampire shook her fiery head. “It took the cooperation of more gods than ours to get you here with that fancy appetizer fork, and if you screw this up, you’re going to be in major trouble, and so will the rest of this world.” She poked him roughly in the chest with two fingers. “You’re here to Judge the Lich. Get inside and do it.”

Scruting had been belittled, begged, and even engaged in banter, but had never been told off before. Not quite knowing what to make of it, but seeing her logic, he headed towards the holding.

“This is awkward,” he said immediately upon entering. In addition to there being no windows in the castle, there were no torches or lamps of any kind. Scruting didn’t know if these vampires actually lived in utter darkness or if this was a ploy to set him off guard, but he wanted light.

He turned around and found that there was plenty of light entering the 242

castle from the doorway. Yet, the doorway was the only thing allowing any daylight. It was as though there was a picture of the world floating in a great span of nothingness.

Scruting turned back around, and his vision again returned to obsolescence. It began to affect his sense of his own body, not knowing where his arms and legs were in relation to anything else. He closed his eyes and concentrated to help himself fight the increasing vertigo.

“Please come with me,” a voice said to him. “The Lich expects you.”

“I need light,” Scruting said.

“Ah. I will wait.”

Scruting got his wish, but he did not know the source. His eyes gradually recognized that there actually was a faint purplish light. There was something very wrong with his vision, though. Other than himself and his vampire guide, Scruting could still see nothing. It was like a painter depicting two characters on black velvet before adding a background.

“Why can I not see properly?” His suspicions might be incorrect, and if that was the case, he would need every advantage, not handicaps.

“This is the most illumination that can be brought to this place, Holy Seren,” the vampire replied.

Scruting was not satisfied with that answer. “Explain.”

“The Lich, in his earliest days of power, caused this place to be burnt out of the stone and sediment. He was still susceptible to the power of cursed Aiz’s light, so he made sure the material he used to create his abode would absorb all light wavelengths except the one you see with currently.”

In his earliest days of power he was able to burn a castle, whole, out of the ground?

Scruting said, “Lead on.” My Lord Eleson, I dearly hope that I understood your wishes for this mission clearly. If not, I fear you are going to lose the wrong servant.

After only ten steps, the vampire stopped him. “Hold on to me, please.

Tighter, please.”

Scruting felt his body jerked roughly twice and his sense of vertigo redoubled. But without being able to use any environmental visual cues as positional references, he was lost inside his own body. “What was that?”

“There is a large hole in the floor there,” said his guide, setting him down.

“The corridor curves at three-hundred forty degrees; we needed to jump against the vertical wall on the other side to rebound to the continuance of the corridor.”

The Death Seren was impressed, despite the wobble of the world, with the defensive forethought that had gone into the planning of the castle. “Has anyone ever made it past there?”

“No aggressor has made it that far, Holy Seren. The Lich is very good at 243

anything he puts his mind to. Cover your ears tightly.”

And so it went, with Scruting’s guide giving cryptic commands every few paces so that he could surpass mind-boggling obstacles. He lost all sense of direction and spatial coordination. He might as well have been still in the womb, for all his five senses told him. Until, to his surprise, a wooden door came into view before him. He could see nothing above, below, or around the door, but since he was bodily aligned to walk through the door he guessed he was able to tread the corridor to the door.

“Is this the Lich’s lair?” he asked.

Receiving no answer, he turned all the way around to find that his guide had silently retired to other duties. He opened the door to temporarily blinding light. He stood in the corridor for long enough to reorient all five of his senses to use, then pushed the door open the rest of the way.

The room he entered would have looked completely normal, had he entered it from any other place. As it was, the antique sitting room felt out of place. The twin brick fireplaces casting most of the light in the room, the comfortable looking overstuffed couches, the books on their shelves – none of them belonged in the most terrifying lair in the world.

Just as he was getting his mind to accept the room as normal, it was thrown for another loop as the Lich itself entered the room.

That he, or it, once had been human was unmistakable. The rounded ears ruled out elven heritage, and the height precluded any other of the Fair Folk.

From what Scruting could see of it around its robe, it was hairless from head to toe. It walked with a human gait. Its gaze was oddly friendly.

The most startling feature of the Lich, however, was the emaciated form of its body. No one in seeing the Lich could make the mistake that it had been merely an undernourished man. No, the thin muscles of the Lich’s body were those of a wiry man lacking the fat that would otherwise smooth the areas in between. More disturbing was that where muscles did not bulge under the perfectly smooth skin, bone protruded through it.

“I will spare you the agony of being confounded any longer,” the Lich said in a voice that did not sound right to Scruting. “I will not fight Justice – to the contrary, I have begged for it. I go willingly to the afterlife.”

Scruting quickly realized why the voice sounded strange. It did not echo at all in the room. The Lich had read his mind to know his question before he could ask it; surely the creature could put words into his head as well as take them out.

“Indeed I can,” the Lich said. “It has been so long since I have been constantly around creatures that could not speak likewise that I am afraid my 244

vocal chords have atrophied. Please excuse my handicap.”

“Of course,” Scruting said, for lack of anything else to say.

“You know, after all that hurry, you’re early. We have a little time before sunrise. Would you care for something to eat or drink? I know that the Firsts did not offer you anything, but I sent them off in somewhat of a rush, after last night’s conclave.”

“No, thank you,” Scruting said, sitting in a comfortable chair to hide his weakened knees. My Lord Eleson, I am most grateful to you for knowing what you’re talking about when you send me on missions.

The Lich did not laugh, but Scruting saw its mouth twitch into a smile.

“Those that met me…” Scruting said.

“You mean the Firsts?”

“Yes. What is meant by Firsts?”

“They were my first cull of the vampire population,” the Lich replied.

“Every thousand years or so I send some of my followers to exterminate the extraneous vampire populace worldwide. Those virtuous vampires who are intelligent enough to evade the best efforts of my flock without my help, I invite to join me here in the castle. Pickings have become slim, of late.” The Lich sat in a chair that by its plush nature exaggerated the Lich’s gaunt features.

“This most recent cull, I only picked up one follower, along with a human who was with him. But, come, I know that you need to Judge me to be able to use your sword properly. Shall we get on with it?”

“As you wish it,” Scruting said. “What was your name in life?”

The Lich said, “I would rather not answer that.”

“You must.”

“You are here to Judge the Lich, not Cacaphon the Archmage. While I am willing to repeat that name, I ask that you not try to correlate Cacaphon with the Lich in any way whatsoever. That person is not this person.” The Lich adjusted its posture in the chair. “Go on.”

Scruting felt the need to wiggle in his chair, too. There was part of his usual Judgement routine that he could not administer this time, and it felt awkward. “Do you know the reason for your execution?”

“Didn’t he tell you? He and I made a deal.” The Lich’s lips and tongue moved as it spoke, but it was obvious that it was only doing so for Scruting’s benefit.

Despite the Lich’s efforts, Scruting was becoming continuously more disquieted. “You are saying that you have spoken with Lord Eleson? Words, conversations? Not just feelings?”

“Since I am already relatively removed from this world, what with my soul being only loosely connected with the remains of Cacaphon’s body, Lord 245

Eleson and I are capable of being much closer than he can be with you.

Physically, spiritually, even our life circumstances are very similar.

“And yes, I’ve actually spoken with him. I found the Cyst by accident, back in my earlier days when I was still experimenting with what more I could do since I was unbound from so many of Pinnacle’s magic rules.”

“And what was this deal?” Scruting was feeling more and more out of his depth with every word the Lich said. The Cyst was where the Banished Gods had been placed. Scruting had never had dealings with anyone of enough power to have pull in the meta realm.

“Our deal is simple. He frees me, I free him. We have developed between us a plan for a symbiosis pivotal on a single instant.”

Scruting blinked rapidly and shook his head. “What?”

“They have to happen at the same time, you see,” the Lich said. “I cannot free him without him having freed me, but he cannot free me without my having freed him. Therefore we have to reciprocally free each other in only ‘present’ to the exclusion of ‘past’ and ‘future.’” The Lich smiled. “Tempore is bent all out of shape att our having found a loophole in his rules, but he is trapped by his own selfsame rules into impotence. It would take too much ‘time’ to initiate a plan to stop us, so he is too ‘late.’”

The Death Seren had to close his eyes for a moment. It felt like too much to handle; this was going far beyond the normal scope of his missions, especially if it was involving multiple deities. “You do realize that Lord Eleson no longer resides in our world, yes?”

“Only in one manner of speaking – and it helps in the plan, actually. It’s difficult to access the Cyst; no one but me in this world can do it, except for Akyri, and she avoids even the Banished gods with all her might.”

What does the Prophetess have to do with this? He was sweating. I never sweat.

“From what does Lord Eleson plan on freeing you?”

“Life, of course. That’s why you’re here.”

Seeing that the man did not understand, the Lich expanded its explanation. “Do you know how long I have been in the form that you see me in right now? Over thirty thousand years. And if it were left up to that cruel fiend Kyr, I would be trapped in this form until the world Ended, and maybe after that, too.” The Lich made a spitting sound come about in Scruting’s head, and it turned its head to the side, but no spittle came from its mouth.

“Kyr the Merciful. The biggest lie ever told on our world. It was her that made me what I am, you know. Cacaphon was a respected archmage, living his life out in Pinnacle, engaging in research that none had touched since the time of Magae, if ever.

“Apparently, there was a reason that none had touched that research.

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Archmage Cacaphon was too good, and he learned too much. The secrets he uncovered prompted Kyr to send her angels to murder him.

“No, my fellow Death Seren, I do not use the word ‘murder’ lightly.

Cacaphon was nowhere near his assigned time of death, but Kyr wanted to make sure he could not share his knowledge. So she had him murdered.

“But Cacaphon had learned a few tricks through his research, and in a desperate bid to live, he fought the angel who came for him with every shred of his knowledge and magic.

“And he won. He cast the angel from himself, but oh, at what a cost.

“I told you that I have spoken with Lord Eleson? I have spoken with his afterlife’s co-goddess as well, but only this once. She told me that since I had spurned her angel, no other would ever come for me. Even if I had my heart carved from my body, even if I burned myself to so many infinitesimal bits, I would retain my consciousness, and half-live forever in pain and impotence, perhaps even beyond the End of the World.”

“How is that possible?” Scruting interrupted. “Beyond the End?” The Lich paused. “Has Lord Eleson ever given you any understanding of our Progenitor?”

“Whose what?”

“Apparently not. Scruting, if Lord Eleson wished for you to know, you would. I cannot explain Progenitor right now; it would take too long. Not like I could actually explain something that I do not quite understand myself,” the Lich thought to itself in a lightning-quick spurt – though since it was projecting its thoughts to Scruting, the private thought became part of the conversation.

“Back to my memoirs,” the Lich sighed mentally and physically. “Because of Kyr’s decision, Cacaphon made it his permanent ambition in his half-life to bring Kyr back down to size. He knew that he could not do it on his own, but Cacaphon’s patron god, Magae, was caught in the firmament that surrounds our world, and could not help Cacaphon. So the archmage expanded his search, and stumbled across the Cyst of the Banished Gods, and Lord Eleson.

“Cacaphon became negotiator and courier between Eleson and Magae, with the subject of their negotiations being his own soul. At the end, Magae gave over his patronage of the archmage to Eleson so that Cacaphon might work for both their benefits. And thus did Cacaphon become the Lich.

“And I have been the Lich for over thirty thousand years. But it ends this morning. Through my death there will be a new beginning, in preparation for the final beginning.”

“How? How will your death free Lord Eleson?” asked Scruting. He didn’t notice that he was on the edge of his seat. “And what will this do for the God of Mages? I was of the impression he is already reborn.”

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The Lich waved its hand negligently. “What do my death’s consequences matter? You’re here to Judge my Life in preparation for that death, not what comes after it.”

“To the contrary, Lich. I’m surprised; you should know better! Lord Eleson Judges if a Death is Just, not only if a Life was Just.”

The undead nodded. “Very well. First off, I’m not going to be able to free Lord Eleson entirely to return to the world. That would take another twelve thousand years for me to build up enough energy, and the world would have fallen apart by then.

“Fortunately, that’s no longer necessary, due to my ex-patron’s secret. As you said, Lord Magae is reborn, though not returned to his godhood as of yet.

All I’m going to do is loosen the bonds on Lord Eleson, but it will be enough for him to have some additional influence in the world. He will use that influence to facilitate Lord Magae’s return, and when Lord Magae has his full influence once more, he will return the favor and welcome Lord Eleson back into this world. Thus will I have served both my current patron god, and my former.”

Scruting’s head was starting to hurt. So this plan is triply reciprocal? How many gods are jockeying for position around this undead man’s death?

“This has been my goal for over twenty thousand years. Only you can Judge whether it has been a life worthy of death.” The Lich paused. “I do not mean to tell you your duty, but sunrise is imminent.”

“Why is sunrise so important?”

“Surely the power inherent in the death of the night and birth of the new day are not lost on a Seren of Eleson,” the Lich chided him.

“Why do you need more power?” Scruting asked. “From what I’ve felt, you’re the most powerful non-deity I’ve ever met.”

“Compared to the might of the gods, I am but a pauper,” the Lich said.

“As great as I am, my sacrifice alone will not be enough to free Lord Eleson.

My vampires are reserved for a, ahem, postmortem use, so I cannot sacrifice them. What else could be the receptacle of the amount of power that was requisite to our plans?

“Ironically, it was my elven enemies who supplied me with my answer. I take it you’ve heard of the Life Seed planted in elves? Good. And are you familiar with the function of this seed?”

“Not exactly,” Scruting admitted.

“To cheat death. The Fair are dying out – the Wisps met their end years ago, so the Osilorn are starting to feel the pinch. The elves learned long ago how to perpetuate themselves, to nurture their offspring even after their own deaths.

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“When the elf dies, an imprint of their memories and life force remains in the seed, helping the tree to grow and their life to continue through the elves around them. Their life force is, in essence, extended beyond death. The tree thus helps to sustain the remaining elves with the knowledge and wisdom the seed’s former owner had garnered during life.

“I knew the Life Seed was the key I needed. Unfortunately, life begets life, and likewise death begets death. I tried many experiments to produce a proper receptacle for my power, and all failed. I could not make a dead tree or seed grow, and my powers were so incompatible with life that a living tree could never hold them.

“I had to find a bridge between the world of life and the world of death and let me tell you that it was almost impossible. The laws of Eleson and Kyr are so tight-knit that even Lord Eleson himself did not know what to tell me with his view of the world as obstructed as it is.”

“What was the bridge?” asked Scruting.

“It was right before my eyes the entire time, actually. Right in front of anyone’s eyes. Can you not guess, given that hint?”

“No.” “No? Let me give you another hint. What follows death?”

“Life.”

“And what follows life?”

“Death.”

The Lich looked expectantly at the Death Seren. “So?” “So what?”

“So where does life meet death? Where does death meet life?”

Scruting slowly said, “The transition.”

“Exactly! In birthing and dying! And I already had the perfect example of how to do it, built into the Life Seed.

“All I had to do was change the way the Life Seed works. Once I did that – let’s call it a Death Seed now – when the elf is dying and the tree is birthing, both worlds are double-bridged. All I have to do is insert my link into the seed, and I have a new repository of power.”

“So where are all these trees?”

“Surely you’ve seen the dark oaks on your way to my castle?”

Scruting’s eyes widened. “Every tree with black leaves is one of your power receptacles?”

The Lich grinned as best he could with his altered flesh. “My power is still that of a pauper compared to the gods, but by Lord Eleson, it’s enough. Just barely, but it is enough. Combining the power of the death of the moon this night and the birth of the sun this morning, the sacrifice of my life and all the 249

lives of the dark oaks, and the blessing of Lord Eleson, we shall prevail.”

The undead archmage stood from its chair and walked over to Scruting.

“The sun is near to its birth. Quickly, have you learned enough to Judge my life worthy of death?”

Scruting held up a finger. “Only one more question. Why do you need me to kill you? If your suicide is sanctioned by Lord Eleson, why do you not do it yourself?”

The Lich snarled angrily. “Because of Kyr! Simple non-living is not enough. If it was, I would need do nothing; I am already undead. In this world, death only comes when a servant of Eleson or Kyr severs your soul from its physical bonds! You’re the only one willing and powerful enough.”

Scruting nodded. “Very well. I Judge this death to be just, noble, and even overdue. Kneel.”

Closing its eyes, the Lich knelt its flesh to the carpet in front of the Death Seren. Scruting moved the chair away from behind himself and drew his sword from behind his back, leaving the scabbard where it was.

Even being the wielder of the sword and the direct servant of Eleson, Scruting still found looking at the weapon unpleasant. There were forces binding it to this world that he could not understand. Of the physical components, he could make out three parallel blades sticking out of the handle – each to sever one of the ties of the body, mind, and emotion to the soul.

There were forces between the blades, but he could not see them beyond an extreme blur, and he had no idea what they were for.

Scruting placed the sword’s points a hairsbreadth away from the Lich’s heart. Some arcane knowledge granted him by being the Eleson Seren let him know that, while the heart’s chambers still contracted, the body had no blood for it to pump.

“Tell me when,” Scruting said.

“No need, my dear fellow Seren,” the Lich said. “I will fall onto the sword at the proper time.” The Lich looked up at Scruting, and this time, it stopped moving its lips when it spoke. “Thank you for being at my deathwatch, Scruting. Even though we had never met until tonight, your presence in the world in between Sleeps has always been a comfort to me, making my days a little less lonely.” The Lich cast its eyes down. “Now, quiet, please, for the rest of my life. I need to concentrate.”

Suddenly, the room around Scruting vanished into the light-absorbing material of which the corridor outside the room had been made. He could again see virtually nothing except himself, his sword, and the Lich, who was now holding a staff that was three times longer than its body.

Scruting held the sword steady with ease. He had no idea how long he 250

was going to have to wait since he had no intrinsic knowledge of when the sun rose and set, as the undead would surely have to have for their survival. Only when he looked down the length of the sword did he realize that the deed was already done: the Lich had impaled itself.

Behold: One of the world’s greatest anticlimaxes. Frowning, Scruting placed his foot against the Lich’s chest and yanked back on the sword.

It would not come out.

This was unsettling in that not only was he far from being a weak man, the sword had never stuck in anything more than it would have stuck in a puddle of water. He tried again, and it still would not budge. Frantically, he began to tug on the sword, dragging the limp body all around the room in his efforts to free the sword.

His entire arm suddenly cramped, bringing about a pain he had never before experienced. His muscles contracted so tightly around the sword’s hilt that he could literally hear the tendons rip away from the bones in several places.

As soon as he lost his grip the cramps subsided, and his hand flopped limply to his side. He stared in horror at the unresponsive limb, then looked back toward the floor.

The sword and body had vanished.

As Eiry joined Sydron and two of her remaining crewmembers in a comfortable little room far inside the castle, she felt a tremendous wave of relief wash over her. The room itself was a homey little sitting room, decorated in Nirian color and design. All the walls were covered in some sort of tapestry or draping, so the light-absorbing stone of the castle did not affect the lantern light in this room.

“Nice ride?” asked Sydron sarcastically, seeing Eiry’s expression.

“Was yours?” Eiry retorted. “Where are the others?”

“The Death Seren is elsewhere in the castle,” said Wrive, entering behind Eiry. “Your other companions have already landed, and are on their way here.”

“Do you really live here?” Eiry asked. “I mean, even for vampires, don’t all those traps get a little hard to remember?”

“We have lived here for so long that even when one of our number sleepwalks, their bodies instinctively remember for them,” Wrive explained.

Eiry looked at him, disbelief evident on her face.

“He’s speaking from personal experience,” said Michel as he entered.

“Wretch!” growled Wrive good-naturedly.

Did I just consider a vampire to be good-natured? Eiry wondered.

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“Why were we brought to this room?” Sydron asked.

“I thought you would be most comfortable in a more humanistic environment,” Wrive said. “I have directed that the castle be made more amenable to human eyes, but it will take some time. For now, this room is the only room we have readied. But you are all free to go wherever you wish whenever you wish in the castle. If you cannot find where you wish to go, ask with your mind, and the nearest one of us will guide you.”

“What is this room?” Eiry asked. “All the rest of the castle is completely black; why this little bit of Nir?” A wood door at the opposite end of the room opened. “Welcome back, Michel,” said a woman entering the room with a yawn.

“Ah… You…” Sydron said, wrinkling up her face.

“Nope, not a vampire,” the woman said with a tired grin. “And I have to say, it’s as nice for me to see some fangless faces as it is for you.”

“I’m hurt.” Michel put a hand over his heart. “Right here. Ouch.”

The woman laughed. “Sure, Michel.” She turned to the other women.

“Has this goofball been giving you trouble? If so, I have full license to bend him over my knee and give him a good walloping!”

The other humans in the room gave each other bemused smiles. Spank a vampire? Eiry spoke for the group as she asked, “Can you guess what our next question is going to be?”

“Either how do I get to live here without being dinner or undead, or how did I get here in the first place?” the woman asked.

“Right after ‘who are you,’ yes,” Eiry said.

“Oh, of course, I apologize! It’s been years since I last talked with someone who couldn’t just pluck that out of my head. My manners aren’t what they ought to be.” She paused, then a silly little grin stole across her face and she groaned in pleasure. “Sorry, but you have no idea how good it feels to have an entire conversation and only have to use my ears! My name is Mosara.

I’m an artificer for Pinnacle’s School of Dynamism. As to how I got here, Michel—” she jerked her thumb at the vampire in question, “—signed up with the Lich, and since I was with him at the time he was recruited, he wanted to take me with him. Sort of a package deal.”

“I had just barely met her, but she knew more about vampires than I knew about myself,” Michel said. “Not only that, but her presence was the first I had ever experienced which was not centered on one of us killing the other. With that sort of camaraderie, how could we help but become... oh, what is the word... pals?”

“Of course, since we’re together so often, all the other vampires call me his pet human,” Mosara said, wrinkling her nose. “I’m not sure I appreciate 252

that even though they’re not humans or elves any more than I’m a vampire, but the description is more or less accurate.”

Eiry fleetingly thought about Paedre at the mention of pets. She wondered where he was, if he was all right, if the dogs were still with him.

“It’s not all bad, though, living as a pet,” Mosara said. “I certainly get pampered. And, have I ever learned some interesting things about vampires since coming here! Now if I can only get this information back to Pinnacle, my place in history and Alaris’s good graces are assured.”

“Alaris?” asked Eiry, just as Michel snapped his fingers and said, “Aha!” The two looked at each other, both gesturing for the other to go first. Michel took the initiative.

“I just now figured out where I had smelled you before,” the vampire said.

“Your scent has changed since then, but you were with the Sanct.”

Mosara said, “She was?” right as Eiry said, “I was! Where were you?”

Michel bit his lip in apparent embarrassment. “Back then, I rather hid in the shadows. But that’s—” “Tell her why,” Wrive commanded, startling Eiry. He was so silent and unmoving when he was not interacting that he seemed more a piece of furniture than a person “I’m not sure Salis Second would approve of my bringing up-” Michel said hesitantly, only to be cut off by his superior.

“Salis Second is not here to ask, is he?” Wrive said sternly.

For a moment Michel looked torn, but he sighed in defeat. “No, First.

Yes, First.” The younger vampire turned to Eiry. “I lived in the Free Cities area. The only vampires around there lived lives that were far from virtuous, so they were the ugliest things you’d ever seen. Since vampires aren’t reflected in mirrors – a stupid rule by the gods if I’ve ever heard one – I wasn’t able to look at myself and realize that I was beautiful. Since I thought I was ugly, I never showed my face, even to my victims.”

“How did you come to change your mind?” Sydron asked curiously.

“The Twentieth was on patrol purging the excess vampire population of the world, and they found me because of the Sanct’s blundering and Mosara’s big mouth. When they did, they held me down and forced me to look at myself through their eyes. Literally,” he appended, seeing that the humans hadn’t quite caught that part. “Just as I can speak to you by putting words in your head or listening to your projected thoughts, I can also look through your eyes, make you move your body as I wish, et cetera. Anyway, that is how I learned that I’m actually quite the dashing fellow.” He preened for the ladies, tossing his hair back with panache.

“And so modest!” Mosara said with a laugh as two sailors were guided 253

into the room. Noting the reaction of both Eiry and Sydron, Mosara asked for whom they were waiting. At the mention of Scruting’s Seren title, she waved her hand like she was wiping a slate clean of chalk.

“Nah, no worries there. He’s not going to be in any danger. the Lich discussed what his plan is with me, and the Death Seren has no chance of being killed. What?” she asked when she saw Eiry’s skeptical eyebrow raise.

“The Lich discusses his plans with you?”

Mosara laughed. “That did sound mightily egotistical, didn’t it? That isn’t what I meant. He knows I’m an artificer and he talks magic theory with me, but honestly I think he was just doing it for the sake of nostalgia.”

“Nostalgia?”

“He used to be a mage in Pinnacle. I know, it took me by surprise, too.

To think of him wandering the same corridors that I did, pulling the same practical jokes, both of us apprentices. But he’s not that bad of a guy, considering he’s the undead lord of the bloodsuckers.”

Michel cleared his throat loudly.

“I wonder if Alaris knew him,” Eiry said thoughtfully.

“Alaris knows anyone of importance that’s passed through Pinnacle,” Mosara said proudly, but slightly curiously. “I take it you’ve met him? No, never mind, I can see you have. But I want to get back to Sanct. You said you were with him. When?”

“Oh, it was many years ago,” Eiry said.

“Because I seem to remember a young girl in Lord Olber’s castle – ah-ha!

So that was you! You’ve matured into a beautiful woman,” Mosara said.

“Thank you,” Eiry said. She was trying to remember everything she could about that dinner long ago. Then…

“Michel!” Eiry said, snapping her fingers. “Is this the vampire you went off looking for in the Free Cities?” she asked, almost touching the vampire’s arm, then deciding to point.

Mosara’s reply was cut short by the sudden keeling over of their vampire companions.

“What happened?” asked Sydron, alarmed.

Mosara looked at a ring she wore on her left hand, middle finger. The small crystal set in the gold was changing from an almost black blue to a lighter hue. “It’s morning. I think the Lich just sacrificed himself, so his underlings are bound to be affected.”

All the rest of the group simply stared. One sailor finally got up the courage to ask, “I beg your pardon?” though in terms not quite as nice.

“Ah, why don’t I leave that to Wrive or one of the other Firsts to explain,” Mosara said. “If they can, or care to. Look, we’re stuck here for a 254

while. Would you mind catching me up on what’s been going on in the world while we wait for our sleeping beauties to waken?”

Wrive had all but demanded that Eiry attend the vampire conclave. All the vampires in the Lich’s castle gathered in a conical room, with Wrive at the bottom middle. Eiry was relieved to see Scruting in attendance, even though he looked a little worse for the wear. His arm was in a sling and he looked more downcast than she had ever seen him. There was something else different about his appearance that had nothing to do with expression.

Eiry did not have time to spend on Scruting’s appearance, for Wrive’s own appearance in the room was prompt enough to call the meeting to order.

He placed Eiry in the middle of the congregation with him, and the other vampires fanned out around him. She found that she recognized some of the vampires in the first circle; they were the ones that had brought her and her companions. Eiry knew they must be the Firsts, so the Seconds would have to be sitting behind, and so on.

“First order of business,” Wrive sent his message to the minds of everyone in the room, “now that the Lich is dead, is to decide who succeeds him. If anyone wishes to challenge me for that honor you may do so now, and you and I will duel.”

None voiced dissent.

“Next order of business is to discuss our newfound standing in the world as servants of one of the gods.”

“I wouldn’t go back for anything,” a Fifth vampire said to the group, “but keep in mind that this wasn’t only a blessing the Lich gave us. We may be servants of a god now, but that god is yet Banished. That makes us even more of a target than before.”

“Consensus?” Wrive asked.

Eiry could not see how, but the vampires signaled their agreement or disagreement, and Wrive was able to accurately count them.

“We are in agreement,” he continued. “Other points.”

“Has the Lich’s promise held true?” asked another vampire, very near the back of the room. “Is our place in the afterlife reinstated?”

“I don’t know, would you like to go check on that for us?” asked Wrive.

Many vampires chuckled.

Salis Second stood. “Lord Eleson has not seen fit to give us knowledge of the path to the afterlife yet. Until such time as he says no, however, I would suggest you act in such a manner as befits that promise.”

“Consensus?” asked Wrive. “We are in agreement. Anyone else?”

“Has the ill timing of the Lich’s plans affected what we are to do now?”

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asked a Third vampire.

Wrive deferred to another First, who said, “It is difficult to see what consequences there will be, but it was absolutely necessary to move up the plans. Maul’s actions were indicative of the gods’ renewed interest in the world; they could have discovered the Lich’s preparations at any moment.”

“He was not questioning your advice to the Lich,” Wrive said. “We all know Maul’s attack was an unexpected complication.”

Eiry opened her mouth to ask a question, but shut it again. Yet, somehow, every vampire in the room knew that she had a question, and all eyes turned to her.

“You were not brought to this council to be silent,” said Wrive. “Please, we will not invade your mind; ask what you will without fear.”

She cleared her throat. “You speak of the gods as though you were privy to their deepest secrets. How is this so?”

“Partially, our knowledge comes from our study of the stars; they are the gods’ homes, and we learn much from their dance in the sky. Partially we had knowledge from the Lich, whose source he never revealed. Now, we are the servants of a god. Does this answer your question?”

Eiry nodded. “If you can tell what the gods are doing, I suppose it would be child’s play to keep track of human beings. Can you tell me where my children and husband are, and if they’re okay?”

Wrive motioned to a Second to answer her question. “Your two children that the elf Lo’are had tried to recapture are safely housed in the Monk’s Reserve on Torberepar. One of your children is on his way to Tortryst with Alaris and your husband. Your other three offspring are where you left them in the Rhiorenne Holding on Kalard. All are healthy.”

Eiry swallowed her emotions back down. You can cry later, woman. “Alaris is on his way here?”

Some of the vampires stirred, wishing to speak, but Wrive suppressed this ability. “Forgive, your Holiness, but we must reveal nothing to you of the plans that you do not already know. Your mind is unguarded; anyone can read it, and utter secrecy is all that makes Lord Eleson’s plan viable.”

She nodded, anger and thankfulness warring in her heart.

“Any other points under order of business two?” asked Wrive. “Then on to order of business three. When do we move? The timeline that so clearly delineated our exodus is no longer applicable. The god’s Revelation that should have signaled us has already happened, but in the wrong place and for the wrong reason. Do we wait until the major event? Do we wait until being invited? Or do we not wait at all?”

Wrive subsided and allowed the other vampires to speak, in order of the 256

Lich’s culls. No Firsts had anything to say, and no Seconds did either.

“Does not this woman need to be present?” a Third said immediately. “I say we time our arrival at our destination to coincide with Alaris’s.”

The question went around the Thirds, but remaining unanswered, so it ascended to the next generation of vampires, the Seconds.

“While she would be of help, she is not necessary to the first part of the plan,” a Second said. “But you bring up a good point. Those of you Fifths whose responsibility it is to watch the Alaris, when will his party arrive?”

A side conversation ensued, then a spokesperson answered for the group.

“Despite the Alaris’s unexpected… difficulty, they are on time. However, I am exhorted by my compatriots to point out that it is not only the arrival of the group, but the… reopening… for which we must watch. If we come to the place and it is not open to us, Aiz will not be forgiving.”

A second, toward the back, said, “Would not temporary shelter carved out of the earth suffice?”

“Not that close to the Arbilorn,” someone right next to him said. “Even in the Old Forest their king would feel our presence, and his followers would be merciless in digging us out in the midday sun.”

Eiry hid her amazement at seeing a female vampire that had been an elf speak of those who once were, and still might be, her kin.

“Is there more discussion on this point? There is none. Consensus? We do not have consensus. Alternate plan. Firsts?” Wrive delegated the process to his peers. Having no plan at ready, they passed the option of answering back to the Seconds. The Sixths had an answer.

“We can send a scout,” the vampire said. “If he needs his mother there for support, we will bring her with a small contingent when he is ready.”

Wrive asked, “Consensus? We have consensus. Next order of business: I propose that we extend the most recent purge to our pestilent brethren here on Tortryst. Consensus? We have consensus. Kreveleigh First, delegate two members of each generation up to the Fifteenth to complete this task. Are there any other orders of business? Very well. General assembly is concluded.”

The group dispersed with such order that the room was cleared fast enough for Eiry and Wrive to walk to the main doors unimpeded.

“You have different questions now,” Wrive commented as they walked.

“I don’t know. I mean, that meeting was not what I expected – they were more organized and businesslike than my nobles, but at the same time they were less...”

“Personable?” Wrive suggested.

“Exactly.”

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“We were not created to be personable,” Wrive said.

“You make yourself sound like a tool,” Eiry protested.

“We are.”

“But… Maybe I’m looking at this in the wrong light, but isn’t that sort of demeaning to yourself?”

“Ought a hammer be demeaned by being used?” the vampire asked. “Or ought it revel in the hands of its user, and be proud of that which is wrought through it?”

Eiry found the philosophy insidious. “But why can’t a tool have personality?”

“We can. To the extent that we each differ, we do. We simply have no need for excesses in personality to be who we are.”

“But what about the Seren of Tortryst? She’s downright wild!”

Wrive First made a gesture that Eiry could not translate. “Ennen Darkjoy is an aberration amongst vampire kind. I doubt she would be so energetic if it were not for the influence of her goddess’s power. Tortryst is a very vigorous and eclectic goddess; I would expect her Seren to be similarly personified.”

“And what about Michel?” Eiry persisted. “He’s a nut, especially around Mosara.”

“Michel is the Youngest of us,” Wrive said. “His interactions with us will mold him as the years pass.”

Eiry shook her head wonderingly. “You are not at all what I expected.”

“You mean you did not expect to find vampires living in this manner?”

“Yes.” “We do not fit the horror tales that were told you in your youth.”

“No, you don’t.”

“So you are forming a different opinion of us?”

Come to think of it, “Yes, I am.”

The vampire nodded. “That is good. I will be glad to assist you.”

Eiry was surprised. “Didn’t I hear you correctly in there? Are you not the newly elected ruler of all these… people?”

Wrive smiled at her genteel change in terminology. “As much of a ruler as they need, I will be.”

“And yet you have time to discuss philosophy with me?”

“There is no task more important, at the moment.”

Eiry blinked. “I didn’t think that vampires led lives that boring.”

Wrive laughed softly, all but the tips of his fangs showing from under his lips. “We eldest can spend years in meditation in our lightless rooms, lying in one position for so long that dust accumulates on our bodies as we ponder.

Yet to us, this is not boring. It is interesting; stimulating; necessary; or we 258

would not do it. However, it is not that there is simply nothing to do. It is your opinion of us is that important.”

“Why don’t you start by explaining that.”

Wrive bowed as he walked. Eiry was amazed and slightly taken at the liquidity of the movement; she had never seen it done better, in all her years in royal palaces. He had taken two entirely different movements, put them together, and had drawn beauty from the result.

“Again, I must apologize in advance for what will be only half an answer,” he said, “but part is plans that may be taken from your mind.”

“Tell me what you can.”

“The simplest truth I can give you is that your opinions matter to us because they will matter to someone else very soon. We may already be the servants of a god, but that does not guarantee our place in this world. We must continue to be worthy of the distinction, or our god might remove his patronage, and that would be our end.”

“Patronage?”

“Humans always have a hard time understanding that subject,” Wrive said. “They are blessed by almost all the gods, because humans are worshipful of the whole pantheon. But the Fair Folk, the animals, the Elementals, even we vampires now, are sustained by the power and blessings of a few wellchosen gods – normally two or three, but in the rare case of the Osilorn, by only one patroness goddess. If a people were to lose their patron, that people would quickly wither.”

“I had no idea.”

“There would be no reason for you to have. It was not always this way.

The world was not created with this purpose in mind. Hopefully,” Wrive drew himself up taller, “that is soon to be changed.”

“Because you are servants of a god now?” Eiry asked. “Does it change you that much, having a god to call your own?”

The vampire looked at her with an amused and incredulous stare. “My apologies,” he said, straightening out his face from all but a hint of his smile. “I was simply taken aback that you of all people would ask that question.”

Eiry cocked her head. “What does that mean? I’m not a priestess.”

Wrive nodded gracefully. “True, you are not a priestess. I continue to view you through the eyes of the future. It is a shortcoming of mine, to be unable to keep my mind on the present. When one has the wings of a visionary, it is hard to keep oneself firmly attached to the ground, especially when the winds of change blow rampant.”

Eiry cocked her head further. “Was that my answer?”

“Forgiveness, please, Eiry,” Wrive said, surprising the woman by using her 259

first name. “It is a difficult concept and is doubly difficult to explain in simple terms. You will be, and therefore are, sent by someone to examine us, but you will not be able to then, so you must now. You see?”

Eiry tried to dissect the statement, and failed. “Absolutely not.”

“You bypass Tempore’s rules,” Wrive said. “You must formulate an answer right now to a question that you have not yet been asked.”

Eiry stared blankly at Wrive. “But how can I…” She sighed exasperatedly and shook her head.

“Let us take your reign as Queen of Seighn for example? Let us say you are offered the lands of one of the Free Cities. To learn more about this city, you would send your most trusted advisors to learn all you could, and decide whether that city was worthy of being part of your country, no?”

“I follow you so far.”

“Now, let us say that the messenger who gave you the offer requires an immediate yes or no, so you do not have time to send your advisors and have them return. What would you do?”

“I would summon my father’s or grandfather’s former ambassadors to the Free Cities and learn what I could from them.”

Wrive laughed quietly. “Yes. Well. There is that option, I suppose.

Actually, that will do just fine, and make this explanation simpler. These former ambassadors, they have already made their decisions about those cities, and would be giving you their advice, yes?”

“Yes.” “So, these former ambassadors, while living in the Free Cities, had been doing a job for you that they had no idea they were doing. They were doing their job before they were asked to do it, just as you are doing yours now.”

Eiry nodded thoughtfully. “And what, exactly, am I doing?”

“You are… hmm… an adjudicator? An appraiser? I do not know if there is a proper word for your role amongst us vampires. You are judging our worth, and you will carry your opinion around inside your head and heart until it is called forth.”

“And how am I to do all that?”

“I have been a servant of a god for less than a week; perhaps talking with a longer-term servant would serve you better? But, for now, let us continue in your acquaintance with the vampires of real life, and see if we can chase those childish fantasies out of your head.”

Sydron had been talking with the mage Mosara until Michel returned with news of the vampires’ conclave dismissal. She had asked after Scruting, and another vampire showed up at Michel’s door to escort her.

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Scruting sat in the former Lich’s chamber, now the throne room for Wrive First, with a blank expression. Sydron dismissed her vampire guide.

“Hi,” she said in her most neutral voice.

A moment passed, then he lifted his eyes to hers. He nodded briefly, then his eyes drifted back down to the floor.

“Mind if I sit?” she asked, studying him.

Another moment went by, then he gestured to the bench with a toss of his head. Though Sydron did not know it, the chamber that Scruting had seen when Judging the Lich had been denuded of all finery, leaving only the bench of black oak in front of a polished and smoothed ivory throne.

After sitting in silence for a while, the captain decided enough was enough. She bit Scruting’s shoulder.

He jumped out of his seat. “What did—” “So, what’s eatin’ ya’?” she asked in an obscenely bright tone.

He looked at her with an expression of part anger, part confusion.

“Sorry. I guess I’ve been around these vampires too long. Their sense of humor is getting to me.”

Scruting slowly shut his mouth and shook his head. He sat back down.

“Seriously, Scruting, what’s bothering you?” she asked again in a more understanding tone, now that he was fully alerted to her presence. “Michel told me the way you looked as you left the vampire conclave. Something they said set you off?”

“In a way,” he responded. “Wrive First put to words a feeling that I’ve had ever since I killed the Lich.”

“And that would be?”

“He insinuated that the Lich had been training them to be servants of Eleson. When the Lich died, he – I don’t know – blew a hole in the Cyst or something, allowing my god a more direct access to this world. When that happened, he took the vampires for his servants, like Kyr has her angels.

“No one else seems to have noticed, but when the Lich disappeared, so did my sword. That sword was the symbol of my servitude just as other Seren have medallions. I’d been trying to decide what the disappearance of my sword meant when Wrive First spoke in the conclave.”

Sydron understood. “You think you’re no longer a Seren.”

“Think?” he said sharply. “Ever since I was a child, I have been in the servitude of Eleson. I would Wake with an immediate purpose in my head, complete my mission, then return to Sleep. I have never had goals or dreams of my own. I know nothing of being a human, nothing of what it’s like to have a family or friends. I’m more like a finger of Eleson than a separate persona, and now he’s cut me off!”

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“You’re wrong.”

He whipped his head around.

“Well, you’re right about most of it, I would imagine,” she amended, “but you’re wrong about not having a friend.”

His eyes searched her face for meaning, for hope.

She began counting on her fingers. “You’ve helped me through trying times, and that wasn’t because of some mission from a god. You’ve held me back from getting hurt countless times, defended me from friend and foe alike.

You’ve made me reconsider my life, and because of you, I am a different and better person than I was when we first met. Even if you won’t let me call you my friend, I am yours.”

“You are… my friend?” he asked. She could see that he didn’t ask only with his mouth, but with his whole being. It was the most vulnerable she had ever seen anyone.

“I’m your friend. And as your friend, I think it’s only fair that I shoulder some of your burden now, especially considering that you’ve helped me with mine for so long. We’re going to go out there and find those goals and dreams of yours. We’ll do it together.”

“I’d like that,” he whispered.

They sat together in the quietude of a burial chamber, and discussed their future.

The vampire that had guided Eiry disappeared silently, as they all tended to do once she came to her destination. She entered a room in the Lich’s castle that brightened her spirits, but it took her a few steps to figure out what was different.

“Glass!” Eiry said aloud, then covered her mouth with her hand.

Ennen Darkjoy was kneeling on both knees and sitting on her ankles facing the huge window. Her head was bowed and she was lightly clasping the center of her forehead with her hands.

Eiry approached the kneeling South Seren from behind. Though she knew that the vampire had to have heard her, Eiry still found her with her eyes closed. The human took a seat on the floor in front of the vampire and waited to be acknowledged.

Ennen let her hands come down from her forehead and separate, one to each knee. Her elbows went from touching her ribcage to lightly floating at her sides. Her eyes opened, and her neck straightened. She said nothing.

“What were you doing?” asked Eiry.

“I was praying.”

Eiry could not hide her surprise at the answer. She had expected to hear 262

about some tremendous power that Ennen had been wielding, or that she was scrying the continent with her metaphysical eyes.

The fiery-haired woman sighed. “I am a Seren,” Ennen said in more patient voice than Eiry had ever heard from her. “Like any other holy person, I pray. If even a goddess has decided that I am virtuous enough to be her representative on this world, can you not rethink your prejudices?”

“I’m sorry,” Eiry said. She fidgeted.

Ennen continued to stare at her.

“Is this room special?” Eiry asked, gesturing toward the only glass she had seen in the entire castle.

“This room is mine,” Ennen said.

“You live here?”

“I do not.”

“How is it yours?”

“The Lich declared it mine unto perpetuity whenever I wished to visit,” Ennen explained. “It was he that created the glass that passes only moonlight and keeps out Aiz. Even though I came late to him, his welcome of me into his home was equal to that which he gave the Firsts.”

“That was nice of him,” Eiry said.

Ennen stared at Eiry expectantly for a while, then shook her head.

“Never mind; the Firsts aren’t your problem. What do you need?” the vampire asked, still not moving from her kneeling position.

What? What problem? What did I miss? “I would like information.”

The Seren quirked her head sideways and back. “I can’t tell you much for safety reasons, by my goddess’s command.”

“Yes, I’ve been hearing that line from Wrive First all day, but I thought that maybe with the Lich dying I might be entitled to some answers.”

“What, you thought that his true death was the end of things?” the Seren said curiously. “It was only the beginning. A spectacular beginning, to be sure, but a beginning nonetheless. The Lich sacrificed himself to free the god Eleson, and this goes far beyond Eleson, Holy Mother.”

Eiry pointed a finger at Ennen. “Why do you vampires call me that?”

“Call you what, Your Holiness?” she said through a big, pointy smile.

Eiry crossed her arms.

“All right.” The vampire continued her smile, but Eiry saw that it changed in a subtle, indecipherable way. “It’s your scent.”

Eiry’s eyebrows shot into her hairline. “Pardon?”

“The smell of the blood under your skin. It is…” the vampire hooded her eyes, stuck her tongue between her teeth, and breathed in through her nose and mouth, “divine.”

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“I have been spending a lot of time with Seren recently,” Eiry said uncertainly.

“No, no, your blood is nothing like a Seren’s,” Ennen said. “A god’s blessing on a Seren makes her no more divine than a wool cloak on a woman makes her a sheep.”

“Then how?”

“A mother shares her blood and essence with her child as her womb forms it, but toward the end of a woman’s term the child’s body grows into its own enough to give some of its blood and essence back to its mother, reforming her in turn. Thus, through blood, does past connect with future, and future connect with past.” The Seren shivered, staring at Eiry’s neck, and finished in a whispered voice. “And thus do you smell of divinity.”

My children. Why does everything always come back to my children? Eiry noticed that the vampire’s jaw trembled. “Does the smell of my blood tempt you, Ennen Darkjoy?”

“Like no scent I’ve ever encountered,” Ennen answered honestly.

“And yet you won’t attempt to drink it?”

Ennen reached both her hands out to caress Eiry’s exposed neck with the backs of her fingernails. “If I were a lesser person, I would.” She slowly retracted her hands. “But that’s what distinguishes us from the soulless rabble that accosted you upon your arrival on my shore: we know what is right and wrong, and we choose to do right. In this case, your blood is a want, not a need, and there are restricting circumstances that keep me from fulfilling my want.”

Eiry felt strange thinking of herself sitting in front of a vampire like a steak might sit on a plate. She continued to look at the woman in front of her, red hair framing whitened skin, angular jaws and cheeks accented by taut muscles and tendons, and felt that she was continuing to misjudge.

“Of course, I could not always say so,” Ennen admitted jerkily.

“How so?”

“There is not a vampire in existence that has never fed,” she answered.

“We must, for the first few years, until we come into our power.”

“What do you mean?”

“Vampires are too weak to live off of our own power during our early years. We are forced to steal sustenance from others until our powers reach critical mass and are self-sustaining.”

“And then you don’t have to kill anymore?” Eiry asked, surprised. I’d never heard of that. I thought once a vampire, always a vampire.”

Ennen vacillated. “There is not an absolute need, no,” she said, “but most do hunt at least some. We can live for years without our bloodwish 264

becoming so strong we cannot ignore it, but it still does crop up.

“The Lich’s vampires had it good, though. They didn’t have to go out hunting if they didn’t want to. Every century, the Lich used to open up a vein for his vampires. All they needed was one drop of his – his – whatever substituted for blood in his corpse, it was so laden with power.”

“Why do you call him a corpse?” Eiry asked. “Isn’t he like you?”

“No, he wasn’t,” Ennen stated flatly. “He never told me how he became the way he was, but he was not a vampire. He did not feed. He had magic from the instant he became undead. There is more than one reason he was called ‘the’ Lich. He was the only one of his kind.”

“Why was he named ‘Lich’ anyway?”

“You would have to ask the Firsts. They named him that.”

A worrisome thought came to Eiry. “What are the rest of these vampires going to do for sustenance now that the Lich is gone?” Eiry remembered Ennen Darkjoy’s description of her blood: You smell of divinity.

Ennen shook her fiery hair. “Tortryst had thought that Eleson was going to take care of that, but he hasn’t; maybe since he isn’t completely free he can’t help them that much yet. For now, I don’t know. But, come, you did not interrupt my prayers to talk of vampiric physiology.” The South Seren unfolded and refolded her legs underneath herself to form a more congenial position. “What troubles you?”

Eiry had a multitude of questions that she knew would not be answered.

Instead of asking them and getting frustrated, she went on to other questions.

“You can see all over this continent, yes?”

“Yes.” “Can you verify what the conclave told me about my children?”

“Not the five on Torberepar; they’re beyond my power as the Seren of Tortryst. But the one skirting the Arbilorn Forest is fine.”

“One has already landed on your continent?” asked Eiry in surprise.

“He came in the Alaris’s party.” The Seren pursed her lips and shook her head as she sightlessly looked east. “He’s in bad shape. No, not the child,” she modified her statement at Eiry’s panicked look, “Alaris. He’s in more pain than his usual. He’s not limping physically, but…”

“What happened to him? Were they attacked?”

“No idea. Whatever it was happened before they sailed, on another continent – Torunmem, I think; their boots shed Torunmem soil as they walk – and the North and East Seren have not been willing to chat with me of late.

Which reminds me,” Ennen said in a slightly louder voice, “When did you meet with TorVenn’s Seren?”

“TorVenn!” Eiry exclaimed. “I’ve never been there!”

265

“Irregardless, you have a potpourri about you that originates from my western compatriot,” Ennen said. “The smells of dragons and TorVenn’s flowers do not randomly adorn anyone.”

Eiry shrugged in bafflement. Dragons?

Ennen scowled. “Please pardon the necessity, but I need to search your memory.”

“Hey!” “He hid your memory of him,” Ennen said. “He may have hidden something else.”

“So?” “I am Tortryst’s Seren, Eiry. I’m pretty easygoing, but one of the other continental Seren has impinged upon the sovereignty of my goddess. It is my duty to find out how and why.”

Ennen took Eiry by the back of the neck and head with her right hand, much like a man might guide a woman’s head into a kiss. For a startling moment, Eiry thought that Ennen was actually going to kiss her, but she ended up pressing her Seren medallion in her forehead to Eiry’s own forehead. She kept her eyes open and stared into Eiry’s eyes.

It was over quickly. Ennen released Eiry’s neck and eyes. “Oh.” “Well?”

“I will allow it,” Ennen said. “He left a message with you for Alaris, that’s all.”

Left a message? What does that mean? “Talking about Alaris, when will we meet up with him and my child?”

“When they reach their destination, there’s something that has to happen, then we will meet them. And I will be able to answer you better.”

“Can we not go to them now?”

Ennen shook her head.“Now is a time of great upheaval on Tortryst. I don’t know the why of most of it, but it’s connected to upcoming events.”

“What’s going on?”

The Seren turned her head to the southwest. “A dwarven army has mustered for the first time in I can’t remember how long. Soon they will be marching east toward the Arbilorn Forest – I can feel their upcoming path already solidifying the present from their future footsteps.”

“The future can affect the past?” Eiry asked. “I’m no expert, but isn’t that sort of against Tempore’s rules?”

Ennen spread her hands. “Search me,” she said. “I know that Dwarfhome is the single most stable area in the world because so many dwarves live there full-time.” Ennen pursed her lips slightly. “The dwarves’ rousing would make me happy if I didn’t know the Arbilorn monarchy’s hold 266

on the Forest was so tenuous.”

“Why is that?” Eiry asked.

“That’s not for you to know,” Ennen said. “But considering the Arbilorn hold the High Queenship, if they destabilize, that means the rest of the elves – and likely the Fair Folk as a whole – will fall apart, too. Maybe if I still had the Wisps around to get everyone talking to each other I might avert the worst of what’s coming, but…Like I said: upheaval.”

“How long will it take for things to calm down?”

Ennen smiled. “We can’t wait quite that long. All the same, we don’t want to be wading through the thick of things for longer than we have to.”

“How will I know when the time comes to move?”

“We’ll know.” Ennen looked southeast out the glass that was darkening from exposure to the sun. “Everyone in the world will know.”

It’s so quiet around here, Eiry thought. Vampires may be able to talk mind to mind, but can’t they move or something?

She sat in a great hall surrounded by motionless vampires. They were physically grouped, but Eiry could not be sure that their conversations had remained in those groups. For all she knew, they could be telepathically speaking with vampires outside the room, and had been too lazy to move their bodies together.

Her one comfort was that Wrive First had begun to soften the appearance of the castle. No longer were all the corridors and rooms completely lightless.

Eiry was able to walk from place to place now without having to rely on a vampire carrying her.

Wrenching Eiry back to the present, a vampire screamed and pointed at the ceiling of the great hall in which they happened to reside. Suddenly, a great number of the group were gibbering or trying to hide.

“What? What’s wrong?” yelled Eiry, turning around after seeing nothing on the ceiling to cause alarm.

At almost the exact same time, every vampire in the room was thrown in the same direction approximately the length of a body. Eiry felt something too, but was less affected by the invisible force.

Almost every one of them headed for the exits to the room. Eiry grabbed one and got him to take her outside with him.

When she reached the fresh night air, she could not help but to stare about herself in awe. It was as if the world had been tilted, and the trees leaned northwest. The black oaks were wilted or burst asunder. Around her, the undead host was moaning and huddling together in clumps.

On the far edge of the valley, Eiry saw Sydron and Scruting taking this 267

chance to leave the Lich’s castle. She wished them well.

A vampire came to stand directly before Eiry, obstructing her view. She looked up at him curiously. “You look familiar. Are you one of the Firsts?” she asked.

He took her elbow and walked her away from the rest of the vampire host as he talked. “Some consider me to be the Last of the Firsts, others consider me the First of the Seconds.”

Eiry snapped her fingers. “Salis Second!” She paused and looked around.

“Where are we going?”

“Not far,” he said. “Out of earshot. We have all suffered a painful experience, so no one will be able to eavesdrop telepathically, even if they have a mind to.”

Eiry’s palms started to moisten at the statement. So there ARE factions amongst these vampires. Oh, gods, what have I gotten myself into?

“I have only a few points to make,” Salis said as they continued to walk far out of what Eiry would think to be normal hearing range.

“First off, you have been told that you are completely safe amongst us vampires. To be sure that you do not remain among us under false pretenses, I must tell you that that was a black truth. None of us hold malice toward you, but you are a threat to us, which makes many of us defensive around you.”

“But—” “I do not say you are our enemy,” Salis interrupted. “But you are a force that in our future will raise us up or destroy us. In this way, you are seen as threatening by some of our number. So, in order to see you through the upcoming days alive and well, I ask that you not bandy your trust about.”

“Who would you suggest I trust?” Eiry asked.

“You can trust Ennen Darkjoy; she is not truly one of us. You can trust Michel, the youngest and weakest of us; he has been with us too short a time to have been indoctrinated one way or another, though Wrive and I are at our usual tug-of-war over a new recruit. Other than those two, be cautious. And whatever you do, do not trust any of the Firsts.”

“You said that some consider you a First,” Eiry said. “Am I to not trust you?”

Salis paused. “I would appreciate it if you would not, Holy Mother.”

Eiry chilled. Her court upbringing had taught her how to navigate treacherous political waters, but this was rapidly getting beyond her skill.

“You must not make any decision, any promise, any binding charter with us. We are directly connected to a deity, as are you – no, I cannot tell you how – but if you make such a pact, it will not only be between you and that vampire, but between your god and ours. I dearly wish for our gods to be united in 268

purpose, but uniting via ignorance is not justice for either of them. Those vampires under my guidance will make no such overtures to you, but there are those who refuse my, or any other’s, guidance.

“The third and final point I must make is more of a message. I will need you to tell Alaris that he will find dangers amongst us vampires, but he has supporters as well. This is a one-sided pledge, Eiry; you need not make any concessions.”

Eiry frowned. “You said you were the last of the Firsts, or a Second.

With what authority do you make such a pledge?”

“My position is too complicated to explain in this brief interlude,” Salis said. “Speaking in human terms, if Wrive were our people’s king, I would be our ecclesiast.”

“Their what?”

Salis made a gesture that Eiry had never seen before, but she instantly labeled it as ‘helpless.’ “I cannot name myself priest or Seren; only a deity has such sanction. I am not a minister for I do not.”

“So you’re a sort of clergyman?” Eiry asked. “For all of vampire kind?”

“That massive oversimplification must do,” Salis said.

So that’s it, Eiry thought. This is a war between temple and palace. And I’m caught right in the middle.

“Please don’t think that,” Salis said.

Eiry winced. She had forgotten how easily vampires read minds.

“I didn’t read your mind, Eiry. You thought aloud.”

“I did not!” Eiry protested.

“You projected the thought outward with your mind; I did not have to go into your mind to get it. And Eleson forbid that you think that near one of the Firsts; you might actually spark such a war!”

“Isn’t it already—” “This is a struggle of ideologies at the moment,” Salis said. “It will not come to a physical altercation unless it is provoked, and I am doing my best to keep that from happening. If it comes to an actual battle, most of our people will not survive.”

“But there’s only sixteen Firsts, right? And there are hundreds of you!”

“Even if none of the younger of my people sided with the Firsts, and some do, the Firsts are the eldest and most powerful of us all,” Salis said.

“They are all older than was the Lich. If they had ever combined against him, the Lich would not have been able to stand against them, or so the Seconds believe. Calm down! You project your fears all the worse!”

Salis hissed angrily in what would from a human mouth sound like a sigh.

“We have little time left. You were a queen in your lands, so you know how to 269

bury your emotions, yes?” Salis asked. “Good. Do so now. No, deeper. That will do. Now do the same with the thoughts I have given you. Deeper.

Deeper!

“Eiry, I cannot impress upon you the gravity of your thoughts. All I ask you to do is stop projecting them. The Firsts will not dig in your mind unless you give them reason to, so do not give them reason! Think of something else.

Think of your children. Good. Yes, that is better.”

Salis looked at the night sky, and Eiry followed suit. The slightest hint of blue was beginning to tinge the stars’ background, making them begin to fade away. The vampire blinked quickly and cast his watering eyes down to the ground.

“We must be getting back. The Firsts will already grill me on what I said to you, if they notice I have taken you aside.”

“Will they be able to dig it out of you as they can me?”

“No. They are more powerful by far, but my spirit is superior.

Remember, Eiry, do not think in depth about our conversation until you next see Alaris.”

Salis wandered through the milling vampire population, leaving Eiry to fend for herself for the time being. Only the breaking of daylight held enough threat to force the vampires back into the castle. They were unwilling to say anything to anyone until the sun had set the next night, and even then, they spoke but sparsely.

The vampire’s general assembly was called again, by written request that was passed from hand to hand. Eiry was brought by a First, as was the artificer, Mosara. They stood together.

Wrive First, again standing in the center of the room, was joined by Ennen Darkjoy.

“First order of business,” he said, wincing along with every other undead in the room at the necessary speech. “South Seren?”

Apparently, being a servant of the goddess of the continent had not shielded Ennen Darkjoy, for she was wincing along with the rest of the group.

But her opening statement would remain with Eiry a long time.

“Judging by the strength and degradation of the… anomaly, its epicenter was just outside Pentagram.”

Completion of Beginning: Second Book of the Laurian Pentology

270

Glossary Abbey – Home of the Abbesses. Founded in an abandoned fortress on a lake island in Seighn, the Abbey remains the largest all-female dwelling in the world.

Despite its geographical location inside the borders of Seighn, it is considered supranational. The Abbey does not have “guilds” in other countries, but it does have “embassies.” These embassies are always staffed by Abbesses and Enforcers trained at the Abbey.

Aerie(s) – Traditional home of Avilorn elves. Commonly found near mountain peaks, esp. in Angyest.

Apex (of Pinnacle) – Cardinal leader of Pinnacle and all mages therein. While not a ruler per se, the Apex holds some judicial power in addition to his/her vast magical prowess. Traditionally, the Apex has divine knowledge about the tower, and uses these secrets to assist their followers; those that do not come by this knowledge are seen as unfit for the position, and are quickly deposed for the greater good. In addition to the tower of Pinnacle, the Apex is the nominal head of the worldwide mage guildhalls.

Arbilorn – Forest-dwelling elves, native to Tortryst. Lightly browned skin, fullest body type of all elven races. Middle ground for the Fair Folk and humankind; can interact easily with both.

Archmage – High Mage whose power/talent is generally acclaimed by the Pedagogues of more than one School of Magic to be masters of that School’s magic philosophy and techniques. Commonly, new archmages continue on to master a Dominion or assume a Pedagogy/Auxiliary position in one of those Schools of Magic.

Avilorn – Sky-dwelling elves, native to Torberepar. Tallest, thinnest elven race with light gray complexion. Hostile at lower elevations, but temperamental even when in their homes. Live atop mountains in Aeries to be close to the sky; currently reside on Tortryst.

Banished Gods, The – Deities who wanted to take the world in a different direction from what it was originally intended. Lost their battle with other gods; lost world influence.

Banishment, Battle of – (see Banished Gods, The) Bar – Formastian currency. Width of six coins; when seen from the side, it looks like one of the five types of Formastian coins. Monetary unit worth one hundred times the coin off which it is based. Ex: one-bar is worth one hundred units, three-bar is worth three hundred units.

Caste, The – Distilling their name from “The Outcast,” these people have come together out of a common need for companionship when they have been rejected by their own societies. Once they become a part of the society of the Caste, they never reintegrate.

Coin – Formastian currency. Base of all worldwide monetary exchange, excluding barter. Number of sides of coin denotes worth. Ex: round coin is worth one unit, triangular coin is worth three units, pentagonal coin (highest denomination) is worth five.

Combat Mage – Only royally accepted magic-using persons in the kingdom of Sur; part of Surian army. Rely on brute strength and strength-enhancing drugs to make their magic effective. Drugs often adversely affect personality, giving rise to the local Surian phrase “mage mad,” used in describing someone who is acting odd or taking foolish risks.

Dominion – Mage-ruled plot of land found mainly in the countryside of the kingdom of Nir. Dominion Masters gain various powers over their lands and those on it, including but not limited to (ex): forced expulsion of trespassers, modification of temperature/weather, increased/decreased growth rate of plants/animals.

Dominion Master – (see Dominion, see also Archmage)

Dwarf – Stocky, stolid race of the Fair Folk. Originally four races on four different continents, interbreeding combined with a shorter life span than elves has created one race. Most artistic and yet most utilitarian and diligent race of all the Fair Folk.

Dwarfhome – Literally, home of the dwarves. The major dwelling of all dwarves in the world, found in southwest Tortryst. Originally the kingdom of the dwarves of the southern continent, it became known as Dwarfhome when the other three races of dwarves abandoned their own kingdoms to congregate on Tortryst.

Elemental – Metaphysical caretakers of the physical natural environment of the world. Not physical themselves, but take on the element to which they are linked to affect it. Both greater and lesser elementals are known to exist.

Estuary – Current residence of the Resilorn, located between the eastern and northern peninsulas of Tortryst. While the Resilorn are freshwater elves and their totems are likewise freshwater, the Resilorn are unable to purify the entire body of water, and constantly fight rising salinity. The levels of purity in the water are graduated in Estuary to make sure the most delicate flora and fauna have a place to live while the stronger, more adaptable specimens must deal with increasing saline levels.

Faerie – (see Fair Folk, The) Fair Folk, The – Elves, dwarves, brownies, sprites, and wisps (and, some would argue, dragons). Originally the most populous peoples of the world, multiply blessed by the gods. After the Battle of Banishment they were lessened, and one by one most races fled to the southern continent to partake of the shelter that the goddess Tortryst offered.

Familiar – Spell cast on a creature by a mage, enabling the mage to control the creature’s body, and sense through the creature’s senses. Loosely based on the idea of the elven totem, but is a one-way relationship.

Forest, The Arbilorn – Home of the Arbilorn elven nation. The Arbilorn have formed a symbiotic relationship with their home, nurturing and being nurtured by it – planting trees in which they will later live, feeding their totems and being energized by them, et cetera.

Grotto, The – Current residence of the Osilorn elves, found in southeast Tortryst. Smaller, lesser version of their original home (Cave) on Torunmem.

High King/High Queen – Ruler of the Fair Folk, overseer of all the monarchs of the Fair. Always chosen because he/she is the ruler of one of the strongest of the races of the Fair. Ever after the Fair moved to Tortryst, has been one of the elven monarchs, most commonly the Arbilorn monarch.

High Mage – Magic-using individual that has made a personal magical staff. As most magic-using individuals become high mages within a year of becoming mages, the title “high mage” has fallen into disuse in favor of the truncated “mage.”

Journeyman – 1. Member of a guild who has graduated from their apprenticeship with sufficient skill to be considered a full-fledged craftsman but not yet a master craftsman. 2. Mage or High Mage who is not contractually attached to any School of Magic.

Ingot – Formastian currency. Width of three stacked coins; when seen from the side, looks like one of the five types of Formastian coins. Monetary unit worth ten times the coin off which it is based. Ex: one-ingot is worth ten units, threeingot is worth thirty units.

Lich, The – Premier of, though not a member of, a group of vampires on the northern peninsula of Tortryst.

Life Seed – Plant seed in an adult elven body. Surrounded by a packet of magic that both soaks the seed in the elf’s entire life experience and keeps it from germinating. When the elf dies, the seed sprouts into its plant type, but also holds a residuum of the elf’s life, soul, and experiences for future elven generations to soak in and revere.

Mage – Person who is trained to manipulate the metaphysical realm to produce alterations in the physical realm. The title “mage” is granted to any Pinnacle apprentice upon the completion of their wand.

Mage, Combat – (see Combat Mage)

Magesand – A grain of sand to which has been grafted potential metaphysical properties. Different colors and origins can alter the effect and make of magesand. Magesand can be used to (ex): bolster the effects of a spell, power a magical artifact, etc.

Metaphysical – This realm is the medium through which interaction is made between the gods’ homes (meta realm) and the world (physical realm). Mages and magical creatures can also access the metaphysical realm and can even access the physical realm through the metaphysical realm in imitation of the gods, but they cannot access the meta realm.

Osilorn – Cave-dwelling elves, native to Torunmem. Dark-skinned, sharp-eyed, and delicate body type. Quietest, most reclusive of all elven races. Reside on Tortryst, in The Grotto.

Pentagram – The lands of an ancient nation of mages on Tortryst. These lands are now completely uninhabitable, down to the microscopic level.

Pinnacle – Current center of magical research, commerce, and life. Wide tower in the direct middle of the kingdom of Sur, surrounded by a bank of clouds that kill all entering life forms; secret to gaining entry is known only to mages. Mages gain their training here, ascending the rank structure: trainee, student, apprentice, mage, high mage, archmage. Commonly, when a mage graduates from apprenticeship or upon making a staff, s/he is offered the chance to become a Peer in one of the six Schools of Magic by one of that School’s Auxiliaries. The mage will commonly specialize in this field of thought/magic for the rest of their life; some expand their studies to other Schools to become archmages. (see also School of Magic) Prive – Any of a group of elves whose bonded mate was made a vampire. Feeling this change through their bond (and being altered by it themselves), these elves remove their Life Seed, abandon their lives amongst their peoples, and go to the Speculation to hunt vampires until death in the hope of freeing their bonded mate’s soul from its vampiric body.

Prophetess, The – Isolationist mystic and sometime-caretaker of the nation of Mer, this woman or genealogical line of women lives in the center of the Lake of Mer, the world’s only remaining freshwater sea. Petitioners from all over the world come to ask her questions concerning their futures, in the hopes that she

will employ her otherworldly vision on their behalf. Petitioners give a tribute they consider “befitting their answer’s worth” at The Prophetess’s Shrine in Likton at the northeast corner of the lake, and then wait in the town for their answer. Some people have their answer delivered by one of The Prophetess’s child servants the very same day, while others have abided until they died without ever being answered – whether because of an unfitting tribute or being forgotten or pointedly ignored, no one ever knows.

Realm – (see Metaphysical) Relocators – 1. A guild that “relocates” children from one place to another, for a price. 2. Any members of said guild. Relocators offer money to parents that they know will accept the terms of parting with their child, but when negotiations fail and there is no other readily available choice, Relocators have been known to kidnap a child with the exact looks they need to fulfill a particular contract.

Reserve – Home of the Brotherhood of Monks. Located in the mountains of the Brelia/Lej border, its solitude allows its brotherhood to research and experiment with the gods’ fundamental rules that bind the world together.

Reservoir – Original home of the Resilorn. Natural freshwater lake on TorVenn that was later augmented to become a freshwater sea abutting and overlapping the major human land dwelling of the continent.

Resilorn – Lake-dwelling elves, native to TorVenn. Skin is pearly when seen underwater, but discolors to a pasty bruise-like shade when in the air. Aloof, haughty elven race that bears hatred even for their own elven kin for the loss of their home and therefore their status/power. Currently reside in Estuary, in between the northern and eastern peninsulas of Tortryst.

School of Magic – Six differing approaches to higher magic in Pinnacle – namely, the Schools of: The Seen (also called The Physical), The Unseen (also called Metaphysics), The Miniscule, Illusion, Dynamism, and Divination. Schools are named for their specialization in a particular type of magic. Each school has its own Lodge in Pinnacle, its own set of rules, tithes, assets, magical specialties, and governing bodies. From lowest to highest, the School ranks are: Peer (common member – mage or above; no apprentices), Senior Peer (charged with supervising Peers), Auxiliary/Pedagogue (administrators and project directors,

respectively), and Primary (head of the School). School Primaries themselves are subordinate to the Apex. (see also Pinnacle) Seren – 1. Those individuals, usually human, who are chosen by the gods to carry out their will in the world. 2. Any group of Seren working on the completion of a mission together. 3. The color of the medallion a Seren is given to signify their servitude and focus their powers. Each Seren is imbued with part of that deity’s personality and certain powers related to his/her deity; these powers often reside in the ubiquitous medallion that all Seren wear. Considered a lesser choice of servant, Seren only became the common form of divine intervention after the sinking of TorVenn.

Society, The – Only one Member of this group of people has existed at a time in this world, though a second person was once offered Membership and refused.

How a single person represents an entire society is one of the Society’s greatest secrets.

Speculation, The – Lands in the middle of Tortryst that are controlled by no single sentient race. All the Fair Folk travel through it to visit each other’s lands, but always do so in well-armed parties. Vampires are known to commonly hunt in the Speculation, but there also persist stories of giant animals, sentient trees, soul-sucking ghosts, and other entities of questionable veracity. No matter which do and do not exist, the Speculation remains a violent and untamed wilderness.

(Sometime nickname: The Spec.)

Tanilorn – Fifth elven race, completely unknown outside their lands except by their patroness deity, the Goddess of the Sun, Aiz. Torberepar – Northern continent. Also the namesake goddess of said continent.

Tortryst – Southern continent. Also the namesake goddess of said continent.

Torunmem – Eastern continent. Also the namesake god of said continent.

TorVenn – Sunken western continent. Also the namesake god of said continent.

Totem – 1. Concept of an elf and a type of creature having so many similar characteristics that they form a merging link with each other, making two-way

communion possible. 2. Also, the society of elves centered around one such type of creature (ex: all elves with a sparrow as a totem form the Sparrow Totem).

University, The – Center of higher learning for the world. Connected to the Temple of Knowledge in City Aeterna.

Pronunciations Alaris – uh-LAH-riss Akyri – uh-KEE-ree Bercune – BEHR-kyoon Byolek – BI-uh-lek Cacaphon – kuh-KAH-fun Claren – KLEHR-enn Deaux – DO Dier – DYER Dlieth – duh-LEETH Eiry – EE-ree Ennen – ENN-unn Eril – EHR-ill Falamoi – FALL-uh-mwoh Ferri – feh-REE (flipped “r”) Helef – HEHL-uff Hinch - HINCH K’Been – kuh-BEEN Koli – koh-LEE Lady Kel – LAY-dee KEHL Lalt – LAHLT Lenale – leh-NALL Lich -- LITCH Lo’are – low’-AH-rei (truncated first syllable, flipped “r”) Mem – MEM Michel – mee-SHEHL (open jaw for “sh”) Mosara – moh-SAH-ruh Paedre – PEH-druh Pander – PAN-drr Salis – SAL-iss Sanct – SAYNGT Sardai – SAHR-die Scruting – SCROO-ting Sydron – SIH-drunn Tiru – TEE-roo (flipped “r”) Tsci-Imili – tsee’-EE-mee-lee (truncated first syllable)

Wrive – RIVE

Biography Danny Birt was born in Washington State to Irish and Californian parents, and since then he has lived in Idaho, California, Arizona, New Mexico, Texas, Louisiana, Florida, Hawaii, and Virginia. He attended New Mexico Military Institute in the small town of Roswell, NM for his high school and junior college years, then pulled a one-eighty and went to a liberal arts college, Loyola University New Orleans, for his next two college degrees in music therapy and psychology.

Danny has published science fiction, fantasy, and professional works in The Raintown Review, Strange Worlds of Lunacy, Vadercast.com, Abandoned Towers, Musica Ficta, and more. His fantasy series “The Laurian Pentology” is currently being published through Ancient Tomes Press.

In addition to literary publication, Danny composes classical and filk music, such as his nonstop hour-long piano solo, “Narcoleptic Pianist,” and the ever-peculiar album “Warped Children’s Songs.”

Danny also works as a Music Therapist and Massage Therapist with clients of multiple ages and populations.

Currently, Danny lives in Winchester, Virginia, and attends Shenandoah University in pursuit of his Music Therapy Master’s degree. In his spare time, Danny's hobby is finding new hobbies.