

CALL OF THE FLAME

### James R. Sanford

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2013 by James R. Sanford

All Rights Reserved

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.

To Todd, for the times we burned.

THE WEST

Table of Contents

PROLOGUE: The Stone

CHAPTER 1: The Madman

CHAPTER 2: Poison and Dreams

CHAPTER 3: The Moment

CHAPTER 4: Dragon's Blood

CHAPTER 5: The Knights of the Pyxidium

CHAPTER 6: The Sundering

CHAPTER 7: The Way of the Flame

CHAPTER 8: A Magic Arrow

CHAPTER 9: Rumors and Resolve

CHAPTER 10: The Dance

CHAPTER 11: Handfuls of Straw

CHAPTER 12: Commitments

CHAPTER 13: Cinnamon upon a Pillow

CHAPTER 14: The Flesh of the Innocent

CHAPTER 15: That Which Lies Beneath

CHAPTER 16: Redemption

CHAPTER 17: Esaiya

# PROLOGUE: The Stone

High Priestess Nistra had the groundskeeper carry the boy to his room. There was no sense in waking any of the sisters. It would only throw the whole convent into a tither if any of them knew. The very idea — a servant boy handling the sacred dreamstone. She also told the groundskeeper to trim the tree next to the temple, for that was certainly how the boy had got in. But first she had to return the stone to the altar, and quickly. The eastern stars had begun to fade with the first light of morning.

She couldn't simply pick it up with her hands. She hurried to the wardrobe at the back of the temple. The capes worn by the sisters of the chorus were made of cloth of gold, and she tied one around her waist like an apron. She sang the rune of purity ever so softly as she knelt before the stone and gently rolled it into the cloth. No need to ask the Powers for humility, she thought — at that moment she couldn't feel more humble.

She carried it to the altar in her makeshift apron, so that she would not have to hold it, much like she had carried fruit from the orchard when she was a novice. She took slow, careful steps, as if she walked on ice. To get the stone into its place, she would have to touch it, if only for the slightest moment. There was no way around it.

She reached for it. It felt rough and sharp. And in that moment the waking dream was thrust upon her, and she was in the presence of the Unknowable.

She stood on a cliff above a stormy sea, the eldest firebird above her, its wings spread wide to hold itself still on the raging wind.

Its silent whisper sounded in her inner ear. _We accept the one who is offered_.

Nistra fell to her knees. It had never been like this before. Never so strong as this.

"We made no offer," she said, feeling that her voice was lost in the wind. "He's a boy. It was an accident."

_Yet he has been accepted. It is the will of the Powers_.

"I understand. Would you have me teach him of the weird, of the Way of Runes?"

_No. There is another Way that awaits him. In matters of the spirit, let him be empty. He will come to us again in his own time_.

# CHAPTER 1: The Madman

Kyric awoke with a start. His campfire still burned low, and he knew that he hadn't been asleep long. He had been having one of _those_ dreams, but he couldn't remember it. The forest stood silent, moonlight filtering through the canopy of leaves. Had he heard something? Throwing a handful of kindling onto the coals, he fanned the fire to life, but it wasn't enough light to see past the nearest tree.

The highroad had been crowded that day, the wealthy families in private carriages, a few covered wagons, most everyone else afoot, the overland coaches not running at all in this last week before summer, and no post horses available anywhere. They were all going south for the games, and little comraderies formed with but a few friendly words — safety in numbers with all the pickpockets and thieves coming out for the Games of Aeva. Kyric had walked and talked a short way with some of his fellow travelers, but he had nothing in common with them, not even the local boys his own age. Of course not — how could he? He had wanted to join in their gossip and jests, but he didn't know how. They would sooner or later see that he was strange and stop speaking to him.

Kyric had camped alone, far from the road, and now he wished he hadn't done so. Silence lurked expectantly in the shadows, and the slow night breeze felt eerie, like the breath of some unseen creature.

It was only a fox or an owl, he said to himself, tossing a few more sticks onto the fire. Then he saw that his bow was missing. The canvas sleeve he carried it in lay crumpled on the ground next to his knapsack. His quiver of arrows had been knocked over and spilled, but all his other things were still in place.

He leapt to his feet, as if he could strike off into the darkness and run the thief down, even as he realized the futility of it.

Then a voice, "Hello in the camp," and two men dressed for hunting stepped into the circle of light. Neither of them carried a lantern.

Kyric had seen them before. They were gentlemen who served Senator Lekon. The tall fellow — Kyric couldn't remember his name — carried a blunderbuss at the ready. The thin-faced one, Joff they called him, said quietly, "Don't be alarmed, lad, we're tracking a criminal. A madman. Perhaps you've seen someone tonight?"

"Yes," Kyric blurted out, "I mean no, but— "

A soft whirr, then a feathered shaft protruding from the tall man's chest. He looked at it stupidly as he sank to his knees.

Kyric froze in horror, vaguely aware that the arrow, fletched with blue feathers, was one of his own, but Joff sprang aside instantly, drawing a pistol from his sash, cocking and firing it with one fluid motion at a man rushing in from the shadows, a man with a longsword gripped in two hands.

The swordsman's head snapped to the side, as if he had been hit, and he staggered for a step before regaining the flow of his attack. Then Joff had his sabre out, impossibly fast. As they met, blades clashed, the two men moving strangely, delicate steps as in a dance, then Joff lay on the ground, a foot-long gash in his torso spewing blood and breath. He died within moments.

Dragging the two bodies close to the fire, the swordsman looked closely at their wounds. "So your blood was still red," he muttered. He glanced up at Kyric. "They were very good. I thought it likely that they were men of the dragon's blood." He shook his head. "Their master may have held dominion over them, but so many young ones join them willingly now."

He rose and looked Kyric in the eye. With a touch of surprise, Kyric realized that he was broad-shouldered and burly, with thick arms and legs — a body that belied its shocking quickness.

"My deepest apology for using you to snare those two," he said, "but they were skilled enough that I couldn't ambush them with only my sword." He spoke softly, the sort of thing a madman might do after committing a horrible crime.

He fetched Kyric's bow from behind a tree, tossing it to him as he retrieved the tall man's blunderbuss. He quickly checked the flint and the pan.

"Heading to Aeva for the games?" he asked.

_A criminal. A madman_. Kyric nodded, unable to speak. Two men lay dead before him.

"The archery contest?"

He nodded again.

"Good for you. It's almost a lost art these days."

The tall one stared up at him, the eyes fixed with surprise. A dark stain spread across the forest floor as Kyric watched, the stench of blood and bile rising with it. Those who had never seen human slaughter were supposed to be sickened by it, but Kyric felt nothing, just numbness.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. The swordsman was there saying gently, "I am terribly sorry. This is something no one should have to witness."

Kyric stood frozen with terror. Witness. He was a witness to murder and by all rights the criminal should kill him now so that none may tell of his crime. But a madman might not think that way. Who knows what he thought? A madman might even want to befriend him. "It's alright," he managed to say.

The swordsman shook his head. "But it isn't. Other hunters search for me along the highroad, and that pistol shot will bring someone around sooner not later. All of this will not look good for you. It is the moment of the winter dragon. If you want to make it to the games you'll have to come with me." He raised the blunderbuss for emphasis.

Kyric looked into his eyes. Even in the darkness they seemed glazed and faraway. _The moment of the winter dragon_. Yes, certainly the man was mad. Kyric would play along and look for a chance to slip away. That seemed best.

"What do I call you?"

The madman smiled. "Aiyan. My name is Aiyan. Now quickly, gather your things and douse the fire."

When Kyric had done so, Aiyan asked him, "Do you see well in the dark?"

"Well enough."

"Then you take the lead. I'll walk in your footsteps and cover your tracks. Just keep going _that_ way." He pointed to the northwest.

"That will take us through the forest. We should come out somewhere near Liora."

The swordsman nodded. "Beyond Liora there's a path that runs along the coast all the way to the narrows."

Kyric plunged ahead, moving quickly as he could, hoping the madman would simply fall behind and be lost, but the undergrowth slowed him and Aiyan shadowed him easily, matching his stride in a way that made Kyric think he was actually walking in his footsteps.

"How do you do that in the dark?" he whispered over his shoulder.

The answer came after a long silence. "Let's say that it is something you can practice. Many things are possible."

They found a game trail dappled with moonlight and followed it for a while, the chirping of crickets a rhythm for the distant calls of night birds. When it turned away from their path they plunged into a thicket, walking through huge spider webs that sent shivers down Kyric's back. After what seemed like hours, the moon at last set and Kyric could no longer pick his way among the trees.

"We'll rest now," said Aiyan. "Sunrise will come soon enough."

While Kyric rummaged in his knapsack for biscuits, the swordsman knelt down and was still, as if listening, or perhaps making a silent prayer. At length he said to Kyric, "You haven't asked me why I killed those men."

Kyric said nothing.

"I heard what they said to you, but it isn't true."

Whatever the man wanted to talk about, Kyric would let him. "Then I would like to know the truth, Aiyan."

A low chuckle escaped the man's throat. "You're different. Most people don't want to know. And I do not blame them."

The night had at last reached full dark, the insects and creatures of the forest falling silent. Kyric could see nothing before him. He was alone with the blackness and the madman's voice.

"The Long Winter changed everything, of course," said Aiyan. "It made the world into a place where they could flourish — the Aessian kingdoms fragmenting into dozens of squabbling city-states, government becoming nothing more than a contest among the most ruthless of the power-seekers. And _he_ went among them sowing the seed of his black blood.

"But they — to mock us he calls them his knights — they are not immortal as _he_ is. His first spawn are long dead and much of what they did has been corrected by the order."

He made a sound, a sigh of exasperation perhaps. "This is not what I wanted to tell you.

"I killed those two because that is what we do, us and them. Had they caught me unawares I would be the one lying dead. We are warriors, and we are at war. So we kill and we die.

"Their society is a secret one, as is my order. It could not be otherwise in this age of invention and reason, for they use reason as a weapon, decrying us as lunatics should we openly warn any of their powers. Do you know what those two young men were promised? The power to dominate another's will completely, to make anyone their willing slave — they gain this power when they complete their apprenticeship and take the black blood."

He paused, struck by a sudden pain, his breath coming fast and shallow.

"So now I know. Not Senator Lekon, of course — no, they seldom take on the lead role — it was the business partner, the one they call Morae."

He had begun to labor at speaking, his voice tightening.

"Can you remember that name, boy? Take it to Esaiya if I fall, for Morae has poisoned me. Shout it across the narrows and they will hear. And tell them . . . I hid the rudders in the ruins of Karta. Can you do that?"

This is a test, thought Kyric. A test to see if I believe in the fantasy that his madness tells him is real. "I don't know where Esaiya is," he said.

"The castle," said Aiyan, his voice thick now. "Across the narrows . . . the castle."

The world soon sharpened into focus with the first grey light of morning. Aiyan lay unconscious, and Kyric studied him as dawn broke over the woodlands. His attire was bizarre, almost random. He had no hat, and kept his hair back with a simple braid. Beneath a plain leather vest sporting a dozen crudely-repaired rents, he wore a cheap peasant shirt, yet his breeches were simply absurd: huge pantaloons, striped red and yellow, tucked into fine napped forester boots. But what truly frightened Kyric was the man's face. It was smeared with the remains of powder and rouge — heavy makeup hastily wiped away, leaving only black paint around the eyes, an insane clown beneath a human mask.

His breathing didn't sound right. Was he really poisoned as he had said? Kyric went to him and carefully pried the blunderbuss from his grip, surprised at how cold his fingers felt. Then he saw the matted blood just above the man's temple. The ball Joff had fired had indeed grazed him. Nothing mortal. But enough to knock anyone flat out. He had heard of the inhuman strength of madmen.

Kyric wanted to pity him, but couldn't. The night had been a nightmare, and he had seen the man take two lives. He crept away, continuing west toward Liora, the cries of morning birds covering the sound of his footfalls.

When he reached the town, he considered going on his way and telling no one of what passed last night. They would find the man soon enough. But a group of armed horsemen lead by Irren Parfas, the town constable, came trotting down the lane and he hailed them. He told them of the madman.

"Last night we received word from Senator Lekon that the lunatic could be coming this way," Parfas said.

"Can you tell me who he is," asked Kyric, "and what he's done?"

"He's a cousin to Senator Lekon. Been mad all his life. They've always kept him locked-up, but he killed a servant and ran away."

This was not the answer Kyric expected. How could an imprisoned lunatic learn to swordfight like a master?

Parfas made him lead them back to where he had left the madman. The forest looked different in the full daylight. It took an hour to find the clearing again, but when at last they did, and Aiyan still lay there unconscious, Kyric realized that he expected him to be gone.

"It was dark and we walked a long way," Kyric told Constable Parfas. "I don't think I could find the place where the two bodies are."

Parfas nodded grimly. "I understand, lad. No need for that. I'll send a few of the men to look."

Parfas searched the madman's clothing, feeling under his vest and looking in his boots, saying, "He stole a valuable book as well." But all he found was a big silver locket. "Did you see it? Maybe he dropped it on the way."

Kyric shook his head. "I never saw anything like a book."

The constable tried to open the locket, but it held fast. He turned it over and found the other side embossed with the design of a sword suspended in fire. He felt and pressed all over, and even tried to twist it apart, but could find no way to open it.

They carried Aiyan to Liora and put him in the jail, a small stone house with a room for a stove and three cells, two with cage doors for the prisoners and one with a window and a solid oak door for the jailer.

Parfas took Kyric aside. "I can't hold trial for a madman, even one guilty of murder, so I'm going to ride to the Lekon estate and tell the Senator that we have his mad cousin. I'll be back tomorrow morning with someone who can take custody of the man. Could you possibly stay here and keep an eye on the prisoner until then? My regular jailer, along with half the town, has already gone off to Aeva for the games. You look strong enough to handle that fellow should he wake up. Tell you what — I'll have my wife bring you some roasted hens for dinner. I'm sure that Senator Lekon's agent will offer you some sort of reward."

Kyric hadn't thought of that. Only a few kandars lay in his purse; he had been planning to sleep under a hedge in Aeva.

So he agreed. And when Constable Parfas had given him the keys and had ridden away, Kyric found the jailer's cot and fell asleep thinking of roasted hens.

# CHAPTER 2: Poison and Dreams

The hens turned out to be pigeons, but the meal was good and enough for three men. He kept calling to the madman to wake up and eat, but he never stirred, and now Kyric stood at the door to the cell and watched Aiyan where he lay on a straw pallet. He hadn't moved since they brought him in. His breathing was shallow.

The summer sun had set and Kyric took the lantern down from its hook. Don't be an idiot, he told himself as he fumbled with the keys, he might be faking sickness just for the chance to throttle you. The only firearm Parfas had left him was the blunderbuss Aiyan had taken, but Kyric had never fired a gun and wasn't even sure how to cock it properly. Then he remembered that the madman's sword had been placed in a cabinet by the front door.

When he took the sword out and drew it, Kyric saw at once that it was a work of art as well as a weapon. The blade was heavy and forged with strong clean lines, yet inscribed with delicate ancient glyphs and finely polished, catching the lantern light and throwing it back upon itself. The hilt was no more than a simple steel guard and a handle wrapped in leather, as with a sword one would take to battle. Holding it, Kyric felt foolish and unworthy, like the time in his youth when he sneaked into the temple and handled the sacred dreamstone. And look what _that_ had done to him.

He shook his head. It was only a sword. But he returned it to its scabbard and found a piece of firewood that would serve as a cudgel. Entering the cell cautiously, he held it ready, but there was no need. And when he brought the light close to the man's face, he saw dark green veins creeping up the side of his neck from under his collar.

Kyric wiped the remaining make-up away just to be sure of Aiyan's color. He shook him and shouted, but it did no good, so he went to find the town's doctor. Not surprisingly, the doctor was away — gone to the games. After knocking at empty houses until his knuckles hurt, Kyric was at last directed to a shack where an elderly midwife named Galadne lived.

Galadne was short and plump with tangled grey hair and a big nose. She simply nodded at his request, and they walked in silence to the jail, she with a pronounced limp.

"That looks bad," she said when she looked close at Aiyan. "Here, unlace his vest for me."

Once they got his shirt off, she found a festering wound beneath his armpit, but it was only the latest of a collection. His torso lay covered with scars. He had been cut and stabbed and shot over a dozen times, one of the scars running in a deep pinched seam from his navel to his collarbone.

As she examined the wound Kyric said, "He told me that he had been poisoned."

Galadne nodded, prying open one of his eyes and holding the lamp high, "Aye, its poison to be sure. Arccor's Bane by the look of it."

"Arccor is the Baskillian word for bear."

"Some call it Bear's Bane. Grows in Baskillia," she said, searching through her bag of tinctures and ointments, "takes a skilled alchemist to refine it down like this, deadly strong and sticky enough to cling to a sword's point."

"Is there a cure?"

"It can be drawn out fairly easy, but I'm afraid some of it has got into his brains. He has a fever in his head." She looked down at his scars. "But I've a feeling this fellow has a way of pulling through."

"They say he's some sort of lunatic, supposed to be a cousin of Senator Lekon, but I don't know."

She shrugged. "Lunatic he may be, but anyone's apt to rave a little with that kind of fever. Still, if he's wanted by the Senator, the like of you or me best not question it, else we'll end up in this cell with him."

She made a poultice of herbs mixed with a foul-smelling jelly and placed it over the wound. Then she fished in her huge canvas bag, more of a sack really, for a tobacco pipe. Filling it with what looked like dried lichens and crushed insects, she lit it with a taper, puffing it to life and blowing clouds of smoke into Aiyan's ear, all the while humming a weird little tune. The smell was like burning garbage.

"Now," she said, "we have to wait a bit and see if it takes."

Kyric gave her the only chair in the room and sat himself on the floor against the wall, the stones cool in the warmth of the summer night. Galadne took some unfinished embroidery out of her bag and stitched at it absentmindedly.

"Have you ever heard of a place called Esaiya?" he asked her.

"You mean Castle Island? Sure I have, but haven't heard that name for it since I was girl." She nodded toward the man in the cell. "You don't think he's one of _them_ , do you?"

"One of who?"

"Some sort of religious sect, all men. They call themselves knights 'cause they once was an old-time fighting order, but they're scholars now, I hear. Anyway, they all live together like monks in that old castle. You know the one I mean."

He shook his head.

She looked at him more closely. "You weren't born in these parts, were you?"

"No."

"You're from the Highland Lakes."

"My mother always said that I was born in Sevdin."

"Maybe so," she said, never looking at her fingers as she sewed, "but both your parents were from the Highland Lakes, weren't they? That's the only place you see black hair and blue eyes like yours. Sevdin folk are all brown-eyed."

"I don't know. I never knew my father."

They fell silent then, Galadne stitching deftly but lost in thought. Kyric dozed by fits and starts. About midnight Galadne looked at the prisoner's wound. The green veins had visibly receded.

"The poison is drawing out nicely," she said. "I'll fix a fresh poultice before I go home. He should be able to rise and take food by tomorrow evening."

"I forgot," said Kyric as he walked her to the door. "How much do I owe you?"

"Not to worry, I'll get it from the constable. If he wakes in the morning give him water. If he gets worse come and get me." She turned and limped away

Kyric thought about dragging the cot out of the jailer's cell so he would be awakened should the madman stir, but only a minute after Galadne left, Aiyan sat up and locked his estranged eyes upon Kyric, wanting to know how he had come to be in a cell. Kyric told him.

"Yes, of course," Aiyan said, nodding slowly. "I understand. It's my fault. I shouldn't have taken you with me. And I shouldn't have told you all that I did last night — I've just made it worse for both of us." Suddenly he looked down at his own bare chest. "I had a locket, and a sword."

"They're safely put away," Kyric said.

Aiyan slipped into his shirt and vest, peeling away the ridiculous pantaloons to reveal a pair of common breeches underneath. Without the costume, makeup, and sword, he looked rather ordinary. His face was the common sort, the face of a blacksmith or a stone mason, with chestnut hair and a thin, closely-cropped beard and moustache. He wobbled to his feet and faced Kyric through the iron bars.

"I know what you think of me — a criminal and a madman, but you must believe me when I tell you that you are in grave danger."

"So you told me last night."

"But it's far worse now. I was so drugged by the Arccor's Bane I told you where I hid the rudders. If you go now while you can he might not come looking for you, but if Morae finds you here he'll ask you questions. And believe me, before long you will tell him what you know. Then, when he knows where the rudders are hidden, he will kill us both so that no one knows they have them."

"What are rudders?"

"A book of nautical charts and observations. Sea captains use them to find their way across distant oceans. But the one I took from Senator Lekon is very special indeed."

"The constable said that you had stolen a valuable book."

Aiyan almost smiled. "Valuable? That's putting it mildly. What I took is nothing less than the holy quest of the merchant princes: The rudders to the Spice Islands themselves. A book to make empires rise and fall. And a secret so dangerous that these men will commit any murder to protect it."

Kyric watched him closely as he spoke, looking for one of the signs of the liar. It was his mother's legacy, his knowing the signs, for she had skillfully told him every kind of lie that ever was, and by the age of ten nobody could give him the lie. Not that it did him any good. It had only made her final lie all the more painful.

But he didn't see any of them with this man. Still, a deranged fellow would believe he was speaking the truth.

"So you're not really Senator Lekon's cousin?"

"Is that what they told you?" Aiyan said. "Very clever of them really. They can't afford a public hearing. This way they can bundle me off and torture me at their leisure. I can hear it now: 'Our poor mad cousin, he knows not what he does. We must take him home and put him away where he will never harm anyone again.'"

Aiyan seemed calm and reasonable now, nothing like the night before. Kyric didn't know what to think. What if Aiyan was telling the truth and Kyric had got himself involved in a power game of the ruling elite?

"Alright," Kyric said, "tell me what is really happening. Tell me all of it — what are these rudders to you, and who are you working for?"

"I'll tell you as much as I can without compounding your peril."

"I thought it couldn't get any worse than it is now."

Gravely, Aiyan shook his head. "No. It can be worse."

He sat down cross-legged on the floor like a storyteller. "Briefly then," he said. "A few years ago Lekon was an unknown merchant. He's risen swiftly to political power on the wealth of the Baskillian spice trade. This alone is cause for suspicion. The Baskillian Empire requires special licensing before a Western merchant can deal with a spice trader, and Lekon received the first new license issued in over a decade.

"Now his spice galleon comes in a few weeks ago with a record tonnage of cinnamon and instead of going into dry-dock for repairs, they sail her up the coast and careen her on a private beach. They even posted guards to keep gawkers away, but I managed get a close look — her hull was eaten up with shipworm. Do you know what means?"

"No."

"It means they didn't go to Baskillia. They've been sailing in tropical waters — that's the only way to get shipworm. But more disturbing than that, they brought back a new spice, something not known in the West since before the Long Winter."

Aiyan leaned forward expectantly. Clearly this was supposed to mean something.

"Do you see? Lekon was not only given the location of Cinnamon Island, he's discovered one of the _lost_ Spice Islands. He's found a way to cross the line and return."

"The line?"

"The equator," said Aiyan. "The line that divides the world into north and south. The line beyond which ships cannot steer by the stars. The two known Spice Islands lie above the line, but legend has it that seven more lie much farther south, below the line. So I had to know if Lekon was simply an enterprising fellow with a brilliant captain in his service, or if he was being used.

"I contrived to see him by posing as an independent trader. One of my masters arranged a letter of introduction from a captain in the South Sea Trade Company, and I was able to secure an informal meeting at a coffeehouse. I offered the Senator yet another set of sought-after charts — the location of Shark's Bank and the black pearl beds — all for a healthy share of the returns, of course. The day before yesterday we concluded the deal at his estate near the outskirts of Aeva. After examining my charts in his study he locked them in a heavy oak cabinet. There was only one other book of rudders in there, the one I wanted to get a look at.

"Then he placed the opportunity in my lap. He invited me to a party the next night there at the estate, a masquerade ball to celebrate the beginning of the games. I came costumed as Captain Bombasto — you know, from the Commedia."

"I've never seen the Commedia."

Aiyan cocked his head in surprise. "Where were you raised, in a cave?"

"Something like that."

"Well, Bombasto always has a big stuffed belly. I cut a slit into it from inside the jacket and carved out a place for the book. The jacket matched those pantaloons. I was quite an eyesore."

"That's why you were wearing make-up," Kyric said.

"Yes. A mask narrows your field of vision and can slip at the wrong moment."

"Apparently you had a very wrong moment indeed. Did they catch you in the act?"

Yes, but I had already slipped the rudders into my jacket. Morae nicked me as I went over the wall. They pursued on horseback and caught up with me near Karta, so I ducked into the ruins, forcing them to dismount. At one point they were all around me and the only way out was to descend the cliff face behind the agora. Even without the jacket I didn't think I could make it with the rudders, not in the dark, so I stuffed them both behind a stone in a wall. I climbed down, took to the woods, and you know the rest."

"You didn't say who you work for, who your masters are."

"It doesn't matter," Aiyan said. "What matters is that you realize I'm not Senator Lekon's insane cousin, and that you are embroiled in a plot that will surely take your life if you do not get away. Please, take your things and go. Go at once."

"I suppose you want me to free you before I take my leave," said Kyric with just a bit of a sneer.

"Well," Aiyan said, "they might not hunt you down if you let me go, but I don't think you should take the chance."

"But didn't you say they would kill you?"

"Only if I tell them where I hid the rudders. As long as I keep silent they will keep me alive."

Aiyan had told his story in a rational manner. Kyric had seen no signs of the lie, but felt that the man had left out much and talked around something important, something greater. And the crazy things he had babbled in his fever still disturbed Kyric. So he had to find out, for last night he had been sure that he spoke with a madman.

"Just before you passed-out," he said to Aiyan, "you talked about a secret order of warriors and a man with black blood who could dominate the will of others."

Aiyan looked at him sheepishly. And skillfully — just the right mixture of embarrassment and surprise, covering that split-second flicker, the fear of the truth. Kyric saw the lie coming before the man even opened his mouth, and that was what made it so shocking.

"I guess the poison _did_ make me rave like a lunatic. I didn't know what I was saying."

"What of Esaiya and the castle?"

"It's a monastery. I'm acquainted with some of the monks. I don't know why I babbled about that."

Another lie. Kyric stood in exasperation, starting to walk away then turning back to Aiyan.

"I don't know what to make of you anymore. The absurd and unlikely things you say seem to be the truth, more so as the story gets more impossible. You finally say something that makes sense and it appears to be a bald-faced lie. You must be put together backward."

Aiyan looked straight at him, and Kyric saw a new light come into his eyes. He slowly rose to his full height, his burning stare never wavering, and when he spoke, it was with the authority that needs no force or proofs, for to hear it is to know it. The words struck Kyric like rapid blows.

" _Om aei al aim syrav haolis aeic_."

It was a simple phrase in Old Essian. Kyric searched for the translation. "Let the true heart . . . mirror true words?"

"Close enough," said Aiyan. "Where did a country boy like you learn the Elder Tongue?"

"I spent ten years of servitude in a convent. The lone gift I received from the Sisters of the Rune was a classical education. One must be able to recite the Eddur, mustn't one?"

"Did they teach you nothing of the weird?"

"No, why would they?" Kyric said.

Suddenly Aiyan was very still, his eyes glazing over and looking faraway.

"The moment of the night storm has come," he said. "Morae will be here before the dawn and nothing can stop him. We will not live to see first light."

He's having another fit, Kyric thought, turning away. He had almost believed the glib story about the rudders, but now he had no way to tell. Truth and lies were one to a madman.

_What do I really know? This man killed two reputable gentlemen, and nothing else_. And even if Aiyan's madness was the result of the fever and story of the rudders true, the man was still a criminal.

All of this was giving Kyric a headache. He went to the jailer's room, closing the door, throwing himself down on the hard little cot. Aiyan called to him, but he couldn't make out the words. He covered his head with the pillow and let sleep take him.

At first the dream felt so real that Kyric thought he hadn't gone to sleep. He sat up on the cot in the jailer's room, and Mother High Priestess Nistra was there in her full ceremonial robes.

"You should have told Nistra about these dreams you have," she said. Of course it wasn't her. Kyric didn't need to see the catlike eyes to know that it was one of the dream beings. He didn't know what they were, but when they entered one of his dreams it was never pleasant.

"I was a boy," he said, "and a servant besides. And not allowed to be taught the weird."

She looked at him with a cold, inhuman eye.

Suddenly Constable Parfas stood there with a man in medieval armor — black chainmail with a visored helm concealing his face. Parfas smiled at Kyric. "You did say that he's hidden the rudders in the ruins of Karta?"

"That's right," Kyric answered.

Aiyan crouched in his cell, ready to spring, facing the black knight through the bars. The knight leveled a pistol at him and fired, but Aiyan leapt aside the instant before the pan flashed. The ball missed, yet while Aiyan was still in the midst of his leap the knight raised a second pistol and shot him in the head. The room filled with thick smoke.

Then the black knight took Aiyan's sword from Parfas and thrust it all the way through Kyric's chest and left it there. It didn't hurt, but Kyric fell to the floor completely paralyzed.

"Here," said the knight, "open the cell and drag that dead baggage over here. Remember, when we brought him out he broke away and got hold of his sword. I drew and fired, but not before he killed this poor young man. Understand?"

"As you say, Sir Morae," Parfas said. "But isn't leaving the sword stuck in him overdoing it a bit?"

"It seems so now, but when we bring in the witnesses it will be all the more convincing. Trust me, I have done this before."

# CHAPTER 3: The Moment

Kyric opened his eyes in the dark, his face moist, the smell of blood and smoke gone but still with him. A sudden gust of wind shook the willow outside the window, and branches scraped across the shutters like the hand of some monstrous creature clawing to get in. His death was riding in the dark and would be here soon.

_It is the moment of the night storm_.

He stumbled into the main room where he had left the lamp burning. Aiyan came instantly to his feet and saw the panic in Kyric's eyes.

"You _know_ ," he said, taking hold of the iron bars in his excitement. "You've made the leap somehow, and now you know it to be true."

"I know nothing," Kyric said, gathering his bow, quiver, knapsack, and bedroll all together as fast as he could, "except that I'm getting out of here."

"You've caught a glimpse with your true eye. You feel the coming moment, and you are afraid. As you should be."

Kyric didn't look at him. He didn't want to listen to him. He threw his boots on in a flurry and found his hat.

"Before you go," Aiyan said, "I have a request. Leave me my sword and locket that I might stand a chance with him."

But Kyric knew he didn't. Aiyan's sweat-soaked shirt clung to him, and he shook from fever chills. And he was in a cage.

"Can you walk?" Kyric asked him.

"I can run if I have to."

Before he could stop and reason with himself, Kyric fetched the keys and opened the cell, then he stepped back, not believing what he had just done.

"You will regret this," Aiyan said with a feral smile, going straight to the cabinet to get his sword. "But you have my thanks."

Aiyan's locket hung on a long chain, and when he placed it around his neck and threaded it through his vest, the locket rested at waist height.

"What do you keep in that?"

"The essence of the secret fire," Aiyan said simply as he adjusted his sword belt.

"Show me."

"I fear you will see it soon enough."

Aiyan found the blunderbuss, then put out the lamp and cracked the door, listening for a moment. Kyric could barely stand still. Panic churned in his guts, a formless unreasoning terror he had never before felt. Was he the one who was mad? He couldn't say — he just had to get out of this place. Now.

Aiyan laid a hand on his shoulder. "Don't run. It wastes your strength and causes dogs to bark."

Kyric had planned to go a separate way and leave Aiyan to his own fate, but when they stepped outside he found himself too afraid to go alone. The night-veiled world lay haunted by moon shadows and powers he didn't understand.

They followed a cobbled street through a still and silent town. "Now that he thinks I'm in Liora," said Aiyan, "the coastal path no longer seems a good idea. We'll circle back to the highroad."

When they passed the last house and the lane turned to dirt, Aiyan had Kyric walk ahead, and once again he matched Kyric's stride and covered his footprints. They walked a mile in silence, coming to a bridge over a small stream. The toll booth had long fallen in on itself.

"Wait," Aiyan said when they were halfway across. He ushered Kyric to the upstream rail of the bridge. "This won't fool him, but with luck he'll look downstream first. Now over the side. Ease in gently so not to stir the water."

In the shallow water near the right bank they found the streambed sandy and firm, but it deepened as they went and soon the water ran above their knees.

"This is too slow," said Aiyan, suddenly quivering with another bout of chills. "We'll have to go cross-country and try to stay ahead of them."

Leaving the stream behind, they struck out due east, the sky lightening before them. Sunrise found them crossing an olive grove near a village called Mykinae. Kyric had passed through it two days before. Sparrows wheeled in the morning sky, and the olive trees still had a sweet, springtime scent. Soon they reached the highroad.

Already a trickle of wagons and pedestrians ran south towards Aeva, and many travelers who had camped near the road hurriedly packed, finishing their breakfasts as they did, eager to get started while the cool morning still lingered. Aiyan steered a gently-curving course southward, merging at length with the highroad. The cracked and discolored paving stones had been laid in ancient times, and all that remained of the old mileposts were stumps of petrified wood.

"With this kind of traffic it will be impossible to track us" said Aiyan.

"But it's clear that we're going to Aeva," Kyric said. "Maybe we should part company here and you go on alone. I could use a little sleep right now."

"We'll do that shortly, but first we turn north for a ways. There's a bridge this side of Mykinae. They'll be chasing us on horseback and we can't outrun them. My plan is to hide under the bridge. Hopefully they'll follow our tracks here and just keep going, making the same assumption you did. I would let you go ahead alone, but if the constable is with them and sees you— "

"I wouldn't want to have a conversation with this Morae."

"Exactly."

Aiyan led them northward at a quick pace, making sure to stay on the pavement. The oncoming travelers beamed at them with faces bright and flush with morning. The women and girls wore flowers in their hair, and some of those afoot sang or hummed walking songs. A few glum fellows gave them looks for going against the flow. When they came to a stonework bridge spanning a narrow stream, they waited for break in the traffic then ducked underneath.

"You should try to catch that sleep now," Aiyan said. "It may be a little while."

Kyric didn't bother to unroll his blanket. Stretching out in the stale, musty earth beneath the bridge, he fell asleep almost at once.

He awoke with Aiyan shaking him, saying, "They went past without stopping."

They said goodbye to each other, and Kyric went on alone. He made good time and reached the outskirts of Aeva just as the late summer evening faded to twilight. But Aiyan was waiting for him at the gate to the old city and when he spoke Kyric could see that his tongue was black. He raised the blunderbuss and fired.

Kyric bolted upright as he woke, his heart pounding in his chest.

"Whoa, easy," said Aiyan. "Did you have a bad dream?"

"Just another one where I get killed," Kyric said between breaths. "This time by you instead of Morae."

"Is that what happened at the jail? Have you had dreams like this before?"

"From time to time. But not _every_ time I fall asleep. And I've never dreamed of getting killed."

"Do you trust these dreams?"

And Kyric realized for the first time in his life that he did. He had run from a job and got himself in trouble with a responsible official because of a dream. Trouble was putting it mildly — he could be set to hard labor for helping a prisoner escape. The most likely explanation of all this was that Aiyan was a spy for a powerful family, and that his mystic innuendo was art intended to scare Kyric into letting him go. Kyric began to think again that _his_ was the unstable mind, allowing the suggested threat to manifest in his dreams and drive him to doing stupid things. He was sitting under a bridge hiding from what? Then a thought struck him. What kind of spy carries a large medieval sword?

Aiyan suddenly turned his head, listening. Kyric could hear nothing over the traffic on the bridge. Creeping up the embankment, Aiyan lifted his head just enough to peer down the highroad. "It's Morae and about ten others," he said. "They're following our trail across the field."

Kyric scrambled up to where Aiyan watched. A dozen horsemen approached the place where he and Aiyan had met the highroad. One of them dismounted and looked on both sides of the road for more tracks. Another rider, a tall man with a red hat, stood in the stirrups and simply gazed at the sky.

"That is Morae," said Aiyan, then suddenly, "Back under the bridge, quickly now."

They slipped back into hiding, Aiyan falling to his knees, instantly motionless. "Do not move. Do not think," he whispered. "He searches for us in the spirit realm. You must make yourself empty. Send your spirit far away." His eyes were closed. He barely breathed.

And the unreasoning terror Kyric had felt in the jail began to rise. The shadow of the bridge turned to blackness and an icy hand groped for him in the dark, getting closer as it did. And closer, nearly touching him now. He didn't know what to do, so he imagined himself back at the rune convent, practicing archery in the clover field. A long deep breath as he drew the bowstring to his cheek, the emptiness, the lack of self as he prepared to loose the arrow.

Then the hand was gone and Aiyan nodded. "Well done. They're moving on now." He peeked out to make sure. "Yes, riding south now fairly slow."

"What just happened?" Kyric asked.

"I already told you," said Aiyan, dismissing the question with a shake of his head. "We should rest and give them time to get well ahead of us."

"I think I'll stay awake if you don't mind," Kyric said.

"Too bad. Now you have to choose. I had hoped to leave you here sleeping and never see you again."

"That suits me," Kyric said, "but for one issue. My last dream told me that if we parted you would end up killing me."

"Tell me all the details of that dream, and of the one at the jail."

Kyric did so, and when he was done, Aiyan said, "Do all your dreams come to pass?"

"Not always, but many do — usually unimportant things. But once I dreamed that one of the sisters died. She got sick two days later and was dead within a month."

"I do not believe these visions are fated," Aiyan said, "only possibilities."

"And the way I saw him kill you in the cell," Kyric said, looking him straight in the face and almost daring him to lie. "Tell me that it wouldn't have happened that way had I left you there."

Aiyan simply met his stare with a level gaze. "The being with dragon's eyes was an aspect of the Unknowable Forces themselves. One had best listen carefully to what they say. Is it true that you touched the dreamstone in the rune temple?"

"I did more than that. My first year there, when I was eleven, I got into the temple using a tree near one of the high windows. I pretended I was the Hero King, and that the dreamstone was my orb, and I carried it about the temple in my left hand, banishing evil and doing great deeds with my right. In the end I fell asleep on it."

Aiyan let out a low whistle. "You're in a lot of trouble, boy. If I were you I'd turn around and run right back up that road to the rune convent and tell them. I'm sure the Mother Priestess can help you." Almost to himself he added, "I'm surprised they never sensed it."

"It doesn't matter anyway," said Kyric. "Mother Nistra told me never to return."

They sat in silence for a moment, the music of the running stream echoing off the stonework.

"You mean to come with me, don't you?" Aiyan said.

"I have to know the truth of this. Not just rudders and such — I need to know about my dreams, and these weird . . . feelings _._ "

Aiyan gave him a hard look. "After what you've been through I don't see how it could be any clearer. Go speak to yourself in the mirror. The only one stopping you from knowing the truth is you."

He placed a hand on the ground to steady himself. His face beading with sweat, he began to turn pale again. "And there are worse fates than getting killed. I would not see any of them befalling you because of me."

"You'll need some help getting down the road," Kyric said. "The midwife told me that you wouldn't be better for a day or two."

"It should be safe to solicit a ride from someone."

Kyric shrugged. "You'll need someone to watch your back while you sleep."

"Alright," said Aiyan, letting out a great breath. "Until the Karta road then."

He laid down and closed his eyes, using his arm as a pillow, and waited for the poisonous fever to subside. Kyric looked him over once again.

_The Unknowable Forces._ The Sisters of the Rune used the same name for the powers they invoked. No wonder the Runic religion wasn't very popular — who wanted to worship an unknowable deity?

After a short time Aiyan rose to his feet without warning. "Have you any money?" he said.

"I have exactly four kandars."

"Good coins those Kandin ducats. Quickly becoming the standard I hear. Loan me one, would you?"

Kyric reached for his purse as they walked up to the road. Aiyan took the kandar, laid the gun in a clump of grass, and waited until a covered wagon came their way. The first one held a large family, two couples up front with grandparents and children in the back. He let that one go past. The next one was a traveling tinker with two teenage boys.

Aiyan strode right up to them, waving a greeting with an easy, natural smile. "Me and my nephew have sore feet," he said, a slight country drawl slipping into his speech. "Trade you a kandar for a ride to Aeva." He tossed the coin to the tinker, who looked at it before he returned the smile.

"Why sure, my good fellow," he said, coaxing his mule to a halt. His smile thinned a little when Aiyan fetched the blunderbuss, but he was the good natured sort, and he had a silver ducat, so he waved them into the back of the wagon.

The tinker, a man named Ventin who stunk of old leather, asked the usual questions. Aiyan told him they were from Sevdin, and that they had been walking for two weeks. Their trade? Foresters on the estate of a lesser Archon. The archery contest? Oh yes — nephew hits the bull's-eye every time.

The floor boards of the wagon were rough and uneven, so Kyric spread out his bedroll, and Aiyan slept for a while. He looked ahead the whole time, but saw no horsemen searching for them. When Aiyan woke, Kyric took his turn. He lay awake for some time feeling overwhelmed by all that had happened. He felt strangely vulnerable, but more alive than ever before. This time when he slept, he didn't dream.

# CHAPTER 4: Dragon's Blood

A sharp jolt, the wagon hitting a rough patch, and Kyric sat up fully awake. Aiyan wasn't there.

"Your uncle said he had to see someone in Karta," Ventin said over his shoulder, "and that he'd catch up with you in Aeva."

"We're past the Karta road already?" Kyric said, looking out and seeing the sun beginning to sink into the west.

"Passed it half an hour ago."

"My uncle is ill," Kyric said, furiously rolling his bed and gathering his other gear. "He shouldn't be traveling alone." And he vaulted the tail gate, nearly falling in the road, and began a steady jog against the flow of traffic.

"You're not leaving without an explanation," he hissed between clenched teeth. "You and your essence of the secret fire — we'll see about that."

He ran until he could see the road to Karta, a vineyard to his left preventing him from cutting the corner. When he turned off the paved highroad he slowed to a brisk walk. Karta was still five miles away.

He walked straight into the setting sun. Even with only a few horse-drawn carts on the road, the air was hazy with dust, and Kyric couldn't see very far ahead. He walked hard, at times running a short way to help vent his anger, hoping to come across Aiyan lying in the ditch, weak with fever.

The western sky had become a deep blue curtain by the time Kyric could see the town of Karta. He knew that the ruins stood to the south on a small rocky uplift, near this side of the town. Crossing a large pasture, he saw a movement in the fast-falling darkness ahead where a shallow ravine lead upwards into the ruins. He broke into a run, scrambling over the loose stones in the ravine and onto a landscape of crumbling walls and roofless temples. Indistinct shapes covered in overgrowth jammed the alleys between the teetering facades.

He didn't see him anywhere. "Aiyan!" he called.

His voice seemed too loud. Suddenly it felt dangerous to be making noise.

He crept past a row of leaning columns, coming to a courtyard with fallen walls and broken statues. Something scraped on a stone behind him and he turned. A man stood there with a pistol in his hand at full cock. Another man nearby opened the shutters of a lantern.

The one with the pistol, some sort of gentleman cavalier with lace cuffs, knee-high boots and a plume in his hat, looked past Kyric and said, "Hold him."

Kyric tried to run, but two big men appeared on either side of him, grabbing his arms and pinning them behind his back with a painful twist. With their tattoos and earrings and a cutlass at their sides, Kyric thought they must be sailors and the gentleman their captain. The one with the lantern was thin with a drooping moustache and carried a double-barrel pistol in a red sash.

"What are you doing here?" asked the captain with deadly calm.

Kyric could only look at him.

One of the sailors punched him hard in the stomach. He tried to double over but they held him firmly and he couldn't breathe as the pain rang like a bell inside him.

"It will take too long this way," the captain said. "We will use the blood."

The one with the lantern set it down and went to his boss drawing a small knife. He pricked the captain's thumb, smearing a few drops on the tip of the blade. Then he stepped closer and held it up to Kyric, pushing it towards his mouth. In the weak glow of the lantern, the smear of blood looked black.

The captain raised his pistol, carefully sighting at Kyric's stomach. "If you think that blow hurt, wait till you feel a lead ball in there. Lick the blood from the knife or I will shoot you right now, and in the end you will taste it anyway. I do not lie and I will not ask you again."

Even the dim light Kyric could see it was true, that he would do it. He was so afraid he couldn't think. Fear took him then. He licked the blade. It didn't taste like blood, more like an exotic liquor made with sea water, salty and breathtaking.

At once the fear was gone. How silly to have been afraid. The captain meant to help him — no, it was more than that. The kindness of offering his blood was a sharing closer than that of brothers; it was like they had known each other all their lives. The captain would be the older brother he had never had, one who would understand him and care for him deeply. The captain would never leave him to fend for himself. He would teach him, and comfort him, and protect him all of their days together. And Kyric loved him with all his heart.

With a wave from the captain the two sailors released him. "So. What are you doing here?" asked his new brother in the kindly manner he always used.

"I'm looking for Aiyan."

"And who, exactly, is Aiyan?"

"Well," Kyric said, "that's a good question. He doesn't say much about himself. But he did tell me that he stole a book of rudders from Senator Lekon and hid it here in the ruins."

"Wh—" the captain began to say, then without warning he leaped to the side, raising his pistol and twirling in midair to face where Aiyan stood with the shouldered blunderbuss. Aiyan slid to one side even as they fired, both shots sounding as one. The captain was thrown back against a broken obelisk as a handful of bullets ripped into him. He somehow kept his feet, and even had his sabre half drawn when Aiyan sprang forward and cut him down with a flaming sword. Kyric could feel it as his beloved brother died.

He sank to his knees in grief. "No!" he cried. "Please, no!"

The same shock seemed to strike the two big sailors. For a moment they stared in disbelief. But the thin one didn't hesitate, and he pulled the pistol from his sash. It was a wheel-lock, but the dogs were open and he had to push them down. Aiyan was quicker. Alight with a blue-white flame, his sword cut an arc against the night sky and the thin man's pistol fell to the ground along with his severed hands. He opened his mouth to scream, but a sharp thrust silenced him. The two sailors ran.

Kyric began sobbing, harder and harder. His brother was going to share all that he was with him. And now he was gone. Gone.

Aiyan walked over to him. He was furious. His voice shook with rage as he said, "Elistar's holy breath! You took some of his blood."

He struck Kyric across the face with the flat of his flaming blade. It burned like hot iron. Seeing it close now, it flickered unearthly, more like the ghost of a flame. The were-fire went out as he sheathed the sword.

"We have no time for this," Aiyan growled. "A troop of Lekon's cavalry are camped nearby. We have to go. But first . . . " He lifted Kyric up by the shirt collar and dragged him to where the body of the captain lay. He brought the lantern over and held it close.

Black blood, blacker than the night, leaked from the wounds in the captain's body. "Look at this," Aiyan commanded. "See it and remember it." He paused to listen for a moment. "Now we go. Grab the lantern and both of those pistols."

When Kyric didn't move at once, Aiyan did it himself, not forgetting the spanner for the pistol. He placed the lantern in Kyric's hand. "Crack the shutters just enough to see your footing," he said.

"I loved him," Kyric said helplessly.

Aiyan stopped and looked him in the eye. Gently he said, "I know. But soon it will seem like another man's memory."

He took Kyric by the hand and led him deeper into the ruins.

"I had almost come to it when I heard you call," he said very softly. When Kyric didn't answer he said, "I blame myself, not you. I should have known something like this could happen." He shook his head. "We have _ways_ of knowing—" he paused and swallowed an ironic chuckle. "Well, we have ways of reading certain signs if we think to look for them."

They skirted one of the roofless temples, pushing through thick undergrowth, then along a stone path winding among vague upright shapes. The full black of night had come.

At length they found themselves facing a thick intact wall taller than their heads. Aiyan followed the wall to the left for a few minutes then slowed to a stop.

"I think it's one of these," he said, choosing one of the foot-long blocks. Finding a pair of unseen finger holds, he worked the block out slowly. It made a grinding sound. "This knowing of places, it is one of the weird arts that a warrior may learn."

"You mean you could feel where you left it, even in the dark?"

"That's one way to do it," Aiyan said. "But I tried to know the place where I would look for it when I first hid it, in case I was pressed for time when I returned."

He slid the block of stone all the way out and lowered it quickly to the ground, almost dropping it as he suddenly favored his right side.

"What is it?" said Kyric.

"His shot grazed me," Aiyan answered. "If my ribs aren't cracked they're certainly bruised."

He reached in the hole, and Kyric brought the lantern close. It was just as Aiyan had said, an outlandish jacket that matched those crazy pantaloons, a false belly, and a large book with a wooden cover.

Distant voices echoed in the ruins behind them. They could see no pursuit, but the moon had begun to rise.

"Leave the lantern here," Aiyan said. "The moon is near full and will be more than enough. And stay close on my left, for there is a fairly long drop-off to the right."

He struck out across a field of overgrown rubble, heading due south, the rising moon casting long black shadows across the jumbled landscape. Sharp stones jabbed at Kyric through the worn soles of his boots. Past the rubble, a rocky slope led them down and away from the ruins, into a wide pasture sparsely dotted with old oak trees.

Kyric's heart and head were racing. As his love faded for that man, the captain, his anger grew. He would have done anything for him. He would have killed for him, or been his willing slave. Wasn't that what Aiyan had said in his fever? The man's blood had been black, and it had done this to him. And that was the truth of it.

"Your sword," he said to Aiyan. "What was the strange fire that ran along the blade?"

Aiyan was quiet for a moment. "My sword is named Ivestra. It was forged long ago and was first carried by Sir Mecaithen, a founding Knight of the Order of the Flaming Blade, and over the last two centuries it has been carried by many true warriors. Ivestra and I are bonded in the realm of power, for we have each chosen the other. When in my hands and touched by the essence of the secret fire, it becomes a weapon of spirit as well as steel and will hold that flame as I will it."

He looked at Kyric. "You were troubled earlier that I did not tell you enough. Do I now say too much?"

Kyric didn't look up. "I don't know."

They crossed the pasture and cut between two wheat fields, the scent of the farm faint on the light breeze. The moon climbed into the night sky and by the time they reached a rutted east-west road Kyric felt all too visible.

Aiyan knelt at the edge of the road, silent, listening again. Standing, he said, "I don't feel that we are closely pursued." He looked each direction down the road. Nothing moved. "Going west and walking hard all night we could be at the narrows by morning, but if I were Morae I would send the cavalry that way. And besides, I would have to leave you there."

"Don't you want to do that anyway?" Kyric said. "I'm beginning to think that was the best idea, you with the holy quest of the merchant princes tucked under your arm and all."

A thin smile crossed Aiyan's lips. "Too late for that now," he said. "Now you're too vulnerable, and too much of a target. You would be a nice catch for them."

He shook his head. "Two of them. Right under the nose of Esaiya. How bold. Now I know this isn't Morae's own private enterprise. No, this must be part of the Master's plan."

"What can I do?"

"You must stay with me until the taint of the blood fades away. Then you can decide. The west gate of Aeva is only a few miles down this road. I know a safe place to stay where I can learn of the goings-on that the missing rudders have incited. We'll rest for a day, then I can have a boatman take me to Esaiya, and you can go to the archery tournament." His eyes danced with a mischievous light. "Besides, I have a rather long story to tell you. You've certainly earned the right to hear it."

Aiyan set a quick march pace down the road. "I'm going to tell you this story as it was told to me. And if it's a little dramatic, well, that's how I heard it."

# CHAPTER 5: The Knights of the Pyxidium

On the first day of spring, in the year before the Long Winter, on the day the Council of Sages met to contemplate what wisdom they might offer to the kings and stewards of the realm, Sorrin, a master of the Knights of the Pyxidium, an order dedicated to serving the Council, greeted Master Cauldin in the outer garden of the great castle.

"You have returned," said Sorrin, going to him and clasping his arm. "You were gone a long time." Then he saw that Cauldin's eyes remained fixed as black pearls.

"Something has happened," Sorrin said.

"Temma has not returned from his winter sabbatical. They wish to see us in the council chamber."

Sorrin walked alongside his old comrade, Cauldin eclipsing him with his great height and breadth. Long ago they had both learned to walk silently and leave no trace of their passage. Long ago it had become part of their nature.

"They were in the chamber all night," Cauldin said. "I wonder what they do in there. Do they gather around and stare into the Pyxidium with those twinkling eyes of theirs? They say that they cannot see the future, but I think, at times, that is exactly what they do."

Sorrin shook his head. "I believe that they see no more than they've said, that the Pyxidium only allows them to bring the realm of power into clear focus. And that is not the same as seeing what is to come."

Cauldin stopped and looked down at him. "You often forget that they were all powerful magicians at one time. And there is one aspect to them you cannot deny — they tell us very little; they do not share their secrets."

"I'm sure that there are folk who would say the same of you and me. Have you never had a young man ask you how he could become a Knight of the Pyxidium? There is no way to explain it."

Cauldin nodded thoughtfully. "But what is the true nature of the Pyxidium? Elistar wrote that it was the gift of the firebirds, who took it from the sky. The firebirds are hazardous allies, for they embody the Unknowable Forces themselves. What was their purpose in giving it, and what is the true purpose of the Stone?"

A shadow passed over the castle, a low cloud borne on the sea breeze. Sorrin's eyes hardened into a faraway stare, the waking dream coming upon him quickly and unbidden.

"It is happening again," said Cauldin, grasping the sleeve of Sorrin's tunic. "Another vision. Tell me what you are seeing."

Sorrin could only manage a hoarse whisper. "I see the Pyxidium opening. Inside I see a spirit fire, in a pool of dark blood."

Then in an instant the dream vanished. Neither man said another word, and they walked on in silence.

The council chamber lay in the heart of the castle. Sorrin and Cauldin entered the windowless room and bowed to the five sages seated behind the crescent table. Lit only by flickering tapers and the light of the Pyxidium, their faces seemed less aged, and their eyes shone with a quiet vitality.

The frail woman in the middle, the Magus Archeus of the Council, nodded an informal greeting to the two of them. "Master Sorrin, Master Cauldin," she said, "we shall speak plainly. Temma has passed from this world, slain by Aumgraudmal, the lord of the sea dragons."

Sorrin stared at the flawless crystal of the Pyxidium. Resting in the apex of a tapered wave of granite, it blazed as if it contained a tiny sun. "The loss is great for us all," he said.

"Even while he still lived," she continued, "Temma was devoured by this creature. This we know, but the purpose of Aumgraudmal is beyond our sight."

A brazier stood in the center of the room atop a pedestal. Warming his huge hands there for a moment before he spoke, Cauldin said softly, "I could slay this sea dragon, and thus avert whatever evil it intends."

Darting glances met, passed, and met again along the table — inquiring looks, questions asked.

The Magus Archeus, smiling grimly, placed one bony hand in the other. "You, Master Knight, know much of the ways of power. Your outward strength is exceeded only by that of your inner self and I believe you could defeat even this creature. But the Council has no will in this matter."

Then they sat in silence, waiting, looking past the glowing Pyxidium and into the eyes of the two warriors.

"Shall we do nothing?" asked Sorrin.

"It is not your choice, Master Sorrin," said the Magus Archeus. "Nor is it ours."

"I do not understand."

"This is a matter that touches very close to us," she said, "and we are blind to many things."

The man with salt-and-pepper hair, the Magus Secundus, spoke then. "There is something else we know."

Outside the chamber, a strong draft whispered through the ancient passages.

"Lord Cauldin," he said, "your life, and that of this creature are intertwined and knotted. On your path he lies and he you will meet — at the time of his choosing or at the time of yours. But hear this: the designing powers gather close about Aumgraudmal, and as you know, they care not for the will of men or serpents or even the firebirds. We, you, all of us ride the winds of the realm of power, but these winds carry us through mist and shadow."

Aiyan stopped speaking. They had topped a high point in the road and the outskirts of Aeva lay before them, the great city rising beyond. A village of sorts lay strung along the road, and despite the hour, bright lanterns hung at the entryways of the boarding houses, taverns, stables, eateries, and other businesses that served travelers. A few locals passed back and forth across the road. As they came within sight of the west gate, Kyric could see that it was simply a wide archway beneath an ancient tower, the kind that in the distant past held a portcullis. A high stone wall surrounded the west side of Aeva, as this had been the entire city in the days before cannons made such defenses obsolete.

The gate stood bathed in light, tall torches burning all around it. A line of picketed horses stretched to one side and a dozen armed men lounged against the wall. They wore uniforms.

"Those aren't city watchmen," said Aiyan, easing Kyric into the moon shadow cast by a tall house. "That's the livery of Senator Lekon's private battalion."

An officer stood at the archway fending off a storm of moths, stopping anyone who tried to enter the city.

"So much for the back door," Aiyan said. He opened Kyric's knapsack and stuffed the book of rudders down into it.

"It would take us all night to go back north, cross the river, and come in on the east side," he said. "And there's likely soldiers at every bridge. But there is another way, down by the harbor."

Slipping southward between the houses, they left the village, circling east across an onion field, coming to the city wall a good distance from the west gate. They followed the wall and soon Kyric could see the harbor, aflood in moonlight, a hundred ships at anchor on the dark ocean, and a hundred more against the watch fires of the great docks across the bay.

"This story you're telling me," said Kyric, "is it true? Or is a symbolic tale like the Eddur?"

"You think that the Eddur are myth or literature, like these scholars in the collegium," Aiyan said curtly. "Those sisters were teaching you history my friend. Didn't they tell you that?"

"To be honest, they didn't say that it was or wasn't."

Kyric remembered that it was always Mother Nistra herself that taught him the Eddur. And she never asked him for interpretation or meaning like the other sisters did when he studied the classics. She only seemed concerned that he learn every detail and be able to recite them all accurately.

"Are you saying there was really a war of mages nine hundred years ago?"

"Yes."

"And that dragons and firebirds lived in those days?"

Aiyan let out a frustrated breath. "Kyric," he said softly. "There are dragons and firebirds alive this very day." He pointed to the west. "Out there, beyond the Keltassian Sea. The world is not much changed since the end of the Long Winter. It is only mankind that has changed."

A gust of wind passed over them, the land breeze rushing out to sea. "And to answer your question, yes, the story is true."

"What makes you think so?"

"I know someone who was there." Aiyan said as if it were nothing remarkable. The sisters had taught Kyric that the Long Winter ended over two hundred years ago.

"So," said Aiyan, "shall we have a bit more of it?"

The two master knights stood on the battlements above the tiny quay, untouched by the early-morning twilight. Their cloaks snapped in the wind, and clouds gilded in deep violet passed close overhead, rushing out to sea. They looked out over the ocean until the sky behind them blossomed in scarlet.

Sorrin turned. "It will be a turbulent day for you, alone on the sea."

"I shall be running before the wind," said Cauldin, his eyes still fixed on the western horizon. A dozen sleek, single-masted boats dozed at quayside. One lay burdened with barrels of fresh water. "I've always loved the wind. When it blows hard I feel . . . I don't know." He shrugged.

"The mystery?"

"Yes."

They watched a gull bank into the stiff breeze. It hung there motionless.

"What will you do?"

"Seek him, confront him. If he speaks I will listen. If he would devour me I will slay him."

Sorrin examined his friend's granite features. "You have no fear?"

"Of the lords of the sea? Only a fool would not."

"I meant," said Sorrin, "of death."

"Have you not always said that we and our brothers forge bonds that extend beyond death?"

Sorrin nodded. The gull wheeled and let a fierce gust carry it away.

Cauldin held out his hand. "It is time for me to go."

Sorrin took his arm. "May the winds blow fair for you, my brother."

"And for you."

Sorrin watched him go. The boat reached across the little harbor with a triangular blue sail and turned westward. When it was nothing but a blurred speck on the grey ocean, the passing clouds reared up into huge thunderheads and chased the tiny craft beyond the horizon.

Far beyond in a sea cave, in darkness, Aumgraudmal stirred. His black-speckled eyelids cracked open, his diamond eyes soon reflecting the red sunrise as it seeped through the morning fog and into the cavern. The creature listened. The rhythm of the ocean was changing. Waves clapped against bare rock, beating out an irregular cadence, the vibration rising to call faintly at the mouth of the cave.

His forked tongue flicked across misshapen stalactites, and the dragon edged to the mouth of the cavern, paused and tasted the air once again. No scent of man passed with the breeze, but it mattered not — Aumgraudmal knew him to be coming, saw him clearly in the spirit realm as a firefly against the dusk. And he knew the time of the man's coming. The sage's blood told him. The blood of the magus still reverberated with the whisper of the stars.

Corrosive breath escaping from his huge nostrils, the creature let his eyes fall closed. He would have no need of them until the man came. Then he would open them. And the man would look into them. They would glow with the power and mystery and he would be entranced, unable to move, unable to look away.

Then Aumgraudmal would open one of his own veins and force the man to drink the black blood.

"Here we are," said Aiyan as they came to the harbor bay. The end of the city wall butted against a tower that had tumbled into the sea. Aiyan showed Kyric a place on the tower where a wide jagged hole stood at head height.

"Even at low tide you have to go this way."

Grunting softly and leading with his left side, Aiyan hauled himself up into the hole and signaled Kyric to follow. A jumble of loose mossy stones lined the floor of the place, and Kyric's empty stomach turned at the smell of rotting kelp. They climbed a twisted stairway of bricks, then a long jump down into a shallow pool of mud, duck though an arch, and they were inside the city. A garbage-filled alley led them to a cobbled harbor road.

This was the old harbor, now used for smaller vessels. The docks and quays there overflowed with catboats, skiffs, dhows, longboats, and a few small caravels. A crowd milled in the harbor square at the gate to the docks where more soldiers in Lekon's livery blocked the way. They were searching those who wanted to enter.

"It doesn't matter if you only want to sleep on your boat," a red-faced lieutenant was saying to a wiry old man shouldering a duffle, "we still have to look in your bag."

"We've already had our goods searched," said another man standing aside in a group of four. "Why are we still waiting?"

"All boats must be inspected before departure. All the inspectors are busy right now, but it will be your turn next."

"Just keep walking," Aiyan said.

A distant clock tower struck midnight, but the street looked like early evening on a Fireday night, with people and carriages in each other's ways, pipers and lute players working the sidewalks, shouts and laughter echoing in the taverns. Across the square, Kyric spotted a stall where they sold grilled sausage on a stick and pushed through the crowd to pay an outrageous six pence for two skinny bangers, handing one to Aiyan as he took too big a bite and scorched the roof of his mouth.

The clatter of hooves on cobblestone turned their heads. More of Lekon's cavalry came trotting down the street, a man in a red hat leading them, and Kyric's insides went hollow.

"It's him," he whispered to Aiyan.

"I know. Don't look at him," Aiyan said, slowly sidestepping to place a large statue of some ancient seafarer between himself and the riders.

Morae signaled his troops to halt at the gate to the docks, all too close. Kyric tried not to look at him but couldn't help it. Beneath the wide-brimmed hat, his dark eyes fell in turn upon each man waiting at the gate, and those who met his stare stepped back, looking down, or quickly turned to a companion. Kyric didn't even notice when his sausage fell off the stick.

Morae stood in the stirrups, his head back as if catching a scent on the breeze. Kyric wanted to get away, but found that he couldn't move. Suddenly Morae looked straight at him, and Kyric felt something stir in his breast. Inexplicably, he wanted to go to him. So drawn was he that he could hardly stop himself.

"Sir!" the lieutenant said to Morae, snapping to attention directly in front of him, "how may I be of service?"

Morae looked down at him, not sure now if he had scented any prey. "Has anyone sailed for the open sea this night?" he said in a voice sounding a bit too high for a tall man.

"No sir," returned the lieutenant, "they've all been ferrymen and those rowing out to anchored ships and the like."

"Be sure to look in everything," Morae commanded. "Even in water barrels or casks of wine. And don't forget that you can hide half a house under a woman's skirts."

"Yes sir," stammered the lieutenant, now even redder in the face than before.

Kyric felt a tug at his sleeve as Aiyan dragged him into a dark place behind the sausage stall, and from there into a narrow side street. If Morae turned to look for him after dismissing the lieutenant, he wasn't there to see.

"His horse was lathered," Aiyan said. "He may have followed your scent all the way from Karta."

"When he looked at me, I almost walked over to him."

"That's the draw of the blood. It will fade. And I will tell you something. He may have followed the weird to the old docks, but when you allow it to lead you, the weird sometimes takes you to places that have nothing to do with your life or what you want. So he couldn't be sure why he looked at you."

Aiyan hurried him along until they ran into the main boulevard and a river of people. "Like worldly eyes," he said. "It's harder for the spirit eye to see us in a crowd. Still, try to stay empty."

"I'm so tired I really do feel empty."

"Not far now," said Aiyan. "We're only a mile from Sedlik's house."

The street was the famous Way of Kings, and Kyric tried to take in the ancient grandeur of the old city, the columns and arches and wondrous facades. This was all he had thought about during the last years of his servitude, coming to Aeva, the birthplace of his civilization, the source of the artwork, history, and literature of the Aessian culture. He had dreamed of standing in the Palace of the Old Kings, and in the Balerius, the great hall of the god and goddess. Sevdin might be the center of commerce, but if one would seek to know the soul of Aessia, he would come to Aeva.

They passed into the theatre district, where folks clustered thickly in front of cabarets. Below brightly-colored marquees, the tall commedia houses disgorged patrons onto the street while carriage drivers vied for places in the side lanes. Aiyan kept looking behind, once even stopping and waiting in a dark alley, but never spotted a follower.

At length, Aiyan led them down a dim side street, still flowing with tourists, the little paper lanterns they carried bobbing in the dark, and they entered a neighborhood where narrow lanes ran chaotically, crossing each other at odd angles. Stopping at an unmarked door, Aiyan tapped lightly with the knocker. They waited a minute and he tapped louder.

Something rattled behind the door and a tiny hole opened. "Who is it?" squeaked a girl's voice.

"Jela, it's me, Aiyan. Let us in."

Another rattle and the door flew open. A young woman wearing little more than a shift leapt upon Aiyan, her slender arms around his thick neck.

"Uncle Aiyan!" she squealed. "But it's the middle of the night. Are you alright?" She pulled them into the house.

A heavy-set man in a nightshirt thumped down a staircase next to the entryway with a candle in one hand and a shortsword in the other. He looked at Aiyan. "Well?" he asked.

Aiyan did his best to sound cheery. "Sorry to come at this hour, Sedlik, but we need a place to stay for a couple of days."

Sedlik frowned. "You're in trouble and you need a place to hide." He looked down at the shortsword. "This is my house, Aiyan. My daughter lives here. You know that you're always welcome down at the warehouse, that you can commit any heinous act you want there — in the name of your noble order, of course. Old Dendi is still there and I know he would love to see you. I'm sorry, but you can't stay here."

Aiyan looked him in the eyes, the unsaid words heavier than the silence between them. "Not this time," he said gently. "This is too big."

"All the more reason for you to go elsewhere."

"There is no elsewhere."

Sedlik stood staring at him. At length he lowered his eyes and handed the shortsword to Jela. He shook Aiyan's hand warmly despite his stern words. "Look at you. You're filthy. Go down to the wine cellar and get out of those clothes. I'll loan you a couple of tunics."

Kyric tried to not look at Jela. Her shift was cut with a short hem and a plunging neckline. And it was so sheer he could almost see through it. With her large eyes, loose wavy hair and the shortsword in her hand she looked like one of the statues atop the arches over the Way of Kings.

"I also need you to talk to your friend the magistrate. I need to know the latest in the Senate."

"Aiyan, the Games of Aeva are starting tomorrow."

"I need to know right away."

"Alright," Sedlik said. "Who is the kid?"

"Someone with whom you have something in common."

Sedlik led them down a stone stairway behind the kitchen and into an open storeroom. A heavy door with a heavy lock was set in a nearby wall. Behind a wine rack lay a few sacks of straw.

"This is the best I can do for now," Sedlik said. "Tomorrow I'll rig some kind of bed for you."

Jela brought down a plate of cold meat and hard bread, and some blankets to lay over the straw. Thankfully, she had put on a robe. After a few bites Kyric's muscles turned to lead. He barely managed to slip his boots off before he fell back on the straw, instantly asleep.

This time he stood in an ornate library with tall windows and a vaulted ceiling. Fine wood paneling reflected the light emanating from statues of dragons, serpent headed horses, and strange preternatural birds. He found a secret panel and opened it, stepping into a cave with glowing stalactites. A man appeared before him, dressed very much like the black knight in the dream at the jail, except that he wore a long tunic over his chainmail and his greathelm had no visor, only eye slits and holes for breathing. All that he wore, tunic, sword belt, boots, all had been dyed black.

A sparkling light shone through one of the eye slits.

"Kneel," came a deep voice from within the helm. And Kyric knelt.

The knight had a small spur on the thumb of his gauntlet, and, removing the other armored glove, he used it to open a vein in his wrist.

"Drink," he commanded.

Kyric took his hand and drank from the flowing wound like it was a fountain. It was sweet, and it charged him with power, and the more he drank the thirstier he became, drinking more and more until he was filled.

# CHAPTER 6: The Sundering

Sedlik was already gone the next morning when they came up from the cellar. Jela insisted they bathe before breakfast, and while they were at it Aiyan decided they would wash their clothes as well, so they spent the early morning fetching and heating water. Throughout all this, Aiyan made sure to keep his sword within reach. By the time they made it to the kitchen table for chickpea and spinach pie Kyric felt like he could keep food down. He hadn't told Aiyan about the dream.

"Why have you been gone so long, Uncle Aiyan?" said Jela. "What have you been doing with yourself?"

Today she wore a plain housedress and had her hair tied back, but in the morning light her eyes were brighter and her smile softer, and Kyric caught himself staring at her.

"You know how it is, sweetie," said Aiyan, quaffing a bowl of honeyed milk, "the less I say the better. I have spent the last two months on Esaiya. Before that, I was in Kandin, and before that, Aleria."

Jela smiled ironically. "Where good Avic-speaking folk are taming a wilderness in the face of hostile savages."

"It's not so bad there," Aiyan said. "I've been to other former colonies where it is much worse for the natives."

The two of them chatted while they ate, Aiyan telling her about a play he had seen in Kandin, asking her why she hadn't married yet. Kyric discovered that she was nineteen, a year younger than he, and that she had had a suitor but no longer saw him. He could tell she was smart, and wasn't too surprised to learn that she studied accounting to help in the family business, which was mainly the wine trade but included a gambling parlor and some shady dealings in antiquities.

"Shall we all go to the games today?" she said.

"Kyric and I need to wait for the news your father is bringing. We also need some rest. Besides, the first day is mostly ceremony and entertainments. The only contest will be spear throwing later this afternoon."

"Well I'm going out to see some ceremony and entertainments," Jela said, leaving the kitchen.

"Be sure to take a friend," Aiyan called after her.

"What now?" Kyric asked.

Aiyan shrugged. "Sedlik could be all day. More of the story I think."

"Wait. You told me last night that you know someone who was there two hundred years ago. Who would that be?"

"Be patient. You will know that when I have finished my story."

The knight who stood guard over the rear entrance to the castle, the gate above the tiny quay, was a young man. But his face was of the ageless sort, neither young nor old.

The night had grown unseasonably warm. Breaking off his restless pacing, the sentry slipped out of his surcoat and leaned out over the parapet, letting his thin inner tunic catch the last hint of moving air. All was still, as if the world held its breath.

A sound. A shadow on the battlements. He whirled, hand on his sword. "Who goes?" he challenged.

"Fear not, Zahaias. It is only me." Sorrin stepped forward.

"I'm sorry, Master Sorrin. I expected no one till dawn." Zahaias saw him clearly now, saw that he was dressed for sleep and for battle. He wore leather breeches tucked into war boots, and he carried his sword. But his only armor was a nightshirt.

Sorrin leaned in close with a pale and moist face. "Has anyone come to this gate since you've been at watch?"

"No. No one."

Sorrin nodded and stood still.

"But," said Zahaias, lowering his voice, "I have been uneasy this night. Tell me what it is that troubles you, Master Sorrin."

"I do not know," he said, turning to face the sea.

Zahaias looked at him. "Some of our brothers say that you at times have strange dreams. Dreams that hold meaning."

"Yes," said Sorrin, his voice distant, "I have dreamed tonight. I dreamt I saw the world as a great egg. It cracked and split open and leaked forth a black bile." Sorrin blotted his face with a sleeve of his nightshirt. "But who can say what meaning this holds?"

Zahaias said nothing. Sorrin turned to him sharply. "I charge you this, Zahaias — watch well tonight and let no one pass these walls without my word. No one. Do you understand?"

"Yes. I shall be vigilant."

"Who has the watch at the gate to the bridge?"

"Sir Allin."

Sorrin tugged at his loose hair. "Perhaps I should warn him as well," he said to himself, "in case of threat from the land." He shook his head as if to clear it. "But watch the sea, Zahaias. Send word to my cell if anyone comes."

"I will."

Sorrin nodded a curt farewell, turned, and walked away along the parapet until he was just a ghost on the far battlements. Zahaias returned to his watch. A faint wind was rising with the incoming tide.

Kyric interrupted him. "Who was this Sorrin and what made him have dreams like that?"

"He was our founder, the greatest knight of our order," Aiyan said. "And I don't think Sorrin himself knew why he had those visions, waking and sleeping. I know that some magicians learn the art of dreaming and can enter the dreams of others. In your case, I think the Unknowable Forces are intruding on your dreams, and that happens to some of us. But I believe that Master Sorrin was so immaculate a warrior that his dream self was like a mirror, and that it was _he_ who looked into the dreams of the Powers. Now let me continue. This next part will reveal much."

Sorrin returned to his cell and dressed in the tunic of his office. Sitting cross-legged on his pallet, sword laid bare on the floor before him, he waited, studying the runeblade that had been carried by all the first masters before him. In the last hour of the night the candle burned low, then out.

Now he became aware of the faintest light; a dim grey dawn outlined the shutters of his window. He heard a rhythm, steady, unyielding. An echo. Close now. Footfalls. He rose quickly, sword held low but ready, then he froze, listening, hearing only his own heartbeat. At the door of the room, shadows clustered thickly, a chill seeping in.

"Come then, if you will," he whispered fiercely.

The door slowly drifted inward. Black against the dusk, a huge helmeted figure entered with a single stride.

"It," Sorrin said, faltering, "is you."

"Yes."

"I . . . I heard you coming."

"I made no sound," said Cauldin, removing the greathelm. The pupils of his eyes, enormous, scintillated with crimson streaks deep within, like those of a nocturnal predator.

"Tell me what has happened."

"Aumgraudmal is slain and by my hand."

Sorrin nodded slowly. "Then he did not speak."

"Oh yes," spat Cauldin with a sound that served as laughter, "he spoke. After I had looked into his eyes and he took my will from me, he revealed all. He told me how he devoured Temma while the old man's heart still beat, how the living blood of the magus mixed with his own and gave him this new power, and how I would be the first of a dark cabal — men skilled in the ways of the unseen, all strung on invisible lines across the realm of power, puppets of the will of Aumgraudmal. He would have become our god."

Sorrin strained to see him clearly. All of Cauldin's vestments, his tunic, corselet, breeches, even his gloves, were stained inky black — the black blood of the sea dragons.

"But," Cauldin continued, "the final act, intended to forge the link of his domination, allowed me to share his power instead of becoming subject to it."

"Tell me," said Sorrin, a fear he did not understand beginning to rise.

"You already know."

"Tell me."

"He opened an artery and I drank his blood. My power unfurled like a great sail, and it was I who rode the wind of the realm of power. Then he gazed into _my_ eyes. And for a moment it was _he_ who knew fear. Aumgraudmal opened his jaws, but before his poisonous breath could issue forth I thrust my sword into his palate and pierced his brain."

Sorrin stood motionless, sword still in hand.

"Why do you look at me so?" Cauldin said.

"Because I fear my oldest friend and I do not know why."

"I know why. And you as well. It is because I came here to share the dragon power with you."

"Dragons do not share power. They horde it."

Cauldin held his arms wide. "I have not a dragon's essence. Can you not see me? My essence is still that of the warrior."

"I see you. You bear an essence all your own."

"As did Elistar. As will you. Those with destinies such as ours must always stand apart. Do not be afraid. It takes only a moment. We could do it here and now."

Sorrin felt beads of sweat at his temples. He closed his eyes.

"You feel it. I know you do. You sense what you will become — that which you sought when first you came here."

"Please," whispered Sorrin, "please do not — "

"Here," Cauldin said, "let me open a vein for you. Drink of my blood."

"No," said Sorrin, backing away. "I do not want this."

Cauldin smiled grimly. "That is because you do not understand it. Listen to me Sorrin. With the dragon's blood you will feel no separation from the realm of power. You will live in it. I do so at this moment— we will be the heroes of the new myths to come. We will look into the hearts of the Powers themselves."

Sorrin held his head up and let the fear of temptation pass away. "I have fought and suffered for years to be the man you see today. I wish to be nothing more."

Cauldin withdrew his hand. "Everything has changed. I do not even know if I can remain in the order. I have an important question for the Council and must see them at once. I only wanted to see you first. Do not worry, my brother, we shall speak again soon."

And he went.

Sorrin laid down his sword and blinked the sweat from his eyes. Turning to the window, he threw open the shutters and let the cool sea air fill his tiny room. A low fog had risen, a mirror image of the overcast sky. He laid his arm across the sill and rested his head there, but shadow figures came out of the fog, pointing at him, mocking.

Have you no fear of death?

He closed his eyes and listened for the sea, for the sound of breaking waves, and when, at last, the voice of the shadows had been driven away, an echo rang in the corridor, a shriek carried on a voice sick with fear.

Then the booming voice of Zahaias. "An enemy is in the council chamber! Everyone to arms!"

Sorrin took down his longbow and strung it in one motion, drawing a single arrow from the quiver. The arrowhead, razor edged and the color of sapphire, had been carved from the tooth of a firebird.

Now through the doorway, sprinting along the corridor. A few steps up and across the long hall. Shouts. The clangor of steel striking steel — rapid blows. Narrow shafts of dim light. The heavy oak doors of the council chamber, open. The threshold slick underfoot. A bright metallic odor, like copper.

A few twisted forms in blue tunics lay inside the chamber, one writhing and sobbing in pain. Another warrior knelt before the crescent table, hands across his eyes, mouth open in a wordless cry, his sight forever gone. Lying sprawled across the table, or crumpled underneath like dogs crushed by a cart, the sages of the council lay still in their own blood. The Magus Archeus, even more frail in death than she had been in life, had run the length of the chamber before a sword impaled her from behind.

Entranced, blood still dripping from his sword, Cauldin stood behind the Pyxidium, seeing it alone. He reached out as Sorrin nocked the arrow, and plucked the crystal from its setting, holding it up so that its light fell upon his face.

Sorrin pulled back the bowstring, his fingers brushing his cheek, and let the arrow fly.

It struck the Pyxidium and split it cleanly, in perfect symmetry. Cauldin kept hold of one half, even as the arrow pierced his right eye, coming to rest deep within. It knocked him back and he staggered but did not fall.

He straightened and took a deep breath. With a shout of defiance, he yanked the arrow free and tossed it to the floor. A few drops of viscous fluid leaked from the empty socket. Grinning with an insane mouth, he raised the shard of the mystic crystal and tried to push it into the empty socket. It didn't quite fit. He pushed harder and it popped in, a grotesque imitation of a glass eye.

A bell clanging wildly in a nearby courtyard shook Sorrin from his daze. Casting his bow aside, he reached down and took a sword from the hand of a fallen knight.

Cauldin unhooked the helm from his belt and thrust it onto his head. Both hands on the grip, he held his sword ready in a high guard.

Sorrin attacked — spring toward him, quick steps, extend, blades clash, rush past, stop and turn.

Cauldin spun to face him. His sword shone coldly, and misty ghosts flickered along the edge of the blade. Behind one rectangular slit, a strong light came from within his helmet.

"Do not try to stand against me, Sorrin. You did not destroy the Pyxidium, and this half that I hold is giving me a strength you cannot imagine."

The bell no longer sounded. Sorrin motioned toward the open doorway. "All the knights of the order are coming. And for what you have done, there is no redemption."

Cauldin leapt forward with a furious two-handed slash. Sorrin jumped back, and the air whirred with the blade's passing.

Sorrin saw the opening and stepped up, blade flashing, but the move had been a ruse to draw the attack. Cauldin returned his swing backhanded and his sword clove Sorrin's blade like an axe through a brittle twig.

Sorrin closed with him, to use the broken blade like a knife, but Cauldin seized his throat with one hand, lifted him off his feet, and shook him. Gurgling, legs flailing, Sorrin stabbed wildly.

Cauldin bellowed, a cry of agony and surprise. The broken sword had sunk deep into his chest.

He threw Sorrin aside, slamming him into the wall. Then, growling with each tug, Cauldin worked the blade from his torso.

As Sorrin staggered to his feet, the war cries of a dozen knights echoed in the corridor outside. Cauldin lurched to the doorway, then through.

Sorrin took a step, wobbled, and had to hold himself against the wall to keep his feet. Moments later the knights burst into the room.

"Where is the enemy?" shouted one of them.

"Fled," answered Sorrin. "Is anyone guarding the gate at the bridge?"

"An entire company. We thought that there was an attack from the land." Then the knight saw the murdered sages. "How? Who did this?"

"Listen to me," Sorrin said to all of them. "The Pyxidium is now divided. By my arrow it was split." The arrowhead lay at his feet, melted into formless slag, its enchantment undone. "After attending the injured, search this chamber well, for one half is here, somewhere. The other half was taken by Cauldin, who is now our enemy. I shall pursue him. But remain watchful — he may still be within these walls, or he may return." And he strode quickly from the room, taking up his bow as he went.

In the corridor, he felt Cauldin's presence receding. Galloping into sight from around a bend in the passageway came a long-limbed youth, wearing the peasant shirt of a candidate of the order. "Master Sorrin," he said, sliding to a halt, "Master Sorrin, a tall man all in black is stealing one of our boats."

"Do you know the way to my cell?"

"Yes."

"Go there, fetch my sword and my quiver, and meet me at quayside. And hurry."

The young man nodded and dashed away.

Sorrin went to the gate above the harbor.

The ground fog, beginning to clear, blew in wispy tufts across the waters of the tiny port. The wind came lightly, but Cauldin had already passed beyond bow shot, completed his last tack, and now ran for the open sea. Sorrin leaped into his own boat and began to make ready.

The lanky youth, breathless, stumbled through the shifting mists to give Sorrin his blade and arrows.

"Well done," said Sorrin. "Now help me raise sail." Moments later he said, "Good. Now jump off and give me a push."

After he had started under way, the wind rose enough to fill the sails of the two boats, but it was mild, and they loitered on the water, inching along as if time had slowed. Clearing the harbor, they turned to run before the breeze. The endless morning stretched on. To Sorrin, watching through a veil of mist, it seemed that his boat had gained a little in the few leagues he had chased. Then the fog rose anew on the land, spilling onto the ocean in a thick roiling cloud.

The front door slammed and Sedlik walked into the kitchen, dressed for business in a conservative grey doublet. He tossed his cape over a chair, and sat down opposite Aiyan.

"First," he said. "You owe me a big lump of gold."

"I thought this one didn't need bribing," Aiyan said.

Sedlik offered him a grim smile. "For this I had to cancel his gambling debt and then some. What is happening now is all about the spice trade."

After Aiyan's story, Kyric could barely follow the conversation. The one covered in dragon's blood, this Cauldin, he had been the man in last night's dream.

Sedlik took off his hat and ran his hand through the bristle covering his scalp. "In almost complete secrecy, Senator Lekon has been collecting allies for the purpose of forming a new trade company — the Spice Islands Trade Company. This company would be authorized to bypass the Baskillian spice merchants and deal directly with the chiefs of the islands."

"Which would take us to the brink of war with the Baskillian Empire," Aiyan said.

Sedlik nodded. "The Senate was set to vote on this at their next session, three days after the games close, Lekon in place to win the directorship with six other Senators backing him. Until yesterday, when two of them switched sides to join with Senator Ulium's triumvirate, making it a five to five impasse."

"Did the magistrate know why?"

"The two that defected were waiting to see some sort of proof that this scheme would work, and suddenly Lekon couldn't produce it. There are some rumors as well. A thief was discovered at a masquerade ball at Senator Lekon's estate three nights ago. He escaped in a running swordfight. You wouldn't know anything about that would you?"

Aiyan didn't blink. "Go on."

"And the celebrated captain who just returned from Baskillia in Lekon's spice galleon has gone missing."

Aiyan glanced at Kyric. "That news certainly traveled fast."

Sedlik put his hand over his face. "Good goddess. It _is_ you. You're fully embroiled in this. Let's see: Burglary. Swordfighting. Missing person. Yes, that sounds like you, Aiyan."

"So, is the vote to be cancelled?"

"By law it cannot be cancelled so long as a quorum of senators are present. If the vote is a tie, they must vote again in fortnight. If it passes or fails, the issue cannot be tried again for one year. That brings up one last item. The magistrate told me of an obscure law that allows the prince to attend any meeting of the Senate and cast a tie-breaking vote if he so wishes."

"The prince is only nine years old," Aiyan said.

Sedlik nodded. "But as mother-regent, Princess Aerlyn is allowed the same privilege."

"I would guess that Lekon knows of this law as well," Aiyan said. He fell into a brief reverie then, letting out half a chuckle with half a smile. "I saw her once. Up close, I mean. It was at the theatre — she was leaving the royal box as I was passing in the hallway. She smiled at me."

He pulled himself away from the memory, coming to some kind of decision.

"Sedlik, I'm afraid we have to stay here until the games are over. And I need you to keep something for me in your vault."

They went down to the basement, and before Aiyan handed him the book of rudders he opened it first and tore off a corner of the front page. Sedlik's eyes went wide.

"This is it," he said, his voice shaking. "The proof. This is what Lekon's troops are searching for everywhere. Look, it's a book of maps. Maps to the _Spice Islands_. And you brought it _here_." He turned to Aiyan, spitting the words out angrily. " _What were you thinking_?"

Aiyan spoke evenly. "I was thinking that I needed the best help I could get. Because this is even bigger than it seems. The ship captain was a Knight of the Dragon's Blood, and Lekon's business partner, Mr. Morae, is one as well."

Sedlik shook his head violently. "I told you I never wanted to hear of them. I _can't_ hear of them." But he opened the door to the vault and placed the book in a cubby hole inside along with some old scrolls and a few golden statuettes.

After he locked the door and turned back to them he suddenly looked too tired to be angry. "I'm doing this, Aiyan. But after this we are even; I owe you nothing."

Aiyan looked hurt. He placed his hand on Sedlik's shoulder and said, "You have never owed me anything."

As they shuffled up the steps Sedlik said, "If they come to the house I will give it to them. I won't even wait for them to question me — I'll simply open the vault and let them take it. I swear that I will."

"Of course," said Aiyan. "That is exactly what you should do, what I would want you to do. I wouldn't dare leave it here if I thought you might try to play the hero. But it won't come to that. We'll be very careful."

While Sedlik changed clothes Aiyan asked Kyric to fetch his bow and quiver. After stringing it, Aiyan took a few pulls with his right arm.

"The archery tournament is day after tomorrow, right? Hmm. It's tightly strung. With my two wounds, I don't know if I can pull this all day. Are you good with it?"

"I don't know," Kyric said. I've never shot against anyone."

"Let us go out to the alley and set something up."

Aiyan had him shoot at the spokes of a broken wagon wheel, backing him farther away with each shot. The tightness of the bowstring against his fingers was a comfort to him, the brush of the feather against his cheek a caress. After the chaos of the last few days it felt good to simply shoot, to be so lost in the precision that nothing else existed. When he no longer knew who he was, he could relax and find the quiet place inside himself.

"How did you learn to shoot like that living in a rune convent?"

Kyric smiled. "I'm having one of my better days." He went to collect his arrows. "There was this old fellow, a stout yeoman type, who lived in a shack on convent lands and kept the grounds for them. I helped him when I didn't have other chores. He told me that he had served in the Prince's Own Royal Archers before they were disbanded. He couldn't pull his bow anymore, so he gave it to me. He spent a lot of time teaching me how to use it."

Aiyan nodded. "So you had a kind of grandfather in your life. That's good.

"Yes. I miss him."

They went inside and Aiyan called Sedlik down to the kitchen. "We're going to need suits, nice ones, fit for a royal reception. And they must be ready in three days."

"Good luck," Sedlik said. "I suppose we can have one of mine altered to fit you, but getting one cut for Kyric will be impossible right now."

"But we need clothing for him most of all."

Sedlik scratched at his bristle. "I know a woman who handles estate sales, maybe from her."

"Find out tonight," Aiyan said.

"Why do you need fine dress for the kid?"

"He's going to win the gold arrow in the archery tournament."

Kyric sat dumbfounded. Sedlik looked from one to the other.

"The winners of each event," Aiyan explained, "are invited to a royal reception hosted by Princess Aerlyn on Solstice Eve, the last night of the games. And they are allowed to bring a friend."

"And just how am I going to win the gold arrow?"

"I'm not sure," Aiyan said, selecting an orange from a basket of fruit. "I'll leave that up to Pitbull."

"A dog?"

"A magician."

# CHAPTER 7: The Way of the Flame

They had to be off to the tailor the next morning with hardly a chance at breakfast. Aiyan had Kyric carry his knapsack, empty but for the double-barreled wheel-lock.

Jela had come home at twilight, gushing about a gorgeous young man from Oriana who won the spear throwing. Sedlik was out until late, but all the arrangements for dress clothes had been made.

Out for the first time in daylight, Kyric couldn't help but stop and turn, taking in the city and people. Aeva spent most of its life in the sun, and all the houses and walls stood covered by plaster and whitewash. The local folk went out in house dress during daylight hours, light tunics and short sundresses, with the occasional old fellow in an archaic toga. Statues ornamented the larger buildings of state. Looking down cross streets earned Kyric glimpses of the palaces. An enormous open lot held a dozen large tents, a combination fair and circus underway there.

After they had been measured at the tailor's shop Aiyan sent Kyric back to Sedlik's house, saying that it was better he went alone to find Pitbull. "And go straight back," Aiyan said. "You don't want to risk running into him today."

Kyric agreed, but couldn't pass by the circus. To his surprise, the circus was free, even the act in the big tent where a huge Jakavian with a sculpted musculature was wrestling a lion that must have weighed five hundred pounds. Kyric sat stunned as the man locked his arms around the beast and threw it to the ground. The lion sprang at him, a great paw sending him flying backward where he lightly rolled to his feet, apparently unharmed. In the end, he pinned the lion's head to the floor amid claps and whistles from the audience.

Kyric ran around to the cage door and caught him coming out. "That was incredible," he said after introducing himself. "How did you learn to master the great cats like that?"

The Jakavian, whose name was Jazul Marlez smiled sheepishly. His wild thick hair gave him a mane as long as a lion's. "I raised Bruli from a cub." He spoke Avic with a thick accent. "It's just an act — he could kill me if he wanted to. But I have a feel for lions, and I like them very much."

"Are you going to wrestle in the games?"

Jazul smiled again, a huge happy smile filling his big face. "To tell the truth, I am not fond of wrestling — it reminds me of a bad time in my life. But I intend to win the gold bar in weightlifting. I am strong."

Kyric laughed. "I can see that you are."

They chatted a bit about places they had seen in the city, but soon Jazul had to go, saying he hoped they would meet again. After the big top, Kyric strolled through the fair, trying not to laugh when the merchants told him bald-faced lies about their wares. On the way back to Sedlik's house he bought a melon.

When Kyric got there Sedlik was gone. He found Jela in the kitchen, standing by the window in bright morning sunlight, packing a basket with bread and cheese. She wore a light sleeveless top with a very short skirt attached to it, and when he looked at her it made him feel like he was gawking at a girl in her underwear again. The girls where he came from didn't dress like this.

"Are you going to the games today?" she asked him.

"I thought I would stay here and practice. For tomorrow."

"I'm going every day with my friends. We have so much fun. Maybe you could come with us on the last day." She stood close to him, looking him right in the eye.

"Maybe so," he said, turning to busy himself with his melon.

Here he was again, acting nervous and awkward with someone who'd had a normal upbringing. She was pretty and clever and full of life, and he wanted to be comfortable with her, so that she would be comfortable with him, but he never knew what to say to anyone, much less a girl his own age. So he said the first thing that came to his mind.

"Is Aiyan your father's brother or your mother's?"

Jela giggled. "Neither. Aiyan isn't family — he's much more than that. Better than that. I was ten years old when my father met him, and he's always been Uncle Aiyan to me. He saved my father's life, but that's not why I love him."

"Why then?"

"Because he's kind and noble. And he laughs and enjoys the little things in spite of the life he leads."

Kyric offered her a slice of melon. "What kind of life does he lead?"

"You know," she said. "He hunts them and protects us from them. And all the while our leaders and great families will not accept the truth of the men of the dragon's blood. The Knights of the Flaming Blade were once the most honored men of the realm. Now they must pretend to be monks, and hide their true power and purpose so not to arouse superstitious fear or accusations of vigilantism. The men of Esaiya are truly alone in this world."

"Did Aiyan tell you all this?"

"Over the years he's let slip enough hints about it. And after he freed my father from the dragon's blood he had to tell him the story how it came to be, so he would know what had happened to him."

Kyric sat down at the big oak table. "So that's what your father and I have in common."

Jela put her hand over her mouth. "You have taken the black blood and were possessed by the love of evil?"

"It was only for a short time."

"When was that?"

"The night we arrived here."

Her nose wrinkled in puzzlement. She looked closely at his face and at his hands, turning them over to see his palms.

"What are you doing?" he said.

"I'm sorry. It's just that they tortured my father for an entire day before he would take the blood."

"He had a pistol aimed at my belly," Kyric said, a little annoyed at her tone. "He would have shot me. Then he would have given me the blood anyway."

"Oh. Then you don't know," she said apologetically. "He could not have done that. For the spell to work you must take it willingly."

"Aiyan didn't tell me."

She seemed puzzled again. "Isn't he your master? Aren't you a knight in training?"

Kyric laughed loudly. "I broke him out of jail three nights ago because one of them was coming to kill him. We ran until we got here."

"I didn't mean to assume," Jela said. "It's just that I've never seen him travel with anyone."

"I wonder why."

"It goes back to what I was saying about the life that he — that they all — must live. Listen to me: Aiyan is an honest man. Yet he hardly goes a day without telling a lie. At times he must cheat or steal in order to protect us from them, or is even forced to kill those who have taken the black blood, people he thinks of as victims, whom he would rescue if he could. That life would tell on anyone's heart. But the worst part is: He feels like he places folk in danger simply by knowing them, the closer to his heart the more danger. He's afraid to make friends with anyone. He would never dare court a woman or allow himself to fall in love. I can't imagine how that feels."

Kyric stared into his melon. "My mother once said to me, 'We're not allowed to choose whom we love and whom we don't love.' It was one of the few times she spoke the truth to me."

Jela pulled up a stool. "Where is she now?"

"I don't know. She sold me into servitude when I was ten."

Jela's eyes went wide. "Your mother _sold_ you?"

"To the sisters of the rune convent. Ten years of indentured service." He shrugged. "They didn't lock me up or beat me or anything like that. I got to go to nearby towns on errands. It's not the same as being a slave."

Jela glared in outrage. "In what way?"

"They gave me an education. And when I turned twenty, my freedom."

"What did they have you do?"

"Everything. I worked hard from morning till night every day I didn't have lessons. They had me cook quite often my last few years there, but mostly I swept, cut hay, unloaded wagons, repaired walls and gates, milked the cow, took care of the mule, dug ditches, chopped wood — loads and loads in the autumn."

"No wonder you're so fit." She said, looking at his arms and chest and shoulders.

He went back to his melon, suddenly not knowing what to say again.

"You haven't talked to many girls, have you?" Jela said.

"No," he said, managing to look at her. "There was this one girl in the village near the convent. She would come out and talk to me whenever I walked by. I even kissed her once."

Jela laughed. "Oooh, you've kissed a girl! You must be quite the wolf."

"Well," Kyric said with a shy grin, "I think it was really she that kissed me."

"So what was it like?"

"To be honest, I was in such a panic that I don't remember."

They both laughed at that. Then they stopped and regarded one another in silence.

The front door slammed. Sedlik was back. They listened to him climb the stairs.

"I have to be off," Jela said, picking up her basket. She smiled at him. "Good luck tomorrow."

An hour later Aiyan came in through the alley carrying a powder horn, a sack of lead balls and patches, and a keg of gunpowder about the size of his head. He also pulled a pistol from under his vest that was no bigger than his hand. "It's all set with Pitbull. We meet him at sunrise in front of the Palace of the Old Kings."

"What's the powder for?" asked Kyric.

"Pistol practice this afternoon."

"Shouldn't I practice the bow?"

"You'll be fine with that. This should be diverting."

Aiyan improvised some targets against the stone wall at the end of the alley. Kyric had heard fireworks going off sporadically since yesterday and figured that gunshots wouldn't attract much attention. Kyric fired both the pistols they had acquired at the ruins, and the new pocket pistol. Aiyan showed him how to work all the mechanisms and how to reload. Pistol shooting was easy if not entirely precise, and after only a dozen rounds with each weapon Aiyan was satisfied with his accuracy. "Remember," he said, "that with the pocket pistol you have to hit a vital place to bring them down."

Aiyan suggested that they go to bed right after sundown, for tomorrow would be a long day for Kyric. Sedlik had offered them the spare bed chamber the second night, seeing how they were bathed, and Aiyan gave the one narrow bed to Kyric and was content to sleep on the straw in the cellar.

As Kyric sat on the bed in the deepening dusk, listening to the sounds of nightlife beginning to drift up through the open window, Aiyan came to the door."

"I forgot that I never finished the story," he said. "There may not be time after tomorrow."

"You mean there's more?"

"Just a bit. I'm almost done."

"Has he spoken?" asked the young knight softly.

The older man, a dark-skinned warrior named Wyram let out a shallow breath as he placed the last of his medicines in a clay jar. "Only to say that he will not move until Lord Sorrin returns."

"His eyes are blind."

"Yes, but he suffers from a deeper wound. It was he who kept the sea watch last night. He let our enemy pass into the castle unchallenged."

The young knight looked down at the blind man. "He was a master of the order. I do not hold Zahaias at fault."

"Nor do I," said the older man. He glanced at the far side of the chamber where a score of knights stood in a circle speaking earnestly. Dozens more gathered in the hall outside. "Nor does any of us."

"I beg you, Zahaias," said the young knight, "let us take you to a sickbed."

The blind man said nothing.

"Could not a healer-mage aid him? Restore his vision if naught else?"

"His eyes have not fallen ill — they have been destroyed. His nights at watch are done."

"No," said Zahaias, "my watch had only begun." His voice had changed. Soft, yet rasping. "It shall not cease until the Pyxidium is made whole. This is my punishment. And it is my rapture."

"You are very tired, Zahaias," said Wyram. "You need bed rest."

"Zahaias, listen to him," said the young knight. "It is now only twilight. Master Sorrin may not return for many days."

"Sorrin," pronounced Zahaias, rising with perfect balance and laying his sword belt over one shoulder, "comes now."

As if cued by the words of Zahaias, the gangly boy appeared at the entry, saying between breaths, "He's arrived. At the harbor. He says all who can stand are to meet him here in the council chamber."

"All are present," said Mecaithen, a barrel-chested knight with grey hair.

The boy nodded and ran off. All the knights but Zahaias gathered at the doorway.

Then Sorrin was there among them. He walked past them, staring ahead with frozen eyes. His tunic was pierced in a dozen places, purple-red and wet with his own blood. Each step a labor, he made his way to the stand that had held the Pyxidium. He found it empty.

"Where?" he said numbly, turning to the gathered knights. "Where is it?"

"Master," said Mecaithen, "you are grievously wounded."

"No," said Sorrin. "I have already been killed. Tell me where it is."

"We could not find it. We think the power of your arrow annihilated it."

Then Zahaias spoke in his unearthly voice. "It fell into the brazier. Returning our half of the Pyxidium to its resting place is your final burden, Master Sorrin."

Sorrin went to the brazier and held his hand over it, feeling the warmth of a deeply-buried coal. He plunged his hand into it, and from the ashes pulled forth the second shard of the Pyxidium.

Sorrin raised pained eyes to his brother warriors. "I could not take the other half from him."

The white light of the crystalline half-sphere played upon Sorrin's face. For a moment he looked past them, as if seeing something far away, then he spoke with power — an inner fire rekindled.

"Hear me now, my brothers, and know this for truth: Cauldin had gained a power beyond immortality. My arrows struck his heart many times. Yes, he bleeds and feels pain, but he cannot die." He looked at the shard in his hand.

"The power of the Pyxidium is such that as long as one holds even half of it he cannot be killed. He will live." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Even as I do now."

"Then do not let it go until you are healed," Mecaithen said.

Zahaias stood very still.

Sorrin began quivering, as if straining to hold up a great weight. "I cannot become what this would make of me. This was not meant to be held," he said, tearing the words from his throat. "It can be touched . . . but never held."

He placed the shard on its setting and let go. He staggered to the brazier and drew his sword overhand, as if to thrust it into his own breast. Grasping it firmly with both hands he drove the blade downward, through the brazier and deep into the pedestal.

Slowly, he sank to his knees. Then he died.

A fierce blue-white flame shot upward, streaming from the edge of Sorrin's blade. The knights watched in silence. The werefire burned steadily.

Zahaias went unerringly to Sorrin's still form, reached down and brushed his eyelids closed. "Farewell, my brother," he said softly, "until we meet again."

Then standing, he ripped the bandages from his eyes. They were still there, but they resembled nothing human. Diamond shaped, shining like sapphires, they burned with their own fire.

"By surrendering his life Master Sorrin has given us the gift of a new Way — a Way for the age to come. _The Way of the Flame_."

The being who had once been Zahaias drew forth his sword and touched the blade to the spirit fire. The flame caught and ran the length of the cutting edge.

One by one, all the knights stepped forward to try their blades. And one by one, they saw their swords flame.

Hailstorms followed the rains of spring that year, and summer mornings soon saw frost upon the vineyards of the Aessian kingdom. The end of warm days coming early, dark-eyed folk watched snow swirl in a night sky lit by the harvest moon. Autumn was a time of ice, giving way to a raw, glacial season which punished and imprisoned.

The year turned, and as the days known before as springtime melted into another summer, so the banked snows ran away in streamlets, leaving the soil soft for a brief warm fortnight. But the cold came again too soon.

This was the beginning of the Long Winter.

# CHAPTER 8: A Magic Arrow

They left Sedlik's house at first light and were standing near the gate of the Palace of the Old Kings before the sun rose above the dome of the Senate. Kyric could only stand and stare.

"It's been abandoned since the end of the Long Winter," Aiyan said. "The Royal Library is all that remains in there — it's a vast collection of Aessia's oldest tomes and scrolls. Every book is hand written, and there's history in there you won't find in the Eddur."

A donkey cart driven by a long-haired boy came to a halt in front of them, and a midget with a longbow arrow in his hand climbed down. "Pitbull," said Aiyan, going to him.

Kyric had seen midget performers the day before at the circus tent, but they had not looked like this fellow. Pitbull was bigger. Beneath thick spectacles, he had the face of a grizzled bulldog and was built like a tree stump. His skin looked more like hide, and thick arms grew from clusters of muscle that served as shoulders. A barrel chest atop legs that seemed carved from stone made Kyric think that this man could not be easily knocked aside.

The games pavilion lay nearby between the palace and the royal residence and they talked as they went. Pitbull handed Kyric the arrow. Steel tipped with white feathers, it looked well made. The fletching was shield cut and offset, like his own, and the balance point a little forward of center. He would have no problem with it. Symbols that Kyric didn't recognize had been painted along the shaft.

"This arrow has a deep enchantment laid upon it," said Pitbull. "It is a magic arrow but it doesn't work on its own. If you can reach out with your spirit self and touch the arrow, it will allow your intuition to guide it, and you cannot miss."

"Do not use it in every round," Aiyan said. "Save it for when you really need it. You'll still need to shoot as well as you can."

"This is it? This is how I'm going to win?"

Pitbull grinned. "There's other spells I'll be using. Do not worry, my boy. You'll soon have the gold arrow in hand along with all the buxom girls you can manage."

They crossed a paved square with an enormous fountain in the center, and came to a three-story structure that stretched along the field of contest. The upper floors were private box seats and the lower floor, built openly with wide arches, served as a place for the athletes. Clusters of men with all manner of bow converged there along with some heavily muscled fellows, weightlifters or wrestlers. Kyric looked for Jazul Marlez but didn't see him.

One of the bigger ones spat without looking, and suddenly Pitbull turned on him growling, "Spit that close to me again, buddy, and I'll tear your leg off." The man shuffled away from him.

Aiyan pointed across the field to the stonework terraces where the commons were seated. "We'll be over there. It will be a long day, do you have enough water? Then good luck, Kyric. I know you can do it."

Kyric walked into the pavilion alone. He didn't like this. Cheating with magic. And this Pitbull didn't act like he thought a magician would. But Aiyan had insisted that the very life of Princess Aerlyn could be the prize here.

Mother Nistra had once said something about magic, that it still existed after the War of Mages in a lesser form. Rather than contradict nature, it could only reinforce the natural, push it along so to speak.

And this story Aiyan had told him shook Kyric hard. He had tasted the black blood and seen the flaming blade and there was nothing for it.

He waited in line to have his name written down and be given a wooden medallion with a number burned into it. Those who already had numbers began stringing their bows. Finally they were marched to one end of the field where a dozen targets stood. At least two hundred men, and a few women, gathered there.

This was the qualifying round. Each target had three rings and a shot inside each ring scored a point. Each archer was required to score six points with only three arrows or be eliminated. The distance was a hundred paces, far enough to raise a question in Kyric's mind with the added pressure of only three shots.

Half of those who shot ahead of him failed and were dismissed from the field. When his turn came he told himself he could place all three in the center ring on a good day. But his first shot hit just inside the outer ring.

"One point," called the judge.

Kyric felt like everything was off. His breathing wasn't steady and his form was slack. If he did that again he wouldn't get a third shot.

He slowed his breathing and shot again, hitting inside the middle ring.

He now had to hit inside the center ring to qualify. He reached for the magic arrow.

He didn't know how to touch an enchanted arrow with his spirit. He tried for a feeling of confidence in his gut that the arrow knew where to go then let it fly. Kyric felt like the magic didn't work, but he hit inside the center ring anyway.

He heard a cheer and looked to see Aiyan and Pitbull on the front row of the stands among a quickly growing crowd of spectators, slapping each other and whooping like he had just won the gold arrow.

Now began the tournament. The next round would be groups of four, a dozen shots each, the two best scores advancing. Kyric's first few shots hit the outer ring, but then he found his focus and his arrows started landing in the center and he finished with a fair score. He stood in second place with the last man to shoot, a young Jakavian with fiery eyes. With one arrow left, the Jakavian needed only a solid hit in the middle ring to finish ahead of Kyric, but just as he released, his arm jerked and he yelped in pain. His shot missed the target entirely.

"Stung by a bee!" he cried. "I got stung by a bee! No fair — I should get to shoot again."

Kyric glanced over at the stands. Pitbull was laughing so hard he nearly fell over, and Aiyan had to hold him up.

The judges examined the Jakavian's arm and found no sign of a sting or any other injury and pronounced that the shot would stand, and that Kyric would advance.

Now he only had to survive five head to head matches to be one of the final pair. They brought out new targets with four rings and bulls-eyes painted in blue and set them back another fifty paces.

They paired him against a soldier from Sevdin. Kyric found his range on the first shot and won easily with one arrow in the bulls-eye and eleven arrows surrounding it. He shot just as well in the next round, but his opponent was very good and he barely won. He flubbed a shot in the next pairing, but he won by default when the man he was shooting against developed a cramp in his hand and violated the time limit trying to work it out.

Once again, Pitbull roared with hilarity, elbowing Aiyan, who sat still with a quiet smile, simply enjoying the games.

Kyric paced an angry circle. Why did the little man have to enjoy his power so much? The way he celebrated each of his dirty tricks was so _arrogant_.

He stepped up to the line for the next round with a hot head and loosed all his dozen in quick succession, hardly pausing to aim. He won with two bulls-eyes, and the crowd cheered for the show of rapid fire. Kyric looked around for the other contestants and found only three — an old greybeard with a straw hat, a tall strong-looking girl about his own age, and a pale fellow dressed in red leather boots and a lacey silk shirt.

The judges called a recess so that they could hold the stone-throwing, and Kyric went to the pavilion and sat on the grass outside. Aiyan found him there a few minutes later.

"What are you so angry about?" he said.

"The way we have to make a mockery of these games so that you can meet a princess. By using magic to deprive these men of their chance, we dishonor them."

Aiyan gave him a hard look. "We aren't a couple of kids pranking the Games of Aeva. We are at noble purposes here. You know the truth of the threat — you've _tasted_ it. If you find your part in this unpleasant, let me tell you that this is _nothing_. It gets _much_ worse than this. So whatever this is really about, just stop it. Step up and be the man you know you can be."

Kyric let out a heavy sigh, shaking his head. "I don't know why I'm so angry today."

Aiyan's tone softened. "I know why. It's the black blood. Even if only for a moment, you were used on the deepest level, in the core of your heart. No one recovers from that in a few days.

"Remember that for a true warrior, all battles are battles of the spirit. When we burn, it is not with anger. We burn with our own inner fire. I know that you know how to do this. I _know_ it."

Kyric didn't say anything, and they watched the stone-throwing for a time. At last Aiyan said, "The one who'll give you trouble is the fellow in the red boots. I've been watching him. He uses an old Baskillian war bow — wood and horn composite — and he's an exceptional shot." Aiyan paused for a moment and his eyes narrowed. "There's something about him," he murmured. "I would like to get a close look at that one."

He pulled an orange from his pocket and gave it to Kyric. With a final nod, he turned and left him alone.

The stone-throwing ended and a judge called Kyric back onto the field along with the three others. Someone loudly announced their names to the crowd. Kyric swallowed. Half of Aeva had just heard his name.

They had replaced the old targets, the new ones having a red spot in the center of the blue bulls-eye. If they had used these earlier, Kyric was sure that all his bulls would have been in the blue, the outer portion. They paired him with the greybeard, whose name was Orpa Tomae. Tomae shot like a machine, every movement precise, and he scored as high as one could without a single bulls-eye.

When Kyric stepped up to the line he selected the magic arrow and closed his eyes, seeing himself in the clover field at the convent, losing all self as he raised the bow, but the clover field became the place of his dreams and the wind that blew there became a wind of the spirit, and it blew through him and along the arrow. He opened his eyes and loosed it without hesitation.

It struck the red spot. Kyric tried to remain in the spirit field, and vaguely aware of the roar of the crowd, he shot his other arrows and finished with two more in the blue. He was one of the final pair.

When the girl, Elmi Hilake, was called to shoot, the crowd applauded wildly, and they shouted encouragements to her as she went to the line. She shot as well as Kyric had against Tomae, but it wasn't enough as the man, Stefin Vaust of Drendusia, scored seven outer bulls to win easily. The crowd cheered him politely, but their hearts had been with Elmi.

The judges announced that for the final round they would trade shots at the same target. Then they moved the line back another fifty paces. The flip of a coin decided that Kyric would shoot first.

He estimated the distance to be about a hundred and thirty yards. He would need to use a little more arch than he was used to. And with Vaust standing at the same line watching, Kyric felt a bit uneasy. He took a deep breath and loosed his arrow in the place of spirit. It struck near the bulls-eye, but not quite in it. Vaust hit the outer bull at the edge of the red.

Kyric's next ten shots alternated from just inside the blue to just outside of it, and with every answering shot Vaust one-upped him, so that with one arrow remaining, Kyric was far behind. To win, he would have to hit the inner bull and Vaust would have to nearly miss the target.

Kyric drew the magic arrow from his quiver. Vaust took a step toward him.

"Is that an enchanted arrow?" he said with a curious smile and a bit of a dialect.

Shocked, Kyric didn't know what to say. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Well, there's little magic symbols painted on the shaft. I thought maybe you were superstitious and bought a supposed enchantment from one of those fakirs."

Kyric grinned in embarrassment. _Stop it. That's the most obvious of all the signs_. Surprised, he found that he was entirely unpracticed as a liar.

"Not at all. Those were already on the arrow when I found it. Everyone knows there's no such thing as a magic arrow."

"Indeed," said Vaust with a polite nod.

The line judge called out, "No speaking to the shooter while he's at the line. Step away and give him some room."

Vaust backed away and Kyric had to close his eyes and simply breathe for a moment. He stepped into a waking dream where the red spot on the target became a glowing eye. The spirit wind filled him and nothing of his self remained. Strings of power connected the arrowhead to the glowing eye. All that Kyric had to do was let go.

The arrow struck the red spot dead center.

The crowd screamed as one, and a sliver of light sparked in Vaust's eyes. He gave Kyric an examining look. "Now that was a remarkable shot," he said coolly, nocking his last arrow. "I will certainly remark upon it."

Kyric edged to the side and scanned the crowd, finding Pitbull standing in his seat next to Aiyan. He had removed his spectacles, and now he tapped at his elbow with one finger, and he appeared to be speaking furiously.

Vaust drew the bowstring back, held for a moment, then as he released, his face clenched in pain, but that was all. His shot landed on the edge of the blue and he was the winner.

Pitbull staggered to one side, his mouth open. He said something to Aiyan then sat down, shaking his head and making futile gestures to the sky.

Vaust touched his elbow gingerly. "It's all right now," he said to Kyric. "Had a sharp twinge there just as I released." He smiled, barely suppressing a chuckle, a curious light in his eyes. He looked at Kyric strangely. Knowingly. Like he knew the arrow was enchanted, and that a spell had been cast upon him.

He reached out to shake Kyric's hand. "You are a good archer, Kyric Ospraeus. I will see you on the platform." Vaust held the handshake for a moment, as if he could learn more of Kyric with the touch. In turn, Kyric looked him in the eye, and though he had never seen Vaust before this day, he suddenly remembered him. No doubt he had seen him in a dream.

Kyric had heard during the qualifying that a prize for second place would be given this year — a silver arrow. So he would be on the platform with Vaust. Perhaps all was not lost. Maybe he would get the invitation to the royal reception as well.

Apparently that ceremony would be held at once. While a gang of workmen hauled the platform onto one end of the field, the crowd spilled out of the far side of the stands for a closer look. The judges ushered the two of them to the platform before they could be surrounded.

"My arrows —," Kyric began.

"They will be collected for you," a judge assured him.

A master of ceremonies announced them to the crowd with booming voice. Two young women set laurels on their heads, and two more hung ribbons with small ornamental arrows, gold and silver, around their necks. Kyric's arrow seemed to be solid silver and weighed close to a pound, and he figured that if he pawned it he would have food and lodging for a month. Along with the gold arrow Vaust received a piece of paper with an elaborate seal.

As they stepped down from the platform, Kyric saw Pitbull passing nearby and was about to call out to him when Jela came out of the crowd and threw her arms out in a great hug.

"You were so good," she cried. "You were wonderful. You almost won."

While Jela carried on, Pitbull circled behind Vaust, stopping and taking a hard look at him over his spectacles. Vaust stiffened and looked behind, but Pitbull had already slipped away into a throng of spectators.

Jela turned to Vaust. "You were good too."

Vaust bowed. "Stefin Vaust."

"Of Drendusia. I heard. I'm Jela."

"I am charmed to meet such a lovely lady."

Jela blushed. She said to Kyric, "He's a gentleman as well."

"Are the two of you related?" said Vaust.

Jela giggled. "No. He's my uncle's friend."

"How very fortunate for him."

Jela giggled again, then noticed the paper in Vaust's hand. "You didn't get an invitation to the reception," she said to Kyric.

He shook his head. "The nobility are not interested in those who come second."

"That's not fair," she said. "You have a prize arrow as well. And you were so looking forward to meeting Princess Aerlyn."

"You may have mine," Vaust said, "so long as you bring Jela as your guest."

"That's very kind of you," Jela said. "But won't they be expecting you?"

"Oh I will be there," Vaust said. "My employer is very close to Senator Lekon. I don't need a pass to get in."

"Who is your employer?" Jela asked.

"Kleon Morae," Vaust said, pointing to Lekon's private box atop the pavilion.

Kyric looked up, and there stood Morae next to the Senator, looking down at them, still wearing the same red hat with the black plume.

With sudden inspiration Kyric said to Vaust, "I've heard he's a generous man, good to work for. Do you not love him?" And he waited for the lie.

This time Vaust laughed aloud. "No I do not. He's an unforgiving tyrant. But he has much to offer in the way of advancement. I believe he's soon to be Archon Morae."

He spoke the truth. Kyric was sure of that.

"In that case," Kyric said to him, "I accept with gratitude."

Vaust began to hand him the invitation then paused. "Remember," he said, nodding towards Jela.

Kyric took the paper and Jela covered her mouth with both hands. "I'm going to the royal reception," she screamed. "I have to go tell everyone. Wait," she said, having a sobering thought. "I don't have anything to wear."

"You do not have to dress like royalty," Vaust told her. "I'm sure that you will be most lovely in what you have." He bowed again and kissed her hand. "Until tomorrow night then."

Before he walked away he gave one last nod to Kyric. "Be seeing you."

# CHAPTER 9: Rumors and Resolve

"He certainly has the warrior essence to him," said Pitbull, wiping the foam from the stubble above his lip. "I got close enough to the bastard to see that. But I can't tell if his blood runs black."

Aiyan took a sip of his sherry. "Seems likely, if he has the essence. But Morae could still be teaching him, not quite ready for the ceremony with Cauldin — 'kissing his hand' I believe they call it. You were face to face with him, Kyric. What do you think?"

"He has no love for Morae. I can tell you that." Recalling the dream of blood drinking, his wine suddenly tasted too sweet, and he set his glass down on the table.

Aiyan had wisely chosen a corner table at The Peacock's Tale before it began to fill. Kyric could then sit with his back to the room and avoid all the back patting and shouts of "nice shooting," and the ones who just wanted to chat with him for a while and tell him all about themselves. He couldn't imagine the attention he would have got had he won the gold arrow.

When he had finally found the judge who had collected the arrows, the man had only half of them. The rest had been taken as souvenirs, the magic arrow among them. _Might as well tell them now_.

"Pitbull, I lost your enchanted arrow."

Pitbull answered him with a wide grin. "It doesn't matter to me. It belonged to Aiyan." He tried to conceal his laughter by burying his face in a gigantic tankard.

Aiyan visibly struggled with some kind of secret mirth. "You see — " he began to say, but then Pitbull laughed into his beer and Aiyan broke into a chuckle he couldn't speak through.

"What?" said Kyric.

"The thing is," Aiyan managed to say. Pitbull threw his head back with spasms of hard laughter and Aiyan had to pause again. "There was nothing at all magical about that arrow. It was a good arrow; I bought it from the best fletcher in town, but it wasn't enchanted."

"I don't have the slightest idea of how to make a magic arrow," said Pitbull, wiping tears from his cheeks. "I don't know anyone who does." His giggles started up again. "The symbols I painted on the shaft don't mean anything — I just made them up."

"But it worked," Kyric said to Aiyan.

"It opened you to the possibility of a spiritual link between the archer and the arrow. This is the key to the essence of the warrior. The way the Unknowable Forces enter your dreams tells me that this has been coming for some time. You just needed a little push."

Suddenly serious, Pitbull made a mournful sound. "Communion with the Unknowable Forces at your age, and with as little as you know, must be both terrible and sublime."

The food came and they dined on shellfish, spiced greens, and cold tomato soup. The waiter recognized Kyric and he had to stop and pull out the silver arrow so the waiter could see it up close.

When they had finished, Pitbull said, "There's something I've been meaning to tell you, Aiyan. Ever since the games started I've been hearing stories about creatures in the sewers that come out at night. They're the size of a large dog, and they crawl around on walls like lizards. As many as three have been spotted together. Here's the strange part — they've been seen trying to open shutters and windows on folk's houses. You hear all sorts of things when the games are on, so I didn't think much of it until a constable I know brings me a strip of hairless hide. Seems that a doctor caught one climbing in his daughter's bedroom window and shot it. It got away, and there was no blood, but he apparently blew a piece of its skin off."

"Did he say what the creature looked like?"

"Only that it had hands. Anyway, in layman's terms this hide is naturally magical, like a firebird's tooth or a dragon's scale."

Aiyan leaned forward. "A creation of Derndra?"

"That was my thought," Pitbull said. "No one really knows how much of Derndra's Palace lies intact beneath the new city."

Kyric blinked twice. "You think these creatures have been down there for a thousand years?"

"Why not?" Pitbull said, picking at his teeth with a fingernail. "Firebirds and dragons live many thousands of years."

Kyric thought for a moment. Something about this rang familiar. "This reminds me of a passage in the Edda of Derndra, but I can't remember it."

"I thought you knew them all," Aiyan said.

"I can recite them, but it's hard to pull a line out of the middle of a given book. I just need to sift through my memory. I'll think of it eventually."

Aiyan said to Pitbull, "So these creatures have only been spotted in the last few days?"

"That's what I hear."

"Curious. Let's say for argument that the enemy has been digging around and came across these things. What would it take to control them?"

Pitbull held up one finger. "Control is iffy with any magical creature and it's very complicated. If they have a magician skilled at touching minds he could send them out on simple errands."

"Such as looking for a missing book?"

Pitbull drummed the table for a moment. "Not likely. They would have to show the creatures which house to look in. But if a magician had one of Derndra's original grimoires, then yes, it could be done.

"Of course the kind of devices Derndra built leads to all sorts of possibilities. No one has mentioned seeing any kind of collar around their necks, but I wouldn't be surprised to find one. The creatures would then be linked to a controlling device, something like a ring or an amulet. Some of the ancient artifacts were so powerful that they would cast their magic in anyone's hands."

"If they had a magician," Aiyan said, "wouldn't they have found me and the book by now?"

"Many of us aren't finders. If there was another finder in town I would know it."

"How's that?" Kyric asked.

"We would have found each other."

"It may not have anything to do with us," Aiyan said. "Except that I don't believe in coincidence."

The taper in the middle of the table had burned low, and Kyric let his finger play with the tiny flame. "What are you going to do about Stefin Vaust?"

"I'm not sure," Aiyan said. "See what happens at the royal soiree tomorrow night. To be honest, I keep expecting one the masters of Esaiya to appear."

Pitbull shrugged. "The barrier around that little island sometimes works both ways."

"Still, being so close to home, I thought that Grandmaster Alessi would have sensed them." He patted the pocket pistol beneath his vest. "I should have sneaked up to their box today and shot him in the head myself."

"You know you can't take them unawares."

Aiyan nodded.

"Then go to the narrows and signal the masters," said Pitbull.

"I would have to find a horse and ride all night in order to make it to the reception. I'll do that if I have to, but we'll go to the reception first."

Pitbull placed one hand in the other. "I tell you this, Aiyan. I feel something connected to this little party — a significant vibration."

Kyric made a leap of thought. "What is the moment?"

They both gave him a sharp look, Pitbull breaking into a grin. "It is the moment of the dance."

"Then we must step lightly," Aiyan said.

Kyric looked from one to the other. "I take it that we're not talking about ballroom dancing?"

"What's happening now between Aiyan and Morae," Pitbull said, "that is the dance."

They sat quietly and listened to the rise and fall of the dinnertime hubbub. Pitbull drained the last of his beer. "Well, I'm off. The wife and children are probably home by now."

"My love to Estia," said Aiyan.

Kyric was surprised that he was married. He couldn't help but ask, "Your wife, is she . . . "

"A little woman?" said Pitbull with a wry smile. "Yes she is. But the kids are all full size."

Aiyan tried taking the back ways to Sedlik's house. The streets lay jammed with more people each night, and even the quiet narrow lanes had their share of traffic. After turning a corner Aiyan pulled Kyric into a dark doorway. "The crowded streets certainly make it easy to follow someone without being seen," he whispered.

Kyric held still in the dark. "Are we being followed?"

"If we are, we're in much more trouble than I thought. Still we must take every precaution. For the sake of our friends."

He watched for a time, then, still watching, he said to Kyric, "You can still walk away from this." When Kyric didn't say anything he said, "I have my invitation. And I think you would be safe on your own now."

Kyric looked at the people drifting past, their paper lamps bobbing like bright flowers in a flowing stream. "I don't have anything else to do."

Aiyan turned to him. "You have plenty to do, such as making a life for yourself. With your education you could easily get work as a tutor. Young as you are, I think you have the temperament to be a teacher. And then there's making friends and meeting girls."

"What was it you told me earlier — you don't get over it in a few days?"

Aiyan nodded. "So you wish to pay them back. Don't worry. Stay with me and you'll get your shot at them. But you've heard the expression, ' _Be careful what you wish for_?' It doesn't say nearly enough. If you wish to do violence to these men, you may get that, but if you do there will be so much more."

Kyric thought about it as they walked on. He _was_ angry. He _did_ want to pay them back. And more. This felt strange. His mother had raised him to never fight back, and the rune sisters always preached non-violence.

When they arrived at Sedlik's house, Jela was in her sewing room facing four evening dresses hanging on wooden racks. And when Aiyan told her that he was going in her place she wailed so loudly that Sedlik came down to see what was the matter, instantly angry at the mention that Stefin Vaust could be a Knight of the Dragon's Blood.

"You don't know that for sure," Jela said to Aiyan. "What if I promise to have nothing to do with him? I just want to meet Princess Aerlyn same as you."

"No!" Sedlik shouted. "You will not go. If I have to lock you in your room for two days you will not go near them. You know what they are." His pointed stare at Aiyan was clearly an accusation.

"Listen to me, my sweet," Aiyan said gently. "While this appears to be a simple party, we will in fact be playing a deadly game. And your presence there would make it even more dangerous for Kyric and me. You wouldn't want to see either of us hurt would you?"

She shook her head, a slow tear leaking from the corner of one eye.

"Besides, I need my name on the pass."

Jela wiped her eye. "It's being held at the fairground, not the residence. Someone like you could easily find a way to get in."

Aiyan smiled. "Perhaps I could, but this is better. For all of us."

She tried a different tack. "Kyric could stay here and I could go with you. That way you would be there to keep an eye on me."

They all shook their heads at her.

She glared at Kyric. "I don't why you're involved in this anyway. _Why are you even here_?"

He had no answer for her.

"You, you . . . men!" she said with more than a little contempt. She gathered her dresses into a great wad and stamped up the stairs to her bed chamber.

Later, as Kyric lay in the guest bed listening to the endless revels out in the streets, he realized that she had called him a man. Aiyan had done so as well at the games. All his life it had been boy, or kid, or son, or lad. He smiled. Jela liked him. He was sure of it.

She still seemed a little miffed the next morning, answering politely only when spoken to, but she smiled at them all, humming a lively tune as she packed her lunch for the last day of the games. Kyric spending the day with she and her friends was apparently out of the question now. When she left the house she carried an extra bag and one of her formal evening dresses.

"I'm going to Sercey's after the closing of the games," she told Sedlik. "There's a dance at New Market Square tonight. Don't wait up."

"Even more impertinent than her mother," Sedlik said to the closed door after she had gone.

Aiyan and Kyric returned to the tailor's shop at noon for the fitting. A small adjustment, a few stitches, and it was done. They stood in front of the tailor's glass, looking like a pair of barons in a painting, Aiyan in the white and silver of Sedlik's finest doublet, Kyric wearing charcoal with pleated sleeves of sky blue, a match for his hair and eyes. Fashion required both of them to wedge themselves into uncomfortable shoes with large buckles.

They strolled past the Games Pavilion on the way back, Aiyan stalking through the crowd like a hunting beast. Looking for Morae, Kyric imagined, ready to cut him down should he come upon him unguarded. But Senator Lekon's box lay empty that day. At least Kyric was able to watch a few footraces.

Later, after they had returned to Sedlik's house, they sat at the kitchen table. The sun had passed zenith, and the windows lay in shadow now, the thick stones of the kitchen wall a fortress against the afternoon heat. They spoke of small matters for a while, then Kyric asked Aiyan, "How did you come to be a Knight of the Flaming Blade?"

"That's not so long a story," Aiyan said, darkly amused. "My parents were actors in a traveling troupe, and I grew up in the towns along the highroad thinking that I would be the same, even going onstage at times when they needed a child in a scene."

"I see," Kyric said. "That's how you know about makeup and Captain Bombasto, and why you can speak like a bumpkin or an aristocrat."

Aiyan nodded. "That all changed when I was seventeen and Jakavia went to war with Sevdin and Kandin. We were trapped in Sevdin during the siege, and the Jakavians were firing bombs into the city. Everyone was afraid and food became scarce, so it seemed sensible for me to volunteer for the army. One night while I was on sentry duty, a shell hit my parents' wagon, killing them both."

Kyric could see a momentary blankness cross his eyes, remembered feelings of helplessness.

"Soon after that," he continued, "I heard about a man named Thurlun, a mercenary captain employed by the Doge to raise a small band of raiders. I went to him at once. He must have thought me a bloodthirsty kid because he signed me without a question. His idea was to have small boats land us behind the siege lines at night, and for us to attack supply depots. But the depots turned out to be too well guarded, so what we ended up doing was killing soldiers with important skills. We would sneak into the camps and quarters of artillerymen, sappers, junior officers and the like and kill them as they awoke in confusion. We began staying out for a week at a time, hiding in the woods by day and killing and looting at night.

"The Jakavians started sending out night patrols against us and the game got trickier. We learned to move silently and leave no trace, and to paint our faces and be invisible. Thurlun was a master hunter. We set ambushes that left no one alive, and I shot plenty of men in the back on those nights. At length, the Jakavians learned our art, and one night it was us caught in an ambush. It was a clumsy one and most of us survived, but after we started taking casualties of our own it got even uglier.

"But at last the war ended in something like a draw, and the Jakavians went home. And in thanks, the State of Sevdin accused Thurlun of war crimes and refused to pay us for our months of killing in its name. Many of us had no home to return to, so we became brigands of a sort. At first just stealing food so we could eat. Later, outright robbery. It all came to a head when my friend Jussin killed an elderly man who tried to hit him with his cane. He didn't have to shoot the old guy; he could have simply pushed him down into the dirt.

"They sent the cavalry to hunt us down, but Thurlun proved to be a clever devil and we eluded them for some time. In the end a man named Bortolamae helped them trap us in the hills after a running fight. He had known the old man that Jussin killed. Half of us were wounded and I had one of his arrows in my gut. He told us that if we would name the man that had killed the old fellow and lay down our arms, the rest of us would be granted amnesty. He also said that if any of us sought redemption for what they had done, he would lead them to it.

"I was badly hurt and filled with regret. Jussin had saved my life twice, and there had been a time when I would have stepped in front of an arquebus for him. But when I saw that no one else would do it, I named Jussin and begged for redemption. I was barely eighteen and had killed more men than I could count.

"I awoke alone in the back of an open wagon, a nicely sewed spot where the arrow had been. I remember that it was a cold grey day and Bortolamae was driving us into the highlands. Snow flurries swirled on the wind. He took me to an old magician named Niebo and told me he would return in a few months when I had healed. Pitbull was his only student and that tells you how long he and I have been friends. Niebo told me the saga of the Knights of the Pyxidium and introduced me to the weird arts and other non-magical ways. The knowing of moments and places. He was hard on Pitbull and easy on me. We all liked a funny story and I remember laughter in the evenings, and when the springtime flowers bloomed more than my wound had healed in me.

"Bortolamae came back on the last day of spring and I spent four years traveling with him and learning from him, and hardly a single day passed without him drilling me mercilessly with longsword or bow. He would lead us headlong into ugly situations, and we were in some very bad fights. In time I came to see his blade flame and to see the black blood, and I came to know much of the truth that lies beyond the veil of reason. Then one morning in the middle of practice, he stopped and asked me what I was doing still following him around. I left for Esaiya that day."

"What happened to him?" Kyric asked hoarsely.

"He is now a master of the order and lives on Esaiya as a teacher." Aiyan's voice dropped to a low whisper. "If no one else, I thought that _he_ would come to my aid."

Anticipating a long night, they rested a time before beginning the elaborate task of bathing, shaving, and dressing to meet a princess. Aiyan shaved all his beard except for a tasteful spot on the tip of his chin to go with his moustache, and left his hair unbraided, letting it fall to his shoulders in chestnut waves. When every button had been fastened, and all cravats and sashes fashionably tied, Aiyan removed his sword from its belt and carefully unwrapped the weathered deerskin from scabbard revealing a rich dark wood lying beneath. A splash of seed oil on a cloth and it ran with streaks of light. Peeling away the old leather from the grip unveiled a hilt of polished ivory inscribed with fine lines and set with pearls. It looked like a different sword.

He threaded his locket beneath the doublet and tucked it into his sash, then he slipped the sword through the silver sash and stood before Kyric and Sedlik. "It feels out of place with this costume. Does it look awkward? Is the hilt too long for dancing?" For a moment the warrior was disarmed and he became a nervous actor on opening night.

"It's not as subtle as the dress sword currently in fashion, but it is surprisingly elegant," Sedlik said, his voice edged with amusement. "Less gaudy than those ceremonial sabres that the military men will be wearing."

Kyric thought of Elistar, the mythological warrior who rode to Aerth on the back of the eldest firebird, armored in light. "You look magnificent," he said.

Sedlik examined Kyric, adjusting his cravat. "Are you not going to wear the silver arrow?"

"Yes, wear the arrow," Aiyan said.

While Kyric hung the arrow around his neck, Aiyan found his pocket pistol and hid it in the small of his back, under the sash. "I need both of yours as well," he said, turning to Sedlik, "for Kyric. I know you have a matched set."

"Yes," Sedlik said, going to get them, "you gave them to me. And I'm glad to never have used them." He handed the little pistols to Aiyan. "Going armed to royal receptions — I so envy your social life, Aiyan. You must let me toady along next time."

Aiyan loaded the pistols and showed Kyric how to tuck them into his sash so that they did not show.

"By the way," Sedlik said, "they've stopped searching everyone at the gates and docks. You can take that book and leave the city anytime you want. Tomorrow if you want."

"Tomorrow then," said Aiyan. "Or maybe the day after. And thank you."

Sedlik handed Aiyan a handkerchief to carry in his sleeve. "I never meant to say that I was merely repaying a debt, Aiyan. That was foolish of me. I am your friend."

Aiyan took the handkerchief. "I've always known that."

Going to a front window, he peeked out. "Probably impossible to get a cab at this hour. We'll slip out the back alley and walk there." Turning to Sedlik he said, "Bar the door after us. In fact, keep all the doors and windows locked at all times until this is over."

Sedlik nodded. "Already done."

# CHAPTER 10: The Dance

The games had closed and there was a party in every street as they drifted westward in the flow of the crowd. Kyric declined the offer of a drink from a stranger's wine bottle. "I wonder how much wine Sedlik sold this week."

"Enough to make his whole season," Aiyan said loudly over the pop of firecrackers.

A new tent large enough to rival the big top of the circus had been erected at one corner of the fairgrounds, a hastily thrown up fence separating it from a row of booths on one side. It lay somewhat open to the sky, using netting rather than canvas for the top, with the royal banner of Aessia flying from its crest. A handful of royal guardsmen flanked the huge opening that served as the door of the tent, and a few more stood at the gate to a wide street jammed with ornate carriages. Beyond lay the fair, bright with the light of hundreds of lanterns and many bonfires, the crowd there a writhing mass in the glow of a thousand paper lamps.

Kyric showed the invitation to the protocol master at the entry. He wrote their names on a list.

"Sir," Aiyan said to him. The man looked up. "That's me, _Sir_ Aiyan," he said pointing to the man's list.

He gave them each a stiff piece of paper. _Kyric Ospraeus, Esquire_ was written on Kyric's card. He didn't know what to do with it. They were ushered in without any announcement.

The floor of the tent lay covered in hardwood, and dozens of lamps hung from the netting. The walls were painted by a landscape artist, and they depicted an archaic pastoral scene including well-groomed fields and spotless ruins, nothing like Karta.

The place smelled good, like wild roses in the forest. Pedestals blooming with flower arrangements stood at every station and most of all in front of a screened area to one side where no doubt the princess and her party waited. A small orchestra played at the back, and at the other side stood huge cages filled with exotic birds. In the center lay an open stone hearth where a small fire burned in imitation of the traditional bonfire.

Over a hundred guests were there, mostly standing in little circles, the ladies all fanning themselves furiously. The athletes and their friends were easy to spot — their clothing just didn't have that light, airy, seasonal touch that the aristocracy enjoyed.

Aiyan casually looked around. "Most of the Senate seems to be here." Then he stopped. "Elistar's breath. There's Morae standing right next to Lekon."

Kyric didn't look. "Won't they recognize you?"

"I wore a false beard and spoke with a Keltassian dialect when playing the trader with Lekon, so I don't think he will know me. Morae has only seen me as Captain Bombasto, but if he gets close he will know me no matter how I'm costumed."

He stroked the tuft of hair remaining on his chin. "I'm going to mingle with the athletes. I'll have my back to Morae, so signal me if he starts moving my way."

With his blood red doublet, Morae was easy to track in a crowd. Kyric tried to watch him without looking at him, and so distracted himself that he didn't see Stefin Vaust until he was almost upon him.

"You did not honor our agreement," Vaust said sharply. "I should take one of your ears for that." He held Kyric's eye for a moment, allowing, at last, a thin smile to form.

Kyric bowed politely while he thought of what to say. "Good evening, Mr. Vaust. I, ah, regret that Jela wasn't able to accompany me. You see — "

"Ah!" Vaust piped, "here she comes now. And on the arm of the lion-wrestling Jakavian. Don't tell me you've had a falling out."

Kyric turned and stared in disbelief. There she was in a gown of lemon and fern, beautiful and tiny next to Jazul Marlez. Jazul stood imposing in simple black with a lion's skin cape over one shoulder, his own mane of hair tied back loosely. His big smile got bigger when he saw Kyric and Vaust approaching.

"Hello friend," he said to Kyric. "I foretold that I would win the gold bar. Did you win your contest as well?"

Kyric shook his hand. "No. I finished second."

"To tell the truth," Jazul said, lowering his voice, "I finished second, but the winner died on his last lift."

"He _died_?"

"Yes. He tried much more weight than he needed to win — more than I have ever seen. He got the weight over his head and held it, then he fell backward, dead."

"It was terrible," Jela said.

"Terrible?" said Jazul. "It was the best part of the whole games!" He roared with laughter.

Jela explained how she and her friends had seen Jazul sitting alone at the games and how he didn't know anyone here, the circus just being a venue for his act. They had taken it upon themselves to see him properly entertained in Aeva, and she had taken it upon herself to see him properly escorted.

Vaust took Jela's hand, bowing over it in his finery of mahogany and wheat, and kissing it lightly. His slicked-back hair and shaven face accentuated his angular features. "I hope you will honor me with a dance tonight," he said to her.

Something caught Kyric's eye and when he turned he saw Aiyan watching from across the floor, almost quivering in anger, his face slowly turning red.

A clapping of hands turned everyone to the center of the floor. The orchestra stopped playing. The master of protocol called everyone to form a line where he had laid a velvet rope. The games winners were to be first, then the nobility. Deliberately avoiding Jela, Aiyan pulled Kyric to the end, so that they would be last. The protocol master started with Aiyan, going down the line collecting and stacking each name card.

When he was done she came from behind the screens and he announced, "Princess Aerlyn of the house Quytis, Mother Reagent of the Realm."

They all stood taller and leaned forward to see her better. She wore a sliver of a tiara in her umber colored hair, a delicate gown of lavender and cream, and she moved with practiced grace. As she came closer Kyric saw that she was not quite the princess of fairytales. She was too tall, and her nose was too big, and she had a bit of a cleft to her chin.

Kyric was about to say this when Aiyan said, "More lovely than the forest in springtime, fearless as the sea in winter. In the summer of her life, I would fall before her as the gentle rain of autumn."

"Aiyan," said Kyric in wonder, "you're a poet."

"It's from a play, but it fits here."

A young boy and an even younger girl followed her, along with an older man wearing a heavy bronze medallion of office.

"Who's that?" Kyric whispered.

"Lord Porlien, the Chancellor of the Realm — a ceremonial title these days."

Rather than stand and let the line move past her, Princess Aerlyn elected to walk along the line. She spent a minute or two with each athlete, and seemed genuinely pleased to speak to them. She rushed through the nobility and the senators and their wives with perfunctory politeness, and offered a smile and a nod to most of the other guests, stopping a few times for a short chat with one of them. Blushing nervously, Jela managed to curtsey and mumble, "Good evening, Your Highness."

It took some time, and most everyone was restless and whispering to one another by the time Aerlyn made it to the end of the line. The master of protocol read from his last two cards.

"Kyric Ospraeus, esquire."

The princess smiled and Kyric bowed. "A pleasure, Your Highness."

"Sir Aiyan Dubern."

Their eyes met, and the two of them stood in perfect stillness as the rest of the world hummed restlessly about them. The sense that one recognized the other fell so strongly upon Kyric that he too could not move. The master of protocol checked his pocket watch. Aiyan bowed deeply and solemnly.

"Sir Aiyan," said Aerlyn, her woodwind voice resonate, yet absent of force. "Were you knighted by the Prince my late husband?"

"I was not, Princess, but I understand that he was familiar with my order." Aiyan spoke clearly yet softly. Kyric doubted that anyone more than a few places down the line could overhear.

"Which order is that?"

"The Order of the Flaming Blade, Your Highness."

Her gaze turned inward in puzzlement. "I thought that I knew all the chivalric orders of the Aessian realm."

"Many years ago we were knights of this realm, but now we are an international order."

"You hold no allegiance to any state?"

Aiyan hesitated only a moment. "We do not concern ourselves with the arguments of nations, Princess. We are dedicated to serving all of humanity."

"A noble aspiration."

"It is," said Aiyan, plunging on, "but we served the Aessian kings long ago and we have not forgotten this." Something about him held her eye. " _Lomin te aeicath_ ," he said, as if they were words of power.

It was Old Essian — _Know this for truth_. Kyric could see that Princess Aerlyn knew it as well.

"Know this for truth, Princess. To this day we are pledged to protect your family from harm, and your noble house from any darkness which would descend upon it should you ask." His look to her said a thousand words more. His voice dropped to a whisper. "You need only ask."

Kyric looked down the line to see Morae leaning out with a clouded brow, staring at Aiyan and the princess. Suddenly Kyric was afraid for them and searched for a distraction.

He dropped to one knee in front of the two children. "Hello," he said loudly to both of them, "my name is Kyric. What's yours?"

The boy gave an abrupt bow. "I'm Prince Eren."

"And I'm Lady Kaelyn," said the girl, playing with a strand of her strawberry hair. She looked about seven years old.

"I'm pleased to meet you both," Kyric said.

"Have you seen the baby elephant?" said Kaelyn

"Pygmy," her brother said, correcting her. "Not baby. A pygmy elephant."

"No, I haven't."

She frowned at Eren, and turned back to Kyric. "We want to see it."

The spell was broken. The master of protocol cleared his throat, and the princess said to Aiyan, "I believe we must move on to the next part of the evening. But let us talk more before the night is through." She smiled then, but for the briefest moment Kyric saw a flicker of distress in her eyes. "Please."

Aiyan bowed again. "As Her Highness wishes."

Princess Aerlyn went to stand in the center of the floor and presented the games winners. Everyone in line applauded, the orchestra began to play, everyone scattering as an army of servants invaded the tent. They set up tables and chairs, and wheeled in carts laden with sliced fruit and vegetables, oysters and other fruits of the sea, all resting in beds of ice.

Aiyan went straight to Jela, his hands clasped behind his back.

"Uncle Aiyan," she said through a giddy grin. "Did you see? They have ice — chilled food in the middle of summer."

"That must cost plenty," said Jazul, joining their little circle. "The nearest icepack is a thousand leagues to the north."

Aiyan lead Jela aside, but Kyric could still hear his harsh whisper. "You think you're very clever, but you're acting like a foolish girl. Have you no regard at all for my knowledge and experience? Am I someone whose opinion doesn't matter?"

Jela looked at the floor. "No. I simply didn't think of it that way."

Aiyan let out a breath. "Just stay with the big guy and don't go near Vaust or Morae. I expect you to become fatigued long before this soiree is done."

She made a sullen sound. "Alright."

Aiyan casually looked the room over. Lekon and Morae were speaking with the princess, so he drifted in the other direction, mingling briefly and slowly circling back when they moved away from Aerlyn and were replaced by Senator Ulium and a man in a military uniform. The orchestra struck up a lively tune, and Jela dragged Jazul to the open floor where a few couples already danced. Waiters sped gracefully among the guests with glasses of chilled white wine.

Kyric watched as Prince Eren and Lady Kaelyn were led to the bird cages by a lady in waiting and started toward them, thinking that it might be easier to socialize with children, when someone called his name.

It was Morae. He had traded his hat for a thick black wig. His face was long and thin, his eyes sunken and darkly rimmed. "Kyric Ospraeus," he said, not offering to shake hands. "I was impressed by your fine shooting in the games."

Kyric swallowed. His nerves surged, but he held down the fluttering panic in his gut.

"Thank you," he managed to say. "Still second to Stefin Vaust."

Standing close to him, Kyric could see that Morae's height made him look deceptively thin. There was some muscle beneath the doublet, and he sensed physical prowess in the way he moved. And he sensed something in Morae that he had never felt in Aiyan, that this man had murdered in cold blood.

"I have never seen Stefin make the perfect shot as you did."

Kyric tried to sound casual. "I was just lucky."

"You meant to do it. That isn't luck. Men like me believe the only luck is that which you make for yourself." Morae looked down at him curiously. "I am always interested in young men of exceptional talent."

Morae seemed to look into him, and Kyric couldn't look away from his eyes. He could almost taste the black blood again.

"I reward men in my service most handsomely — ask Stefin — and the work is anything but dull. And for those who prove loyal, there exists profound opportunities."

"That would be worth considering," Kyric found himself saying. He didn't mean to say it. He had to stop looking at Morae.

"We could step out to my carriage and discuss the specifics." His voice almost echoed in Kyric's mind, becoming hypnotic. Break the spell, he shouted to himself. _Move!_

He found that he could bow. Bowing deeply he broke the lock that Morae's stare had held.

"Another time, perhaps?" he said, finally able to breathe again. "I'm still unsure of my future."

"Very well," Morae said patiently, "another time."

When Kyric looked up Morae was gone. Aiyan faced him from the other side of the tent, holding his locket in one hand. He waved Kyric over to his side.

"What did he do to you?"

"It was like the last time I looked at him, only not as strong. Kyric took a deep breath. "He actually tried to recruit me into his service." He felt sweat on his brow and reached for his handkerchief. "I need to stay away from him."

"I'm surprised he's exposing himself like this," Aiyan said. "They usually stay far in the background as possible. He must have had compelling words for Princess Aerlyn. She looks upset now, and Senator Ulium isn't making it any better. Come along and watch my back while I speak with her."

Aiyan stopped a respectful distance from the princess and waited for her nod, which she gave immediately. As they approached Kyric could hear Senator Ulium saying, " — did not vote, the deadlock would give them a fortnight to reconsider their greed." Ulium was old and lined and his skinny arms flailed a bit when he spoke.

"And if they did not change their position?" she asked him.

"Then I and my faction will oppose them with all our influence."

She looked to the military man, a navy captain Kyric thought, then back to Ulium. "Thank you, gentlemen. We will speak again tomorrow."

Aiyan approached her as the other men turned away. "Your Highness. You have met my squire, Kyric." Not knowing what to do, Kyric bowed.

"I thought that knights with squires went out of style with the joust," Aerlyn said playfully. "Do you polish his armor and curry his horse, squire Kyric?"

He hadn't expected her to address him, but after speaking to Morae a princess wasn't so frightening. "I only follow him around out of curiosity. He must do his own chores."

She laughed politely at the counter-play, and Aiyan chuckled a little, just the right amount before continuing. "I must compliment the Princess. The reception is lovely."

She smiled somewhat sadly. "You need not speak to me that way. I am a princess in name only."

Aiyan acknowledged her with a curt bow of his head. "I've watched the politicians court you this evening. They don't do that with those who are powerless."

"For one brief moment I have a say in a government decision, nothing more."

"The Senate is deadlocked," Aiyan said as if discussing the weather, "and you have the power to break it. Because the issue concerns more wealth than can be counted, each faction pushes you to side with them using as much fright as can be mustered."

Aerlyn looked at him for a long moment. "I see you keep up with politics," she said. "The difference between the two sides has more to do with method, timing and the division of spoils, than with what is right. And it is shaded by my own financial complications. Lekon has offered me a share in the company, if formed. He has also offered to ruin my investments in the cloth trade if I vote against him. But my chief concern is what it will do to my people."

"A needless or unjust war is never good for any people," Aiyan said.

"I've been told that the Baskillian Empire would not go to war over this, the alliance with Sevdin and the Syrolian states being the deterrent."

"Whoever said that is either misinformed or heavily invested in war materials."

Her eyes narrowed and Kyric could see calculation in them. "I am well aware that the four closest to Lekon own cannon foundries and gunpowder factories. But even Ulium says this, and he's heavily invested in peace."

"Perhaps he has been blinded by the unbelievable wealth of the spice trade. It remains, however, that the Baskillian fleet is triple the size of the alliance squadrons."

Aerlyn stiffened a little. "They have sailed against us twice in the last century, and twice we have stopped them in the Straits of Terrula."

"Princess, you are only repeating what your advisors have told you. What do you feel in your heart?"

She looked away. "I feel threatened in a way I cannot explain."

Aiyan was silent for a moment. The orchestra started a waltz, and when Kyric glanced at the dance floor he nearly bit his lip. Jela was dancing with Stefin Vaust.

"What you feel are the secret forces at work here," Aiyan said to her. "I need to tell you something of which I have no proof, Your Highness, and I do not say this lightly. Senator Lekon is but the puppet of Kleon Morae. And Morae is the agent of . . . a foreign power. I cannot prove this, but I swear it is true."

Aerlyn stood wide-eyed in shock, but only for a moment. "If you have no proofs how do you know it?"

"I know it from the captain of Lekon's trade galleon, the one who has gone missing. He possessed other proofs that are missing as well."

"Do you think he was killed?"

Aiyan's expression didn't change. "I'm sure of it."

Aerlyn fanned herself lightly while she considered this. "What is your part in this, Sir Aiyan? Who is your patron and who are your friends?"

"I have none, save those in the Order of the Flaming Blade."

Aerlyn snapped her fan closed. "Name one man in your order that I know. Name one aristocrat who can witness for you."

"I cannot."

"In which cities do you have chapterhouses? Where do you meet?"

"We have only one meeting place, the castle on Esaiya."

"Esaiya . . . " She searched for the memory. "Do you mean Castle Island? I thought that was an order of monks."

"We circulate that story so we are left alone. We are warriors as much as any knight of old."

"So why are you here telling me all this?"

"I have already said, Princess. I am here to protect you from them if you so wish it. You have stood close to Morae. What did you feel?"

Aerlyn's gaze turned dark. "I felt that I stood at the edge of a snake pit. And I don't — " her voice caught and she had to swallow, "I don't like the way he looks at my son." She clutched her fan tightly with both hands. "I want to trust you, Sir Aiyan. I — "

The lady in waiting that Kyric had seen with Eren and Kaelyn had stopped in front of them. She looked around with growing anxiety.

"Where are my children?" Aerlyn asked.

The lady began to panic. "They said they were coming directly here to stand with you."

Kyric looked across the floor. He couldn't see the children, but he noticed that Morae was waving Vaust over to him.

"Calm yourself," said Aerlyn, "they're probably hiding from you." She gathered a handful of servants and sent them searching the length of the floor. A few minutes later they came back empty-handed.

Aerlyn turned back to the lady in waiting. "Where did you last see them?"

"We were looking at the birds."

They all walked over to the birdcages together. Peering under the platform where the cages sat, Aiyan said, "There's a tear in the tent — they must have slipped out here."

Morae watched from across the floor. He whispered into Vaust's ear imperatively, and Vaust strode quickly to the entrance, breaking into a trot as he went out.

Aiyan saw it. To the princess he said, "Don't worry. I will find them." To Kyric he said, "Come with me," and he ran from the tent in Vaust's wake, running fast as a sprinter in his clumsy dress shoes. Kyric couldn't run in them. As soon as he was outside, he kicked them off and went in pursuit of Aiyan.

Aiyan wove through the crowd at full speed, never so much as brushing against anyone, adjusting his course to avoid obstacles before he could even see them. Kyric tried to keep up but soon collided with a juggler, going down in a rain of wooden pins. He was back up in an instant, but Aiyan was already lost to him.

_Wait_. He didn't have to chase Aiyan. He knew where the kids had gone. Hauling the juggler to his feet with an apology he asked, "Do you know where the pygmy elephant is kept?"

"Somewhere behind the big top," the juggler answered shortly, brushing himself off. He pointed in the direction.

Kyric moved through the crowd as quickly as he could, coming to the front of the darkened circus tent. He circled around to the back side to find what was once an open marketplace covered by a latticework roof. Along with rows of wooden crates lay rows of animal cages near the back flaps of the tent, all in the glow of a dozen paper lamps suspended beneath the lattice. The smell of hay and manure lay thickly over the place. He walked past bears, lions — one must be Jazul's Bruli — a chimpanzee, a pygmy rhino, and he turned the corner to find Eren and Kaelyn in front of an elephant standing five feet high.

He grinned with a little triumph saying, "Hi kids. I thought I would find you here."

Eren frowned. "You're not supposed to call us kids."

Kaelyn jumped up and down. "Come look at the pygmy elephant, Kyric."

He walked over and squatted beside her.

"It's not a baby," she said. "He's full grown."

"They live in the far south of Terrula," Eren said, "where it's always warm. What happened to your shoes?"

Kyric's grin widened. "They weren't very comfortable."

"My feet are tired," Kaelyn said. "May I take my shoes off too?"

Kyric stood up. "How about if I carry you back to the party where you can sit down?"

She beamed at him. "Okay."

Suddenly Vaust stepped around the corner. "There you are. Well, it seems we have found them."

He sounded casual enough, but Kyric saw the sign of the feral lie, the lie that bullies told so that they could get close enough to hurt you.

"You can take the little girl, and I will accompany the prince," he said, taking two more steps.

Kyric stepped away from the children and crossed his arms over his sash, letting his fingertips slide underneath, close to the pocket pistols.

Vaust took one more step. Kyric reached for a pistol at the same time Vaust reached for his sword, but before Kyric could cock it, Vaust leaped forward and lunged. Kyric backpedaled, but too slowly, then Vaust's foot flew out from under him as he slipped on a bit of manure. Kyric cocked his pistol and aimed directly at Vaust's head. Anger came bubbling up like thick black tar.

Vaust had recovered his balance at once and they now stood only a few feet apart. Kyric could see a thought passing behind Vaust's eyes — he was wondering if his sword arm was quicker than Kyric's trigger finger. Then suddenly Aiyan was standing next to Vaust with the point of his sword against his neck.

"Drop your sword or I will kill you this instant," Aiyan said softly.

Vaust did as he was told. Aiyan seemed on the verge of rage, and in the midst of decision. He pressed the tip of his sword a bit harder, and a trickle of blood ran down Vaust's neck. It was red blood.

"So many young ones join them willingly now," Aiyan whispered to himself. He had said that the night they met.

"You can walk away," Aiyan said, still whispering, "and know that if it weren't for those children standing there watching, you would already be dead." He took his sword away from Vaust's neck. "But you may not want to return to the party. You've gotten blood on your collar."

Vaust began walking away backward, looking at Aiyan. He paused for a moment and looked hard, as if seeing something he hadn't seen before. For a moment Kyric thought Aiyan would change his mind and go at him with the sword. Instead he called to Vaust, "If I were you, I would go and pray for redemption while I still could. While my will was still my own."

Vaust gave off a short bark of a laugh as he turned the corner and was gone.

"We must return quickly," Aiyan said. "He'll run straight to Morae — and Morae could have followed us out for that matter." He sheathed his sword quickly. "What's more, Vaust saw me."

"What do you mean?"

"He was able to sense my inner nature you might say."

Aiyan took the pistol from Kyric and asked him to carry Kaelyn. He held it against his leg, still fully cocked, and grasped Eren by the hand. He led them through the cages and back around the circus tent and into the fair. Aiyan watched for danger in every parting of the crowd and looked backward every few steps.

Princess Aerlyn stood outside the entryway waiting for them. She tried not to show any relief as she took her son's hand from Aiyan, but to Kyric it was plain.

Eren looked up at his mother. "Sir Aiyan almost got into a swordfight with the man who won the gold arrow."

"Is that so?" Aerlyn said, looking at Aiyan.

"There would never have been a fight," Aiyan said evenly. "Vaust tried to claim the honor of returning the children to you when it was really Kyric who found them. I simply told him that it was not to be."

Aerlyn said nothing then, but held her head up and looked so deeply into Aiyan that Kyric feared she would see all of his inner spirit laid open. The eye is a window and seeing passes each way. Her spirit bloomed like flowers in her eyes as she looked, and Aiyan breathed deeply of that fragrance.

"My knight errant," she smiled. "I believe custom states that I must reward you with a token of my esteem. Shall I give you a ribbon to tie at the point of your lance?"

Aiyan smiled as well, but instead of counter-play he bowed and answered her seriously. "I ask only this: One dance."

Her smile faded away, to be replaced by a look of curiosity. She gave him a nod and curtseyed to him. "Then let us dance."

She took his arm and he led her inside and to the dance floor. She called to the orchestra leader, "Can you play Sparkling Wine?"

Everyone stopped at the abrupt moment of silence. Aiyan took the hand of the princess and the orchestra struck the opening chords of Sparkling Wine. Aiyan clearly recognized the song, breaking into a wide smile. She said something to him, and Kyric imagined her words. _Do you like this song too_? He answered. _Oh yes, it's one of my favorites_. She: _I've always loved dancing to this song_.

Aerlyn danced effortlessly, with every nuance perfectly timed, and Aiyan matched her with his natural grace, leading her in a delicate spinning step, making great circles across the dance floor. They looked only at each other, giving them a stillness as they swept past Kyric with another turn.

Kyric scanned the room for Morae and Vaust, but he saw neither. Jela noticed him and broke away from a group of athletes, coming over with his shoes in her hand.

"Look at them," she said, nodding toward Aiyan and Aerlyn. "They're wonderful together."

The music reached an interlude where only the violins played, and one by one the other couples began to drift to the side, stopping to watch, until none but Aiyan and Aerlyn were left dancing. They seemed to barely touch the floor, carried along by their own secret wind.

Still watching them, Jela said to Kyric, "You may have the next dance with me, if you would like that."

Kyric grimaced. "I don't know how."

"You've never danced in your whole life?"

"No, I haven't."

At last came the finishing crescendo, and the princess and the knight walked hand in hand from the dance floor to the applause of guests and servants alike. They were flushed with excitement and laughing.

"It's been a long time since I've danced like that," Aerlyn said.

Aiyan took in a breath. "I have never danced like that."

All at once a dozen lords and ladies pressed in on them, wanting to compliment Princess Aerlyn and interrogate Aiyan. He excused himself and made his way to Jela.

"You need to leave here at once," he said to her.

She frowned. "Why? They're not even here any longer."

"I don't have time for explanations, Jela," he said through clinched teeth, "but trust me with this, you need to go right away. Go to the other side of the city. Take the lion wrestler to the dance at New Market Square. That way at least you will have not told a complete lie to your father."

Without another word she stomped away to find Jazul.

"Why couldn't she stay and go home with you and me?" Kyric asked.

Aiyan gave him a grim look. "Because when we leave here they will try to kill us."

# CHAPTER 11: Handfuls of Straw

It didn't take long for Jela to talk Jazul into leaving with her. Jazul had apparently hired a carriage for the evening, and he seemed ready to set out for a full night of celebration. Aiyan peeked out and watched them go, the stiffness in his shoulders loosening visibly after they had gone the length of the street and turned the corner.

After seeing him dance with the princess, half the aristocrats wanted to corral Aiyan and find out who he was and how he knew the princess. He had to keep on the move to avoid conversation until at last Aerlyn sequestered herself at a table behind a barrier of flowers and called him over to sit with her.

Kyric busied himself with sampling the marvelous chilled delicacies, and with watching the couples who danced, trying to memorize some of the steps without going through the clumsy motions. All this time Aiyan and Aerlyn spoke in low tones, declining food and drink, often smiling, sometimes animated, leaning closer.

Kyric continued to watch for the return of Vaust or Morae, but they never came back. At length, Senator Lekon bulled his way to Aerlyn's table and forced Aiyan to shake hands with him, engaging him for a minute or two. Shortly after Lekon walked away he scribbled a note to an aid, who left at once. Aiyan excused himself and sought out Kyric.

"I just now thought of something they might try," he said, shaking his head as if to clear it. "My eyes are so full of stardust that I'm not thinking clearly."

Kyric tried not to smile. "So you're taken with her. What of it? It's nice."

Aiyan cleared his throat. "Anyway, it's possible that Morae tipped Lekon as to my identity and he has now sent for the household cavalry to arrest me as soon as we walk out."

"What about Morae and Vaust?"

"I think they're already out there waiting for us, but we should go now anyway. I've done more here than I dared to dream."

When Kyric gave him a knowing look Aiyan returned it and asked him, "Can you ride a horse?"

"If I have to."

"Good. We're going riding with Aerlyn tomorrow."

Kyric couldn't contain himself. "So it's first names now?"

Mumbling something unintelligible, Aiyan led him to the waiters' entrance near the orchestra platform and peered out. "We'll go quickly," he said. "Past the stores tent to those crates stacked against the fence, then over and into the crowd. Keep your head down and keep up with me."

"Just don't run like you did before."

Aiyan shook his head. "No need for the gait of the wind this time."

"Is that another weird that one may learn?"

"Yes," he said absentmindedly as he carefully scanned the fenced area. "It's not as hard as it looks."

With a nod from Aiyan, they crossed to the fence in a quick trot and over into a dark space behind a row of empty booths. "We didn't get shot coming out," said Aiyan. "So far so good."

A commoner's procession, a line of men and women dressed in outrageous imitations of finery, some approaching clownish proportions, was moving past the booths. A handful of musicians led the way, and most everyone in the line sang along with them.

Aiyan took Kyric's sleeve and led him around the booths and into the procession. "We don't look so out of place in this line," he said. "Let's see where it goes."

The line snaked down the avenues of the fair, past fire dancers, jugglers, and booths with bright awnings serving fried sweet-cakes and candied apples and all manner of finger food. Jovial fellows hawked bottled wine from the backs of donkey carts. Folks with children gathered along the path when they saw the procession coming, and the parading ladies threw hard candy and paper dolls to them, while the imitation lords flung handfuls of wooden coins into the air. Even the adults scrambled to catch these, and when Kyric managed to grab one he found it was merely inscribed with the words 'good luck' on one side. He tucked it into his sash, hoping that it was so.

The tall torches along the way cast flickering patterns into the moon shadows. The line moved along hesitantly, passing a small bonfire where pairs of sweethearts stood across from each other and the girls tossed wreaths to their boyfriends through the flames. Kyric had seen this in the country villages at midsummer — he who dropped his sweetheart's wreath faced an unhappy season.

"I have that feeling on the back of my neck," Aiyan said, looking back and all around, peering through gaps in the crowd. "I don't see either of them," he said, "but I can't imagine Morae simply letting us go. Let's take a run and see if that draws anyone out."

They broke from the procession and into the open, dashing across a darkened green where boys lashed straw men to old wagon wheels, setting them aflame and rolling them through the night with short poles. The straw men crackled and the flames purred as the burning wheels rolled by, and Aiyan cut towards a large tent where two women were selling straw dolls at a brisk pace. With midnight quickly approaching, everyone would soon be tearing straw men to pieces. Beyond, in the shadow of a lonely elm, lay some wagons waiting to be loaded with empty barrels.

Aiyan stopped there, drawing his little pistol and crouching behind the barrels. He cocked the weapon. Kyric drew one of his own, the metal strangely cool in the warmth of the night. His hand shook a bit. A week ago he had been walking to the Games of Aeva. How had it come to this?

Aiyan raised his pistol, ready for anyone coming around the tent, and waited. And waited. At length an old man appeared and headed to the tree to relieve himself.

"If we're being followed, it's by someone very good," Aiyan said softly. "Probably Morae himself. If he wanted to kill me I think he would have taken his shot when we were in that line. But it's hard to know."

They were near the center of the fairgrounds, and there seemed to be a slow migration of folk towards a huge bonfire there. Aiyan and Kyric drifted that way with a loose-knit group, Aiyan watching behind them, almost walking backward. A low platform stood near the great fire, and hundreds pressed together there to hear a bearded poet in academic robes who stood in front of a green curtain and shouted his words, gesturing wildly.

Aiyan pushed into the crowd. Everyone was leaning toward the stage in anticipation.

"— as darkness bleeds from my heart," the poet bellowed, "and my eyes are washed clear, Brother Sun comes ever near." On the end of a slender pole, a large yellow ball rose above the curtain.

"Don't stand so tall," Aiyan said to Kyric as they picked their way to the other side of the audience.

The poet shouted even louder. "Strong in life is he. Death itself will flee." Through a slit in the curtain an enormous man of straw was thrust, dressed all in black. This brought a sharp cry from the audience. It took both hands for the poet to hold it up. The crowd raised their arms chanting, "Carry out death! Carry out death!"

The poet stood there, expecting midnight to come at any moment. He temporized. "Tonight is Solstice Eve, the night we carry out death. And when we feed the fire with the body of death we cast out our bad luck, and Brother Sun smiles upon our fields — "

At that moment a distant bell began to strike the midnight hour, and audience cried out as the poet cut short his improvisation and threw the straw man into crowd. They fell upon it like a pack of jackals, tearing into it with their bare hands as firecrackers began to pop all around them and across the fairgrounds.

Everyone rushed forward into a melee of reaching arms and handfuls of straw, and when a straw arm came flying out of the center there was another rush and suddenly Kyric and Aiyan stood in an open space. Fifty paces away, where the edge of the audience had been, stood Kleon Morae.

Aiyan and Morae saw one another, drew and readied pistols before Kyric could take one step, Morae dropping to one knee and Aiyan sliding to the side as they fired at nearly the same instant. A lock from Morae's wig flew away, and Aiyan had a new hole in his collar, but neither man was hurt, nor were any bystanders hit. Amid the flurry of straw and firecrackers, no one seemed to even notice.

A straw leg was flung backward from the throng and the crowd surged back, coming between Aiyan and Morae. Kyric managed to get both pistols out. Aiyan drew his sword, and holding it low began to circle the crowd, but everyone quickly got their handful of straw and ran to the fire with it.

Morae was still there, a sabre in his hand, and far beyond in the shadow of a tent, stood Stefin Vaust drawing a bow.

"Aiyan!" Kyric called. "Next to the tent."

"I see him." Aiyan said, coming to a halt and raising his sword as if to strike.

It seemed a very long shot for a pocket pistol, but Kyric took careful aim at Vaust. Morae started forward. Two figures were passing behind Vaust, and Kyric couldn't risk hitting them. He held his fire. Vaust loosed his arrow. Aiyan cut sharply and the two halves of the arrow spun lazily in the air as they fell somewhere behind him. Kyric pointed his pistols at Morae and he stopped short.

A few late-arriving girls, running to join in on the grab for straw, nearly ran into Morae, one of them screaming at the sight of his bared sword. A head turned, then another. Morae backed away, sheathing his sabre. Vaust nocked another arrow but didn't draw back.

Aiyan backed away as well. "Get behind me," he said to Kyric. The crowd began to disperse as they moved away.

"Morae's role as gentleman financier is working against him — he can't afford to be recognized sword fighting in the middle of the night. But if he didn't have Vaust backing him, I wouldn't give him a choice."

More people drifted into their wake. As soon as they lost sight of Morae and Vaust, Aiyan sheathed his sword and turned saying, "Now we run again."

They ran between bonfires and past dancing couples all the way to the far corner of the fairgrounds. A few cabriolets sat waiting across the street, and Aiyan ran to the nearest one calling, "Are you free, cabbie?" When the man nodded Aiyan tossed him a half-ducat as they climbed in and said, "To the river if you please, and hurry. We are pursued by a woman scorned."

The cabbie's face brightened when he saw the size of the coin, and he urged his horse to a fast walk. "'Fraid this is quick as it goes on Solstice Eve," he said.

They weaved down to the avenue toward the river, the cabbie dodging foot traffic and cursing at those who got in the way, Aiyan looking behind the whole time. Kyric said to Aiyan, "How do you have so much coin all of a sudden? You even paid the bill at dinner last night."

"I wagered on you at the games." He continued looking behind them.

"You took money from honest men, knowing we were cheating?"

Aiyan glanced at him. "I don't know if those men were honest, but I would have made triple off them if you had won."

He smiled broadly and Kyric laughed, and suddenly it was the funniest jest he had ever heard. He laughed harder, the way Pitbull had laughed at the games, and this thought made him laugh even harder. "Aiyan," he gasped, clawing at the upholstery, "I can't stop laughing." His eyes began to water. "It's not even funny anymore . . . and I still can't stop."

Aiyan placed his hand on Kyric's shoulder. "It's alright," he said. "It's just nerves."

By the time they came to the river Kyric managed to regain himself, and Aiyan told the driver to turn south. About half a mile along they stopped and got out, letting the cabriolet go. "I don't think we're still being followed," Aiyan said, leading them down to the riverside jetties, "but this is a pretty good way of making sure."

They hadn't gone ten paces along the jetty when a boatman called, "Ferry you across for a penny apiece, gents."

Out on the river, in the dark, they floated quietly between two shores of fire and tumult. The bump of the boatman's oars echoed on the water. Aiyan watched behind them the whole way across, but no other boat followed. They landed at a tiny riverside quay and climbed the steps to the street, quickly hailing another cab.

"New Market Square isn't far from here," he said, "Would you like to see if Jela and the lion wrestler made it there, or do you think she's seen enough of us for one night?"

Kyric smiled wistfully. "I don't think I've seen enough of her for one night."

They were in the new city now, with its wide, straight boulevards, and they went all the way to New Market Square at the trot.

The square was big and loud, with dancing and an orchestra on one side, and a bonfire with straw and shredded cloth scattered all around on the other side. Across the enclosing streets, hordes of laughing, talking, drinking, smoking people spilled out of cafes onto the sidewalks.

Kyric stood on a bench and looked over the square. "We'll never find her in all this."

"It will be hard to miss Jazul," Aiyan said. "So go and find her and have some fun. I'll be lurking about, keeping an eye on everything." He waved Kyric away. "Go. Enjoy yourself."

Kyric started across the square. Well past midnight, he thought, and the night still seemed young, endless rather. He swept up some loose straw with his hand and fed it to the bonfire with no small sense of irony. _There. I've cast out my bad luck for the rest of summer_.

He easily found Jazul, dancing with a girl Kyric didn't know, and from there found Jela and all her friends at a sidewalk table. Jela had quite gotten over her pouting about the royal reception. In fact she was still enjoying a bit of celebrity with her friends at having been there.

They recognized Kyric from the archery tournament. The girls wanted to know if he had been at the reception too. The guys pushed goblets of wine at him and proposed toasts for everything they could think of, and he found himself not declining.

He was a little surprised when Jela's friend Sercey suggested that he ask her to dance. When he told her he didn't know how she pulled him aside and spent some time showing him the basic steps before dragging him to the open pavement. The music here ran lighter and more lively, the dance steps more loose, and all the young men swung their young ladies by the arm.

It reminded him of a summer dance in the village when he was younger. Mother Nistra had allowed, nay, _made_ him go to it. The one dirt street had been crossed with strings of paper lanterns like the ones they carried here, and all the young folk of the village had danced and flirted and sipped lemonade and had played games like blind pony and sleeping bandit. Kyric had stood the whole evening in a deep shadow where no one could see him and watched it all.

Sercey counted time at first, to get him going, and then suddenly he was dancing, and it wasn't so hard. Sercey was pleasant to dance with, but he felt his own clumsiness held her back. He couldn't swing her as smoothly as the others did, but it was fun anyway.

He was surprised again to find Jela waiting for him when his dance with Sercey ended. As he took her hand and waited for the next song to begin she said, "This is what it's like to dance with someone who knows how."

It was true. Rather than he lead and she follow, it was as if they both led and followed at the same time. He spun like a wheel and she floated like a feather. He didn't know that two people could move together like this. Perhaps this was what Aiyan had felt with Aerlyn. New horizons began to open to him. The fellows at the table had liked him. They didn't mind that he had little to say. And it hadn't been so hard to talk to Sercey or the other girls either.

He looked into Jela's eyes and saw an unexpected future there. This business with Aiyan would be over in a few days. Kyric could sell his silver arrow and find a place to live. With this nice suit he now had, he could get the work as a teacher that Aiyan had mentioned. He knew that Jela felt something for him, and he realized that she was the best thing that had ever happened to him. He would court her. He would have friends and a sweetheart and a normal life. All he had to do was keep placing one foot in front of the other. Yes, it was possible. He could see it clearly as he spun deeper into the night and the stars sped away from the coming dawn.

# CHAPTER 12: Commitments

The clopping beat of the horse's hooves echoed in the deserted streets. It was already midmorning, the sun high and hot, and they drove through a city that had been abandoned to shards of paper and straw. Aiyan had had the cabbie raise the leather hood, supposedly for shade, but he sat low and kept his head back so not to be seen. Out in the harbor, dozens of ships fled their anchorages, raising sail and making for the open sea.

They passed the Palace of the Old Kings and turned onto the avenue fronting the royal residence. The bleary-eyed guards officer at the gate was somewhat pale and wobbled a little.

Kyric had drunk too much wine with Jela and her friends, but after they left New Market Square, Jazul insisted on treating the four of them to an early breakfast at the Hotel Abalone. That had probably saved him from the worst of it.

When it became clear that Jazul intended to take them all the way to Jela's door in his hired carriage, Aiyan had tried to decline the offer. But Jela spoke over him saying, "Jazul has a room on Coopers Street, behind The Peacock's Tale — so he can be close to Bruli — my house is right on the way." Aiyan said nothing more, but Kyric could tell that he was not comfortable with anyone knowing where they slept. They had stumbled into the house about an hour before first light.

"Her Highness welcomes you," the officer said with little inflection upon checking his list. After they were admitted it was still a bit of a drive to the main house.

"I don't like this," Aiyan said looking around, taking in the grounds of the estate. "There's too much ground, too many trees. In the dark of night you could sneak right up to the house."

Kyric saw that he was right. The grounds extended a quarter mile from the house in every direction, with three wooded parks and plenty of sculpted hedges and flowering plants. He never imagined that an in-town house would rest on so much land. He looked at Aiyan. "The wall around the place is twelve feet tall."

"It wouldn't stop me," Aiyan said.

As they approached the house Kyric saw that it was the sort built in the Long Winter, with over a dozen chimneys and rows of large glass windows to let the warmth of the sun in. Those windows had long ago been set on hinges, and now stood open to the breeze.

They were directed to the stables, and Princess Aerlyn was waiting there with Eren, Kaelyn, three beautiful horses, and two good-sized ponies. Aiyan and Aerlyn chatted about the horses and tack for a moment and then they all mounted, Aerlyn wearing a riding suit that was much like a man's, with pants and boots. Aiyan had been able to wear Sedlik's old brown sporting suit, but Kyric wore his everyday clothes with a sash for hidden pistols and ended up looking like one of the stable hands.

"I can't wait for the society pages to come out tomorrow," Aerlyn said to Aiyan. "I can see it now: _Her Highness was seen dancing with the mysterious cavalier, Sir Aiyan Dubern —_ " She imitated the wavering, piccolo voice of a lady Kyric had met at the reception. "— _whom she afterward engaged in a secluded tête-a-tête_.

"If we are seen together in public again it will be quite the scandal." She smiled in a way that said she couldn't care less if they were seen together.

But Aiyan couldn't return her smile. "I must apologize, Princess. I never meant to impune your reputation. I don't even know why I asked you to dance."

She gave him a level gaze. "I know why. And I am glad. That was the first time I have danced since my husband's death. And even though we have only just met, we are already past this sort of conversation, Aiyan." The knowing smile returned. "And if in private you do not call me by my name, I shall have to address you as Sir Knight."

"As you wish, Aerlyn."

The two of them rode in front, and Kyric stayed behind, flanked by the children on either side. "Your seat isn't very good," Prince Eren said to him.

"Pardon?"

"You need to lean forward a little and place more weight on your stirrups. It makes it easier on the horse."

"I see."

Eren was terribly serious for a nine year old. "That's what a good rider does. He makes it as easy for the horse as possible, even at the expense of his own comfort."

"You must have a very good riding master to teach you such things."

'My father taught me how to ride. He died when I was five. He said the same rule applies to leaders and the led."

"He must have been a wise prince."

"He was, as I shall be when it is my time."

Kyric tried to hold back a laugh. "Eren, are you sure you're only nine?"

"Nine and a half."

They skirted a patch of woods, finding some shade on the other side, and Aerlyn said to Aiyan, "I looked in the Book of Heraldry this morning and found the coat of arms of your order. I thought it was beautiful in its simplicity — a flaming sword held between two firebirds. I hope you don't think ill of me for saying this, but I was relieved to find it."

"I'm relieved as well."

"So I sent word to the Royal Library for any history of the Knights of the Flaming Blade that could be found, and I received a tome simply titled The Book of Spring, but naturally I haven't had time to read much of it."

"It details the last year of the Long Winter," Aiyan said.

"Yes," she said. "I did read one part. It mentioned that your order defended the house of Quytis on this very spot when the forces of the warlord Fernoc broke the west gate and overran the city. It says that they fought with swords that caught fire — a misquoted reference to the heraldry I suppose, or something lost in the translation."

Aiyan bowed to her in the saddle. "Perhaps," he said. "But I'm surprised they did not send you The Book of Autumn as well."

"What would I find in that?"

"Stories from the last year before the Long Winter, some that you might find hard to believe."

She cocked an eyebrow. "Then I shall send for it with all haste."

They rode in silence for a time, listening to the chirping of birds and the creaking leather of their saddles. At length Aerlyn said, "I have decided to attend the Senate and vote against the formation of the Spice Island Company. If this is something that could invite war with the Baskillian Empire then another year of consideration is not too long."

Aiyan nodded. "I must admit that I'm glad to hear that. But it might be a good idea if no one else hears of it until the day of the vote."

"I can tell them today that I haven't yet decided, but a clever politician will know that it only means I have decided against him."

"Anything that gives Lekon and Morae the slightest hesitation works to your advantage, Aerlyn."

"You never said which nation Morae served. The Kingdom of Jakavia is the only one that really makes sense. King Orstiano would be very pleased to see the Aessian and Syrolian states weakened by a war with Baskillia." She looked to him for confirmation.

"Let us say," he replied, "that there is a faction within the Baskillian Empire which is shut out of the spice trade. Even if they possessed charts of the lost spice islands, they could not use them without the established spice clans calling down the Imperial wrath. But if they allied themselves with the military clan, then a war with Aeva and the western states would serve them well. They would have already established themselves in military politics and would exert considerable influence, and should the lost islands be wrested away from the interloping Aessians they would no doubt become the military governors of the newly conquered territories."

"And Morae is an agent of this new faction?"

"It is what I believe, based on the words of my fellow knights who have traveled in the empire. I know for a certainty he is not what he seems and that Lekon is his loyal servant."

Kaelyn guided her pony closer to Kyric. "Did you throw straw into the fire at midnight?" she said to him.

"I was busy at midnight, but I threw some in later. Did you have a straw man last night?"

"I fell asleep, and no one woke me up." She made a face at Eren. "Now I have to keep my bad luck."

"No you don't," Kyric said with a grin. He took out the wooden coin he had saved and gave it to her. "There. Now you have all the good luck you need."

She held it up for Eren to see. " _Good_ luck," she said to him, throwing her head back in defiance.

They rode a winding course across the estate, and when they came to a meadow Aiyan and Aerlyn broke away in an impromptu race, returning at the trot smiling and arguing about who had won. At the end of the morning, back at the stables, after the grooms had taken their horses and the children had run down to a nearby pond, Aiyan spoke quietly to Aerlyn.

"You must know that by following my advice you place yourself at risk."

"So I've been told," she said.

Aiyan's gaze turned hard. "I'm not speaking of business threats. These men are willing to do anything."

"Certainly I'm safe here," she said. "A troop of royal guardsmen are assigned to me at all times."

"Most likely they would try to arrange an accident on your way to the Senate, and if you don't mind I would like to accompany you there on Wineday morning. In the meantime I would have the guards captain increase the watch if possible."

"You're serious," she said.

"I am. And I am sorry, Aerlyn. I never should have come into your life."

"Don't say that."

Aiyan smiled sadly. "I never should have butted into your politics then."

"If I believe what you say is true, then I must be grateful and act according to my conscience. Simply because the royal family no longer holds any authority doesn't mean I cannot act for the good of my people. If I were to succumb to cowardice, how could I face them, who would I be?"

When Aiyan said nothing, she asked him, "If I do feel threatened in my home, how would I reach you?"

"For the safety of all I must keep that a secret. But I tell you this, Aerlyn: If your need for me is great, I will know."

After the cabriolet passed out the gate and had turned onto a public street, a shadow crossed Aiyan's brow. He brooded as they clopped past the Palace of the Old Kings. The sea breeze raised the detritus of four days of games and twirled it in eddies at the street corners.

"I tell myself," Aiyan said, "that she would be in greater danger had I not come near her. But is that so? Their threats may have frightened her into abstaining from politics."

Kyric turned to him, sitting upright. "And she may have decided to vote against them on her own. She would have been in more danger without you then."

"I should have asked if I could dine with her tonight. She surely would have said yes."

"Why didn't you?"

"I could not bear it if she ever felt I was forcing my attention on her." He shook his head to drive away the thought. "But I would liked to have seen the inside and met her staff and servants, particularly the captain of her guard. It's so easy for them to get hold of a maid or footman and force them to take the blood."

"As I well know," Kyric said. He wondered if the memory of that taste would ever fade.

They headed south along the Way of Kings, the statues of sword-wielding angels looking down upon them. All the theatres and cabarets had signs hanging on their doors that read 'Closed Tonight.' Aiyan had the cabbie drop them at Candles Street so they could take the back alleys and arrive at Sedlik's house unseen. As they stepped down from the cab they could see past the old docks and into the harbor.

Suddenly, Aiyan broke into a broad grin, pointing to a small sloop-rigged boat approaching from the southwest. "That's _Swordfish_ , one of the boats we use for traveling between Esaiya and the mainland." He let out a huge breath. "At last. Let's go down there and see who it is."

The wind was from the southeast, and the boat was coming in on a starboard jibe. A catboat had left the docks, heading to pass _Swordfish_ on the port side. They were set to pass fairly close, no more than a few dozen yards. _Swordfish_ was busy lowering its headsail, seeming not to notice when the catboat suddenly tacked and steered an intercept course. There was a puff of smoke from the catboat, and the figure of a man leaped headlong over the rudder, swimming away furiously.

Aiyan grabbed Kyric's sleeve. "They don't see it," he said. "They don't see it."

It took less than a ten count, but the wait was agonizing. _Swordfish_ tried to turn away at the last moment, but it was too late. The catboat hit and began to scrape along the hull. Then it exploded in a ball of fire and splintered wood. A roaring thunder echoed across the harbor. Half of _Swordfish_ shattered, the other half a flaming mass that tilted over and sank at once.

Aiyan broke into a run. "I saw someone jump from _Swordfish_. There could be survivors."

They ran down the boulevard all the way to the old docks. A few small craft circled the wreckage on the water, apparently finding nothing.

Aiyan climbed onto the base of the statue in the harbor square while Kyric caught his breath. He scanned the water and looked up and down the shoreline. "That could be him," he said, jumping down.

They went down to where the fallen tower met the sea, and there, hauling himself onto the land, was a broad-shouldered man with shaggy blonde hair. He stood there, fully dressed, letting rivulets of water run from his clothing.

"Teodor," said Aiyan, running to him, "are you wounded?"

"A bit of a headache," he said, letting Aiyan take his arm.

"Who else?" demanded Aiyan. "Was there anyone — "

"Candidate Radic," said Teodor. "He was at the tiller. I told him to jump. He didn't feel the danger, didn't see the smoke. I think he tried to maneuver . . . I looked for him in the wreckage." He sat on a rock and emptied his boots. He wore a sword much like Aiyan's, protected by leather wrappings, but it was a little different. The same silver locket with the emblem of the flaming blade hung at his waist. He looked at Kyric and then to Aiyan.

"Kyric is my friend, and he's a friend of the order as well."

"I am?" Kyric said.

Teodor smiled thinly. "What Aiyan has told me is that you know of the Knights of the Dragon's Blood, and the true purpose of our order. And that you are worthy of trust."

He turned to Aiyan. "Master Bortolamae was worried about you. I take it his concern was not misplaced."

"We can't stay on this spot," Aiyan said. "Chances are that one of their informants has a spyglass on us right now."

They crossed the harbor road, and pushed through a small crowd at the square where everyone vied to see what was happening on the water. Entering one of the quiet alleys, the only sound was the rhythmic squish of Teodor's boots.

"Radic was going to stay with the boat and return to Esaiya when I had some news of you," he said.

Aiyan threw out his arms. "They must have been waiting for days. Can you imagine the preparations involved in this kind of ambush? They would have to have a pair watching Esaiya. They would need a series of signals, or a series of very fast horses, and a second set of watchers to confirm you were heading for Aeva. The crew of the bomb boat would have to live aboard and be ready at all times — probably a third set of watchers to signal them. I saw one swimming for it, and I'd wager there was another blood-charmed sailor to stay and make sure it went off.

"Morae foresaw this. When I stole the rudders he was afraid I would summon a band of knights from Esaiya. He planned to kill them all at once."

"Doesn't this Morae know that the full force of Esaiya would retaliate?" Teodor said.

"After the Senate votes day after tomorrow, I'm sure they plan to fade away and leave it all for Lekon to run. I'll explain it all later. I'm very happy to see you my friend, but now that I see the depth of their commitment I wonder if the two us will be enough. They want this very badly."

# CHAPTER 13: Cinnamon upon a Pillow

It came to him in a dream, of course. He shouldn't have been surprised. Mother Nistra stood over him while he recited the Edda of Derndra, staring at him with her dragon's eyes.

And Derndra conceived his third grimoire

To be written in the blood of Aerth

An ink too great for thrice cursed vellum

Fresh virgin skin it could not burn

So lifted he his Wirmen progeny

Rattus eyed and fingered hand

Bred in filth with demon's milk

Sinews formed for thievery

The call to newborn flesh inculcate

He sat up in bed, fully awake. Yes. That was it. The Wirmen. They had been created to steal infants in the dead of night. He struck a light, tiptoed downstairs to wake Aiyan, and found him already awake.

He was dressed in his field clothes, and in the process of loading the double-barreled pistol.

"Something has happened to Teodor."

"How do you know?"

"We are bonded by the secret fire. Look, we have no time for conversation — get dressed quickly and bring weapons."

Kyric ran upstairs and was back down in two minutes.

"It's half past four o'clock," Aiyan said. "There will be no cabs out at this hour. We will have to run."

The streets were empty and Aiyan set a steady pace that they could sustain for a while. It was over two miles to the royal residence.

After the attack in the harbor, Aiyan had decided to keep a surreptitious watch on Princess Aerlyn. He told Kyric and Teodor that he would slip over the wall once darkness fell, but Teodor had said, "I can see the fatigue around your eyes — you've been on the run for over a week. Allow me to do it. I feel well rested, even after what happened today." Aiyan had agreed, no doubt grateful he didn't have to bring another lodger back to Sedlik.

Kyric had a stitch in his side and was struggling to keep up by the time they reached the estate. Something indeed had happened. Torches stood on poles at the gate, illuminating guardsmen standing with bayonets fixed. Kyric could see lights moving around the house and out on the grounds.

An officer, the same one who had been there that morning, had just reined his horse to a halt as Aiyan ran up to the gate. He shook his head in confusion.

"The Princess commands you to be admitted should you . . . happen to come here," he said uncertainly. He climbed down from his mount. "Here, you can use my horse."

Aiyan leaped into the saddle and hauled Kyric up behind him. They galloped to the house. A butler quickly ushered them through the fine marble entryway, past ornate tapestries, and up a mahogany staircase to the royal suites. Aerlyn stood at the open window of a child's bedroom, still in a night robe, her hair disheveled. Kyric could hear Kaelyn speaking to someone in the next room.

Aerlyn turned to them, her eyes wide and her face pale with shock.

"Aiyan," she said. "They've taken my son. They've taken Eren. I — " She tried to say more, but her voice caught and she stood there helpless, her mouth moving silently, until at last a sob escaped, then another, then another. And for all her wealth and all her influence, Kyric thought, he had never seen one so destitute.

Aiyan went to her and took her hands. "We will find him," he said. "We will find him."

"I heard a cry," she said, catching her breath. "When I came in the window was open and he was gone."

Kyric looked out the window. The drop to the garden below was fairly long. The wall was unblemished stonework and there was no trellis or drainpipe or anything that could be climbed, but broad spots of moisture ran from the windowsill to the ground like little footprints.

"What kind of man," Aerlyn demanded, "can come into my house unseen and carry away my child?"

"It may not have been a man," Kyric said.

"What do you mean?"

"Never mind," said Aiyan, staring daggers at Kyric. "For now we must search the grounds for subtle signs your people will not know. I will return to you shortly."

Once outside with a lantern in his hand, Aiyan led Kyric into the darkness. "We must find Teodor first. If he is alive the flame will guide me to him."

He took out his locket and opened it. A blue-white flame burned there, the same spirit fire Kyric had seen on the edge of his sword. Aiyan held it up like a compass, and the flame drew strongly toward the south. They went in that direction, and walked all the way to the wall before they found Teodor behind a thick hedge. He sat against the wall, a torn shirt tail wrapped around his upper thigh as a bandage.

Next to him lay the bloody carcass of some foul creature.

"I thought it best to hide and wait for you," Teodor said.

"No sense in drawing undue attention," said Aiyan. "Can you walk?"

He shook his head. "I can't put any weight on this leg."

"We need to get you over the wall before the dawn comes. You and _this_." He held the lantern over the carcass.

It was the size of a small woman, with the rough skin of a hairless dog, hands with tiny claws that were as much human as rodent, and legs made for both walking upright and bounding on all fours. Set in what was more of a snout than a face, round eyes of solid black reflected none of the lantern light. It was the long black whip-like tail that gave it the appearance of a rat.

"A Wirman," said Kyric.

"They were fast and silent," Teodor said. "I didn't see them until the first one came out of the window with the boy. I thought there were only two. I killed this one and had the kidnapper up a tree when the third one hamstrung me."

He held out an arm, and they helped him up to stand on his good leg. "Aiyan," he said softly, "I never felt them in the realm of power. I sensed no danger when I was attacked from behind. They are invisible to the spirit eye — how could that be?"

"We will ponder it later," Aiyan said, "but now we need to go." He suddenly stopped. "None of them were wearing a collar or other kind of ornament were they? A bracelet or bangle perhaps?"

"No," said Teodor. "They were all as you see this one."

"Hmm."

With a leg up from Aiyan, Kyric pulled himself to the top of the wall, and together they managed to get Teodor up and over. They passed the carcass of the Wirman down to him then headed back to the main house. Aerlyn, now fully dressed, met them at the entrance.

"They have fled," Aiyan said to her. "Was there anything left behind? A note perhaps?"

She nodded, her eyes closed tight. "A sprinkle of cinnamon on his pillow. I know what that means." She clutched at his arm. "Aiyan, if I vote with them, will they return my son unharmed?"

He took her hand. "That will not be necessary, Princess. Because I will go and get him this very day. Did you by chance save a lock of his hair when he was a baby?"

"No," she said, a quiet teardrop slipping from one eye. "Why?"

"I need something that, ah, has many layers of his scent upon it, more than the clothes he wore yesterday."

"My master of hounds had already taken the dogs around the grounds. They have scented nothing that they could follow."

"That may be," said Aiyan, "But I know a dog that can find anything if he has the scent. I need something that was almost a part of Eren — a ring he always wore, a hat, a penknife he always carried."

"I know what," she said. She ran upstairs and returned with a leather bag.

"These are his favorite toys," she said. "He plays with them almost every day."

Aiyan took the bag from her. "I will find him, Aerlyn."

"I know you will try," she said, unable to meet his gaze.

He looked deeply into her eyes, forcing her to look into his, to see his unshakable resolve. The eastern sky had begun to lighten, the stars there fading away.

"I will find him, Aerlyn. I swear by the name of my sword and upon the secret fire that I will return him to you before you see another dawn. I swear it."

They left her there, and followed the driveway back to the gate at the run, silent but for the sound of their footfalls against the gravel. Teodor waited for them, away from the street at the far corner of the wall. Kyric helped Teodor hobble along while Aiyan dragged the carcass of the Wirman. They searched the southern length of the wall until they found the slimy footprints they had seen at the house. These led them back to the streets and to a storm drain. The grating that should have covered it was gone.

Aiyan dropped the carcass into the drain opening. "No point in trying to follow the Wirmen. They will have already taken the prince to Morae, and I doubt he is anywhere in the sewers."

"What now?" Kyric asked.

"Pitbull."

"Ah," said Teodor, "the dwarf magician."

They limped eastward along Veleriand Boulevard as the sun rose, at last seeing a cab as they came to the Way of Kings. Aiyan whistled it down and gave the driver directions. The city was slowly returning to life after its day of rest, the streets running with the aroma of bread wagons as they hurried by.

It turned out that Pitbull lived on a narrow street by the river, only a mile from Sedlik's house. It was a sprawling neighborhood of squat, stucco-covered houses. They found him standing in his vegetable garden behind a short rickety fence, water can in hand. Kyric heard him curse under his breath as they pulled up.

"Aiyan, I haven't even had my breakfast yet."

Aiyan threw a full kandar at the driver as he leapt from the cab. "I need you now my friend as I have never needed you before."

Aiyan explained everything to Pitbull, handing him the bag of toys. When he was done Pitbull said, "Take my wagon and go get all you need. I'll purify Teodor's wound — no telling what kind of filth or poison those creatures leave with their bite. By the time you return I will have cast a ritual finding."

Pitbull's son, Rellen, the teenage boy who had driven him the morning of the archery tournament, hitched the donkey cart and brought it around for them. Aiyan drove while Kyric squirmed impatiently. "This isn't any faster than walking," he said.

"That's alright," Aiyan said. "We will need all our strength before this day is done."

A hay wagon had overturned in the avenue, so Aiyan made a detour through some side streets. When they finally arrived at Sedlik's house they parked on the street and went in the front door.

"You must keep the doors locked at all times," Aiyan called, slamming the door behind him. "How many —." Then he saw Jazul Marlez sitting with Jela in the parlor, sipping coffee from a delicate porcelain cup.

"Join us," Jela said cheerfully. "Jazul is leaving tomorrow and came to say good-bye." She paused and looked at them more closely. "What is the matter?"

Aiyan hesitated, and Kyric thought he was about to lie to them. "Prince Eren has been kidnapped," he blurted out, deciding against deception. "A few hours ago."

"What?" shouted Jazul, leaping to his feet. "How?"

Aiyan quieted him with a wave of his hand. "Jela, I need you to quickly make a breakfast for us. A large one that will hold us all day. Kyric, there's some scraps of linen in the cellar. Tear them into strips for bandages. And bring the axe up as well. The keg of gunpowder too. I'll gather all the firearms and see them freshly primed. Don't let me forget to clean the frizzens as well. Please forgive us Marlez, but we are making ready to mount a rescue."

Jazul looked insulted. "Not without me," he said, throwing out his broad chest. "A child has been taken. Be he prince or beggar, I will not let that stand."

"What we are going to do," Aiyan said softly, "will be terrible."

Jazul stood like a great figure of stone. "Before I was a showman, I fought in the pits of Javian. I know what to do with bad men."

They each fell to their tasks, Jazul helping Aiyan with the weapons. When Aiyan offered him the blunderbuss, Jazul said, "I'd rather have a heavy blade," so Aiyan fetched him Sedlik's shortsword.

"Where is your father?" Aiyan asked Jela when they sat down to eat.

"He went to oversee a delivery at the warehouse. Then he has a meeting at a coffeehouse. He won't be back till afternoon."

Having no time to prepare anything, Jela had simply laid out bread, cheese, fruit, and leftover potato pie. Aiyan ate quickly, taking huge bites and choking them down with little thought of chewing. Kyric could do little more than nibble, thinking that he may soon be lying in agony with a bullet in his gut.

When he was done, Aiyan stood, his fists upon the table. "Time to go."

Kyric excused himself and ran to the privy, thinking that he would throw up. He stood bent over for a time, but nothing happened. When he came back out, only Jela was there.

"They're waiting for you outside," she said. "Are you sure about this?"

"No," he said, "I'm not. I'm scared out of my wits. But after what Jazul said, how could I stay behind?"

"Aiyan wouldn't think worse of you if you did." She went to him and took his hand. "Nor would I."

"Thanks." He gave her hand a little squeeze. "But from the moment I first met those two kids they spoke to me like they knew me, and I felt like I knew them. . . . "

He lost what he was trying to say. He shook his head, trying to force a smile, but he feared he only grimaced.

She kissed him lightly on the cheek. "Go then. Hero."

They returned to Pitbull's and found Teodor behind the house, sitting at a weathered table beneath a canvas awning, his leg tightly wrapped from the knee to the hip and propped up on an old box. Before him lay an herb garden embroidered with winding stone paths. Beyond that, the river.

"He's still inside," said Teodor.

"How long?" Aiyan asked.

"Maybe half an hour."

They waited, watching river traffic creep along the shore. No one said anything. Jazul drew Sedlik's shortsword, cutting the air a few times. Kyric sat and examined each of the arrows he had left. Aiyan went to a tree behind the garden and cut a forked limb for Teodor to use as a crutch.

When Pitbull finally came out of the house his face was grim. He tossed the bag of toys onto the table, and a few wooden figures spilled out — a firebird, a unicorn, a dragon, a knight in plate armor. He looked at Aiyan and shook his head.

"There's no bond with the toys?" Aiyan said. "Perhaps his hair brush would be better."

"No," said Pitbull, "his touch and his spirit are strong upon these figures. A concealing essence has been woven over the boy, a hot black smoke that obscures the scent and burns my fourth eye. I can't penetrate it."

Aiyan stared at Pitbull in disbelief. "The princess . . . Pitbull, I have sworn by the secret fire."

"I have tried, Aiyan. I'm sorry, but I cannot find him."

# CHAPTER 14: The Flesh of the Innocent

Aiyan looked at Pitbull with smoldering eyes. "Then try again."

"I will, I will, but I need to rest first."

Teodor picked up the figure of a dragon, turning it over in his hand. "Can you approach it from another angle? Is there something you lack — a special regent for instance?"

Pitbull let out a heavy sigh. "No. There's nothing for it. I just need to be alone for a while." He gathered the figurines and went back inside his house.

Jazul's face darkened. "Have we nothing more than sorcery to guide us?" When no one answered he looked at each in turn. "I suppose all of you are witch-warriors of some sort."

Aiyan said, "Something like that." Teodor only smiled.

"Do you know who took Prince Eren? Was it the tall man at the dance, the one that Jela pointed out to me — what was his name?"

"Kleon Morae. Yes, it was him."

"The one who did the kidnapping itself," Teodor said, "was no man at all. According to Kyric they are called Wirmen."

"Yes, Kyric," said Aiyan, "I don't know this one. Please educate us, young scholar."

"There's little to it, only a few dozen lines, but the interpretation is this: For Derndra to create his third and greatest grimoire, he had to write it in an ink of what alchemists call essential mercury or golden mercury, also known as the blood of the Aerth. This magical ink incinerated even the most enchanted parchment, so Derndra divined that the only material which could be imbued with enough power to hold this ink was human skin — skin from the youngest and most innocent.

"Now the War of Mages had already begun, and the people of Aessia had started to suspect that Derndra was not the sage-king he pretended to be. He saw an opportunity to vilify Graifalmia and her allies, convince everyone that they needed his protection, and get the virgin skin he needed. So he created the Wirmen in the deep pits below his palace. He bred them to scent the flesh of children, and made them silent, and gave them the power of sleep. He also trained them to drop a clover leaf, the symbol of Graifalmia's alliance, in the bed of each taken child. When children began to disappear in the night, many folk believed that Graifalmia's cohorts had stolen them.

"You know," Kyric said with a hollow chuckle, "I always thought that was a parable."

"All I want to know," said Jazul, "is if they can be killed with a blade."

The sun climbed to zenith, pouring the heat of high summer over the city, and they all sat under the awning watching the blurry, rippling air rise from the walls, the flagstones, and the cobbled street. Teodor kept shifting in his chair, moving his injured leg from one position to another, never finding a comfortable way to sit. At noontime Pitbull's wife came out and introduced herself. Aiyan dropped to one knee and hugged her gently. "So good to see you again, Estia."

She was frail compared to Pitbull, yet all smiles and bursting with light. She served them cold tea, and her twelve-year-old daughter followed with a plateful of dolmas.

After they had eaten some, Rellen approached them saying, "I had to unhitch the donkey and turn him out. Can't just leave him standing in his harness all day."

"Of course," said Aiyan. "Sorry. I kept thinking we would go any minute."

Aiyan became more and more restless as the afternoon wore on, unable to sit down or stand still. Through all that had happened in the days since Kyric met him, he had never seen Aiyan lose his inner stillness, even when he was angry.

"Aiyan," said Teodor. "Maybe we should look for another way."

"No. He will do it. He was _born_ a finder. While he was still a student his master told me that Pitbull had already surpassed his own skill in finding. There _is_ no greater finder than Pitbull." He turned and went into the house. When he returned a few minutes later he looked sick. "Perhaps the third time will be the charm."

The day turned sultry as a bank of clouds far out to sea rose into thunderheads. Jazul found a bench that had fallen into shade and laid down there, a rhythmic snore soon rising above the buzz of insects. Aiyan sat at last, and Kyric caught his eye.

"Can I ask you something? How is it that you can move so quickly? I understand that training plays a part, but is there a weird to it, like the way you can sprint through a crowd and not run into anyone?"

"Training is a large part, the rest concerns the warrior essence," said Aiyan.

Teodor leaned forward. "We do not so much move quickly, as we slow the world down a little." He smiled like Sister Golla did when she asked a tricky logic question.

"How is that possible? You cannot slow the whole world."

"You can slow your little part of it," Aiyan said.

"Everyone," Teodor said, "has experienced the mutability of time. Hence will folk say 'Time flies when you're having fun.'"

Kyric frowned. In the few times he had fun, time slowed for him. Like so many feelings shared among people, his ran backward.

"That's simply a difference in perception," he said. "Time can seem slow to me and fast to you, and still the clock will strike the same hour."

Teodor was suddenly serious. "You think of perception as passive, a helpless sense. Perception can also be a function of will. In other words, you can decide how you will perceive the sensations of the world, particularly the spirit world.

"On the mundane plane, time is a series of moments all strung together. In the realm of power, each moment is whole, complete."

"Eternal," said Aiyan.

"How can one moment last forever?"

"It does not," Teodor said. "Eternity has nothing to do with time."

"To put it simply," said Aiyan, "for one whose spirit has been refined to its warrior essence, it is possible to narrow your focus to encompass only the moment. And each moment so seen is truly eternal."

Kyric looked at both of them. "You two are even weirder than the rune sisters."

Teodor laughed long and loud at that, and even Aiyan broke a brief smile.

Kyric said, "Let me ask you something else. What is the long game for the Knights of the Dragon's Blood? Clearly they intend to take control of the government of Aeva, but to what end? If this Master Cauldin has had over two hundred years to accumulate wealth and political power, why here, why now?"

"Master Cauldin has no need of money or influence except as tools," said Teodor. "There is only one end. He seeks only, and always, what our order seeks as well: To rejoin the two halves of the Pyxidium."

"And if either of you are successful, what will that mean?"

Aiyan answered him. "No one really knows."

"What Cauldin seeks is supremacy in the realm of power," Teodor said. "He would be master of firebird and dragon, the Unknowable Forces and the Designing Powers. The mundane world means nothing to him. He believes that the Pyxidium restored would gather all the Essas and allow him to hold them in his eye."

"Is it still in the castle on Esaiya?"

Teodor nodded. "No one has touched it since Master Sorrin."

"You must have some thoughts of what it would mean if the Knights of the Flaming Blade defeat Cauldin and restore the Pyxidium?"

Aiyan glanced sharply at Teodor. Kyric had crossed into a subject not for outsiders.

Teodor smiled thinly. "We believe that certain events would occur."

They both fell silent, their thoughts turning inward. After a moment Kyric said to Teodor, "You must maintain a strong garrison on Esaiya in case he returns with his minions to take it by force."

Aiyan grunted. "Excepting masters and candidates, there are rarely more than a dozen knights there at any given time. Esaiya is a home to us, but we cannot answer our calling from behind fortress walls."

"Then why — "

"Why does he not attack?" said Teodor. "There is a reef surrounding the island. A reef is a living being, and this one bears the essence of the Unknowable Forces. It has influence over sea and sky, and no one unworthy of standing upon Esaiya can pass that barrier. No one. But even dragons and firebirds are not immortal, and there is nothing made that cannot be unmade." He looked to Aiyan. "Tell him."

Aiyan was silent for nearly a minute. "I had been invested in the order for only a few days," he said at last. "I was still on Esaiya, and we received word from Sir Haflor that Cauldin was living near a leper colony outside the city of Albatas.

"Grexen was grandmaster in that day, and he choose Master Rethan, Sir Bortolamae, and myself to go with him, and we went quick as possible, loading this little ketch we had and sailing straight there across the open sea.

"We found Haflor in Albatas. He didn't know the situation because he had only been venturing close enough to make sure Cauldin was still there. You see, because we are atoned with the Pyxidium, we can feel his presence from some distance."

"Fortunately for the order," Teodor said.

"Would the masters of Esaiya know if he were here in Aeva?" Kyric asked.

"I think Master Zahaias would know," Aiyan said.

Teodor looked at him. " _We_ would certainly know."

"So," said Aiyan, "the lepers were salt miners of a sort, but the local traders told us they hadn't shipped any salt at the end of the month as they always had. That made Grandmaster Grexen wary. We approached the colony quietly along a wooded defile, thinking that Cauldin would have several of his knights with him, perhaps even a lieutenant, and that they would be on the lookout or patrolling outside the colony. So we were surprised to discover nothing more than a couple of lepers watching the road from a nearby hill.

"We slipped past them and circled around the village, finding a place above the mine where we could hide and observe. The whole colony, maybe five hundred people, were all out and working, working vigorously, as if they suffered no weakness from their leprosy. Not mining salt, but unearthing a ruin. They had uncovered a monolith with writing on it, and were in the process of digging out a nearby wall with the same strange language inscribed on tiles.

"We didn't see Master Cauldin, or anyone at all except the lepers. But we knew he was there. Each time a new tile was cleared on the wall one of them immediately took a rubbing with charcoal and parchment, and ran it to a stone building beyond the edge of the village.

"Master Rethan had a badly pock-marked face from a childhood disease, and had lost a finger on his left hand in a swordfight. Properly covered, he could pass for a leper in dim light — that's why Grexen brought him along. After the sun set and all the lepers returned to their homes, Grexen covered him with a peasant robe and led him down to the village. The rest of us followed at a discrete distance.

"Grexen planned to tell the lepers that he had heard about the colony, and that he was there looking for a place his cousin could live. None of them had lesions on their faces. They told him that his cousin must be taken to the Mistress, a healer who had cured them all. When Grexen tried to ask questions about her, he discovered that half the colony had surrounded them, and were pushing in, intent upon carrying them to the Mistress.

"It was either draw swords and cut their way out, or go along with it, so Grexen allowed the lepers to lead them. Dusk had fallen, so we followed closely as we could. The lepers took them to the stone building, which turned out to be part of the ruins, ancient but mostly intact.

"The Mistress had felt their coming and was waiting for them with a pistol in each hand. Yes, she was of the blood, one of Cauldin's lieutenants — a woman with the warrior essence is not unheard of, but they must have been shocked to find one at Cauldin's right hand.

"They drew swords and she fired, missing Grexen, but wounding Rethan badly. Outside, we heard the shots. We pushed our way through the lepers, showing them the fire of our swords, but they thought us to be enemies of their mistress and tried to lay hands on us. We struck them and burned them with the flats of our blades, for we saw them as innocent. But there were many, and a fervor rose among them. We had to kill a few.

"We'll never be sure of what happened inside, but as we neared the structure they all fell to their knees with the grief that comes with the death of their master. She had given all of them the black blood. We think Rethan killed her while Grexen fought with Master Cauldin."

Kyric stopped him. "Why was it her? Why did Cauldin not give them his own blood?"

"Those who drink _his_ blood are not simply made his willing servants; they are thrust into the realm of power. They gain more than the black blood. They quickly develop abilities that we spend long years learning. Those who are not prepared, who do not have the spirit and insight of the warrior essence, go insane in a short time. Thus he must have the lieutenants and knights of his so-called order, and they rule the devotions of the uninitiated.

"He appeared in the archway that was the entrance to the place. He was dressed as a gentleman farmer, an eye patch concealing the shard of the Pyxidium. His sword, still black with the blood of Aumgraudmal, exuded a freezing mist, a cold mockery of our flaming blades. A deep cut crowned his forehead, one that would have killed any man instantly, and black blood ran down his face. He limped from a wound to his knee. Still, I think he would have tried to kill the three of us, but the lepers were quick to recover from their grief, and it turned to anger and outrage.

"The lepers, eager to get to him, came between us, and he retreated into the building. The lepers ignored us now, but we couldn't get through them. We circled to look for another entrance, finding it in time to see Cauldin riding away, laden with map cases.

"Grandmaster Grexen was dead, and Master Rethan died that night. The next day Bortolamae found a supply of blank parchment and we took rubbings of the same writings that Cauldin had traced. The monolith was carved in ancient Keltassian on one side, and an unknown cuneiform on the other. The wall held only the cuneiform writing.

"Bortolamae tried to tell the lepers what had happened to them, but they were unsure and melancholy. He convinced a few of them to help us finish digging out the wall. Only one more row of tiles lay below ground, and after we had taken rubbings of them, Bortolamae destroyed them with a hammer.

"The lepers told us that Cauldin and his woman had arrived two months before, camping in the ruins at first. Each day the Mistress would make friendly talk with one of the men, and invite him to come to her that night. Her charms were so great that no man would refuse. After she had seduced him, and he lay in the aftermath of ecstasy, she would give him the black blood, and he would take it willingly. It wasn't long before the lesions and numbness began to recede in those men, and their vitality returned. When this became known, the lepers told us, they all wanted her blood. She no longer had need for subterfuge.

"We awoke the following morning to shouts and wailing. As the blood faded in them, the leprosy returned. New lesions were forming on their faces. They raged at us for killing the Mistress. In the end, we fled, chased out by a stone-throwing mob.

"I saw Haflor on Esaiya a year later. The leper colony was no longer there, he told us. Some had gone elsewhere, but many of them had killed themselves."

Kyric's mouth had gone dry. He took a sip of water and asked, "What were the writings?"

"The words on the monolith were the same on each side, the ancient Keltassian being the translation of the older cuneiform. Of course it took us a few years to find someone who could determine that and fully decipher the writings on the wall. The monolith tells of the founding of Keltassian civilization by the Mage-Kings. The wall records a sporadic war between the Keltassian mages and the firebirds of the far west. Peace came only when the Mage-King Elitass divined a magic so terrible that even the elder firebirds could not stand against it — a song, or a sound, that could unmake the essence of the firebirds. That is to say, the Unknowable Forces themselves. It changed them into mindless creatures without power."

"Do you see?" asked Teodor.

Kyric nodded. "If Cauldin can learn the song, he can destroy the power that protects Esaiya."

"Yes."

Kyric let out a long breath he didn't know he had been holding and took a long drink of water. The sun crossed into the western sky, and Jazul awoke from his nap. "Did I miss anything?" he asked.

"Just idle talk," said Teodor.

Aiyan suddenly leapt to his feet, hand on the hilt of his sword. Teodor stood nearly as fast using his sword for support, the forked stick forgotten. He glanced all around, then looked to Aiyan.

"I'm not sure," Aiyan said. "Perhaps it was nothing."

He walked to the tree beyond the garden and looked up and down the river. Teodor took his makeshift crutch and hobbled to the front street, listening for something he couldn't quite hear. They returned to the table, shaking their heads absently at one another. The harborside clock tower struck five.

Estia came out with a folded newspaper in her hand. "Orius will be out momentarily. He's not happy." She placed the newspaper on the table before them. "The social pages came out this morning," she said, smiling at Aiyan as she turned to go back inside. "I thought you might find this amusing."

Aiyan ignored the paper, so Kyric picked it up. The story about the royal reception topped the front page.

"The princess was right. Listen to this," he said. " _Who_ is Sir Aiyan Dubern? No one knows who added his name to the guest list for the royal reception on Solstice Eve, but we suspect it was Princess Aerlyn herself, for it is certain they were not strangers when she greeted him in the receiving line. There can be no doubt that until now, he had been the best kept secret of the royal court — "

"Would you mind reading that to yourself?" Aiyan said curtly.

While Kyric read, Pitbull wandered out to them and sat down with a heavy sigh. He didn't look at Aiyan, and Aiyan simply picked at the patina of scratches covering the table.

Jazul sauntered up behind Kyric and peeked over his shoulder. "Am I in the newspaper too?"

Kyric glanced down the page. "Yes, here you are. 'Weightlifting champion, Jazul Marlez, possibly the strongest man in Jakavia, swept into the reception in a daring lion's skin cape escorting the lovely Jela Selgar, daughter of humble wine merchant Sedlik Selgar — "

Aiyan bolted upright, stiffening like he had been stabbed in the back. He looked from Teodor to Pitbull. "They wouldn't read the society page . . . would they?"

Teodor answered him. "I would if I were they."

"What is wrong?" said Jazul.

"If they connected Jela to Aiyan," Pitbull said, "If they knew her father's name and profession, it would be easy to find his house."

Aiyan flew to his feet, sending his chair skittering across the patio. He tore into a run, and Kyric followed fast on his heels.

"We'll be along in the wagon," Pitbull called as they sprinted away.

Aiyan didn't set a pace this time, and they ran wildly in the street like madmen. When they came to a crowded intersection, Aiyan cut a path through with the fierceness of his charge, and Kyric rode his wake. All of his muscles screamed in rebellion, his lungs burned for more air, and still they ran.

A block from Sedlik's house, Aiyan pulled up short. "We could be running into an ambush," he said between breaths. "We must restrain ourselves and go carefully now."

He looked in all directions before sliding around the corner, hiding behind a man hawking newspapers, stopping and looking again. At the next corner he went to one knee and closed his eyes as if he could banish the cacophony of street noises and hear something far away. When they came to Sedlik's street they could see that his door stood wide open, and Aiyan pulled Kyric back as he made an involuntary lunge toward it.

"No. We go in the back way."

All the other doors on the street were closed, all the windows shuttered tightly despite the heat. No one passed in or out. The shadows grew long as they made their way around to the alley.

The back door had been knocked off its hinges. Aiyan signaled Kyric to ready his pistols, and held his locket open as he drew Ivestra across the tiny fire. A blue-white flame ran the length of the cutting edge. Kyric went in one step behind him.

They had seated Jela in a chair at the kitchen table before they killed her. It was the high-backed chair, and they had lashed her wrists together behind it so that she slumped forward only a little, but enough so that her blood ran across the table before spilling to the floor, leaving her house dress unstained.

For a brief instant, Kyric didn't think it was her. Her rich copper complexion had turned paler than he would have thought possible. They had cut her throat and let her bleed to death.

Aiyan paused but for a second, the flame of his blade flickering weakly, nearly going out before it rose to engulf the sword once again. He moved through the kitchen, swift and silent, and into the rest of the house.

Kyric became dimly aware of a light coming up from the cellar. Holding his pistols at arm's length, he ran halfway down the stairs in a low crouch, ready to fire. But the only one there was Sedlik, and he lay face down, the back of his skull opened by the single cut of a heavy blade. The door to his vault stood open, the key on the floor next to his hand.

Kyric knew that the book of rudders was gone, but he went to the vault to make sure. Of course it was gone. Nothing else had been taken. When he turned back Aiyan was there, standing over Sedlik. Kyric had not heard him come down the stairs.

"See?" said Aiyan. "You took them straight to it, just like you said you would. No need to get rough; here it is and good riddance."

The cushion of numbness that Kyric usually felt wasn't there. His skin prickled hotly, and he was aware of every little sound, the creaking of the house, the sputter of the lantern.

"Why?" he said. "Sedlik gave them what they wanted."

"They may have killed him out of petty vengeance, but they killed Jela to break my spirit. What Morae doesn't know is that as long as I carry the essence of the secret fire my spirit cannot be broken. He has only broken my heart."

"Why did they not wait for us?" said Kyric with a dull, flat voice. "They could have shot us as we came in the door."

"I don't know. None of our things are here. Sedlik may have convinced them we were staying elsewhere. Or they may be surrounding the house as we speak. We should go at once."

"We can't leave them like this."

Aiyan began to say something, then stopped himself. He ran upstairs and returned with Jela and two bed-sheets. They had bound her with thin twine, and with it now removed Kyric saw that it had cut into her wrists. She had struggled.

He and Aiyan wrapped them in the sheets and laid them in the cold corner of the cellar. "That's all the respect we can afford them now," Aiyan said.

They left by the back door after Aiyan had peeked out windows front and rear. They stepped lightly through the trash-strewn alley, Aiyan's hand on his sword, ready to draw. Kyric scanned rooftops and windows, hoping to catch someone spying on them. His conversation with one so caught would not be gentle.

They ran into the others at the turnoff to the boulevard, Pitbull driving, a slender machete in his belt. Teodor sat next to him holding Kyric's longbow, and Jazul crouched in the back of the wagon.

"Turn around quickly," said Aiyan, climbing in. "Take the roundabout way along the river road." They were overloaded now, and the donkey strained to get the wagon moving again.

When Aiyan told them of Jela and Sedlik, Pitbull said nothing, but a sharp sound escaped his throat, like the distant whine of a whipped dog. Teodor didn't blink, he simply drew one of Kyric's arrows and nocked it. Jazul took it hard. He roared like a wounded beast, falling to the floor of the wagon, tearing at his mane of hair and weeping. Kyric envied him. Jazul's feelings for her were not so strong that he couldn't let it all out now. He would wake one morning to a sunny sky in a faraway place and not think of Jela or this day.

Kyric huddled against the side of the wagon and watched the cobblestones pass beneath the wheels. The world felt new and strange. He was suddenly aware of details he never noticed before. The woman they passed had a mole over one eye. The man selling newspapers spoke with a Syrolian accent. The Kyric that had danced with Jela was lying in a cold cellar on a narrow side-street, and the Kyric he had become was the one who had been sleeping all these years. And the anger he had felt over taking the black blood now seemed like a child's toy, something to play with for his amusement.

"Pull over," Aiyan said to Pitbull when they reached the river. He took a carefully folded handkerchief from his sash, opening it and removing a scrap of paper. It was the corner of the page he had torn from the book of rudders when he first gave it to Sedlik.

He handed it to Pitbull. "Can you find the rest of this book, my friend?"

Pitbull held it to his nose and breathed in sharply, again and again, turning it over and sniffing the other side. He was getting excited, his eyes glazing over into something akin to ecstasy. He suddenly popped it into his mouth, his back arching and his body quivering as he chewed, as if he had taken a powerful drug. He swallowed it and began to giggle.

"Oh yes," he breathed. "Oh yes, I have it. Oh yes."

He looked at Aiyan, his eyes sparkling darkly. "I have the scent. I've found it. It's in the city, not far away."

"Take us there. And let's hope that Morae has placed both eggs in the same basket."

Pitbull turned around and drove north along river. They didn't have to go far. A hundred yards past the jetties where they had hired the boat on Solstice Eve, Pitbull brought the wagon to a halt.

"There," he said, pointing across the river to an arched opening in the steep embankment. "That's where we need to go. Into the sewers."

# CHAPTER 15: That Which Lies Beneath

"That doesn't make sense," said Aiyan. "He wouldn't be keeping the rudders down in the sewer. Certainly it is only in that direction."

Pitbull removed his spectacles and wiped them with his shirt tail. "We can drive over and see how it feels from there. But I tell you, Aiyan, _that_ is the way."

Pitbull drove them upstream to the nearest bridge. Thunder growled in the sky behind them as a line of dark clouds swept over the headland southwest of the harbor, and the city fell under a grey twilight as the storm blotted out the setting sun. As they followed the riverside drive along the left bank, Aiyan pointed down an avenue.

" _There_ is where we should find them, in one of those upscale townhouses in the Lawyer's Quarter."

A few minutes later they all stood at a low wall, gazing down on the opening in the steep stonework embankment.

Pitbull turned to Aiyan. "Do not ask me why, because I don't know. But that _is_ the way."

Jazul sniffed the air cautiously. "I don't smell anything."

"It's a storm sewer," Teodor said. "The, uh, other sewers empty beyond the harbor. Speaking of storms, I figure you have about half an hour before the rain strikes. You don't want to be in there when that happens."

Lightning flickered inside the towering clouds as the storm bore down upon the city.

"Then we go at once," Aiyan said. "It is the moment of the arrow."

He assigned weapons to each of them, his own pocket pistol for himself, and the other two for Kyric, along with the two big pistols. He emptied Kyric's knapsack and stuffed the little keg of gunpowder into it, giving it to Jazul to wear on his back. Jazul would also carry the axe. He handed the blunderbuss to Pitbull.

Kyric dug through his things and found his bow sling. He was taking his bow. At least he could hit something with it.

"I suppose I'll wait for you here," Teodor said, removing one of the lanterns from the wagon and handing it to Kyric.

Aiyan managed a thin smile. "You are the laziest ne'er-do-well I have ever seen."

Teodor shrugged. "Someone has to stay with the wagon."

Aiyan took his hand. Each gave a nod to the other and Aiyan turned away.

They scooted down the embankment to stand on the brick apron at the opening. It was tall as a man and wide as an arm span, enclosed by a gate of rust-encrusted iron bars held with a large padlock. Pitbull produced what Kyric first thought was a big steel key. Looking at it more closely he saw that it was actually an ornament, shaped in a fine filigree of silver wire.

Pitbull touched the key to the padlock. "Magic won't help this," he said. "It's rusted shut."

"Step back," said Jazul as he squared up to the grating. Taking a bar in each of his massive hands, he ripped the gate off its hinges and threw it aside.

The tunnel was brick lined and arched at the top, and Pitbull lead the way, Aiyan next, and then Kyric with the lantern. He held it high to give them light, but it helped only a little and produced a jumble of shadows. He heard a faint metallic scrape as Aiyan drew his sword and the blue flame erupted, shining coldly against the light of the lantern.

They walked for a time, passing a few side tunnels before coming to a Y split. Pitbull choose the left tunnel without hesitation. The floor was moist but not slick, and he moved on quickly, almost at the trot. Another split and they went right, into a long straightaway, then another and left, always with a slight uphill grade. They entered a curving section that narrowed at the end, turning into a series of elbows. A handful of rats scuttled away into the dark.

A four-way intersection lay beyond. Kyric had lost all sense of direction with the elbow turns, but Pitbull pushed on into the right-hand tunnel, excited now, breathing harder, a trickle of water now running down the middle of the passage. A hundred strides brought them to the hole.

A collapsed patch of brickwork at the shoulder of the tunnel had opened a hole big enough for even Jazul to climb through. A hole leading into a larger space.

Aiyan sheathed his sword and scrambled through. A moment later the blue light of the flame appeared.

"It's alright," he said, "come ahead."

With a leg up from Jazul, Pitbull and Kyric pulled themselves through and into a tunnel many times larger than the sewer. The floor was thick with dirt and other filth, and made uneven by protruding rocks. The side walls and ceiling were formed by a shallow arch of smooth stonework, with rectangular openings clogged with earth, the remnants of cut stone steps spiraling the length of the tunnel. Kyric suddenly realized what it was. They were inside an old tower or turret that lay on its side.

"Aiyan," Pitbull said softly, suppressing a nervous giggle, "the magical Essa is strong here. Surprisingly strong." He clinched his teeth.

"Will you be able to control yourself?"

"I think so. The book isn't far from here."

"What is the matter?" whispered Jazul.

"Simply put," said Aiyan, "when Pitbull uses magic, or even comes close to a powerful Essa, he gets a little . . . inebriated."

Grinning stupidly, Pitbull said, "Just a little."

Kyric shook his head. _So that's why all the hilarity at the archery tournament. And I took it for meanness_. "We're in the ruins of Derndra's palace," he said.

"I believe we are," said Pitbull, a musical ring to his voice.

They crept forward, Kyric expecting any moment to see the eyes of the Wirmen reflecting at the edge of the lantern light. Then he remembered that their flat black eyes reflected no light.

After a short way, this passage opened into a larger space. The ceiling was low, and Kyric had to stoop a little. He ran his hand over the rough, weathered stonework. It had been an exterior wall at one time, having fallen over and crushed the upper part of this room. The floor ran smooth and level before them, but off to the right it was cracked, and it canted down sharply. A tangle of rusty equipment lay there — coiled metal tubing suggested a distilling apparatus, and in the corner something like a blacksmith's forge.

"There," Pitbull said, pointing to the left where a roughly square tunnel broke through the plaster. It sloped upward. "That's where it is."

It looked recently and hastily dug, shored crudely with scrap lumber. Pitbull rubbed his nose. "One good sneeze and this will come down on us."

Aiyan shushed him. "We must go quietly," he whispered, taking the lead.

They followed the tunnel a few dozen steps to a sharp bend, then upward a few dozen more to where it ended in a small square space dug and shored like the tunnel, except that the opposite wall was made of stone blocks. A heavy wooden door stood behind an iron gate of crisscrossed bars, much like the one at the sewer opening, only this one was clean and new and oiled, the hinges set into the blocks with steel bolts. A huge keyhole lock held the gate fast.

"This is it," Pitbull whispered. "We're so close I can almost taste it." A short belch escaped him. "Oh yes," he giggled, "I can taste it."

He took out the filigree key, turning it over in his hands and rolling it between his fingers. He shook it hard, one time, and it hummed faintly like a tuning fork. He touched it to the lock and there was a click. The gate silently swung open. He placed his hand on the wooden door.

"This one isn't locked," he said. He stepped back and cocked the blunderbuss.

Aiyan cracked the door the width of a hair, and a dim light outlined the frame. He signaled Kyric to place the lantern on the floor.

"Make ready," he whispered.

Jazul shifted the axe to one hand — against his bulk it looked more like a hatchet — and he drew Sedlik's shortsword with the other. Kyric pulled the wheel-lock and engaged the dogs, the grip smooth against his palm. The weight of the two barrels felt good.

Aiyan pushed through the door, rushing into an open basement. Two men in shirtsleeves sat at a table, one of them in the motion of throwing dice. The dicer started with a yell, the dice caroming wildly off the table top, but the other man reached for a pistol.

Aiyan's slash caught him just above the ear, killing him instantly. The dicer stood and fumbled for his sabre, only to discover that Aiyan's sword had thrust all the way through his chest. He dropped to his knees, then fell forward and was quiet.

Kyric ran to the wide staircase leading upward, Aiyan handing him the dead man's pistol as he joined him. They hurried up the steps side by side. A landing, open to the left, and they entered a room that was not so much a kitchen as a pantry with a cookstove in one corner. Harpsichord music bled through the pair of doors in the right hand wall.

They kicked the doors open and the four of them rushed into a common room with a high ceiling. Three men sat at a big round table, two of them wearing the uniform of Lekon's troops, officer's braids at their shoulders. They had just finished eating and the dirty plates lay in front of them. Another, holding an empty wine decanter, was frozen in midstride as he headed to the pantry.

Screeching like a bird of prey, Kyric fired both barrels into his stomach. He fell, and the decanter shattered, sending glass shards skittering across the floor. Pitbull raised the blunderbuss to the men at the table, shooting as they stood. The blast was deafening and smoke filled the room. Jazul lunged at the harpsichord player. The fellow stood and grabbed his sword arm with both hands, holding it briefly until Jazul buried his axe in the man's ribs.

A bald man dressed in hunting leathers came out of an adjoining room, a sleek longsword in his hands. His eyes were grim, his face scarred and expressionless, and he looked fast and strong as he came en-garde.

Aiyan leapt past the wounded men at the table, running full force at him, raising the flaming blade. The bald man took position to block the overhand slash, ready to return a deadly counterblow after he had diverted Aiyan's attack. Aiyan didn't try to stop. He threw himself into it, roaring as he swung with all his might.

With a ringing snap, he cut through the bald man's sword and cut deep into his shoulder at the base of the neck, shattering his collar bone and severing his spine.

One of the men at the table was down, but the other two, bleeding and in shock, somehow scrambled for the swords hanging over the backs of their chairs. Kyric stepped up to one of them and shot him in the face at a range of inches. Part of his skull flew away. Pitbull stabbed the other one in the groin with his machete.

The front door swung open, another soldier in Lekon's livery sticking his head in and withdrawing it immediately. A bell began to ring, sharp and loud. Kyric threw down his spent pistols and drew another, running to the open door.

It was almost dark outside, and it had begun to rain. At the far side of a cobbled courtyard, soldiers poured out of a long low building. Pitbull had brought them out of the underground into some sort of barracks.

The trooper ringing the bell in the courtyard turned and leveled his musket as Kyric stopped in the doorway. He pulled the trigger but got no spark as the rain fell harder. Kyric fired, hitting him in the arm, then slammed the door closed and slid the bolt.

Despite the rainy evening, two windows stood open to the courtyard. "Get them closed," shouted Jazul. He ran to the nearest and threw and barred the shutters. Pitbull closed the shutters on the other window, but couldn't reach the bar, and as Jazul came to help him they flew open again, several bayonets jabbing, driving the two of them back while one soldier tried to climb through. Pitbull staggered away and sat hard on the floor near the table, a deep gash above one eye.

Jazul reached past the bayonet of the one climbing over the windowsill and took hold of the barrel, pulling him in by his own musket, tearing it from his grasp and clubbing him in the head with the stock. Kyric readied his two pocket pistols, firing them out the window as the soldiers outside ducked away. Jazul pushed the shutters closed again and held them against the pounding of muskets while Kyric tried to get the bar into place. The window at last secure, he turned back.

Five smaller rooms and a hallway opened to the common room. Aiyan dashed from one door to the next, making sure they were empty. The entire place lay thick with gun smoke. Kyric's eyes watered, and he felt a choking stab at the back of his throat. Having no more loaded pistols, he slipped his bow out of its sling and drew an arrow. It felt big and clumsy even in a tall room. When he looked up everyone stood motionless, staring at the entry to the hallway.

Vaust was there, standing perfectly still as well, sighting down the barrel of a flintlock carabine. He held a steady bead on Aiyan's heart.

"All of you lay your weapons down," he said levelly.

His view of Pitbull seemed blocked by the table. Gingerly, Pitbull picked up Kyric's spent pistol. He pointed at it, whispering a word, then pointed toward Vaust and whispered another.

"Now," Vaust commanded, and Aiyan lowered his sword. Jazul placed his shortsword on the floor. Kyric was torn in half, raging with anger and horror. He wanted very badly to lunge for Vaust and jab the arrow into his neck, but a look from Aiyan convinced him to toss it aside.

The banging on the shutter came more rapidly now, the wooden bar creaking with each blow. Pitbull began a chant low in his chest, harsh rasping words in the Essian tongue, his face twisted into a mask of malevolence. Kyric could barely make out the words.

"C _ome dragon come dragon come dragon come dragon._ "

"Don't sheath it," Vaust said to Aiyan. "Drop it."

Aiyan did as he commanded and the flame went out.

"Now," said Vaust, nodding to Kyric, "go and open the door for them."

"Don't do it," Aiyan said.

A cracking sound came from the window, but it still held. Vaust's lips pressed together. If he could hold them for another minute it would be over anyway.

Pitbull's face turned green, and he heaved a little, like he would vomit. All of a sudden he spit a narrow spray of green fluid on the cock of the flintlock. It hissed and foamed, a white vapor rising. It dug into the metal. A moment later there was a rattle, and the cock simply broke away and fell to the floor.

As it did on Vaust's flintlock.

Vaust blinked and looked at his gun. It was useless. When Aiyan snatched his sword from the floor, Vaust threw away the carabine and ran back down the hall. Aiyan ran after him.

Pitbull flopped onto his back, ill or exhausted. Jazul quickly dragged the harpsichord bench to the window and held it against the splintering shutters. "I can hold them," he said to Kyric. "Go."

Kyric sprinted down to the hall to an open door, into a room with a stairway up. He heard Vaust's muffled voice. He nocked an arrow and crept up the stairs, bowstring against his cheek.

"I swear it," Vaust was saying. "I have no doubt you can kill me, but you'll have to pay for it with this boy's life. You can have the book. It's in that chest there — take it and go. But I will live or the prince will die."

Aiyan stood to the side in a large bedchamber, his blade once again aflame. Vaust knelt behind Prince Eren, a long dagger across the child's throat. And Kyric knew it had been him. He had cut Jela's throat with that very knife.

"Either way," said Aiyan, "Morae will be very displeased with you."

"So be it. Make your decision."

Vaust held Eren directly in front of him. Very little of him was exposed: A small part of his face, his right eye, a shoulder, his arm, his knife hand. If Kyric shot him in the hand, would he drop the dagger? Would he switch hands and kill the prince anyway? He didn't know.

He was too angry not to take the shot, but he was too angry to make it.

_For a true warrior, all battles are battles of the spirit_.

And then Kyric burned.

_It is the moment of the arrow_.

Vaust somehow sensed it. He began to move the blade across Eren's throat.

There was no time to breathe deep and step into the field of spirit. There was no time to feel the wind of power that would carry his arrow. There was no time . . . and without time, there was only the moment, indefinite, eternal. Anger could no longer exist there, because within the moment, the self could not exist. He couldn't tell his eye, his arrow, or his spirit from one another. They blurred into one.

He loosed the arrow. It hit Vaust in the eye. His head snapped back, the arrow lodging deep in his brain. The knife fell from his hand. Rain drummed against the roof.

With a long cry, Eren ran to Aiyan, taking no notice of the flaming blade in his hands.

"It's all right, boy. We have you now."

Kyric couldn't move. A single tear slid down his cheek. A single tear for Jela, that's all he would ever have.

Aiyan looked at the wound on Eren's neck. It bled freely. "That's only a scratch," he said, smiling for the child. "Kyric," he called, "are you with us? I need you here."

Kyric wiped his face on his sleeve and turned away, leaving his arrow in Vaust's eye socket _. Let them find him that way_.

He bandaged Eren's cut with a handkerchief. A few arcane symbols had been drawn on his face and hands in some sort of ash or charcoal. Aiyan went to the ornate Baskillian sea chest Vaust had pointed to and cut the lock off with one blow from his sword.

Thump! Something heavy struck the door downstairs. Aiyan tossed the book of rudders to Kyric, and looking deeper into the chest found a letter bearing a strange seal. He slipped it under his vest, took Eren by the hand, and they hurried back to the common room. A trail of six bodies lay across the floor, and there was blood everywhere. Kyric retrieved his wheel-lock.

Another thump, and the door shook with the impact.

Pitbull had made it to his feet. His color was returning. "Can we go home now?" he asked Aiyan.

Jazul continued to hold the window until they made it back to the basement, then joined them at the head of the tunnel. Pitbull closed the gate, spat into the key hole, and touched the lock with his filigree key.

"They won't get through that way," he said between chuckles. "That lock will never open again."

"What is this written on Eren's face and hands?" said Aiyan.

Pitbull frowned. "Part of the ritual spell that kept me from finding him. It means that they do have a magician working for them."

Aiyan knelt in front of Eren. "Who drew this on you?"

"The tall man with the dark eyes."

"Morae."

"Yes. That's what they call him."

Aiyan turned to Pitbull. "How can that be?"

Pitbull shook his head. "A man has only one essence. But if he has the sympathy and some training, the magical Essa is strong below. It might be possible."

"Eren, where were you when he drew these, down this tunnel?"

"Yes, down below."

"We'll worry over it later," Aiyan said. "Jazul, I'd like you to carry the prince, in the event we need to move quickly."

Jazul hoisted the boy into one arm. Kyric picked up the lantern he had left there, and Aiyan led them into the low-ceiling chamber. He backtracked their footprints though the sideways tower to the opening above the storm sewer.

Water ran swiftly through the sewer, a little too deep, Kyric thought, to be able to wade in it. Maybe they could slide along. But then he thought about the elbows — you could break something, get knocked out, drown.

Pitbull cleared his throat. "You know, I'm not a big swimmer."

"There's another way out," said Prince Eren. "Back in the chamber with the broken floor."

The water in the sewer grew deeper. They made their way back, and on the opposite wall of the chamber, near the break in the floor, hung a flap of dirty canvas. It rustled slightly in a gentle flow of air. Behind it stood an arched portal and stone steps leading down.

Aiyan looked back at Eren. "This is the way out?"

"Yes."

They started down. A foul odor rose from below, a rotting smell. The stairwell turned left and then right before it came to a landing. It continued straight and a set of branching steps led down to the right.

"Which way?" Aiyan asked the boy.

He pointed straight ahead. "Keep going."

Something troubled Kyric about the way Eren had spoken. With his heart still racing and his nerves on the edge of their limits, he couldn't think clearly. The stench grew stronger as they descended, the steps getting moist and black with mold.

Kyric stopped and turned to face Eren where he sat in Jazul's arms. He leaned in and held the lantern close.

"Are you sure this is the way?"

"Yes," the prince said, "keep going."

Then Kyric saw, and the disgust nearly made him wretch.

"Aiyan. He's _lying_. He's lying — they made him take the blood."

Erin suddenly twisted, trying to jump free of Jazul's grasp. "I want my father. My _true_ father." He writhed violently, but Jazul was able to hold him. "Father!" he screamed, "Father, where are you?"

"We'll have to gag him," Kyric said as they all retreated back up to the landing, Eren still screaming and trying to bite Jazul.

Pitbull took something from his satchel. A furry little desiccated thing. It was a cat's paw. He made a growling humming sound deep in his throat and touched the cat's paw to Eren's lips. The boy fell silent.

"Sorry kid," Pitbull said.

Erin made a few muffled sounds. His struggling grew weaker and at last stopped.

"Good Goddess," said Kyric. "How could they do such a thing to a child?"

"It's even worse than you think," Aiyan said. "There's a reason they don't take the very young. The same reason Cauldin didn't give his blood to the lepers."

He peered into the boy's eyes. "Let's try the other way."

The branching steps only went a short way down. They saw a dim light coming through an archway, and Aiyan crept forward into another open space.

The chamber was much taller, much wider than the one above. The floor lay covered with paving stones, and an open hole, too wide to jump across, plunged into unseen depths just ahead of them. The yellow-green light came from a dozen melon-sized bubbles that drifted at random, bouncing lightly off the ceiling of compressed earth and stone. At second glance Kyric saw that they weren't simply bubbles. They were filled with fine silt suspended in a viscous fluid. They seemed thick and heavy, and logic rebelled against the way they hung in the air.

They skirted the hole and saw that it was a well. It was perfectly round, and the paving stones continued down its insides to be lost in darkness. There was nothing to keep someone from falling in.

"Aiyan," said Pitbull. He took quick shallow breaths. The light made his eyes glow greenly and his pupils were enormous. "The Essa is even stronger here. Stronger than I've ever felt it. I could do magic here with no effort." He spoke distractedly, intent on watching the floating glowing balls. Kyric had to grab him by the arm to keep him from falling into the well.

The far side of the chamber opened into an even larger cavern, a natural cave with magnificent crystal formations and stalagmites nearly touching the stalactites above them.

A voice echoed from the back of the cave, three words in an ancient tongue. Kyric recognized the voice. It was Morae.

At once the air turned misty and coalesced into a thick fog. Kyric could barely see Jazul standing next to him. Aiyan was only a dark shape holding a pale flame.

Everyone stopped. Pitbull began to giggle.

"Don't worry," he said, "it's only an illusion. I can see right through it."

"Well the rest of us can't," Aiyan snapped. "Can you do something to help? Dispel it perhaps?"

Pitbull exploded with laughter. "Are you kidding? I don't even know how it's done. No one's been able to conjure true illusions since the War of Mages."

Pitbull fell silent then. Kyric heard him weeping. "All this power. All this power and I haven't the skill for it. Pity me for a fool. I've wasted my life pursuing an art that has no use for me."

Aiyan struck Pitbull across the face with the flat of his flaming blade. " _Ano!_ " he said in the Essian tongue. "Take hold of your essence and center yourself. We need you, Orius. Tell me what you see."

Pitbull looked up and imitated a laughing sound, but this time it was irony. "I see a man with a sword coming at us. I think he can see through the fog as well."

Aiyan waved his sword back and forth like a dowsing rod. He took a few steps and Kyric could no longer see him.

"That's right," Pitbull said. "That's where he is. Now he's circling to your left."

Kyric heard the shuffle of boot leather, then a metallic sound, a clash of blades and a grunt.

"No," winced Pitbull, "he's cut Aiyan on the shoulder. He stays out of sight, and then rushes in. Aiyan can barely dodge him." He called out, "Aiyan! He's backing you into the well."

Kyric reached for Pitbull in the fog. "You have the power. Do something. _Anything_."

Pitbull tore the lantern from his grasp and pulled the cover off. He thrust his hand into the flame and screamed through the pain in the Essian tongue. In one of the nearby globes of light, the liquid began to ripple, then bubble. It churned in a roiling boil. Pitbull screamed again and smashed his hand down onto the wick. The floating ball of light exploded, the glowing liquid raining down on all of them. It was sticky and scalding and it painted them in light. Suddenly Kyric saw Aiyan and Morae clearly outlined in a yellow-green glow.

Morae had raised his sabre high, and slashed down at Aiyan's head. Aiyan parried, holding Ivestra with one hand, his other hand seizing Morae by the wrist.

All in an instant: He stepped inside, pommel blow shattering the chin, slid under his arm, cutting his triceps, pulling him off balance, a slash to the back of the skull, and Morae lay dead on the floor, much like they had found Sedlik.

The fog vanished. Black blood pooled beneath Morae's body.

Eren opened his mouth in wordless agony. He twitched in Jazul's arms, convulsing rapidly before suddenly going limp.

"What was he doing down here?" Kyric said.

Pitbull looked up from his blackened hand. "I think I know. Come this way."

They went deeper into the cave, weaving through the maze of natural columns, only Aiyan's sword and the glow of their own bodies for light. Aiyan bled from the shoulder but didn't seem to notice.

The cavern narrowed to a man-sized opening. Beyond lay another cave that ended in a wide crevasse. An altar of sorts sat at the edge of the crevasse. A shallow reflecting pool stood on end, like a mirror, in front of a platform made of alternating plates of metal and clay, the water resting calmly there as if sideways were down, disregarding gravity as easily as the floating balls of light. A sparkling mandala was inscribed in the floor of the platform. No, not inscribed. It was laid in diamonds.

Pitbull gave a low whistle. "Elistar's breath. Do you know what this is? It's Derndra's Mirror. He created this to focus the most powerful Essa ever conceived. It is written that he could see his enemies in this and cast hideous spells upon them."

A row of alcoves had been carved in one wall of the cave. Some contained books and dusty scrolls. One scroll lay on the floor, halfway open.

"This is how he did it," Pitbull continued, "he read directly from Derndra's original grammaries. In a place of power like this, one need only have the sympathy to make magic." He swayed a little, and Kyric thought he would faint. "I feel that I can invoke magic simply by _thinking_ of it."

Pitbull's eyes shone with a feral light, and his mouth was askew with a mischievous grin. He leapt onto the platform and stood in the center of the mandala. He stared into Derndra's Mirror.

"What do you see?" Aiyan said.

"I see many things." He fought down a giggle. "I can see my house."

"Pitbull," Aiyan said sharply, "do you see a way out of here?"

"Yes. Yes I do."

"Wait," said Jazul. "One handful of those diamonds would make us all wealthy."

Pitbull turned to him. "How can you think of the material when so much power flows from this spot. Diamonds are nothing. If you wish for something truly rare, I could summon the essence of the Aerth itself."

At once they felt a vibration beneath their feet. The walls of the cave began to tremble.

Aiyan stiffened. "Pitbull, what have you done?"

Pitbull looked at each of them, shocked and suddenly terrified. "I've called forth golden mercury from the center of the Aerth," he whispered. "I didn't mean to. I only thought about it."

Aiyan dragged him from the platform as a crack opened beneath his feet. "Come on. Show us the way out."

A shiny golden substance flowed from the crack, bright with heat and magic.

"No," Pitbull said, rummaging in his satchel. "I'm not leaving without golden mercury. It's unattainable — you don't know what it means to a magician. I need to find my magic jar."

Outside, in the cavern, they heard the crash of a falling stalactite. The floor of the cave shook.

Aiyan spun him around. "It is the moment of the hand. If we do not leave now we will die."

Pitbull froze. "So it is," he said quietly.

He led them back through the cavern. Kyric no longer felt the ground tremble beneath his feet. One of the glowing balls drifted close to his face, making him blink with the afterimage after it passed. When they reached the chamber, a dozen silent figures crouched at the edge of the well. Dozens more were climbing over the lip. The Wirmen had come up from their pit.

Pitbull pointed to the wall opposite where they had come in. "See? There's a tunnel leading to another cave."

Aiyan sheathed his sword and drew his pocket pistol. His face glowed with luminescent splatters.

"Jazul, give the prince to Kyric and take out the keg of gunpowder. We will walk slowly to the tunnel, Kyric and Pitbull going first. If they move to attack us, throw the gunpowder into their midst and everyone run. I'll shoot the keg and hope that it goes off."

They started across the floor, the Wirmen packing together and growing restless. Kyric and Pitbull had just crossed under the great stone lintel at the entrance to the tunnel, Jazul next and Aiyan covering the rear, when the Wirmen broke and charged.

Jazul tossed the gunpowder over Aiyan's head, and it arced towards the middle of the pack. Aiyan fired while it was still in midair.

The explosion knocked Jazul backward and threw Aiyan to the floor. Chunks of the ceiling rained down all around them. Most of the Wirmen lay dead or had scattered.

Kyric looked back through the tunnel. The ceiling of the chamber had begun to give way. The supports holding the lintel at the head of the tunnel crumbled, and the great stone came loose. Then Jazul was there, holding it up, his muscles bulging like knotted cables. Aiyan staggered to his feet.

"Hurry," Jazul called to him over his shoulder. "I can't hold it forever."

Aiyan lurched toward him. "It's not too heavy," Jazul chanted between clenched teeth. "It's not too heavy."

Aiyan squeezed past him. Jazul shifted his weight, preparing to drop the stone block, but a Wirman lunged from out of the darkness, sinking its teeth into the back of Jazul's thigh. He fell, and the huge stone fell with him. He was crushed beneath it.

The tunnel collapsed in a cascade of earth and stone. Aiyan threw himself forward in a headlong dive, landing sprawled in the little cave beyond.

He pushed himself up. "Jazul!" he called, "Jazul!" He clawed at the debris filling the tunnel.

Pitbull gently pulled him away. "It's no use, Aiyan."

The far end of the cave ended in a wall of ancient stonework. There was a vertical crack, wide enough for a man to pass. The odor was foul but somewhat familiar.

"Another sewer tunnel," Pitbull said. "The sanitary sewers this time."

They shuffled through and followed the flow of sewage. Aiyan drew his sword across the essence of the flame and led the way. These tunnels were much older than the storm sewers. The mortar had crumbled in many places, and some of the stonework had fallen away here and there. In one spot the floor stones had long ago sank into the earth, and they had to wade through a pool of muck, Pitbull up to his chest.

Eren lay limp in Kyric's arms, his breaths coming more ragged as they went. "There's something wrong with the prince."

They stopped and Pitbull felt his forehead, sniffed his breath. "We have to get him to my house. Soon."

They entered a section where the rain leaked in through a score of cracks, soaking them to the skin. The yellow glow ran from their clothing in little rivulets. The level of the sewer water grew higher, and they waded on laboriously, Kyric up to his knees in water and filth, Pitbull up to his waist. Kyric's skin stung where the magic fluid had scalded him.

"How are you doing, Pitbull?" said Aiyan.

"I'm nearly spent. Feeling pain now." He held up his burnt black hand.

"How much farther?"

"Miles. These sewers empty outside the city."

They waded on, steadily following the slight downhill grade. They looked for passages up to the street, but those that they found were slick with filth, and too steep to climb. There was no place to stop and rest. It became a hell of timeless labor. Many times Kyric thought he saw the tunnel come to an opening, only to find that it intersected another sewer, or was a trick of the dark.

At last the tunnel joined a larger artery with a raised sidewalk along one wall, and they climbed out of the sewage to lay wet and exhausted on the concrete shelf. Suddenly Eren was wracked with a coughing fit. He seemed unable to breathe. Aiyan massaged his chest while Pitbull whispered into his ear. The fit ended, and Eren's lungs made a horrible scratching sound as he took another breath.

"We should be near the end," Aiyan said.

Pitbull threw himself back down. "I'm done. I can't get up. Just leave me here."

Aiyan held out his hand. Pitbull took it and was hauled to his feet. Kyric managed to stand, and Aiyan helped him gather Eren into his arms. They had walked only a few minutes when he saw the flash of lightning at the sewer's opening.

"We've made it."

They came to the end, a ledge overhanging a churning sea. The night was black and the rain fell in sheets. There was no shoreline below them. The mouth of the sewer rested in a vertical bank of earth, too muddy to climb. There was nowhere to go.

Aiyan stood facing the storm and shook his flaming blade at it. "What would you have of me?" he shouted to the wind. All of a sudden, he fell to his knees.

"What is it?" said Pitbull.

"Stung once again by Morae's poisoned sword," Aiyan said, showing him the wound on his shoulder. "Bear's bane."

Lightning flashed again. There was something on the water. A pair of bright eyes in the dark, then another pair — the lamps of a fishing boat. Then Teodor's voice, almost lost in the storm.

"We're coming to you. We can see your light."

# CHAPTER 16: Redemption

The rain stopped shortly after midnight, and Pitbull came out of the sickroom where he had taken Eren, telling them that he was out of danger. Earlier he had drawn the poison from Aiyan with some sort of spell that involved rubbing salt into the wound. He had done it mostly one handed, and it had looked painful for both of them.

Aiyan spent several hours composing a long letter and sealing it with the emblem of the flaming blade. In the hour before dawn, they wrapped the boy in a blanket and carried him to Pitbull's wagon. Kyric and Aiyan sat with him in the back while Teodor drove them to the royal residence. He was awake, but sat still and said nothing. He only stared into the dark.

When the guards officer at the gate saw that it was the prince, he urged them to hurry to the main house. He would send a rider ahead to tell Princess Aerlyn. But Aiyan placed Eren in his arms, along with the letter he had written.

"But the princess will wish to speak to you personally," the officer said. "She will want to know where he was held, and by whom."

"It's all in the letter."

At Aiyan's signal, Teodor turned the wagon around, and they drove through the dark streets all the way to the old harbor.

They secured a room overlooking the harbor square. Teodor went to an undertaker and made arrangements for Jela and Sedlik. Aiyan knew that Sedlik had a sister living near Karta. He wrote to her and paid a rider to take it straightaway. Kyric tossed for a couple of hours in an attempt to sleep, then Teodor returned, hobbling on his makeshift crutch, and they took a few bites of bread and cheese. They sent their filthy clothes out to be washed, and didn't speak to each other the entire day. Kyric had time to think.

All he felt was guilt. Men had been killed all around him. Jazul had died. Aiyan and Pitbull each bore a vicious wound. And he had come through it unhurt. But worse, far worse than that was the guilt of what he had thought about Jela. It had been an insidious thought in the back of his mind that he could not push away.

He had blamed Jela for her death. The horrible little voice said that it had been her fault for going to the reception, that Vaust had connected her with Aiyan, and that he had found her when he read her father's name in the paper. But now he saw that there was no way of knowing. Vaust might have seen her on the street by chance and followed her home. Morae could have seen it in Derndra's Mirror.

Their clothes came back and they went out for supper that evening. Kyric ordered little and ate less. They overheard someone at another table talking about how the Senate had failed to meet that morning, and how Senator Lekon was reported to be very ill.

Teodor stood at the window of their room. "I think our boat has come."

It had been a long sweaty night. They were up early but stayed in the room all morning, Aiyan pacing by the window. Kyric wasn't sure if he was waiting or simply trying to make a decision. At one point he called to the landlord for ink and paper, changing his mind and saying he didn't need it a moment later.

Teodor spent the time sharpening and polishing his sword. Aiyan had sat down at last and shown Kyric how to clean the intricate mechanisms of the wheel-lock pistol. It was almost noon when the two knights began discussing how they would return to Esaiya.

"It's _Sea Sprite_. Looks like the masters sent Marrus and Jorlin to find us."

"Good," Aiyan said. "Saves us a trip to the narrows."

They gathered the few things they had. Aiyan ran his hand across the book of rudders before tucking it under his arm. They walked down to the harbor, meeting _Sea Sprite_ just as it came to dockside.

The two men in the sailboat were dressed in identical tunics, dark blue with intricate white stitching falling to the knee, reminiscent of a knight's surcoat. They too wore the silver lockets with the mark of the flaming blade.

Aiyan handed them the book of rudders and his gear. "We must return to Esaiya at once," he said to them.

They helped Teodor into the boat, and Aiyan turned to Kyric. "I couldn't have done this without you. I only hope that you don't come to curse me for it."

"I'm the one who chased you down the road to Karta. I'm the one who didn't walk away after the archery contest."

"That's a lot to shoulder. I think you must accord some of it to me. Still, I can't help but think the Unknowable Forces had a part in the way we met."

He held out his hand. "I will see you again, Kyric."

Kyric's mouth fell open. "You're not taking me with you?"

He thought his heart had hardened over the last few days. He had thought that Jela's death and all that followed would make him immune to petty hurts. But suddenly he was ten years old again, and his mother was leaving him at the rune convent, saying that it would be only for the summer, that she would come back for him. And he saw every sign of the lie on her face.

"I thought . . . I thought I was different. I thought you were teaching me. I thought you were training me to become one of you. You introduced me to the princess as your squire — and I saw that it wasn't a lie. Am I not your squire?"

Aiyan placed his hand on Kyric's shoulder. "Remember what Teodor told you about the barrier surrounding Esaiya? There is a law of the order imposed upon us by the Unknowable Forces. No man may come to that island by the hand of another. If we were to take you, we would not be allowed to pass."

"How am I unworthy?"

"I cannot say that you are."

"Then what of redemption? Jela and Sedlik were killed because of us."

"No," Aiyan said, his grip tightening. "They died because of the hate of evil men. Nothing more and nothing less. You must understand that, for if you do not, you will never be whole, never be at one. Look me in the eye and know that I speak the truth."

Kyric still felt helpless. "I have killed men. Be they evil or not I ask you: How will I be redeemed? You had your master to show you the way. How will I find it alone?"

Aiyan loosened his grip. "My master showed me a way, but even now I don't know if I have found redemption. I feel that I will not know until my life is at its end."

He leaned in close, lowering his voice. "Listen to me, Kyric. You are the most naturally gifted young man I have ever met. You have started on the path without anyone having shown it to you. But one step is only one step. And your natural talent, bereft of any training, leaves you vulnerable. I believe that we are not done with each other. I have every confidence that we will meet again very soon."

Kyric looked away from him. "Then is there nothing for me now?"

A chorus of hoofbeats made them turn. A fine open-topped carriage with a cavalry escort rolled along the harbor road, stopping in front of the dock. Princess Aerlyn stepped out. Aiyan and Kyric went to meet her.

She smiled when she saw them coming, but to Kyric she seemed a little sad. Aiyan stood before her and bowed deeply.

"Please don't be formal with me," she said.

"You are a princess and I am in your service. How else should I be?"

"Be the man who danced with me on Solstice Eve."

Aiyan smiled at her then, a little sad as well. "How did you track me down?"

"Our good Senators are not the only ones with informants in this city."

"That is good to know."

She brushed a strand of hair from her face. "I read the book you suggested. There is much in there of which I would know more. I also read the letter you wrote me. I couldn't stop reading it. I understand why you think . . . why you think that we cannot . . . "

She couldn't speak her heart with Kyric so near, so he stepped away. Eren and Kaelyn sat in the back of the carriage. When he walked toward them Kaelyn jumped down and ran to him, reaching up to him, wanting to be held. He lifted her into his arms, like he had done on Solstice Eve.

She laughed with delight. "Have you seen any more elephants?"

"No, I haven't."

"The pygmy elephant got to go home."

"What a lucky elephant."

Her eyes sparkled with sunlight and the sea. She whispered into his ear. "Thank you for bringing my brother home."

He was surprised that she knew. He whispered back into hers. "Your servant, my lady."

Aiyan and Aerlyn had fallen silent. They looked at one another, and Aerlyn took his hand and stood close to him. He kissed her lightly, with the barest brush of his lips upon hers.

Kaelyn saw it. She kissed Kyric on the cheek, the same cheek that Jela had kissed.

Go then. Hero.

Aiyan turned away from Aerlyn and she watched him walk to the boat. He turned back before he boarded. "I will see you again," he called. Kyric wasn't sure if he spoke to him or the princess.

Aerlyn stood motionless as they cast off, and Kyric took Kaelyn back to the carriage. Eren didn't look at him. It seemed that he burned with a cold fire.

"You must remember," Kyric said to him gently, "that what you are feeling will not last. Nothing lasts forever."

Eren met his eyes then, and solemnly shook his hand.

Kyric drifted away from the docks and crossed the harbor road. He went back to the room and looked out the window. The royal carriage had departed, and _Sea Sprite_ was lost among many sails out on the bay. He felt empty. Spent.

He sat on the hard little bed and stared at nothing. He sat there until dark.

# CHAPTER 17: Esaiya

In his dream, Kyric stood at the edge of a cliff overlooking a vast ocean. A speck of light brighter than the setting sun streaked toward him. It was a firebird, its crimson and gold feathers shining like metal, the scales of its breastplate glowing red hot.

It bore down on him. It carried something in its armored talons. A sword.

It laid the sword at his feet, a blade inscribed with ancient symbols, polished to the likeness of a mirror. He saw his reflection in it.

The firebird opened its beak as if to give a great cry, and breathed fire over the sword. It burst into flame. The blue-white flame of the secret fire.

It looked down on him with eyes he had seen many times in his dreams. And it spoke to him. Not aloud, for they do not speak that way. It spoke in thought.

Time is long, and time is short.

Kyric sat up in bed, instantly awake. He flew to the open window and looked out. The first light of day glimmered faintly along the eastern horizon. He dressed and packed quickly. Descending the stairs two at a time, he laughed.

It was so simple. Aiyan had tried to tell him without telling him — one of their rules, no doubt — and he hadn't seen it. But now he did.

No man may come to that island by the hand of another . . . I cannot say . . . the most naturally gifted . . . we will meet again very soon . . . very soon.

It was so simple. All he had to do was go there.

It was only a mile to the west gate. He found a bakery along the way and bought a loaf of bread. He hadn't eaten dinner the night before, but he was too excited to eat now. He would save it for his lunch.

The sun was barely up by the time he passed the west gate, but it was already warm. It would be a hot day. A well sat beside the road in the first village, and he stopped and drank all that he could, drank a bit more, then filled his canteen.

He shortened his stride and set an easier pace for himself, knowing that it was pointless to push and walk the whole distance in one day. He would be exhausted when he got there.

The road was nearly free of traffic. He passed a few hay carts on their way to Aeva, but that was all. He plodded past wheat fields and olive groves. By afternoon the sun was punishing, and dust devils ran the road. Coming to a rocky uncultivated area, he threw himself down under a scrawny oak and rested.

It had only been a fortnight since he started down the highroad to the Games of Aeva. How could that be? He felt like he had lived years since then.

The rocky ground gave way to grasslands, and he came to the town of Wyrrah late in the day. There was nothing like a hotel or inn, but he found a bar that served a good bowl of shellfish stew. Tired though he was, he was too restless to stay there. A clear moonless night was falling, so he walked another mile and bedded down behind a line of trees.

He lay on his back, watching the great river of stars wash across the sky. Worlds above, worlds below. It made him feel very small. And he found comfort in his smallness. The hurts and transience of his life seemed less important when held against the vastness of the universe. He fell asleep easily in that quiet place, but still he slept by fits, up and heading west again as soon as the eastern stars faded with the dawn.

He reached the narrows by midmorning. He noticed in the last mile that scattered paving stones thrust up though the loosely-packed earth of the road. This had once been fully paved, like the highroad. There was nothing here now, not even a shepherd's cottage.

When he got to the edge of the cliffs, he looked down to find that stumps of stone and concrete peeked over the waves, stubby fingers below the sea. A great bridge had once spanned the narrows. Part of it still jutted out from the castle side of the straits.

The castle was faced with weathered stones, grey as storm clouds and larger than he expected, half as wide as the little island, with a dozen towers rising from the walls and the keep. It could have housed several hundred men in its day.

He found a path running down to the shingle of grey stones that lay at the base of the cliffs. At its edge, the sea was less calm than it had seemed from above, and wavelets lapped hard against the shore. He placed his knapsack and all his gear behind a large round rock. When he came to his bow he hesitated. He didn't want to try to swim with it. Surely they had some little boat that would come and fetch his things. A small wooden structure sat above a sandy spit on the opposite shore, probably a boat shed. That made sense. They would need to ferry to the mainland from time to time.

He sat down and removed his boots. He stripped to his underwear and stopped there — he wasn't going to be naked for his first step upon Esaiya.

He picked his way across the smooth round stones to stand at the edge of the water. The warmth of the sun felt good on his bare skin. It was a long swim, but not more than a quarter mile. He had swum farther in the lake near the convent. He wondered if the waves would make it harder.

Above the castle gate, behind the parapet, a lone figure stood silhouetted against the sky. Kyric felt that he was being watched. Somehow, he knew it wasn't Aiyan.

He waded into the ocean with long strides, and the shingle fell away sharply. The coldness of the water on such a hot day surprised him. He struck out, swimming slowly, bobbing with the swell of the waves. He felt strong, and knew he wouldn't tire before reaching the island.

He swam on, utterly alive, his senses taking in everything at once — the taste of salt on his lips, the cries of the gulls, the deep vibration of the sea. Then a great wave rose before him, a mountain of water that lifted him and carried him back, and he tumbled helplessly in its grip. It threw him onto the shingle, and he sat up gasping, the foam of the wave thick upon the rocky shore.

He stood and looked across the narrows. The waters were calm. The figure on the battlements had gone.

End of Book I

