

Copyright © 2015 by Laurisa White Reyes.

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Publisher's Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author's imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

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ISBN: 9780986392405

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For Jarett
TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

More Books by the Author

Author Bio

#

Ivanore hunched over the parchment, the tip of her quill flicking above her hand like a trapped bird desperate to escape. The tallow candle cast a cramped circle of light across the table, hardly enough to see by. If only the night would last a little longer. Perhaps then she would have enough time to write everything she needed to. But alas, time was one thing she had too little of—that and light.

An older man with long, gray-streaked hair and piercing gray eyes waited beside her. The stone bungalow, their most recent of many hiding places, boasted the barest of furnishings: the table, stool, cot—and a plain wooden chest, its key held tightly in his fist.

A sudden thump sounded at the door, startling them both. A strand of Ivanore's hair, gold as the candlelight, fell across the page. She quickly tucked it back into place and wrote faster.

Zyll laid a hand on Ivanore's shoulder. "They are here," he whispered.

Ivanore finished the document and handed it to Zyll unbound. Turning to the chest, he carefully laid the pages inside.

"Wait," said Ivanore. "Will you keep this as well?" A flat circle of pale green crystal lay in her open palm.

"But you will need it. I mustn't—"

"Please," she insisted, pressing it into his hand. "I can't risk losing this one."

Zyll reluctantly folded his fingers around the cool stone. "Of course, milady," he said. Then, adding the crystal to the parchment, he laid a plate of thin wood atop them both, sealing the chest's false bottom. He closed the lid and locked it.

The pounding at the door grew more insistent. Whoever stood outside was using their full weight against it in an effort to break through.

"We must hurry," said Zyll.

Ivanore allowed herself a quick glance at the chest, offering the briefest of prayers that the gods would keep it safe until her return. Then, taking her by the arm, Zyll led her through the low archway dividing the bungalow's front room from the back.

A loud crash of splintering wood resounded through the bungalow. Their visitors had finally broken in.

"Find her now!" a deep voice bellowed.

Grateful for the trousers she now wore instead of her usual cumbersome skirts, Ivanore clambered onto a stool and through a narrow window, lowering herself as quietly as possible to the ground outside. Once Zyll had done the same, they stole away across the rocky field. Though the sky was black as ink, their path was illuminated by the amber glow of volcanic fissures scoring the area for miles around.

"There she is!" a man's voice shouted behind them. The words sent spasms of fear through Ivanore. She glanced behind her and saw three soldiers emerge from the bungalow, wearing the gold and red cross of her father's crest. They had tracked her even here, to the remotest corner of Imaness. Would Fredric ever let her be?

Ivanore stopped running. She looked at Zyll, her trusted guardian and ally these past months since she had fled Dokur, and knew her time with him had come to an end.

"You'll watch over them until I return?" she asked, out of breath. "Keep them safe. Don't let my father find them."

"You have my vow," Zyll whispered, his voice tight with emotion.

Ivanore's eyes welled with tears as she pressed her lips against the calloused skin of Zyll's hand.

"Go," said Zyll. "Go now before it's too late."

Ivanore released Zyll's hand and sprinted forward alone. As she ran, she cupped her hands around her mouth and let out a loud, sharp call, much like that of a hawk or an eagle. She risked another glance over her shoulder and watched as Zyll turned to face their pursuers. As the soldiers neared, their swords glinting in the fire glow, Zyll held up his hands. A horizontal bolt of cerulean lightning shot out from his palms, striking the oncoming soldiers. The men recoiled, their bodies instantly singed and bloody.

Ivanore ran on. In desperation, she repeated her call, and this time another voice called back. A dark form appeared on the horizon, silhouetted against the light of the volcanic fractures and growing larger as it approached with tremendous speed. As it neared, the creature's massive feathered wings moved the air around Ivanore in warm, powerful gusts. Ivanore saw clearly its eagle's head with a beak large enough to break a man in two, paired with the muscular, furred body of a lion. As she ran toward it, the gryphon lowered its head, waiting.

Behind her, the soldiers reeled in pain, but they did not forget their duty. One man struggled to his knees, grunting from the effort. Reaching over his shoulder, he slid a short bow and arrow from his pack and swiftly took aim.

Ivanore reached the gryphon and in one smooth motion hoisted herself onto its back, twisting her arms deep into the feathers on the creature's neck. In that same moment, a single arrow found its mark in Ivanore's shoulder. She cried out before her body slumped forward and her mind went dark. The gryphon took flight then, and in less time than it took to draw another arrow—or a breath—they had vanished into the night.

#

Twelve months had passed since Jayson had arrived in Hestoria, and for the first time in his nineteen years, he was drunk.

The tavern keeper, a skinny man by the name of Timbrey, had him by the neck. "Cheat me out of two pints, will you?" he said, shoving Jayson out the tavern door. "And keep your silly trinket. I only take real money here! Worthless Agoran scum!"

Jayson stumbled and fell face first onto the wet cobbled road. If he hadn't been so intoxicated, he could have easily fought the man and won. But at the moment, Jayson had neither the strength nor the inclination to do it.

He lay there in the street, cursing the gods and Lord Fredric for sparing his empty, meaningless life. Execution would have been preferable to living as an outcast with only the shadows and his memories to keep him company. Although, that wasn't completely true. He did have Arik, but where the hell was he now?

That's right, Jayson remembered. The boy was still inside the tavern, arranging for a room.

Timbrey's words rang in Jayson's ears. Agoran scum. Was it his fault he was only half-human? That his father had loved an Agoran who had born a child with slitted pupils and claws like a cat? Aside from that and his thick mane of dark hair, Jayson looked like any other man. But no Hestorian would ever let him forget what he really was. A mongrel. A half-breed.

Jayson managed to get up on his feet again. Leaning forward and resting both hands on his knees, he waited for the world to stop spinning. His stomach rebelled against him, and the sickly yellow bile landed between his feet.

If the stench of his own vomit hadn't pervaded his senses, he might have smelled the thief approaching him from behind. Instead, the scrape of a metal blade sliding from its sheath alerted him. Jayson spun round just as the dagger sliced through the edge of his cloak. The dagger came down again, slashing at Jayson's waist, but again the blade had missed its mark.

Or had it?

Jayson slapped his hand against his belt and found the cut end of a thin leather strap. "Gods be damned!" he said.

Though it was the middle of the night, the darkness was no obstacle for his eyes. Even so, his assailant's features were concealed beneath a dirty rag tied at the neck. The thief turned to run, but Jayson lunged forward, catching him around the knees. Both slammed into the cobblestone. Jayson, dizzy from too much ale, tried to hold on, but the thief wriggled free.

As the thief scrambled to his feet, Jayson saw a leather pouch clutched tightly in his fist—the very one he had sliced off Jayson's belt. Jayson lashed out with his claws, but the liquor in his blood slowed his reflexes. He managed only to graze his assailant's arm. The pouch dropped to the ground as the thief's good hand snapped up to clutch his wound. Then he turned and sprinted away into the darkness.

Jayson scooped up the pouch and, deciding to put it out of sight, tucked it into his boot. Once again, he struggled to get on his feet, but the buildings spiraled around him. A gray fog blurred his vision, and it seemed as if a gaping black chasm had opened up in front of him. Jayson staggered forward, wavering at its edge. Then he fell, letting the void swallow him.

#

Jayson awoke on a bed in a sparsely furnished room. His head throbbed and his mouth felt dry as dust, but thankfully the dizziness and nausea from the previous night's drinking binge had diminished somewhat.

Sliding his legs out from under a threadbare quilt, Jayson set his feet on the wood floor. He stood up slowly, testing his equilibrium. Once satisfied he could remain upright, he staggered to the open window, which overlooked the road where he had lain a few hours earlier. The town bustled with people, women, and children dickering with fruit and poultry vendors, and men haggling over livestock. But Jayson's gaze fell on the one who stood out among them all, a large beast of a man with thick, shaggy black hair and a face pocked with scars. Standing a head taller than everyone around him, he was hard to miss. And those that came near him covered their faces with their hands as they passed. Jayson caught the man's scent on a passing breeze—the foul stench of sweat and carrion. It wasn't human at all, he realized, but Mardok.

"So, you've survived after all," said a voice from the doorway.

Jayson closed the window and shutters, and then turned toward the voice. He had to admit that the boy was more a man now, having grown several inches in recent months, but there was still a hint of gawkiness about him. His hair, red as a sunset, was short and well-trimmed, the way royalty would wear it. Indeed, Arik was royalty—a prince. At least he had been a prince until he and Jayson were exiled by Arik's father, Lord Fredric, ruler of Dokur.

"How did you find me?" asked Jayson.

Arik crossed the room and dropped into a chair near the window. "You were hard to miss, sprawled out in the road like you were," he said, leaning the chair back on its hind legs. "Believe it or not, the tavern keeper helped me carry you up here. Apparently, remorse set in once I settled your bill. So, what happened? I left you at our table, and when I'd returned you'd been tossed out into the street."

Jayson returned to the bed and lay down on it, draping an arm across his eyes. "I wanted to die," he said.

"You've been saying that for months now," Arik scoffed.

"I wanted to die more than usual."

"It would take more than a bottle of ale to kill _you_ , my friend."

Jayson cringed at the not-so-subtle reminder that he was _different_. Even Arik wouldn't let him forget it.

Jayson curled his claws into his palms, tucking away the evidence of his Agoran blood. "I asked for another drink but didn't have enough money to pay," said Jayson. "I offered the tavern keeper something I thought he couldn't refuse. He threw me out instead."

"Something he couldn't refuse? What do you mean?"

Jayson hesitated. Arik would think him foolish for trying to trade something so valuable for a bottle of liquor. But Arik was his friend, a brother. Surely he would understand the depths to which Jayson had finally sunk.

Jayson shook his head and laughed. It had been a stupid thing to do, the act of a desperate and very intoxicated man. "It was nothing," he said. "Forget it."

Arik's gaze lingered on Jayson. "Well, I know you're too proud for it," he said, "but this should more than cover your expenses, today and for months to come."

Arik dropped a linen sack on the table, reached in, and scooped out a handful of silver coins. Jayson lifted his arm only briefly to look. Then he went back to covering his eyes.

"So that's where you were last night," he said, "off robbing some fool of his money."

"I've robbed no one!" Arik snapped, but then his smile promptly reappeared. "I earned it."

"Doing accounting for Trillium? That's an awful lot of late nights on the table." Jayson listened to the bright _clink_ of the coins as Arik dropped them one by one onto the table—more coins, it seemed, than he had seen in his entire life. "How do you always manage to find work in this hell pit of a city? All I ever manage to find is a boot in my backside."

Arik slid the coins back into their sack. "Is it my fault that the Hestorian people despise Agorans?" he asked.

"I'm only half Agoran," answered Jayson bitterly.

"In any case," continued Arik, "there's enough money here for both of us, but it won't last if you throw it all into the bottle."

"You're a little young to be doling out advice, don't you think?"

"I'm only two years younger than you."

"Nearly three." Jayson enjoyed goading Arik, who was as sensitive about his youth as Jayson was about his heritage.

Arik ignored Jayson's comment. "The money isn't from Trillium," he said.

"Oh, you have a new employer?" Jayson asked.

"Not an employer," said Arik. "More like our benefactor."

" _Our_ benefactor?" Jayson could not hold back a derisive laugh. "No Hestorian would so much as spit on a half-breed let alone give _me_ money."

Jayson groaned as he raised himself to a sitting position and propped his back against the wall. "Give me his name then, this benefactor of yours."

"First, answer a question for me," replied Arik, "and then, if I feel so inclined, I will tell you his name." Jayson thought he noted a flicker of mischief pass behind Arik's eyes. "Last night, what was it that you offered for the ale?"

There it was then. The question laid bare Jayson's very conscience. Perhaps, he thought, if he confessed as if to a priest, his shame would be effaced, his sin absolved.

Arik's eyes widened as Jayson reached into his boot and pulled out the leather pouch. From it, he withdrew a shard of celestine crystal, a flat semicircle of clear crystal tinted with the color of the sea.

Jayson expected any number of reactions from Arik: anger, shock, disappointment, pity, but he revealed none of these. Instead, his gaze fixed upon the object as if it had captured his very mind and soul.

"My sister's stone," whispered Arik.

"Part of it at least," replied Jayson. "She broke it into two halves the night I was arrested. She slipped this piece into my hand when the soldiers weren't looking."

"It is safe after all."

Arik's words were spoken as though not meant for Jayson's ears, a sort of muttered private observation.

"You tried to buy ale with that?" Arik laughed, though the laughter sounded forced, unnatural.

"I did, and I'm ashamed of it."

"I'm surprised anyone would pass on such a bargain. That much celestine could pay for the entire tavern!"

"He didn't believe it was real, coming from someone like me," Jayson replied, stashing the crystal back in its pouch. "Now it's your turn. Who gave you the money?"

Arik rose from his chair and went to the window, peering out through a small slit in the shutter. "You've heard of the Vatéz?"

"The League of Magicians. From what I know of them, they are an arrogant bunch."

"The Vatéz are a powerful force in Hestoria," explained Arik. "They have significant influence over the government here. Their leader, Emir, has aspirations to secure peace between Hestoria and its neighbors."

"Peace? And you actually believe that?"

"Whether I believe it or not is irrelevant. What I do know is that in time the Vatéz will be the world's ruling class."

"And you want your share of their pie."

"Is that wrong?" answered Arik, turning from the window, his expression resolute. "Surely you wouldn't deprive me of the little power I deserve."

Jayson eyed his young friend with suspicion. "I might be convinced that you'd sell your allegiance for a sack of silver coins," he said, "but I can't believe anyone with as much power as the Vatéz would bother with it—unless you offered something far greater than yourself."

"I _am_ the heir to the throne of Dokur!"

"The exiled heir, meaning you are heir to nothing. What did you promise them, Arik? What do you have that they could possibly want so much?"

Something about Arik's behavior was unsettling, to say the least. The boy had never come to terms with his expulsion from Dokur, and at times Jayson was sure Arik regretted his actions which had led to it. As Jayson studied the agitated expression on the boy's face, a thin band of red appeared on his sleeve just above the elbow.

"You're hurt," said Jayson.

Arik glanced down and hastily covered his wound with his hand. The gesture triggered a hazy memory in Jayson's mind of the thief from the night before. It was the crystal he had wanted, Jayson realized, and he had clasped a hand over his arm after Jayson cut him, just as Arik was doing now.

Jayson swiftly got to his feet and strode to the window. Shoving Arik aside, he threw open the shutter, searching for the Mardok in the street, but it was gone.

#

The stench of rotting flesh invaded the room only moments before the Mardok did. The door burst its hinges, the wood frame splintering from the Mardok's blow. In an instant, the creature loomed in the doorway. Jayson had heard tales of the Mardoks' strength and knew fighting this one would be futile.

"What have you done?" Jayson shouted.

Arik pressed himself into a corner of the room, his eyes wild with fear and resolve. "I've done what I must to regain what is rightfully mine," he answered bitterly. "My father is a cruel and ruthless leader who doesn't deserve his throne. You of all people should know that. He tore you from my sister's arms, sent you into exile, and for what? For being nothing more than what you are. For being _half-human_!"

Arik's words struck Jayson to his core. It was the truth, he could not deny it. Perhaps deposing Fredric was warranted, even justified. And even if it wasn't, it meant Jayson could be with Ivanore again. There was nothing Jayson wanted more than to feel her arms around him again, to touch his lips to hers. Until now he had been willing to give anything for it, had pledged to the gods everything he would ever again possess if only they would arrange it for him. But now that the very object he most desired lay before him, Jayson hesitated.

"You speak of treason, Arik, against your own father."

"Fredric is not my father! Not anymore!"

"You've made a pact with the Vatéz for his throne?"

"Yes! With the power of Hestoria behind me, I will not fail."

Jayson hardly knew the boy in front of him now, so motivated by greed. How had the Vatéz taken hold of him? But perhaps he could still be made to see reason.

"You've made a pact with the Devil, Arik," said Jayson. "If the Vatéz want Dokur, they don't need you to do it. You are nothing to them. You _have_ nothing."

"I have the crystal!" Arik's eyes were ravenous now, wide and desperate. He stretched out his hands toward Jayson, as if pleading. "Jayson, Emir does not want you. If you give it to me now, no harm will come to you. I swear it."

The crystal. The broken, useless shard of crystal. True, celestine was far more valuable than silver or even gold, and taking Dokur in order to control its mines would be motive enough to invade it. But why Arik? Why _this_ insignificant crystal?

" _You_ attacked me last night," said Jayson. "You tried to take it from me."

Arik grinned, as though pleased with himself. "I had always wondered what you kept hidden in that pouch. I was returning to our table when I saw you with it and saw you thrown out for it. I nearly had it, but then you cut me, and I dropped it. I searched you while you were unconscious, but I never thought to look in your boot. I thought it was lost for good," Arik said, again holding out his hand. "Give it to me."

A few hours earlier, Jayson would have gladly handed over the crystal for another pint of ale, for a chance to erase Ivanore from his mind. And why shouldn't he give the stone to Arik if he wanted it so badly? But now, some unnamed force inside of him wanted to protect it, though he could not explain why.

"She entrusted it to me," said Jayson.

"Give it to me!" Arik repeated, shouting.

Jayson's friend, his ally, was gone. This boy was a stranger, and the realization both saddened and angered him. "I won't give you the crystal, Arik. I won't give it to anyone."

Arik's empty hands trembled, then clenching them into fists, he roared, "Kill him!"

The Mardok responded by hurling its body across the room like a massive cannonball. Jayson had barely a moment to sidestep the onslaught, slashing at it with his claws. The Mardok bellowed in pain, and then flung its arm back against Jayson's chest. Jayson hit the wall with a force that reverberated through his very bones.

Empty black eyes trained on Jayson, the Mardok pulled back both fists, its large muscles rippling beneath its skin. Even Jayson's above-human strength was no match for this brute. He had only one option.

Jayson threw his full weight against the window shutter. The impact of his body first snapped the wood into several pieces left hanging from their hinges, and then shattered the glass behind them. He glanced up as he fell and saw Arik's face, twisted with rage, at the window.

With the smell of the Mardok still in his senses, Jayson heard Arik's final plea shouted into the streets below him. "I'll have the crystal, Jayson! If I must kill you, I will have it!"

Jayson landed, agile as a leopard, and ran. He wasn't even sure which direction he was heading. He only knew that he must keep on running until the crystal was safe.

#

The waist-high grass of the field was damp with moisture, each drop of dew reflecting the early morning rays of sunlight. The gryphon craned its neck eastward, opened its beak, and tasted the air.

It had stayed with Ivanore through the night, shielding her unconscious body from the cold with its mighty wings. But now the scent of a human approaching released it from its duty. It had carried her safely across the sea to this land, and now it could do nothing more. It sniffed the air once more, and then took flight, disappearing swiftly beyond the horizon.

Only minutes later, a young man strode across the field, whistling a tune he had composed just that morning. At eighteen years, Teak was taller and broader than most boys his age and had no trouble managing the heavy scythe, which he carried across his shoulders. He was to clear this section of the farm prior to tilling it. Uncle had insisted it be ready in time to plant the winter wheat. Teak figured today was as good a day as any to begin.

He first noticed her hair. He had never seen hair that color before, yellow like corn or mustard blossoms. And her skin was pale as milk. He was too surprised at first to react. But then he turned away, embarrassed to have intruded on the girl's privacy. He mumbled an apology, but when no reply came, he cautiously stole another glance. She was lying on her back, the grass around her trampled flat. She appeared to be sleeping.

What was she doing out in the middle of his field? Teak decided to wake her. "P-pardon me, miss," he stammered.

The girl did not stir. Teak wondered if she was dead. He searched for some clue as to how she had come to be there, and more especially who or what had killed her. He took a cautious step forward. The girl's face was clearly visible to him, and he could not help but be taken by her beauty. He saw now that her skin was smooth and tinted with the softest shade of rose, so different than his own earth-colored skin. She looked about his age and was most certainly not from Hestoria.

He wanted to touch her, to feel her hair and skin, but as he lifted his hand, the girl stirred. Teak jumped back, alarmed. The girl moved again, and this time a moan escaped from her lips. He dropped the scythe and dropped to his knees beside her. She was alive, and though her eyes were closed and she was clearly unconscious, she seemed to be in some discomfort.

Teak gently turned the girl onto her side and spotted the source of the trouble. The back of her clothes was red with blood, and a wooden staff several inches long protruded from her right shoulder. An arrow had buried itself deep into the bone and then broken off.

He had no idea how long she had lain there exposed to the elements, nor how much time had passed since she'd been hurt, but from the looks of it, she would not live much longer without help. Careful not to aggravate her injury, Teak slipped his arms beneath the girl's neck and knees and carried her as quickly as he could to his uncle's farmhouse at the edge of the clearing.

"Uncle! Uncle!" shouted Teak as he neared the wooden cottage.

Behind the cottage and off to the right stood a makeshift barn made of hand-hewn planks and, for the roof, an assortment of boughs from the forest bordering the farm. Mikel ducked his head as he stepped out of his barn into the light, an empty milk bucket in his hand.

"What are you bellowing about now, boy?" Mikel hollered. His back was as crooked as some of the tree limbs on the barn roof, and his hands were as brown and calloused as their bark, the consequences of a lifetime of farming. Teak was his sister's son left to him after she was killed in the Sandrian Raids when he was a lad of ten. "What's that you've got there? Have you been out hunting again?"

As Teak neared with the girl in his arms, Mikel raised a bushy, white brow. He shot a worried glance back toward his fields before following his nephew into the cottage. "Put her there on that cot," instructed Mikel, retrieving a fresh rag and a woolen blanket from the linen cupboard. He draped the blanket over the unconscious girl, tucking it in all around her.

"Bring me that bucket," he continued. "She's burning up."

Teak obeyed, setting the bucket on the floor. Mikel dipped the rag into the water and rung it out before using it to clean the dust from the girl's face.

"She's hurt," Teak told him, pointing to the injured shoulder.

Mikel examined the injury with skilled hands. "Arrow's gone deep. Infection's setting in. I'll have to take out the arrow. Get a poultice ready."

Teak nodded and hurried away to prepare the poultice, something he'd done countless times for the animals on his farm and once for his aunt when she'd cut her hand during a harvest. He thought of her now, gone two years now, and felt the familiar pang of grief before pushing the feeling aside to attend to the task at hand.

"All right, boy," continued Mikel when Teak returned, "roll her onto her side and hold her there good and tight. Most of the shaft broke off, so there's not much to hold on to. She might squirm a little, but you've got to hold her down. Understand?"

Teak nodded again and did as his uncle instructed, bracing his muscular arms against the girl's back to hold her in place. Mikel grasped the protruding shaft of wood with his fingers and tested it by pulling gently, but the arrow tip was wedged tight into the shoulder blade. When he tried loosening it by rocking the shaft back and forth a little, the girl groaned.

"She's w-waking up," said Teak.

"I'd better get on with it then," replied Mikel. With that, he gripped the shaft firmly in his fist and gave it a fast, hard pull. As the arrow popped out of her shoulder, the girl cried out. Teak held her in place, though she thrashed about like a wounded wild animal. Her screams turned to sobs as Mikel laid the poultice on the wound and bound it in place with strips of linen. Only once he was satisfied with his work did he allow Teak to slowly lower the girl back to the cot. Mercifully, she had again fallen unconscious.

Mikel lifted the bucket of water and motioned for his nephew to follow him outside.

"You did good in there, son," he said, dipping his hands in the bucket to wash off the blood.

"W-will she be all right?" asked Teak.

"If she survives the night, she'll have a long road for that wound to heal properly. In the meantime, we will have our hands full looking after her."

Mikel dried his hands on his tunic, and then poured the water into the dirt. The blood tinted the sandy soil red. "Found her in the fields, did you?" he asked, setting the empty bucket on the porch. "Any idea how she got there?"

"N-no," answered Teak. "It's like she c-came from the sky."

"From the sky, eh? Well, then I guess for now where she's from remains a mystery," he added, stealing a glance through the door at his unexpected guest, "at least until she wakes up."

"W-when will that b-be, Uncle?"

"No telling, son," said Mikel. "No telling."

#

How long had it been since Jayson had seen daylight? Felt the warmth of it on his skin, basked in the sun's rays without shame, without fear? He had lost count how many days had come and gone since he had first arrived in Hestoria, and yet he knew them all from the day he arrived to the day he took to the streets, fleeing into the darkness.

He knew them because each one meant he had spent that much longer away from Ivanore. He'd spent countless hours sleeping, or trying to sleep, while the rest of the world bustled about conducting their business, unaware that just an arm span away lay an outcast curled up among the cobwebs and garbage, desperate to remain unnoticed, to be left alone.

Since Arik's betrayal, he had marked the days by scratching lines in the mud. When he moved to another location, he carved them in a stone wall. But he soon abandoned that place as well. Was there nowhere he could be safe? Where the crystal could be safe?

Tonight the moon was full and the streets too light for him to travel freely through them. He stayed in the shadows, keeping his face concealed beneath a black cloak. A cold, brisk wind blew in from the sea, carrying with it the scent of fish and salt and seaweed. The smell was enough to overpower all others, even for Jayson, whose senses were more finely tuned than full-blooded humans.

His Agoran mother had taught him to use his senses well, to stalk and capture prey, to foretell coming changes in the weather, and to protect himself from enemies. Nights like these, when the howling wind and ocean smells overran his senses, Jayson preferred to stay hidden. The risk of an undetected assault was too great, but tonight the moonlight beckoned to him, and he responded.

Perhaps it was the many months that had passed without sunlight that made him hunger so much for the moon. Leaning his back against the rough stone wall of a building, just beyond the moonlight's reach, Jayson gazed up at it. He recalled a moon like this two years earlier, an entire year before coming to Hestoria.

He had held her that night and kissed her, brushing back the hair from her face to see her smile. She had the most beautiful smile, but on this night there was something different behind it, some secret she could hardly restrain herself from telling.

Jayson laughed when she pressed her teeth into her lip, like an eager child.

"Tell me," he coaxed, touching her cheek with the back of his hand.

"Not until you say you love me," she had said, her blue eyes sparkling with the reflection of a thousand stars.

"But I've said it a dozen times today."

"Just once more."

"And then will you tell me your secret?"

"Yes, I'll tell you my secret."

Jayson kissed her cheek, her nose, her forehead, her lips. "I love you," he whispered each time. "Is that enough for you? Will you tell me now?"

She giggled and ran from him into the trees. Jayson chased after her, laughing and calling her name. He nearly caught her once, hiding behind a tree, but she managed to slip through his fingers like a fairy. Finally, he took her arm as she sprung up from behind a fallen log, and they fell together into the soft, yellow leaves of autumn.

He pressed her wrists gently against the warm earth and breathed her in. His face was just inches from hers. Her presence always thrilled him, and he longed to be with her always. From the moment they first met, he knew he could not live without her. It was as if their souls had been searching for each other, like two halves of a single whole.

They were young, just seventeen, but old enough to know what they wanted. The King's punishment for marrying a human was execution. But even the threat of death was not enough to keep Jayson from her. They married in secret and found ways to be together, though for Jayson it was never enough. Even when his time in Dokur was over, he had refused to leave. Over the weeks and months that had passed, he devised a plan to bring Ivanore with him to Taktani, to the land of the Agorans. They had accepted him, a half-breed. Surely they would accept her, too.

He had planned to tell her that night, to ask her to come with him, but the mischievous smile masking some secret of hers had distracted him. He held her now, her breath warm and sweet against his face. The rise and fall of her breasts against him stirred a longing deep inside.

"Tell me your secret," he said, "or I shall hold you here forever."

"Forever?" she replied. She wasn't laughing now, and her expression grew serious. "Is that a promise?"

"You want to stay here in the mud?" Jayson asked, sliding a finger across her brow.

"I'd stay anywhere with you. And now you'll have to stay with me, too."

"Tell me your secret."

Ivanore laid her hands against Jayson's cheeks and gently pulled him closer. "We're going to have a child," she said, and then kissed him.

*      *      *

Jayson blinked against the moonlight and reminded himself that he was alone. He knew now how to track the time away from her—by the moons. There had been twelve so far, twelve full moons. Far too many. Far too long.

A peculiar scent invaded Jayson's nostrils, just a wisp of it masked by the sea air. His muscles grew taut and his senses became more focused. What was it? He could not be certain—some exotic spice or fragrant wood. He turned from the building and ventured across the deserted street, daring to reveal himself by moonlight. Perhaps it would draw out whoever was watching him. He pulled the hood of his cloak down around his face and leaned into the wind, taking his first cautious steps into the light.

He paused. There it was again, stronger this time. It wasn't spice at all, but some kind of incense, rich and pungent. It was a new scent, one he had never smelled before, and it intrigued him. He started forward again, but just as he reached the opposite side of the road, someone grabbed his arm and pulled him roughly back into the shadows.

"Get down," the stranger whispered.

Jayson turned to see who or what had pulled him back, but saw only a dark cloak much like his own. From it protruded a hand, fingers raised, signaling silence.

He looked back to the street and noticed movement beneath the eaves of the building. He peered more closely, narrowing his cat eyes, which drew in far more light than a human's eyes.

It was a small creature, barely as tall as Jayson's knee, and unlike anything he had ever seen before. Its limbs were thin and skeletal, with pale skin pulled taut over the bones. Its head, which was quite large for its small stature, was elongated so that the back of it protruded at an odd angle above its neck. Its tattered clothing was made of coarse fabric, neither the sleeves nor legs of which were long enough, and it had no covering on its feet. This creature crept along with its face low to the ground and seemed to be slowly tracking Jayson's path.

#

"We have to go," said the cloaked stranger.

"Go with you where?" asked Jayson. "I don't even know—"

"If you want to survive this night, you will do what I say."

Snaking through the narrow alleyways, Jayson followed the cloaked guide to the edge of town where a wooden building stood apart from the newer stone ones. Light emanated from a clouded window and from beneath the door. Jayson's guide opened the door and slipped inside.

Jayson questioned his own wisdom in coming even this far without knowing who he was following or why. He knew only that the emaciated creature in the street posed some threat to him, a threat this guide seemed to understand, and for the time being he was safe from it.

The interior of the building was far more substantial than its outer appearance suggested. It seemed to be a meeting hall of some kind. An intricately carved and polished table stood in the center of the room surrounded by twelve matching chairs. A healthy fire burned in a stone fireplace, above which hung a painting of a man in a red robe, a medallion at his chest. There was no one else in the room, though from the bottle of wine and glasses set on the table, it seemed that guests were expected.

"Help yourself," said the guide, peering out the window. "It's not poisoned."

Jayson strode to the table and filled a glass. "Not bad," he said, taking a swallow, "but I prefer hard liquor." He finished off his glass and refilled it.

"The first thing you're going to tell me is who you are," Jayson continued. "The next is what that thing back there was and why it was following me."

The guide pulled back her hood and shook out her hair, which fell in dark ringlets upon her shoulders. Jayson noted the narrowness of her russet-colored face, her delicate cheekbones and nose, her graceful lips.

"My name is Dianis," she said, filling a glass for herself.

"You're a little young for that, don't you think?"

Dianis shot him a sharp glance. "And you're not?" She lifted the glass to her lips and emptied it quickly.

Her fingers, Jayson realized, were longer and thinner than a human's and had in them a distinctive beauty and grace. Most people might not even notice the difference, but being only half-human himself, Jayson paid attention.

"You're not human," he said, "though you might pass for one."

"I am a nymph."

"Really. I've never seen a nymph before."

"At least not that _you'd_ have __ recognized."

Jayson chose to ignore her cynical tone. "And that thing back there," he said, "I'm sure that was no nymph."

"That was a Gorelian tracker sent by the Vatéz to capture you. It's been following your trail for days."

Jayson recalled its unusual scent. "If it was trying to surprise me, it failed."

"Gorelians do not need surprise to subdue their victims. A single bite from a tracker will paralyze the body and bend the mind to its bidding. Should you ever come across one again, I suggest you run."

"I'll do that," replied Jayson. "Now you on the other hand, you did take me by surprise." He leaned forward a little and sniffed the air around her. "Saltwater. You've used a heavy dose of it to mask your scent. Clever."

"I couldn't risk you mistaking me for an enemy."

"Why should I do that? You show up in the middle of the night, insist I follow you with no explanation, bring me to this horrible dungeon, and force this poison down my throat." Jayson rolled his eyes and downed another glass of wine. "You are just the sort of enemy I fear the most."

He filled his glass a third time, then pulled a chair back from the table and sat down on it. Kicking off his boots, he placed his feet on the table, crossing them at the ankles. "Now, would you mind explaining your interest in me?"

Dianis looked at him with unmasked disdain, striding across the room to the opposite end of the table. "We have been searching for you, Jayson."

"Ah, the lady knows my name."

"We hoped to reach you before the Vatéz did."

"You keep saying we. Who is _we_?"

"The Guilde. We are the guardians."

"And you were sent to guard me?"

"No," she answered, her voice thick with cynicism. "I was sent to guard the stone."

Gripping the table with both hands, Dianis jerked it back. Jayson's heels hit the floor like rocks.

"What is your problem?" he shouted, getting to his feet.

"My problem?" she answered, matching his tone of voice. "My problem is that I am wasting my time with a miserable, worthless half-breed! That's right. I've been watching you for a while now, and so far I haven't seen anything worth the Guilde's trouble. So, if you don't mind, just hand over the crystal and you can be on your way. Slink back into the shadows like the good little coward you are. Bye-bye."

Dianis wriggled her fingers, and then held out her hand for the crystal.

For the slightest moment, Jayson considered what the consequences would be should he give it to her. It would be out of his hands then, someone else's responsibility. This Guilde the nymph spoke of sounded all right, certainly a lot better than the power hungry Vatéz. But what did he know of either group? Nothing, he realized. All he knew was that the crystal had been placed in his care by the woman he loved, and therefore it was his burden to bear.

He glared at Dianis, tempted to shove the table back at her. He had managed to get this far on his own, hadn't he? What need did he have of a guardian? Then he thought of the tracker. Perhaps he hadn't been as discreet as he had thought.

"You can't have the crystal," he said.

Clutching her fingers into angry fists, Dianis started to protest, but Jayson held up his hand for her to wait.

"The crystal is mine to carry," he continued, "but if you are to be its guardian then you may come with me."

"What are you talking about?" answered Dianis. "Come with you where?"

"To the Guilde. That is where you intend to take the crystal, isn't it?"

"They don't want _you_."

Her words were venomous, yet Jayson sensed a slight softening in her tone. "If they want the crystal, then they will have to take me as well."

Dianis considered this a moment. Then nodded, satisfied. She was about to speak when a loud thump on the door interrupted her, followed by the sound of something clawing at the window.

"Get your boots on!" Dianis ordered in a harsh whisper.

Jayson responded quickly. The clawing turned to rapid banging against the glass and the wooden door. The window was frosted over with dust and grime, so Jayson was fairly certain the tracker had not seen them. He glanced around, searching for another way out, but there was none.

"I need a weapon." Jayson spoke just loud enough for Dianis to hear, but she shook her head.

"If you kill this one, there will just be others," she said. "And it has likely already alerted the Vatéz of our location. They'll send a Mardok."

Jayson cringed. He hated Mardoks. The banging at the door grew more insistent, and the aged wood creaked under the pressure. It would not hold up much longer.

Dianis snatched up the wine bottle and hurled it at the painting. The glass exploded, splattering red liquid across it and most of the wall.

"Here," she said, removing a metal flask from beneath her cloak. "It's seawater. Pour it over yourself. It and the wine will confuse the tracker."

As Jayson obeyed, Dianis hurried to the fireplace, dragging a chair from the table behind her. Standing on it, she pushed against the painting's frame and the whole thing slid to one side, revealing an opening not much wider than Jayson's shoulders.

"Hurry!" she hissed, scrambling from the chair into the opening.

Jayson started after her, but before he could reach the fireplace, the hinges on the door gave way. Through the gap between door and wall, he could see the tracker's pale face, its nostrils flaring with Jayson's scent.

Jayson moved quickly. He ran back to the table and shoved it against the door, closing the gap. The tracker squealed in pain but did not relent its efforts to get inside.

Jayson leapt from the table across the floor to the chair and pulled himself up into the opening. It was a tight fit, far from comfortable, and it was so dark that not even his keen cat eyes could gather enough light to see. Behind him, he heard the window glass shatter.      Reaching down with his leg, Jayson kicked the chair away from the fireplace, and then pulled himself all the way into the opening. The painting slid back into place behind him, forming a tight seal. Ahead of him was nothing but darkness, yet by the smell of seawater and the sound of her breathing, he knew Dianis was there, crawling forward into the darkness. Where she was leading him he did not know, but he followed her anyway, hoping that this one time the gods were on his side.

#

No matter how hard he tried, Arik could not keep his heart from racing. Again and again, he dabbed his forehead with his handkerchief and tried to convince himself that it was the day's heat that affected him. He jumped each time the door to the Minister's chambers opened, and the longer he waited, the more his hands trembled.

He had been summoned to Nauvet-Carum early that morning by an adolescent courier. The scroll the boy carried bore the dragon's seal and was signed by Minister Emir himself. Arik suspected he was less than pleased with his delay in delivering the promised crystal.

Arik had dressed hurriedly in his best clothes and followed the courier to the carriage waiting in the street. Its wooden wheels and the horse's hooves resonated through the deserted cobbled roads. A thin rain had fallen during the night, leaving a trail of muddy puddles for them to follow, each one reflecting the profiles of the shop fronts as they passed. The smell of wet earth combined with the ever-present stench of fish from the docks made Arik's empty stomach churn. He shivered in the damp air and pulled his cloak up around his nose.

The carriage deposited its passenger at the ministry, a structure three stories high with a pair of marble columns out front. Arik ascended the edifice's wide steps and brushed past the two sentries posted at the door. He announced his arrival to the attendant, but was told to wait, and wait he did for three long, insufferable hours.

The morning light that spilled in through narrow gaps in the outer wall displayed a parade of golden bars on the opposite wall. Arik imagined they had once been used to fire arrows during a siege, the last of which had occurred more than a hundred years earlier. He glanced through one to where his carriage still waited below. Carriages, roads, superior architecture. There were no such luxuries in Dokur. His father had seen to that. Despite the wealth the mines had brought them, Fredric insisted his people live simple lives. Most were farmers or herdsman, their towns rural. When he was king, thought Arik, he would end Fredric's trade restrictions. He would use his wealth to carry Dokur and all of Imaness into the new age.

After wasting nearly a year barely surviving on the streets of Nauvet-Carum, Arik had come to this building to pledge his loyalty to the Vatéz. Arik thought Emir unusual even then, his white hair and skin contrasting so intensely with the darker complexions of his countrymen. But Arik's view of the man changed once Emir extended to him an enticing offer: a chance to regain his inheritance in exchange for an insignificant, damaged crystal.

"His Excellency will see you now," said the attendant, bringing Arik back to the present.

The Minister's chambers were deprived of sunlight due to it being situated within the interior of the building, and so relied on an elaborate candelabrum for illumination. The light from it shifted about the room as though it was alive, undulating on the flames' whim.

"You called for me," Arik said, announcing his presence.

Emir sat behind an immense wooden desk whereupon rested a single sheet of parchment, an ink well, and a quill. A small candle burned in a brass holder at the corner, its faint glow throwing odd shadows across the Minister's visage. The rich smell of incense hung heavy in the air. Behind the minister's desk stood a wide bookcase filled with leather-bound volumes the titles of which Arik could not make out in the shifting light. A single chair sat in front.

"How are your new quarters, Arik?" asked Emir, his eyes fixed on his parchment. "Suitable, I hope?"

"More than suitable. Thank you."

Emir dipped his quill into the ink well and wrote upon the parchment, the long white feather trembling with the small, careful movements of his hand.

"And your occupation? How goes it at the depository?"

"Fine, just fine," answered Arik, adding a practiced smile to the lie. "Master Trillium says I make a fine accountant's apprentice."

"And yet you find it unsatisfactory."

"Not at all. It's just that..." Arik hesitated. The Minister had not yet looked up from his parchment, his quill still moving across the page. "Don't misunderstand me. I am grateful, but it's not quite what I had in mind."

"And what did you have in mind, _Prince_ Arik?"

The emphasis on _prince_ carried just a hint of condescension, and Arik immediately realized how ungrateful he must have sounded. He dared not answer the question for fear of offending his very generous host.

Emir continued writing. "You may sit," he said finally, setting his quill in its holder.

Arik took his seat in the chair. Only then did he notice the cat-sized creature curled up on the floor beside Emir's desk. Iridescent green scales shimmered in the candlelight as its chest swelled and deflated with each breath. Arik scooted his chair back.

"Do not fret," said the Minister. "This is but a hatchling. Its fire glands are not yet developed."

Emir reached down and stroked the small dragon. Its slender, snake-like tail curled contentedly around its body.

"No doubt you've received word," the Minister continued. His eyes, the lightest shade of blue Arik had ever seen, flitted back and forth in their sockets like restless insects.

"What word, your Excellency?"

"About your friend, the half-breed. Seems he's disappeared."

"Yes, well, he ran off weeks ago. I thought you knew."

"We've been tracking him. One of my Gorelians picked up his scent near the docks earlier this evening. Followed him to an abandoned shack, but then the Agoran disappeared."

"Is that why you summoned me? You think I know where's he's gone."

The Minister peered at Arik with an impatient expression that made Arik's spine shudder.

"We know where he's gone. He is on his way to make his alliance with the Guilde."

"The Guilde? But how...?"

"Their leader, Gerard, is a clever one. Oh, he's had his own people tracking Jayson as well. It was simply a matter of time which of us would get him first. But no matter. I am confident Jayson will not give up the shard so easily. No, he will keep it close to him. He will not entrust it to anyone."

"But the Guilde will protect him."

"Of course they will, which will make your task all the more...interesting. You have a connection with him no one else has, Arik. He married your sister. You were exiled along with him for defending him against your father. He feels obligated to you."

"I betrayed him."

"Betrayed him?" Emir leaned back into the shifting shadows, his pallid hands only remaining in the light. "Come now, my boy, you know as well as I that you have always had Jayson's best interests at heart. You care about your homeland as much as he does. You wish him no harm. You must remind him of that. He is alone here in Hestoria. An outcast among strangers. He needs you, Arik. And you will go to him. Then, when you have regained his trust, you will take the crystal and bring it to me."

"He won't give it up."

"He will under the right circumstances."

Arik looked at those hands, a phantom's hands, their long, lean fingers lying upon the desk like those of a skeleton. They had no strength in them, and yet Arik felt their power. It was the sort of power he longed for, that he would kill for.

Emir's voice continued, composed, dispassionate. "I don't need to remind you of our agreement."

"If I fail in what you've asked of me," said Arik, "I'll repay you, every last coin. I swear it."

"Oh, it wasn't a loan, Arik. You cannot repay me. Not with money."

Leaning against the desk, Emir rose to his feet. He carefully rolled his parchment. Then, warming a stick of wax over the candle flame, he let three drops of red fall, sealing it closed. He pressed his ring into the wax, leaving an impression of a dragon behind.

"Here," he said, handing the scroll to Arik. "It is a request for provisions, a horse, and whatever else you require for your journey."

Arik ran a finger over the rough texture of the parchment. "Again, thank you for your generosity, Minister. But I do have one question. As I understand it, the Guilde's location is unknown. They move about like nomads, and their members are bound by vows of secrecy. If Jayson is with them, finding him will be difficult if not impossible."

Emir turned to his bookcase and perused the titles with his fingertips. "At the bottom of the scroll is an added note," he said, "a promise of fifty coins in exchange for the information you seek. Take it to that loose-tongued tavern keeper of yours. If anyone has information worth less to him than gold, it is he."

Selecting a volume from the shelf and brushing off a little dust from its spine, Emir opened its cover and held it close to his face, reading silently. Arik took that as a sign that he was done with him. He nodded his head, gave a brief and polite adieu, and then took his leave, nearly running headlong into another visitor coming in.

The man, his dark hair braided into several thick ropes that hung down his back, stepped aside to let Arik pass. Even so, his large frame nearly filled the doorway, leaving only a narrow gap for Arik to squeeze through. Arik, already agitated from his encounter with Emir, shoved his shoulder into the man's chest and mumbled a curt "pardon me." He was in no mood for etiquette as more urgent matters now weighed heavily on his mind.

*      *      *

"Come in, Brommel. Come in," Emir's voice called from the shadows. Brommel approached the desk and set down a small bundle wrapped in linen. At his approach, the young dragon raised its head and released a guttural snarl.

"Hush, Pip!" scolded Emir as he unwrapped the bundle, revealing several strips of raw meat. Emir lifted one and held it over the dragon. It lifted its head and opened its elongated snout like a baby bird feeding from its mother. A moment later, its jaws snapped shut on the meat, tearing it from Emir's fingers. It fed on its prize with some fervor, causing the intern to step back.

"Any news of Ivanore?" asked the Minister, tossing Pip another piece of meat. He then turned a page of his book with an index finger.

"Little, your Excellency," replied Brommel. "Our source in Dokur reports that Fredric's scouts found her in a remote village, but she escaped."

"Escaped?"

"He assures us that all efforts are being made to locate her."

"An entire year she has eluded that imbecile! And the one chance he has at capturing her, she escapes!" Emir sighed and slapped the book shut. "My patience is wearing thin. You will go to Dokur and recover Ivanore yourself."

Brommel's face revealed none of the surprise and disappointment he felt, and yet he could not hide his true feelings from Emir. It would be pointless to try.

"My wife..." he began, keeping his voice steady. "The baby will come soon."

Emir slid the book back into its place, and then selected another, which he set on his desk without opening it. Emir walked around the desk to gaze up into face of the man he had groomed from childhood to be his successor.

"You will not leave for Dokur until the child arrives," Emir said reassuringly. "Until then, I will personally see to it that Brielle is properly cared for."

Brommel's shoulders relaxed a little. "Thank you, your Excellency," he said.

"In the meantime," continued Emir, "I have a small errand for you."

Brommel should have known there would be a condition to Emir's protection. There always was. He lifted his chin a little and clenched his jaw.

"What would you have me do?"

"I've sent Prince Arik after Jayson, that half-breed I've told you about. He's gone to the Guilde. Arik is to gain back his old friend's trust and obtain the crystal. You will accompany him."

"Certainly, your Excellency. I will prepare for the journey at once."

Emir grinned, approval evident on his aging face.

Brommel turned to leave, but paused at the door. "Do _they_ know about her?" he asked.

"Of course not," answered Emir. "If Arik or Jayson suspected Ivanore was in danger, our plans would be jeopardized. Hestoria's future, your future, depends on my getting that crystal."

"Then let us hope Arik succeeds in his task."

Emir returned to his seat behind his desk, his face falling once more into the shadows. Retrieving one last piece of meat from the bundle, he held it high above Pip's head. The little dragon growled and thrashed as it tried to take the morsel from its master's hand. Emir chuckled with delight as Pip grew more agitated. Finally, the dragon leapt into the air, its leathery wings flapping wildly, and clamped its teeth around the meat. It hung there suspended from Emir's hands for a moment before the Minister let it go.

Brommel hated to see the creature taunted so. It aroused a strange fury within him. He felt more anxious than ever to be on his way.

"One last thing before you go, Brommel," said Emir, throwing down the last of the meat scraps. Pip pounced on them in a frenzy, shredding them with its razor-sharp teeth before devouring the lot. "Should Arik fail to retrieve the crystal from Jayson, then the task is yours to carry out. Either way, be sure to dispose of them both before you return. I do so despise leaving loose ends."

#

It was a long ride from Nauvet-Carum to the village of Partha. The sun was high overhead by the time Brommel tied his horse to the evergreen tree in front of the cottage he'd built himself a year earlier. A thin finger of smoke rose from the stone chimney, and the smell of roast chicken and yams filled the air.

Brommel brushed the dust from his trousers and boots before opening the door. As he stepped through the entry, he was greeted by the excited squeals of his young son.

"Papa!" shouted the boy as Brommel swung him high into the air. "Is today my birthday?"

"Your birthday?" laughed Brommel. "You just had a birthday, Rylan. Why would you have another so soon?"

"Because you have come home! It must be my birthday!"

Brommel held him tight and nuzzled Rylan's dark curls. "Then so be it. Let every day be your birthday. How old does my visit make you?"

"I was three yesterday, Papa. So now I am four."

The boy held up four pudgy fingers, and Brommel counted them out loud. Then he planted a kiss on Rylan's cheek. "And where is your mother?" he asked, setting him down again.

A russet-skinned woman with eyes the color of rich honey stepped into the room through another door. A white apron was tied over her very round belly, and she supported her back with both hands. When she saw Brommel, her face broke into a wide smile. Setting Rylan on the floor, Brommel went to her, enveloping her in his broad arms.

"Brielle," he whispered, kissing her hair.

Brielle melted into Brommel's embrace, burying her face in the linen tunic she had sewn for him. As Brommel kissed her again, she noted the hole at his elbow.

"Brom, you haven't been wearing this in the assembly, have you?"

"Aye," he said, pulling the shirt over his head and laying it across her outstretched arm.

She stuck a disapproving finger through the hole. "I shall mend it at once," she said, turning to her sewing basket on the dining table. But Brommel caught her in his arms again and drew her to him. As she laid her cheek against his bare chest, he felt as though the world had vanished. All that existed was right here in this small room.

"The shirt can wait," he said, kissing her once more. "Tell me how you've been this past week?"

Young Rylan eagerly recounted an adventure he and a friend had had in the nearby forest hunting for frogs.

"Did you catch any?" asked Brommel.

"Only one," replied the boy, "but I decided that he ought to have another year to grow, so I let him go free."

Brielle laid the damaged tunic atop her sewing basket, and then went to the bedroom for a fresh one. When she returned, she found her husband and son laughing together.

"Rylan," she called as she pulled the tunic over her husband's head, "set the table for supper. I've got a pot of soup simmering," she added, smoothing the fabric across Brommel's shoulders. "Are you hungry?"

"Famished," he answered, satisfied that their family was whole once again.

Later that night, after Brommel had tucked Rylan into bed, he and Brielle lay beside the warm hearth wrapped together in a goose down quilt. Brommel savored the softness of his wife's neck and bare shoulders against his lips. His large, strong hand rested on Brielle's swollen belly, and he took pleasure in feeling his unborn child moving inside her.

"It won't be long now," said Brielle after a particularly sharp kick from the baby. "Just a few more days and she'll be ready."

"She?" said Brommel, raising a curious brow.

"We'll name her after your mother."

"We will, will we? Are you really so certain it's a girl?"

"Nothing is for certain," said Brielle. "But I've offered prayers every morning for a daughter, and I have felt in my heart that the gods have heard me."

"Brielle," said Brommel tenderly, "you know it does not matter to me if we have a girl or another boy. I would love any child the same."

"I know, Brom," replied Brielle.

"Then why do you desire a girl so much?"

Brielle turned to her side to gaze at her husband. "Because you are a good man, Brom," she said, tracing the line of his jaw with her finger, "a gentle man. I have never known a more loving husband or father. When I married you, I knew nothing of tenderness. My father was a harsh man, and I fully expected that life with a husband would be no better. But you have shown me nothing but kindness these past five years, and I have grown to love you more than I ever knew was possible. Brom, I want to have a daughter so that she can know a father's love the way I never did."

Brielle's words were sincere, and they pricked Brommel's heart. The thought of leaving her, even for a few days, was always more than he could bear. But bear it he did each time he left home to see to his responsibilities at the ministry. The salary was enough to provide for his family, and for that he was grateful. But lately, Emir had been asking more and more of him, placing heavier responsibilities on him, requiring him to spend more time away from home.

He had lost track of just when his duties had shifted to more clandestine activities. As Emir drew him into his confidence, Brommel had been entrusted with important information, information that was to be protected—at any cost. Sometimes that cost seemed to Brommel too high a price to pay, but to keep his family safe, he had pledged his loyalty to Emir. It was not his place to question the Minister's motives, only to fulfill his duty.

It was this duty that weighed on Brommel's mind now as he held his wife and contemplated the arrival of his unborn child. As much as he would like to enjoy the rest of the evening, he could not in good conscience remain silent any longer.

"Brielle," he began, trying not to let the tone of his voice betray his disappointment, "I have been given a new assignment."

Brielle stroked the back of Brommel's hand. "Another assignment," she said, sighing. "How long will you be gone this time? Three days? Four?"

"Longer," he answered. "Much longer. He is sending me to Dokur on the Isle of Imaness."

Brielle's troubled eyes connected with his. "Emir knows the baby is coming. He wouldn't send you away when I need you most?"

"I'm not to leave until after the baby's birth. But until then, he's sending me on a short mission, a few days at most. Emir's given his word to watch over you and Rylan while I'm gone."

"But Brom, I need you here with me."

"I know, Brielle. I will be back in time. You have my word."

Brielle searched Brommel's eyes. Brommel hoped she knew she had no reason to doubt him. He had always been truthful with her in the past. If he said he would do his best to return in time for their child's birth, then he would do it.

"Emir has promised to look after you."

"You said that."

"You don't seem satisfied."

"I don't trust him," said Brielle. "There is something about him that unsettles me, like the chill of the North wind. How I wish you would find someone else to work for."

"No one pays better wages than the ministry."

"I don't care about the wages, Brom, you know that. We've talked about this before. Emir demands too much of you. You say it is for our good, that the money he pays keeps this roof over our heads, but I would rather live in a hovel and have you home with me each night."

"I understand your fears, Brielle," replied Brommel, twisting a lock of her hair around his finger, "and after this assignment, maybe I can speak with Emir about them. But for now, I must fulfill my duties. If it makes you feel better, I will ask Magda to look in on you from time to time."

"Magda the chicken herder?"

Brommel laughed. "I wonder what old Magda would think if she knew we called her that."

"Well, she does own an awful lot of chickens."

"Some of which have found their way into our stew pot. She's always been generous. And she's an excellent midwife. She's birthed most of the babies in this village over the past fifty years."

"Except Rylan."

Brommel squeezed Brielle's shoulders, and then wrapped his arms around her. It was he who had brought their son into the world. The delivery had happened so quickly that there was no time to summon Magda. He had done it himself. Later, Magda had praised him for it. "You'd make a fine midwife," she had said with a mischievous grin. Throughout this second pregnancy, Brielle had insisted that Brommel deliver this child as well, and until this morning he had had every intention of doing so.

"I will do my best to be home in time," he said, trying to console his wife. "But if I am not here when the pains begin, you must promise to send Rylan for Magda."

Brielle scrunched up her nose, and for a moment Brommel was certain she would refuse. But her face softened, and she nodded, though he could tell it was with great reluctance. How he wished he could offer more assurance of his prompt return. In truth, he had no idea how long it would take to locate the Guilde, or how much time he would need to obtain the crystal. What he had decided was that Emir would have to find someone else to search for Ivanore.

"One thing I can promise you," whispered Brommel into Brielle's ear, "on my return, I will see to it that Emir never sends me away from you again. I swear this journey will be the last one I take without you."

#

"Are you all right?"

Dianis's voice cut through the darkness like a beacon. There was not even the faintest sliver of light for Jayson's highly sensitive eyes to draw upon. Normally, he felt as comfortable in the night as in the day because for him there was little difference. No, in truth he preferred the night, for in it he was hidden from those who wished to harm him. But this darkness made him apprehensive. For the first time in his life, he felt as though he were blind.

"How much further?" he asked, trying to mask the anxiety in his voice.

"Not much," Dianis answered back. "This tunnel leads underground and out of the city. But I'm sure you guessed that already."

He had guessed half of it anyway. Concealed behind the portrait in the room they'd left behind, a narrow passageway followed a steep downward path. Once the tunnel leveled out, they had continued crawling for more than an hour, so that Jayson's knees ached. Finally, the tunnel sloped upward, and he and Dianis climbed up a series of carved steps that stopped abruptly at a door.

Dianis pushed open this door, and immediately the tunnel filled with light. The suddenness of it was more than Jayson's eyes could bear, so he shielded them with his hand. As his eyes adjusted, he saw for the first time the passageway he and Dianis had just passed through. It was perfectly round and smooth, hewn from the earth itself and packed hard and lined with smooth stones fitted perfectly together to create a fairly uniform surface.

Together they stepped out of the tunnel. The sun was just making its appearance on the horizon. Jayson stretched out his arms and shook each leg, which had gone numb from having spent so long in an uncomfortable position. As his eyes adjusted to light, he took in their surroundings. They were in a wide, grassy field surrounded on all sides by trees. They had emerged from the side of a small knoll blanketed with yellow wildflowers.

Dianis secured the door behind them, making certain that it was well concealed by earth and moss.

"This isn't our final destination, is it?" asked Jayson.

Dianis brushed a layer of dirt from her cloak. "I've been instructed to take you to Alay-Crevar, a village two days' walk from here. After that, I'll be done with you."

"You know, for having just met me, you seem to dislike me a great deal."

"And for good reason."

"Why? You don't even know me."

"I know you well enough."

"Really?" said Jayson. "Well, I know me, too, and I think I'm a rather decent fellow. So either your source of information about me is inaccurate, or you're a poor judge of character."

Dianis cast him a scorching glance, and then started toward the trees. She didn't even so much as glance back before slipping into the forest shadows.

"Aren't we touchy?" Jayson remarked before following her.

They traveled along a narrow path for most of the day. Dianis spoke little, only to give terse directions such as which plants to avoid or to stop making so much noise. The hours passed slowly, and Jayson took the opportunity to enjoy the daylight, something he had not done in some time.

About noon, they came upon a meandering stream. Dianis announced they would stop to rest. She removed her cloak, spread it over a grassy patch of earth, and laid down on it.

Jayson knelt at the stream and bent forward, submerging his head. The water was colder than he had anticipated, and he flung his head back, gasping for breath.

"If you intend on drowning yourself," said Dianis, "I would appreciate your giving me the crystal first. I detest foraging through the pockets of the dead."

Jayson shook his head, letting the water fly. He hoped some of it landed on his discourteous hostess. "No such luck," he said, squeezing some of the water from his hair. "I plan to go on living, if for no other reason than to provoke you."

When Dianis did not answer, Jayson laughed. "This hasn't quite gone according to your plan, has it? That you failed to convince me, a dirty half-breed, to entrust you with the crystal simply gnaws at you, doesn't it?"

Jayson held out the crystal, taunting her with it. Then he slipped it back into his pouch and laughed again. But Dianis was not amused.

"We know all about you, Jayson," she said somberly. "The Guilde has been gathering information on you for nearly two years."

"I've been in Hestoria for only one."

"But you've been involved for much longer. Two years ago you met someone very important to us. Because of you, she abandoned her calling. For a time, we didn't even know where she was. By the time we finally located her, Fredric had already discovered the truth about the two of you and sent you into exile."

"I assume you're referring to my wife."

Dianis sat up and faced Jayson, her expression more serious than he had yet seen it. Her jaw set with visible irritation. "She belongs to _us_. The crystal belongs to us."

Jayson didn't like the direction this conversation was taking. Whatever authority this girl thought she had was not enough to impress him. He glared at her, letting the weight of his gaze bear down on her. But Dianis only glared back, her eyes unblinking.

She's not worth the effort, he thought.

Letting his expression relax a little, he turned toward the trees and located north. "It's time to move. Which way do we go now?" he asked, trying to sound less angry than he felt. There was no need to pick a fight with the girl. If given the opportunity, she would certainly steal the crystal. Then how would he locate the Guilde? No, for now he needed her and would play along until he got from her what he wanted.

Dianis pointed to a break in the trees. Jayson nodded and started forward. A few moments later, Dianis had joined him. They walked in silence for several minutes, passing through a dense forest of thin, white trees. The sun fell on the earth in a mottled pattern, which was in constant motion as the wind moved through the leaves above. After a while, Jayson tired of the silence.

"She doesn't belong to anyone," he said.

"Excuse me?" asked Dianis.

"Ivanore. She belongs to no one but herself. You seem to know all about her so you know she never does anything that she doesn't want to do."

"Yes, even when it puts others in jeopardy."

"You said she abandoned her calling. I can only assume that this _calling_ has something to do with your Guilde, and that she didn't fulfill some assignment as expected."

"She ran off with you." Dianis's tone was sharp.

"You say that as if that was a bad thing."

"She acted irresponsibly. We depended on her, and she failed us."

Jayson's steps slowed a little as he considered Dianis's accusation. "Have you ever stopped to think whether falling in love and having a family was more important to her than whatever it was that you exploited her to do?"

"We did not exploit her!" snapped Dianis.

"Really? Then if this calling is so valuable, why did she run and hide? I know her better than anyone," added Jayson. "Ivanore hates the responsibilities of royalty. She hates the control her father has over her. More than anything, she only wants to live a normal life."

"She has told you this?"

"Many times."

"But she never mentioned the Guilde?"

Jayson hesitated. "No."

Dianis smirked. "You are mistaken if you think Ivanore's calling has anything to do with her being Lord Fredric's daughter, or if her calling was _assigned_ to her by the Guilde. The fact that you know so little about her proves what I've tried to get the Guilde to understand all along—that you are a nuisance, an obstacle to our purpose, a distraction. In essence," she continued, stopping to glare at him triumphantly, "you are expendable."

Jayson smelled them before he saw them, a dozen men armed with swords and crossbows stepping out from behind the trees. Each wore a dark blue tunic with a yellow triangle stitched on the right shoulder, and each wore an expression that told Jayson they would not hesitate to kill him if ordered to do so.

Dianis held up her hand, and the men focused their aim on Jayson.

"Whoa, whoa!" said Jayson, taking a step back. "If I'd known you were so sensitive, I would have kept the comment about exploiting my wife to myself."

"Hand it over, or they will kill you."

"I'm unarmed. Wouldn't that be a bit, um, unfair?"

"Listen," said Dianis, her frustration growing. "I have wasted enough time with you. If I had had my way, I would have taken the crystal weeks ago. As it is, the Vatéz are already too close to realizing their plans. Now give me the crystal, and you can go on your way."

" _If_ you had had your way? You've _tried_ convincing the Guilde that I'm an obstacle?" Jayson laughed. "Dianis, this little tea party," he continued, waving his hand toward the men, "does the Guilde know about this? Are they aware that you've taken matters into your own hands?"

He stepped toward her cautiously, still fully aware of the weapons trained on him. He leaned forward and whispered in her ear.

"I think your superiors will be unhappy if you fail to deliver me to Alay-Crevar as they requested."

Dianis's expression grew even harder as she rapidly snapped her fingers into a fist. Jayson readied for a rapid death, but instead, the men all lowered their weapons. Only then did Dianis's face soften a bit, her lips curving into a wry grin.

"Have it your way," she said. "But I assure you, in time you will relinquish the crystal to me. More than that, you will wish that you had died today."

Suddenly, Dianis vanished right before his eyes. Jayson could not tell if she disappeared altogether or if she merely transformed, as Nymphs were known to do, blending instantaneously into her forest surroundings. Either way, Jayson found himself alone and unarmed in the midst of Dianis's men, and it was clear from the expressions on their faces that they meant to take him by force.

As they closed in around him, he flexed his fingers, extending his claws. He loathed killing humans, and considered how he could disarm them with minimal damage. But before he could finish the thought, something solid smashed into the back of his skull and everything went dark.

Erastus Timbrey slept like the dead. Except for the deep, chesty rumble that escaped from between his lips with every breath, one could easily mistake his pale, scrawny form for a dead man.

Brommel wasted no time. After kicking in the door to the tavern keeper's room, he grabbed fistfuls of Timbrey's nightshirt and hauled the man straight out of bed.

"Get up!" he shouted as he planted the man's bare feet on the floor.

Timbrey's eyes blinked open. When he saw that he was standing, he proclaimed, "By the gods, what has happened here?" Then he took notice of Brommel and Arik standing in front of him. "Is it afternoon already? Am I late for something?"

"Is this Erastus Timbrey?" asked Brommel.

"It is," replied Arik.

Timbrey's watery blue eyes widened with recognition. "You! I provide you with a roof over your head, and this is how I am to be treated? Get out of my room this instant!"

"You have information that is of value to me," said Arik, ignoring Timbrey's demand, "information regarding the Guilde."

"What information?"

"I want to know its current location."

Timbrey regarded the boy with a skeptical eye. "I don't know anything."

"You've heard of the Guilde, no doubt."

"I've heard of them. Aren't they some society whose job it is to guard—what was it now? Oh, that's right. I remember. They guard sheep, don't they? Protecting unsuspecting sheep from the wolves. Now there's a humanitarian cause for you."

Arik bristled with contempt. He drew his sword, cutting a wide arc through the air. But before the blade could meet its mark, Brommel had Arik by the wrist. He had only spent an hour with the lad and was already reaching the limit of his patience.

"Put that away," said Brommel.

"I'll not be ridiculed!" shouted Arik, his face turning red.

"Kill the man if you like, but then don't expect a dead man to talk."

Brommel guided Arik's hand, easing the sword back into its scabbard. It was evident that if left in Arik's hands, their mission would fail before it had even begun.

"Wait outside," Brommel told him.

Arik protested, "I will not!"

Brommel resisted the urge to bend the boy over his knee and spank him, something he doubted Arik had received enough of in his youth.

"The woman we saw downstairs when we came in has likely gone for help," Brommel explained with exaggerated patience. "We don't have much time. Guard the door and inform me if anyone arrives. In the meantime, I will get the information you seek."

"How do you propose to do that?"

Brommel grinned. After working for Emir for so many years, he had his ways. Compliant, but not completely satisfied, Arik left the room. Brommel waited until the door had shut behind him, then he faced Timbrey once again. He was nothing but skin and bones, a waif of a man reduced to a living skeleton by a lifetime of liquor and laziness. The man was visibly trembling now. Where Arik had inspired insolence, Brommel now inspired fear.

Brommel spotted a stout wooden stool beside the window. With a sharp kick, he slid it across the room. It came to rest in front of the door. Brommel strode over to it and sat down. Then he withdrew a rather intimidating dagger from his belt and started cutting his fingernails with it.

"All right then," he began, "let's talk about the Guilde."

#

The first sensation that returned to Jayson was the intense cold seeping into his body. He awoke and shivered. He opened his eyes and found himself lying on a bed of damp stone. The smell of mildew and stagnant water made him want to retch. He was in a stone cell of some kind, barely wide enough for him to extend his legs and arms, and when he attempted to do so, sharp pain in his extremities made him stop.

At first, he thought he had been injured, but then he realized that it was merely the result of having lain so long in one position in the cold. He wriggled his fingers, wrists, feet, and ankles to work out the stiffness. The discomfort soon passed, and he tried to stand, but the ceiling of this little cell was low, Jayson had to stoop. He checked his person for the crystal. As he suspected, it was missing.

"If I ever get my hands on that girl," he grumbled, stepping to the wooden door. Through a narrow opening, Jayson saw a guard standing by.

"You!" Jayson called out. "Where am I? What is this place?"

The guard, who had been leaning lazily against the wall peeling a tangerine, suddenly came to attention. He dropped his fruit to the floor where it rolled several feet before coming to rest in the corner. Then he turned and ran off.

"Wait!" Jayson called after him. "Come back!"

Jayson's cell was much too small and completely bare. There wasn't even a scrap of straw on which to rest. Except for the faint light coming through the door from a lantern in the hall, it was quite dark. So Jayson remained at the door, hoping that eventually the guard might return.

He didn't wait long before someone did come. A man appeared dressed in a simple brown robe, bearing a ring of keys in his hand. He spoke not a word as he unlocked Jayson's door, then stepped back against the wall.

Jayson joined his jailer in the hall. Here the ceiling was high enough to allow him to stand at his full height. Wooden casks were stacked against the walls. This wasn't a prison at all, he realized, but a wine cellar. His jailer handed Jayson a cloth bundle, which contained a clean linen tunic, trousers, and boots. Grateful to be rid of his wet clothing, Jayson quickly changed into the dry garments. Once dressed, he snatched up the stray tangerine and followed his jailer up a stone stairwell to another door. The jailer opened it, and then stepped aside, allowing Jayson to pass through.

Jayson wasn't exactly sure what he had expected, but it certainly wasn't the crowded, smoke-filled saloon that greeted him. The room wasn't much bigger than the basement he had just left; yet every inch of space was occupied by revelers with mugs of ale in their hands and smoking pipes between their lips. A welcoming fire burned in a hearth, and in one corner a group of six or seven men of various ages and sizes leaned heavily on each other while belting out an off-key ballad.

Jayson squeezed his way through the crowd, past the singing drunkards, and took his place on a stool. As soon as he did so, the fellow sitting beside him leaned in close.

"Here," said the old man, setting his nearly empty mug on the table in front of Jayson. "You need this more than I do."

Jayson was about to decline the offer, but from the pain in his stomach, he knew it had been far too long since he'd had a good meal, the tangerine notwithstanding. So he wiped his sleeve across the mug's rim and raised it to his lips. The ale was rich and frothy, the best he'd tasted in a long while. He found the mug empty too soon.

"Mind telling me where I can get a refill?" he asked.

Without hesitation, the old man reached across the table for a half-empty mug whose owner was sprawled out unconscious on the table. "He won't be needing this no more," he said, sliding the mug in front of Jayson.

Near the hearth, the singers ended their song, and the entire room erupted in applause. Some demanded an encore, but the apparent leader of the group waved off the requests. He laughed as he slapped several of the men on their shoulders, and each one returned the gesture by raising his mug in salute.

He wasn't an old man, at least not as old as Jayson's neighbor, but he was old enough. His hair was beginning to thin, and creases decorated the corners of his eyes when he smiled, which he was doing an awful lot of. He wore the clothes of a peasant, but beneath the plain cloth Jayson noticed the defined lines of a strong frame. He was tall, towering over the other men as he crossed the room. Several raised their mugs as he passed.

"That was mighty fine singing," someone said as he neared the bar.

"Aye, it was, wasn't it?" came the reply. The man turned to Jayson then, as though expecting him to comment as well. Instead, Jayson took a long draught of his ale.

The man looked amused. "You won't raise your glass to me?" he asked.

"I don't know you," Jayson answered.

"Reason enough, I suppose. But you might follow the example of the others for the sake of propriety."

"I would raise my glass if I thought it deserved, but as I said," added Jayson, setting the mug purposely on the bar beside him, "I don't know you."

The man glared at Jayson, and a hush fell over the room as all eyes turned to them.

The man stuck his thumbs into his belt and snorted. "You're a fool then," he said. "There are times when a man must behave according to custom whether he wants to or not, such as when going against the grain might endanger his life or the lives of others."

"I don't see how keeping my glass could put anyone in harm's way," replied Jayson, "unless you intend to inflict that harm yourself."

The man considered Jayson a moment, and then broke into a wide grin. "Nay. I've no such intention," said the man. "Just giving a friendly bit of advice, is all."

The tension in the room visibly eased, and the revelers turned back to their drinks.

"In that case," replied Jayson. "I'll raise my glass to you, and to you all."

The man burst into laughter and slapped Jayson on the back. "Daub, my friend," he said to Jayson's neighbor, "why don't you be a good lad and fetch us both a full bottle, eh?"

"Of course," was the old man's answer, and he excused himself from the table. The tall man took his seat then, and cast a disapproving glance at the unconscious man across the table.

"I'll have to carry that one home myself later," he mentioned, smiling. Then he said to Jayson, "I like you. You're a bull-headed fellow, ready for a fight. I can see why Dianis dislikes you so much."

Jayson bristled at the sound of her name. "You know Dianis?"

"Of course I know her! She is my daughter, don't you know!"

"I'd like to speak with her."

"And why is that? So you can tell her how angry you are at having been hit on the head and locked up? My boy, I doubt that would do either of you any good."

Jayson lowered his voice. He didn't like the close proximity the saloon's patrons had to one another. Privacy was obviously a commodity not available here.

"She has something that belongs to me," he said.

"Ah, I see," replied the man, lowering his voice mockingly. "You must be referring then to the crystal."

Jayson was infuriated now. He was being toyed with, and he didn't like it one bit. "Who are you?" he asked with barely restrained anger.

Just then, Daub returned with an open bottle of wine.

"Leave it," said Jayson. Daub glanced at the man for approval. The man nodded, and Daub set down the bottle and left them again.

"I am sorry," said the man. "I failed to introduce myself, didn't I? Must be the ale. I fear I've had a bit too much tonight. But you see, we've cause for celebration," he added, extending his hand. "My name is Gerard. As for the crystal, I assure you, it is safe."

Jayson ignored Gerard's gesture. "I want it back."

"Of course you do. But I'm afraid the crystal doesn't belong to you."

Suddenly, Jayson grabbed the bottle and smashed it against the table. Glass shattered and the wine burst from it, splattering everyone within reach. A moment later, Jayson had the jagged end of it pressed into Gerard's throat. Gerard, however, hardly winced at the danger he was in. Instead he merely grinned, a look of honest compassion in his eyes.

"My boy, I can only imagine the pain you must feel, but there are greater things at work here than your vastly insignificant problems."

Jayson pressed the glass deeper into Gerard's skin. A tiny spot of blood appeared on his skin, but still Gerard showed no fear.

"That crystal is my responsibility," said Jayson. "My wife entrusted it to me and no one else. Whatever you want it for, I don't care. You can use it anyway you see fit. But the crystal stays with me."

"You'd work with us, then?"

"I'll work with you as long as it keeps the crystal out of the hands of the Vatéz."

"All right then. The crystal will be returned to you. I give my word."

Jayson hesitantly lay the broken bottle back down on the bar. "Dianis told me about the protectors of the crystal," he said, finishing off the ale in his mug. "I assume she's given it to them. So, when do we leave for Alay-Crevar?"

Gerard laughed. "But my boy, you're already here." He indicated the crowded room with a sweep of his arm. "Welcome to the secret lair of the Guilde!"

#

It was the order of things that mattered on Mikel's farm, everything from which crop was to be planted in what field, to the schedule of tending the animals, to how the tools were arranged in the shed—it all was set down in a way that gave Mikel a sense of pride and security. When Teak had first arrived, Mikel saw to it that the boy learned what had to be done, and did it in the manner to which Mikel was accustomed. At first, Teak worried that he would not be happy with his uncle, but after losing his mother, Mikel's way of doing things provided the stability he needed to work through his grief. He came to love the rhythm of his life, the repetitive schedule of rising at dawn, tending the animals, eating meals, and farming. His new life was much like the seasons, ever constant in their changing.

Finding the girl was the first disruption to this ordered life that he had faced in the eight years since he'd come here. Suddenly, everything he'd known was displaced. Uncle did not keep the same schedule as before, but spent much of his time checking in on his patient. Meals came at irregular intervals as he spent his time tending to the girl and watching over her. At first, Teak expected to feel angry that a stranger had intruded on their comfortable lives, but he wasn't angry. Instead, the changes in their routine, however insignificant, thrilled him. Even when he was out working the fields, he found himself anticipating what might happen next. Would Uncle send him to milk the cow while he dressed her wounds? Perhaps he would ask him to bring an extra log for the fire to keep her warm.

It was as though the very appearance of this girl had awakened them both to new possibilities, new ways of thinking and of doing things. The order in which things had always been done was unraveling, but neither of them seemed to care. Rather, Teak couldn't help but notice they both liked it very much.

For two days, the girl awoke for only the briefest intervals during which Mikel did his best to get a little broth down her "to get her strength up." Mikel also did what he could to keep the fever under control, mopping the girl's face, arms, and legs with cool water. He sent Teak to the well several times a day to fill the bucket or asked him to manage this errand or that so he could spend a little extra time looking after the patient. Teak did what he could but always felt he should be doing more. When Mikel was busy with chores, he would sometimes ask Teak to watch over the girl and let him know if she stirred.

It was during these times when Teak felt most comfortable sitting on a three-legged stool in the farthest corner of the room where he could watch her sleep.

On the third morning after her arrival, Mikel announced that the fever had broken. "Thanks be to the gods," he said. "She's gotten through the worst of it. Boy," he added, "it's time I fetch a chicken. Then I'll go to the garden to pull some potatoes and carrots, and maybe a leek or two. We'll have a fine stew prepared for her tonight. Look after her, and call for me if she wakes."

Teak took his seat in the corner of the room and leaned his head back against the wall. After two nights of sleeping on the floor, he was feeling a bit stiff in the shoulders. And a little sleepy, too, since his sleep had been restless.

It couldn't hurt much, he thought, if I close my eyes for a while.

He had dozed off for no more than a minute or two when the girl stirred. The soft rustle of her blankets and the sudden shift in the rhythm of her breathing brought him to attention. A moment later, her eyes fluttered open.

From his vantage point in the corner, Teak observed as her curious gaze moved from one object in the room to the next. Finally, her eyes fell on Teak.

"Hello," she said weakly.

Teak fidgeted on his stool. "M-morning," he replied. They considered each other for a moment before Teak remembered Mikel's instructions. He abruptly rose from his stool and started for the door.

"Don't go," said the girl.

Teak paused. "M-my uncle told m-me to call him when you awoke."

The girl tried to lift her head, but she was too weak, and it fell back into her pillow. Teak hurried to her side and adjusted her pillow.

"How's that?" he asked.

"Better, thank you."

Teak turned for the door again, but the girl laid her hand on his arm. "Please don't leave," she whispered, pinching her eyes shut.

"D-does your shoulder hurt b-bad?" Teak asked.

"Yes," she whispered, then cautiously opened her eyes again.

"Uncle p-pulled the arrow out," added Teak. "You've had a fever."

"How long have I been here?"

"This is the third d-day."

"Three days." The girl murmured the words, a strange sadness in her voice, and Teak saw tears in her eyes, but she blinked them away. "So, _you_ found me?"

Teak nodded.

"And carried me here?"

He nodded once more.

"It was a brave thing you did. I am indebted to you..." she paused.

"T-teak," said Teak.

"You are a quiet man, aren't you Teak?"

Teak liked hearing her say his name. He wished she'd say it again. "T-talking is hard," he told her. "I d-don't know what to say."

"I see," she said, though her voice was softer now. "Yet here you are talking to me."

Her eyelids looked heavy, and her breath slowed a little. Teak could see she was tired and wanted to sleep. He worried about what his uncle would say once he learned that Teak hadn't called him. But he would go and call him now.

Once more he started for the door. He crept slowly across the floor, trying not to disturb the girl. But before he reached the door, he heard her voice again.

"Teak," she whispered.

Teak turned. "Yes?"

"You may ask me, if you wish."

"Ask you what?"

"My name."

Of course. How rude he had been not to think of it. He had already said more today than he had said in a very long time. He studied the girl for a moment to see if she was merely teasing him. But no, her expression was sincere.

"What is your n-name?" he asked, forming the words carefully.

The girl settled into her pillow and pulled the blanket up to her chin. No angel could have looked more beautiful.

"You can call me Ivy," she said. Then she closed her eyes and fell asleep.

#

Brommel's horse was lagging. Earlier in the day the mare had yearned to gallop ahead, and Brommel was certain that if he had permitted it, he would have arrived at his destination, whatever that might be, far sooner than he would at his present pace. But unfortunately he was bound to travel alongside Arik, and Arik's horse was hellbent on moving as slowly as possible.

Brommel couldn't begin to guess where Arik had found such a sorry beast. Well past its prime, the poor creature stumbled along on wobbly legs, its head sagging from its scrawny neck. Strangely enough, Arik seemed quite pleased with his mount.

"There, there, old boy," Arik said, stroking its mane when it stopped to nibble on some wayside grass. "I guess he's a bit hungry."

"Half-starved is more like it," grumbled Brommel. "Is that the best you could do with Emir's money?"

"I'll have you know I paid a handsome price for this fellow, and the owner wasn't very keen on giving him up. Only when I mentioned that I was in the minister's employ did the man relent."

"Ah, now I see it. You bragged of your gold, didn't you?"

"I did no such thing," answered Arik, defensively.

"You bragged of it, and the man knew that whatever price you offered he could take you for more, and take you he did. What a fool," Brommel finished with a snort.

They continued on without speaking. Arik brooded while Brommel whistled a tune—just to aggravate his young companion. He had to admit that he enjoyed making the rascal squirm. Serves him right, reasoned Brommel, for thinking himself better for being a royal. The fact that he had been completely cut off from his inheritance and crown didn't seem to weigh on him one bit. Brommel decided that Arik's arrogance was due partly to being so young and partly from being spoiled. That's what he is, Brommel concluded, nothing but a spoiled royal brat.

"Are you ever going to tell me what Timbrey said?" asked Arik presently. "He seemed awfully frightened when you were through with him."

"The man's a coward," said Brommel, "but a shrewd businessman. He offered to sell me the information I wanted for sixty coins."

"Only sixty? I would have demanded twice that if I were him."

"You would have, wouldn't you?"

"The money Emir gave us would cover that ten times over. So?"

"So what?"

"Did you pay him the sixty coins?"

"No."

"How much did you pay him then?"

"Not a penny."

"You paid him nothing, and yet here we are on our way to—well, to somewhere. I assume you got the information we were after?"

"I did."

"Yet you paid nothing for it. How, may I ask, did you extract such valuable information at so low a price? You didn't—"

Arik drew the edge of his hand across his throat.

"There was no need for violence," retorted Brommel impatiently. "In exchange for his assistance, I promised not to turn him over to the tax collector. You see, he's been fixing his books for some time. The ministry has had their eye on him. His tongue flapped well enough after that."

The brow over Arik's left eye rose a little, indicating his approval. Brommel did not care for Arik's approval and wished more than ever that he had pressed Emir into letting him come on this journey alone. He grew increasingly irritated and decided to let his expression show it, but Arik seemed oblivious to the annoyance on his face.

"Where are we heading then?" asked Arik.

"I don't know," grumbled Brommel.

"What do you mean you don't know?" Arik sounded truly shocked. "But you just said Timbrey told you where to find the Guilde."

"I said he gave me the information I wanted."

"We wanted to know the location of the Guilde."

"What good would it do me to learn the current location of their headquarters when it would be moved before we got there?"

Not long after, they arrived at a small pool that had formed between several boulders at the side of a stream. The water was clear and looked appealing. Brommel led his horse into the center of the pool where it reached to just below the horse's knees, just deep enough to drink. Arik did the same.

"You've gone about this thing all wrong," said Arik. "You threatened the man who was our best chance at finding Jayson and the crystal. Whatever he told you, he did so under duress. It is very likely that whatever he told you was a lie. You should have let me speak with him."

"What for?"

"I can be very persuasive."

"You?" Brommel couldn't help but laugh. "I can hardly imagine a scrawny lad like you persuading a sparrow to take flight let alone a man to give up a secret sworn under oath."

For once, Arik grew silent, his face turning nearly purple with indignation. "For all I know Timbrey didn't tell you anything," he said. "How do I know we are going anywhere at all? Maybe you are too much a coward to admit that you don't know what you are doing and that I should have been put in charge of this whole venture!"

Brommel took a moment to judge the distance between the prince and himself, just under an arm's length, and then he quickly threw out his hand and shoved Arik's shoulder. Arik, taken completely by surprise, lost his balance and slid cleanly over the side of his horse into the water below. The shallow splash and high-pitched squeal that followed drew a round of boisterous laughter from Brommel. He laughed so hard he nearly lost balance himself.

Arik flailed his arms about as he struggled to put his legs under him. Once he had, he sloshed through the tepid pool to the shore. Brommel collected the reins of Arik's horse and led it to where its drenched and forlorn master awaited.

Brommel handed the reins to Arik who, for the first time that day, had fallen silent.

"What I learned from Timbrey is far more valuable than all our coins could buy, Prince Arik. For you see, it is not the location of the Guilde I sought, but the secret token one must possess to be given passage to it. However, if you want to make yourself useful," he continued as he reached out his hand and patted Arik on the head, "help me spot the marker. That shouldn't be too difficult, should it?"

Arik scowled. "What marker?"

"A cross of stone."

"That's it? A cross of stone?" asked Arik. "You want me, the prince of Dokur, to play lookout for _you_?"

"If you are unhappy, you are more than welcome to return to Nauvet-Carum and complain to Emir," said Brommel, snapping his reins against his horse's neck. His horse started forward while Arik scrambled onto his, hurrying to keep up. "Or you can keep your tongue and accompany me. Either way," continued Brommel without looking back, "the only thing I want from you is your silence."

#

The sun was high overhead by the time Jayson awoke, the dull ache between his temples a reminder of how much ale he had consumed the night before. Long after most of the taverns' patrons had headed for home, Gerard and Jayson lounged by the fire. Gerard did most of the talking. He seemed to never run low on clever stories to tell, and Jayson found him to be pleasant company. It was only when the fire had burned down to embers that Gerard finally grew silent. Jayson thought at first that his new friend had fallen asleep, but no. Gerard was fully awake and suddenly quite sober as he stared into the orange embers.

"It is no coincidence, your being here tonight," said Gerard finally.

Jayson leaned back in the soft chair. "Of course not," he scoffed. "Your daughter took me hostage."

Gerard's face failed to register that he had even heard Jayson's reply. He continued somberly. "Things are about to change, I'm afraid. The Vatéz grow more powerful every day. They are fueled by lust and greed. Honor and integrity are not to be found among them."

Jayson studied the half-empty glass in his hand. The golden liquid reflected the dying firelight.

"Dianis told me that they want the crystal," said Jayson. " _My_ crystal. But I can't imagine why."

Gerard blinked as if suddenly called back from a dream. He turned his gaze on Jayson.

"The crystal is nothing more than a tool, my boy, but in the wrong hands it would be very dangerous indeed. Without its other half, of course, its powers are weak at best. But should the two halves be reunited, then we would have a serious problem on our hands. Or worse, if it is paired with its brother..."

"There are two crystals?"

"Aye."

"I'm sorry. I know of only the one that belongs to my wife," said Jayson. "The other half is still in her possession."

"All the more reason to keep your half out of Emir's hands."

"Is that why your daughter stole it from me?"

A log broke, and the loud crackle of the embers startled them both. Gerard rose to his feet and rubbed the back of his neck with his hand.

"It will be returned, I assure you. But for now, the hour is late. Come with me. You are my guest for the night."

Gerard led Jayson to a cottage at the heart of the village. Given a warm blanket and a bed stuffed with fresh straw, Jayson fell into a deep sleep in which he dreamed of tender lips on his and of a time that seemed so long ago. The dream made him ache inside, and though he slept, the emptiness engulfed him, dragging him from the embrace for which he yearned. He reached for them and managed one last touch, fingertip to fingertip, before floating away on a black, angry sea. He clenched his fists and shouted with the cry of a man suffering the worst kind of agony. When at last all his tears and energy had been spent, he uncurled his fingers. There lay the crystal in his palm, bloody from clutching its jagged edge.

Jayson awoke with the dream still fresh in his mind. He flexed his empty fingers, then rose from his bed and wrapped the blanket around him for warmth. No fire burned in the hearth, and a thin sheet of ice had formed in the water bucket by the door that had been left for his use. He punched a hole in the ice with his fist and splashed a little of the water on his face, which made him sputter from the cold. On a round table sat a loaf of coarse bread, and beside it a wedge of cheese. These Jayson devoured quickly, and then washed them down with some of the water.

It was then that the cottage door opened and Gerard made his appearance. Smiling broadly, the older gentleman nodded approvingly at his guest's appetite. He carried in his arms several logs of various sizes, which he arranged in the hearth, then set about to light a fire.

"I must apologize," he said, striking the flint. "I normally rise much earlier than this. I'm afraid last night's celebrating was a little more than this old man can handle anymore. I see Dianis brought you some breakfast. She should be in presently."

Jayson noticed the white wisps rising from Gerard's mouth as he spoke and felt a little guilty for allowing his host to tend to him. Even so, Jayson pulled the blanket up around his chin and tried to keep from shivering. A few moments later, however, a small fire blazed in the fireplace, and the cold in the room began to dissipate.

"Thank you for your hospitality," said Jayson.

"You're welcome, my boy. Of course, many of us are merely guests here in Alay-Crevar."

"This isn't your home?"

"I'm afraid not, though my daughter and I do call it home while we occupy it. We tend not to stay in one place for very long."

"Why is that?" asked Jayson.

Gerard pulled up two chairs and invited Jayson to sit on one while he sat on the other. They both warmed their hands by the fire.

"My daughter has warned me not to trust you, but in my heart I sense that you are a good man. I do not believe your wife would have entrusted you with something so valuable if you were not. So I can tell you that none of us is safe while the Vatéz are in power. Emir is relentless in his pursuit of the Guilde. We have managed to elude him thus far by moving about as often as is reasonable."

"So, the Vatéz and the Guilde are enemies," said Jayson.

"It wasn't always so," answered Gerard. "A century ago we were two branches of a single organization. You have heard of the League of Magicians."

"Isn't that another name for the Vatéz?"

"They go by many names: magicians, magi, enchanters, spell casters, sages. They are those who have mastered the art of conjuring magic, something few throughout the ages have been able to do. These enchanters have been endowed with a special gift that allows them to develop their powers. Long ago, such enchanters were feared by those who lacked these powers. They were accused of being witches or devils and were sometimes expelled from their communities or even tortured or killed. But there were others who saw magic as a blessing from the gods and believed those who possessed this power should be revered and protected. So arose the Guilde, a secret association of guardians whose sole purpose was to protect the lives of these magicians at any cost. In order to receive their protection, a magician joined the League of Magicians, or Vatéz, and used secret tokens to make his identity known to them.

"Over time, as magic became more respected, members of the Vatéz became public. Some even held government offices. The Guilde continued to exist, but the Vatéz's need of them diminished.

"Eventually some of these magicians began to misuse their gift, using magic to gain power and wealth. There were still a few enchanters who recognized the great responsibility they had been given by the gods, but they were eventually driven underground by the corrupt Vatéz.

"Then one day the gods decided to bestow on man a new gift, but he gave this gift to only one. This gift was far greater than that which they had been given before. It allowed its bearer to see future events, to translate long forgotten languages, to communicate with others even at great distances. This Seer was given a charge to use his gift to reclaim the first gift of magic, to take back from the Vatéz what rightfully belonged to the gods.

"Well, you can imagine how the Vatéz reacted when they learned of the existence of this Seer. They immediately set out to destroy him. But the gods simply raised another in his place, and another. It was then that the Guilde found a new purpose—as guardians of the Seer. And that is our purpose today."

Jayson sat in silence for a while as he mulled Gerard's story over in his mind. Before today, he had never heard anything of a Seer, though he was familiar enough with magic and enchanters. His own father had been an enchanter, though not affiliated in the least with the Vatéz. As a boy, he remembered watching his father conjure small feats of magic for his entertainment, such as lighting fires without flint or making objects vanish and reappear. But this Seer—he had never heard anything of this before, and it intrigued him.

"Well now, here's Dianis with breakfast," said Gerard, interrupting Jayson's thoughts.

The door opened and Dianis entered carrying a basket in one hand and a wooden bucket in the other. She set both down on the table.

Gerard greeted his daughter with a kiss on her cheek, and then nodded toward the bucket. "Is that from our neighbor?"

Dianis laughed. "I didn't think he'd mind sharing a few eggs and a couple of pints of milk this morning."

"My daughter," Gerard replied, apologetically. "I've tried to teach her right from wrong, but sometimes I wonder how much good it has done."

Jayson glanced into the bucket and found it half full of warm milk. "Neighbor's cow?"

"Aye, and I think we've accepted enough of his hospitality," said Gerard. "No need to be stealing milk for our breakfast."

"No one will know," shrugged Dianis. "The cow won't tell."

"Now, now, Dianis, we don't want to give our guest the wrong impression about us, do we? We're honest folk—for the most part—"

Dianis cut in. "Except when we're hungry, or cold, or broke, or in danger."

She went to a cupboard and retrieved four wooden cups. She dipped one cup into the milk, using it to fill the other three. All the while, Dianis avoided Jayson's gaze. As she handed him one of the cups, however, Jayson grabbed her wrist.

Dianis tugged a little, as though the whole thing was a mistake or a joke, but Jayson's grip tightened. She twisted her arm in an effort to break free, the milk from the cup spilling across the table.

"I'd like my crystal, please," Jayson said with exaggerated civility.

"Let go of me," she growled.

"No," he replied.

For a moment, Dianis relaxed her struggle, but then suddenly her free hand flew up to slap Jayson. Her hand never made contact as Jayson grabbed that wrist as well. Now both her hands were bound. She struggled in vain against Jayson's superior strength.

Exasperated, she turned to Gerard. "Father!"

"Don't look to me for help, Daughter. I'm not the one who knocked him unconscious and locked him up overnight."

Dianis glared at Jayson with a look that could have burned a hole through solid stone. He replied with a comical grin.

"Release me or you will regret it," she threatened.

"Why not just vanish like you did in the forest?" asked Jayson coyly. "Or is that just a little trick you like to play?"

Gerard clucked his tongue disapprovingly. "Dianis, you didn't," he said. "I thought we agreed you wouldn't show off."

"I wasn't showing off, Father. Besides, what else was I to do? He refused to give me the crystal."

"But you told me that he had agreed to come with you."

"We are forbidden to bring strangers into our midst."

"Jayson is no stranger. You know that," Gerard replied casually, refilling his cup with milk. "I'm really ashamed of you, you know. I think you owe this young man an apology."

Dianis's expression changed instantly to one of shock and then disgust.

"I'll do no such thing!"

Jayson tightened his grip on her wrists. Dianis cried out in pain.

"Gerard, is your daughter really so arrogant? I believe this child needs a good spanking."

Gerard laughed. "Be my guest! Just like her mother, she is. Always disappearing and reappearing. They ought to learn to stay put!"

Jayson started to turn Dianis with her back to him when she suddenly relented.

"All right!" she said at last. "All right, I'll return the crystal! It's in a safe place. I'll retrieve it after breakfast."

"And?"

Dianis rolled her eyes and spoke through gritted teeth. "And I apologize—for everything! Now let me go!"

Instead of releasing her, however, Jayson pulled Dianis close enough so that he could feel her breath on his face. He relished the scent of fear on her, and the loathing and alarm in her eyes.

"You're forgiven," he said, then let go.

The moment she was released, Dianis scurried to the farthest corner of the room and slumped into a chair. Gerard was having a difficult time restraining his laughter. Jayson, too, couldn't help but take some pleasure in seeing her so sullen.

Presently, Gerard and Jayson resumed the conversation that had been interrupted on Dianis's entrance.

"Last night in the tavern," began Jayson, "you talked of a need to keep the crystal separated from its missing half."

Gerard emptied his cup, then pulled a cast-iron skillet from a shelf and set it over the fire. He cracked three of the eggs into it. The pan sizzled.

"As I said before, the crystal is nothing more than a tool."

"Then why does Emir want it so badly?"

"Emir is a very powerful enchanter," replied Gerard. "Should the crystal come into his possession, it would not bode very well for any of us."

"I still don't understand," said Jayson. "You keep calling the crystal a tool. A tool for what? How is it used and by whom?"

Gerard removed the pan from the fire and set it aside. The smell of cooking eggs made Jayson's mouth water, but at the moment he wanted information more than he wanted a meal. He glanced at Dianis, still brooding in the corner. But from her expression, he could tell she was listening intently to their conversation.

Gerard leaned forward, placing both elbows on the table and clasping the fingers of his hands together. He spoke deliberately, as though every word he now uttered bore a weighty message.

"The crystal is the tool of the Seer. A Seer is quite powerful in his own right, of course, but with the crystal those powers are fully magnified, completely focused. A Seer without the crystal is like a soldier without his sword. He may possess the skills to fight, but it's the weapon in his hands that will win him the battle."

"So you mean to tell me that my crystal, or at least the crystal before it was broken into pieces, belonged to a Seer?"

Dianis leapt up from her chair and crossed the room in an instant. She dropped an angry fist down on the table between Jayson and Gerard.

"Father," she said, nearly shouting, "you have said enough! If she didn't trust him, why should we?"

Gerard patiently laid his hand over his daughter's, but his eyes never left Jayson's. "She kept it from him not because she didn't trust him," he said, "but to protect him."

Dianis removed her hand, defeated. Gerard continued, speaking directly to Jayson now.

"I know your mind is filled with questions, my boy," he said. "Perhaps you already sense the truth but dare not believe it. To validate your suspicions, I will say it for you. Your wife, the Lady Ivanore of Dokur, is the Seer, and it is her crystal that the Vatéz are so desperate to obtain."

#

The cross of stone.

It was what the tavern keeper had told him. Look for the cross of stone. Brommel had tried to extract more information from Erastus Timbrey, but there was simply nothing more to extract. Brommel knew from vast experience when an informant had been purged of all useful information. He knew as well that when tortured or threatened with imminent death, a man would reveal even his deepest, innermost secrets, but if pushed too far he might also fabricate lies to satisfy his interrogator. Only the most experienced tormentors could discern the difference. That was precisely why, in this case, Brommel had not used death or even pain to coerce Timbrey to talk. Brommel did not want lies. He wanted the truth. And for a man like Timbrey, a man who collected secrets and sold them like the liquor he vended, the Guilde's secrets were nothing more than a commodity waiting to be purchased by the highest bidder.

And how did Brommel know that Timbrey's information was accurate? Because if it turned out to be false, Timbrey could be easily found, and Timbrey was the sort of man who preferred not to have repeat visits from men like Brommel.

_The cross of stone_.

Not much to go by. According to Timbrey, Brommel and Arik were to follow the road leading west through the forest until they reached the cross of stone.

And what then?

When Brommel asked that question, Timbrey had done something quite unexpected. He had reached out his right hand and clasped Brommel's wrist in an awkward grip. Their connection lasted only a second or two, but it was enough. Brommel knew what must be done.

They traveled for two days, and most of their journey was a silent one. Arik had proven to be a burdensome pest, a child who would have done Emir more good playing jacks in the Ministry lobby than accompanying Brommel on such a critical mission. Brommel felt that he had been hired as a babysitter rather than the job for which he was being paid. And for this he had left his precious Brielle alone to await the birth of their second child. The longer the journey went on, the more Brommel regretted having taken the assignment at all. If only he'd been man enough to tell Emir he could not, would not go, someone else would have certainly been sent in his place.

Arik passed his time swatting at the mosquitoes. Red welts, evidence of the insects' taste for royal blood, were hard to distinguish from Arik's blemishes, making the boy all the more unattractive. From time to time Arik tried to draw Brommel into conversations only to be answered with stubborn silence. Eventually Arik gave up.

Traveling through the forest was pleasant for the most part, though Brommel had seen nothing that could even remotely be identified as a stone cross. All he had seen were miles and miles of trees. Brommel had half a mind to lead Arik off the road deep into the woods and leave him there to find his way home alone. He was imagining the scenario once again when the forest suddenly came to an end, and Brommel's horse stepped out into direct sunlight.

Brommel tugged gently at the reins and shielded his eyes, allowing them to adjust to the brightness. They had come upon a small pasture surrounded on all sides by trees. The road on which they had been traveling continued on the opposite side. There was a second road as well, extending to the south and north of the clearing. Nearby, where the forest and the clearing met, was a house made of rough-hewn logs. The structure appeared sturdy enough, its roof made of a thick bed of pine needles, and the door a panel of flat boards bound together by rope.

Brommel was staring at the odd little house with something akin to wonder when Arik paused beside him.

"A crossroads," remarked Arik. "Let's continue on then."

Brommel did not respond. He was instead considering the pasture more closely. The grass was short and even, cut to that height by someone who took great pains to care for it. Embedded in the ground were dozens of flat stone markers of varying sizes and shapes spaced at regular intervals.

"It's a graveyard," said Brommel. He had seen ones like this before in some of the inland communities. While the custom was not common in the cities of Hestoria where the poor were cremated or buried in mass graves, and the rich were laid to rest in coffers of stone, there was a growing trend among some to bury individuals in the earth and mark their graves with stone.

Arik grunted in disgust and urged his horse forward, tromping across the field and graves as though they were of no consequence. But Brommel remained where he was, his eyes fixed on the pattern of stones in front of him. He did not see it at first, but then the image revealed itself to him—among the stones were twenty or so that were not gray like the others, but black. Whether they were painted black or occurred that way naturally he was not sure, but what he was certain of was that these black stones were intentionally arranged in the shape of a cross.

As Arik's horse neared the opposite side of the pasture, the door to the house swung open and a woman stepped out holding a bow with an arrow pulled taut, ready to fire directly at Arik's chest.

"Get off this land," she said in a voice as steady as her aim.

Arik halted and frowned at the woman. She was thick around the middle and getting on in years, but from her solid stance and resolute glare, it was clear she knew how to handle a weapon. Arik showed no fear, however, possibly the boy's one redeeming quality, thought Brommel.

"Lower your weapon, woman," said Arik, "or I shall march my horse back across this meadow again."

"Then I will kill you and your horse."

"And create unnecessary work for yourself in digging another grave for me? I really doubt it."

The woman's aim remained fixed on Arik. "No, sir, I would instead erect your carcass on a pole as a warning to other trespassers, and let the sun and scavengers devour your remains."

This left Arik too astonished to comply with her request. He remained immobile as if held to the spot by an unseen fetter. The woman pulled the bowstring tighter. Fearing she would let the arrow fly, Brommel made his presence known by calling out to her.

"My lady," he said, dismounting his horse, "please accept my apology for the boy's ignorance. He is from the island and is unaccustomed to the ritual of earth burials."

Brommel led his horse along the edge of the field until he came to the house. The woman lowered the arrow. She was not old, nor was she young, but perhaps a few years older than Brommel. Although her face was plain and her body plump, she carried herself with dignity and confidence. This was not a woman to take lightly.

On seeing Brommel dismount, Arik did the same.

"I am sorry," he said with feigned sincerity. "I was merely trying to determine which road to follow."

The woman glared at Arik. There was no fooling her.

"We get merchants from time to time carrying their wares to the villages around here, and sometimes a wagon with someone to bury," she said. "But rarely do we see travelers such as yourselves. If you tell me where you're heading, I might tell you if you're going in the right direction."

From inside the house, a man's voice called out. "Who's out there with you, Abby?"

"No one in particular, Father," the woman answered back. "Just some strays tearing up the grass."

"We haven't had visitors for a while now," continued Abby's father. "Why don't you bring them in and invite them to supper?"

Abby rolled her eyes. "Well, you heard him," she said. "Hope you're hungry."

Arik and Brommel followed an obviously reluctant Abby into the house. It was surprisingly tidy, as though Abby and her father always expected visitors. The older man sat in a rocking chair in the corner of the room beside a table dressed with a linen cloth and polished silver. His eyes, white and cloudy, stared blankly forward. On a platter were slices of roasted potatoes and squash along with a large wedge of yellow cheese.

The man motioned for them to come closer. "Have you come from the east or west?" he asked.

Brommel answered, "From the capitol."

"Ah," said the man, "then you have been traveling for several days. You must be hungry. Please, help yourselves."

Arik reached for a slice of potato and popped it into his mouth.

"You've met my daughter, Abby," the man continued. "I am Leo, the caretaker here. I couldn't help but overhear that you are not certain of your destination. Is there any way I could be of service to you?"

Leo extended his right hand toward Brommel. Brommel glanced toward Arik who, thankfully, was immersed in his second piece of potato. He had purposely chosen to withhold the details of Timbrey's interrogation from Arik since he was certain the boy could not be trusted. The objective was to find the Guilde and Jayson, win their trust, and obtain the crystal. Brommel very much doubted Arik's ability to manage that without him, and it seemed that Emir felt similarly. The Minister had discreetly placed the responsibility of this assignment squarely on Brommel's shoulders, and he would not take even the slightest risk of failure by entrusting anything of much importance to Arik.

Brommel clasped Leo's wrist with his thumb and little finger and extended the remaining three fingers. Leo's forehead wrinkled in thought. At first, Brommel feared that Timbrey had led him astray after all, that Leo did not recognize the token. But then Leo nodded and released Brommel's arm.

"Your destination lays to the north half a day's ride from here in the village of Alay-Crevar. Continue on the road to where it turns south, then go the opposite direction through the trees. The village lies just beyond. If you leave now, you should arrive by nightfall."

Brommel thanked Leo and his daughter for their hospitality. Arik accepted a final slice of cheese. As they turned to leave, Leo added one final word.

"When you arrive," he said, "you must greet them the same way you greeted me. No variations. Is that clear?"

"Yes," said Brommel. "Thank you again."

Once Brommel and Arik were outside, they mounted their horses and continued down the road.

"What was that all about," asked Arik, "greetings and destinations and such? Did any of that make sense to you?"

Brommel urged his horse to go a little faster. The sun, it seemed to him, was apt to race him to the finish line.

"Made no sense to me," he said to Arik. "None at all."

#

The afternoon was unusually warm. The moisture from the rich, damp soil collected on Jayson's skin, and the earthy scent of wild mushrooms and tree moss wafted in the air intermittently with the sweet fragrance of jasmine and honeysuckle. The smells were a balm to his heightened senses, which had been overwhelmed the past few months with the smells of the sea. He had had enough of the sea and was glad to be in the forest, his native habitat.

His earliest memories were in a forest much like this one, with tall, thin trees that reached far into the sky. Climbing them was one of his favorite pastimes as a child. Due to his human musculature, he had the physical strength that most of the other pureblood Agoran boys lacked. They were agile and fast, but he was strong. He recalled numerous contests between him and the other boys, most of which he easily won. After a time, however, the contests ended. The other boys eventually lost interest. What fun was there in challenging him when they knew they would lose? So they turned to ridiculing him instead.

It was about that time when Lord Fredric signed the first decree against the Agorans, confiscating their land for human use. The Agorans were reestablished in a vast marshland near the Northern coast of Imaness, a land infested with mosquitoes. Once they had lived among the trees. Now the Agorans lived in the mud and had only small grass huts for shelter.

Food and clean water were scarce while disease was abundant. Jayson's mother took sick and died when he was just eleven years old.

Jayson crouched beside a fallen tree. He ran his fingers over the rotted trunk, its wood breaking off in thin, soft pieces. It had been ravaged by some parasite, a victim of nature. He waited patiently, sniffing the air. Finally, a faint yet unmistakable scent reached him. It was what he had come here to find. Today, thought Jayson, I will be the ravager.

He sniffed the air again and found the scent had come from the north. It could not be far. Jayson rose from his crouching position, but remained hunched over, using the scattered berry bushes and tree trunks for cover. He must stay downwind from it or the element of surprise was lost.

Extending his claws, he started forward, the thrill of the chase already stirring in his blood. He sprinted through the trees with the agility and speed of a leopard, but when the scent of his prey was at its strongest, he slowed his pace. Creeping now through the underbrush, his step light and noiseless, Jayson spotted the deer drinking from a stream. He paused a moment to marvel at the regal manner in which it stood, its sleek, muscular body so much like his own. From the ease of its stance, Jayson knew it sensed no danger. He had tracked it well, but the chase was still ahead. In another moment, Jayson would emerge from his hiding place at top speed. He might get lucky and capture the deer right there at the river's edge, in which case the kill would come easy. But more likely than not, the deer would startle and dart into the safety of the forest. Jayson would pursue it for several minutes before overpowering it and taking it down with his powerful claws. The kill would not be clean then, but it would be satisfying.

Jayson smelled the scent of the beast. It made his mouth water. He smelled something else, too, though what it was did not concern Jayson at this moment. He put it out of his mind and readied himself for the race.

Suddenly, the deer's head shot up, its ears pricked. It wasn't Jayson who had disturbed its peace, but the sound of rustling in the bushes farther upstream. Jayson heard it, too, and it distracted him momentarily. The deer sprinted off through the trees.

Cursing under his breath, Jayson did not follow. To do so would be futile since the beast had several seconds' lead on him. Instead, he turned his attention to the interference. The currents of air shifted course, and the scent that had caught his attention moments earlier was now downwind from him. He would have to go in blind, so to speak. And since the creature, whatever it was, was downwind from him, then it most certainly had already picked up Jayson's scent.

Jayson chose a rapid assault to take the creature by surprise, to prevent it from bolting the way the deer had. Powerful leg muscles pumping, reaching top speed in seconds, Jayson leapt forward, hurtled the stream, and dove into the bush.

A shrill scream shattered the stillness of the forest and nearly burst Jayson's sensitive eardrums. He had landed directly on top of his quarry. Although he could feel it beneath him, he saw nothing. Jayson was so stunned that he staggered back, stumbled, and fell backward into the stream.

The screaming continued.

"Dianis!" shouted Jayson angrily. "Might as well stop screaming. I'm the only one who can hear you."

The shrubs parted and Dianis's pale, frightened face slowly took form. Peering out, she glanced anxiously up river and down.

"It's just me," said Jayson. He sat in the stream letting the cool water flow over his legs.

Dianis emerged from her hiding place, her body now fully visible. Jayson got up, and slogged through the shallow water to the bank where he pulled off his tunic and twisted the water out of it.

"You tried to kill me!" accused Dianis.

"I thought you were lunch."

"Me? Your lunch?!"

"I was hunting, Dianis. You scared off the deer I'd been tracking. I thought you were a boar."

"A boar!" Dianis was indignant.

"Or a rabbit, a fox... What does it matter?"

"That you wanted to eat me matters!"

"I wouldn't have eaten _you_ ," said Jayson. He was growing more irritable by the moment. "Kill you yes, but," he added, giving her a deliberate once over, "there's not enough of you for a decent meal."

Dianis turned her back to him, obviously perturbed.

"An appetizer, maybe," he continued.

Dianis bent over the stream and, using both hands, flung water into his face. Jayson sputtered. The water was cold.

"I'm already wet, remember? And what were you doing spying on me?"

"I wasn't spying! I was...I was looking for you."

"You were looking for me—in the bushes—while invisible."

Fuming, Dianis held out her hand. Clasped in it was his leather pouch. "My father insisted I return this—immediately."

Jayson took the pouch. He opened it just to make sure the crystal was still inside. "So, waiting five days is immediately?"

"I've been busy."

"That's right. I haven't seen much of you lately. I thought you were avoiding me."

"I was, sort of," Dianis admitted with a haughty flair. "Actually, father sent me to one of the neighboring villages to arrange accommodations."

"Planning to move soon?"

"Not at the moment, but we must always be prepared. Emir's scouts are on the hunt. He would do anything to see the Guilde eliminated once and for all."

"Speaking of the hunt, Dianis," said Jayson abruptly, "might I remind you that you interrupted mine? I would like to get back to it."

Incensed and offended, Dianis turned heel and tromped back through the brush toward Alay-Crevar. Jayson watched her go, the trembling tops of the forest flora marking her path. Despite her talent at disappearing, she was far from discreet. But then again, she had managed to elude his senses before. He laughed to himself imagining her crouching in the bushes watching him. He had embarrassed her, that was clear, and now she was angry—again. He should go after her, try to make amends for Gerard's sake, but the day was quickly coming to an end and he had not yet accomplished what he had come into the forest to do.

His hunger was growing. The animals would be resting, cooling themselves beneath shade trees or at the water's edge. There would be no more tracking, no race through the trees. He would subdue his prey quickly and with precision. For the moment, his interest in the sport of it had waned. He wanted to eat.

He turned his face into the warm breeze, letting it stroke his skin like a woman's sensitive touch. He closed his eyes and let his imagination roam. Ivanore's fingers had tousled his hair with just as gentle a touch. Lying on the ground, his head cradled in her lap, she had explored every inch of his face and head, rubbing his temples in slow, rhythmic circles. He might have fallen asleep there if he had not been so completely seduced by her. Finally, unable to restrain himself any longer, he took hold of her shoulders and pulled her toward him, their lips touching.

A sickening scream erupted from the forest once again, and once again Jayson's thoughts were interrupted.

"What now?" he grumbled, knowing already that his prey, most likely startled at the sudden clamor, had taken flight. No sense in pursuing it now. The source of the scream was some distance off, in the direction of the village. He listened, waiting for it to sound again so he could be certain. Only a moment later, Dianis's shrill cry sent him racing through the forest. His heart pounded and he could hear the rush of blood as loud as her wails in his ears. It was fear that pushed him to run faster than he had ever run before, for he knew that cry. He had heard it many times from the animals he hunted. It was the cry of the wounded and dying. Somewhere ahead of him, Dianis was hurt.

#

Jayson burst through a thick wall of trees into a small grove of saplings. The sunlight filtering through the young, sparsely leafed branches was warm and inviting. He saw Dianis at once lying on her side, her back to him. The screaming had stopped minutes earlier, pushing Jayson faster toward his destination. Her body was still and Jayson spotted a thick trail of blood from the edge of the grove to where she lay. It looked as though she had been injured in the forest, ran here, and collapsed.

Jayson dropped to his knees beside her and touched her cheek. She was warm and breathing—but pale. On her right thigh, just below the hip, blood oozed from a wide, red gash. Jayson examined it and found the cut to be straight and clean, the work of a blade. Someone had deliberately attacked her. Quickly he pulled off his tunic and tied it around the wound to stop the bleeding.

As he knelt there in the dirt, he noted the smells surrounding him: Dianis and her blood, the moist earth covered with decaying leaves, various late-blooming flowers, and one scent in particular that stood out from the rest. The familiarity of it made every inch of Jayson's body bristle with rage.

Jayson sprung from his knees and dove headlong into the forest. Trunks of trees were a blur to him as he raced past, his body hunched forward like a predator on the chase. It took only seconds to overtake his prey. He leapt forward, his claws extended, his sharp canine teeth bared.

The boy barely had time enough to draw his sword, already stained with Dianis's blood. Jayson bit into his arm, and the sword clattered to the ground. The boy shrieked in agony, but Jayson did not care. With his claws, he sliced across the boy's chest, leaving a swath of gaping wounds across it. Jayson was all animal now, grunting and growling in his rage. He had only one desire—to kill. He opened his jaws, the taste of human flesh already in his mouth, and aimed for the throat.

"Stop!" someone shouted.

A man appeared, much bigger than the boy in Jayson's grasp, his sword now poised just above Jayson's neck. Jayson considered finishing off his prey despite the risk to his own life, but should _he_ be killed, then Dianis would also die, left alone to bleed to death in the forest.

Jayson released his grip and let the injured boy fall to the ground at his feet, where he lay whimpering and writhing in pain.

The man with the sword motioned for Jayson to step away, which he did.

"You would have killed him," said the man.

"You should not have interfered," Jayson growled.

"Don't you recognize him?"

Jayson's piercing gaze never left the eyes of the sword wielder. He noted the absence of anger in them. This man did not care that his companion was injured.

"Yes," spat Jayson. "We were brothers—once."

By now, Arik had managed to stand. He stumbled toward them, clutching his wounded arm to his bleeding chest. "Jayson!" he cried. "What were you trying to do? Kill me?"

Jayson's eyes remained fixed on the one with the sword. He had no wish to speak to Arik.

The man lowered his weapon and replaced it in its scabbard. Then he gave a cursory inspection of his companion's wounds. "He needs attention," he told Jayson. "Is there a village nearby?"

"He attacked a girl," replied Jayson with a snarl.

Arik cowered. "It was an accident! I heard something in the bushes and thought it was a wild animal. She ran off before we could help her."

Jayson's hands snapped up, a set of claws aimed at each of his unwelcome visitors. "Who are you?"

"My name is Brommel. I am—"

Arik interrupted. "He's my servant. My bodyguard."

Jayson considered the claim. "Bodyguard? Then it seems he has failed in his duties, hasn't he?"

Brommel was large, his dark complexion menacing. Jayson had a hard time believing he was incapable of protecting the boy. Could he have delayed his intervention on purpose? Jayson turned his attention back to Arik, who was trembling now from pain.

"Why are you here?" he asked.

"Searching for you, of course," Arik answered weakly. "I've been searching for you ever since that day you leapt out my window. You're a hard man to follow, you know."

"You still can't have it. I won't give it to you. Not to anyone."

Brommel stepped forward then, ignoring the razor sharp claws at his throat, and placed a hand on Jayson's shoulder.

Jayson flinched, but the touch was surprisingly gentle, and he sensed compassion in it, like the touch of a father. Reluctantly, Jayson retracted his claws and turned his attention back to Dianis, still lying unconscious on the ground.

"Arik needs help," said Brommel. "You've wounded him."

"I meant to kill him."

"But you didn't kill him."

"You've got horses," said Jayson. He could smell the stench of the sweaty animals likely tethered to a nearby tree. "Take him back to the city."

"We've been traveling for days," replied Brommel. "By the time we returned, his wounds will have festered. He could die."

Brommel was right. Arik's wounds were deep and needed immediate attention. Jayson thought of Dianis. If she were conscious, she would likely tell him that he could not bring strangers to Alay-Crevar, to the hive of the Guilde. But he had to consider her needs first, and what she needed was a doctor.

Arik spoke. "Jayson, I came to apologize. You are all the family I have left in this world. I was rash, blinded with greed. Please forgive me, my friend. I didn't come all this way to remain your enemy."

In the time they had stood there among the trees, the shadows had lengthened. The sun had begun its descent and soon daylight would be ebbing. Alone, on foot, it would take an hour to reach the village, maybe two carrying Dianis. Jayson had to hurry.

"Fetch your horses," he said as he lifted Dianis into his arms. "You can follow me if you wish. As for forgiving you," he added, turning a menacing gaze on Arik, "that will depend on whether or not the girl lives."

#

Night had fallen by the time Jayson reached Alay-Crevar, but its narrow streets were well-lit by torches perched on tall, straight poles. A young boy carrying a bucket of water home from the communal well spotted him emerging from the forest, leading a dappled gray horse by its reins. Sitting on the horse, her body slumped forward and secured in place with several strips of torn fabric, was Dianis. The boy, recognizing them both, sped off down the street, calling at the top of his lungs.

"Gerard! Gerard, they're back!" he shouted.

Jayson led his horse to the washing trench where the village women gathered each day to clean their clothes and socialize. While the horse drank its fill, Brommel's horse ambled up beside it.

"Is he still conscious?" asked Jayson, stroking the horse's neck.

Brommel glanced at Arik's limp frame draped over the second horse's back.

"No. Is the physician near?"

Jayson ignored the question. "Secure the horses here," he instructed.

Jayson untied Dianis and let her slip gently into his arms. Brommel was not so gentle with Arik, whom he slumped over his shoulder like a prized boar. Together they headed toward the tavern at the end of the lane.

As they neared, they heard a commotion inside, and a group of a dozen or so men swarmed through the door. Some grasped lanterns in their hands, others their half-empty tankards of ale. Gerard, pushing through the crowd, hurried toward Jayson. He spoke nothing as he quickly examined his daughter, though the expression on his face revealed his concern.

"It's her leg," said Jayson. "This one," he added, indicating Arik, "mistook her for a wild animal."

Gerard examined Arik as well, and then gave Jayson a chastising glance.

"Take them upstairs while I fetch the doctor," he said. "I only hope he's sober enough to stitch them up properly."

While Gerard sent his guests home for the night, Jayson and Brommel carried their charges up a short flight of stairs to the second floor. Jayson entered the first room and laid Dianis on the bed. "Put Arik in the next room," he told Brommel.

Brommel, with Arik still slung over his shoulder, stepped to the next door and shoved it open with his foot. He let Arik's limp body flop across the bed with his legs hanging over the edge. Arik moaned.

"I get the distinct impression you don't like him much," said Jayson from the doorway. Draped over his arm was a folded blanket. He tossed it to Brommel, who covered Arik with it.

"How's the girl?" Brommel asked.

"We'll know soon," answered Jayson. "The doctor's with her now."

Just then Gerard came in. "So, that is my daughter's attacker?" asked Gerard, nodding toward Arik. "He's just a boy."

"A stupid boy," said Jayson.

"And who is this?"

"My name is Brommel," answered Brommel.

"He's the boy's servant," said Jayson.

"Well, Brommel, as long as your master is our guest, I suppose you are as well. This is my room, but you and Arik may use it as long as needed."

Gerard extended his hand to Brommel who took it, wrapping his thumb and little finger around Gerard's wrist, his three remaining fingers extended. Gerard and Brommel considered each other for a moment before releasing their grasp. Jayson noticed the odd handshake and the subtle change in Gerard's expression, but decided to say nothing.

A few minutes later, the village doctor came in to examine Arik. He was a short man with a thin mantle of white hair framing his dark, heavily lined face.

"How is he?" asked Gerard.

"In good condition, actually," replied the doctor. "The mark on the arm is superficial. The chest wounds are a bit deeper, but they'll heal in a few days."

"And Dianis?"

"She lost a lot of blood. It took quite a few stitches to close the wound, but if infection doesn't set in, she will heal in time. I'll be back in the morning. In the meantime, if either has any trouble, Gerard, don't hesitate to call for me."

The doctor excused himself, and Gerard followed him out into the hall. Brommel found a chair in the corner of the room and sat down in it, propping his feet up on a nearby table.

"Wake me when the doctor returns," he told Jayson with a yawn, then closed his eyes to go to sleep.

Jayson left Brommel and Arik, closed their door behind him, and returned to Dianis's room. He closed that door as well. He wanted to be certain he would not be eavesdropped upon.

Gerard stood over his daughter and smoothed out the blanket that covered her. Then he tenderly stroked her hair and face. Jayson located a chair and placed it beside him. Gerard thanked him and sat down while Jayson pulled up a second chair.

"She'll be fine," said Jayson, though his voice lacked the confidence he tried to convey. He looked at Dianis. The paleness in her face troubled him.

"Gerard," he said, wanting a distraction from his concern, "I couldn't help but notice the way Brommel clasped your arm. I've never seen a greeting like that before, but you seemed to recognize it."

"Aye," Gerard replied with as sigh. "It's a token known only to members of the Guilde. I ought not to tell you such things. Dianis would have my hide for it." He glanced up with a weary look. "But I think there are some things you need to know, my boy."

"The token Brommel gave you," continued Jayson, "is he a guardian then?"

"No. No, I am certain he is not, though he wants me to believe he is."

"But if the token is secret, how would he know it?"

"Most likely through bribery or threats. But no guardian ever reveals the true token. You see, when two guardians greet each other they grasp wrists in the manner you saw, and extend _two_ fingers, not three. Whoever passed this token onto your friend in there was compelled by force to do so. So he gave it, though with one modification."

"What then, is the meaning of three fingers?" asked Jayson.

Dianis turned a little in her sleep. Gerard rearranged the blanket around her shoulders.

"To extend three fingers is a warning," he continued, his voice low. "It means this man is not to be trusted."

#

"It's a beautiful day. Why don't you set out on the porch a while?"

Mikel's suggestion lifted Ivanore's spirits, which had begun to sag a bit. Though she was grateful for his and Teak's care over the past week since they'd taken her in, she couldn't help but feel restless. She had come to Hestoria for a purpose, had left behind everything she held dear. The details of her escape played over and over in her mind. If only she had fled Imaness sooner, she thought, the soldiers may not have found her at all. She wouldn't have been hurt, and she might have found Jayson by now.

Mikel cleared away the breakfast dishes from the table after first making sure Ivy and Teak had had their fill of fried eggs and sausages. He then announced that he had to tend to some business in town and would be gone until that afternoon. "I expect the dishes to be clean and the animals fed by my return. And keep an eye on Ivy," Mikel added, giving his charges a quick wink. "Make sure she gets plenty of rest."

After Mikel had gone, Teak rinsed off the dirty dishes in a tub of water and dried them with a towel. Ivy watched from the table, wishing she had the strength to help. But it was all she could do to get herself out of the bed and make it to the table, and even then she could only manage with help. Her shoulder was still in a great deal of pain, but if she kept her arm folded across her stomach it was at least bearable.

"Breakfast was delicious," she said. "That's the first solid meal I've had in days."

"Are you still hungry? I c-can throw another egg in the p-pan."

"No, thank you. But I think I will sit outside for bit. I could use a little sunshine."

Ivy pushed her chair back from the table and tried to stand, but her knees went weak and her body trembled from the effort. Teak was beside her in a moment. He put his arms around Ivy and urged her to lean against him.

"Thank you," she said as they made their way through the door to the porch where Teak gently deposited her onto a wooden bench.

Teak disappeared into the house and returned moments later with two blankets. One he wrapped around Ivy's shoulders, and the other he lay over her lap. "You're getting your c-color b-back," he said. "That's a good sign."

Ivy felt the warmth of her own body collecting beneath the blanket. The trembling finally subsided. "I'm sorry I'm such a burden," she began.

"You're no b-burden," answered Teak. "W-we w-weren't sure you'd survive that first n-night, but the gods were looking after you."

"Yes, I suppose they were, though I think I ought to give credit where it's due."

"Oh," Teak said, lowering his head, embarrassed. "No decent person w-would do any different. W-we're just happy to see you on your feet."

A hawk circled overhead, screeching at some unseen prey below. Teak and Ivy watched it dive toward the ground then swoop back to the air, its talons empty. Ivy shifted her gaze to Teak and patted the empty space beside her on the bench.

Teak sat down and tucked the blanket snuggly around his patient. "It w-was strange, how you showed up in those fields, like you just fell from the sky."

"In a way, that's what happened," answered Ivy. "I did come from the sky, from somewhere far away. And as soon as I'm able, I'll leave again."

"Uncle says it'll be w-weeks before you're strong enough."

"I don't have weeks," said Ivy. "I've already wasted too much time as it is."

Ivy felt a familiar burning behind her eyes. She turned her face away to hide the tears. After everything she had endured, everything she had sacrificed, she could not give up now. There was no telling how much time she had left. Months, days, hours. She could never be sure. All she knew was that the longer she waited, the more likely it was that she would be too late.

She felt the gentle touch of Teak's hand on her arm. It felt good to have someone near, someone who cared about her. Ivy turned toward him. Her tears fell freely now, cascading down both cheeks. Her voice choked with sobs, she tried to apologize, but then she buried her face against Teak's chest and cried.

Teak reached up and stroked Ivy's hair. "You're safe here," he told her. "You're safe and n-no one will hurt you again. I w-won't let them."

Ivy's sobs soon faded and the tears stopped falling, but she remained nestled against Teak, feeling safe and secure for the first time in many months. But deep down she knew that this refuge was only temporary, and that soon she and those closest to her would be in more danger than she would have ever anticipated.

#

Jayson spent the next four days at Dianis's bedside. He took his meals there, slept in his chair there, and left only for brief intervals when needed. Gerard spent much of his time with his daughter as well, but with the Guilde's duties pressing on him, he soon left the bulk of her care to Jayson. Brommel couldn't help but admire such dedication in a man who had been scorned for his impure blood and treated no better than a dog on the streets. It took courage, he reasoned, to live as Jayson lived, courage sadly lacking in young Arik.

Brommel had taken the room adjacent to Arik's and made himself comfortable there. On the second day after their arrival, Arik was already awake, eating well, and making continual demands of him. Though Brommel spent a dutiful amount of time watching over his charge, he did manage to slip away from time to time to roam through the streets of Alay-Crevar.

It was a quaint little village, one that had managed to elude the march of progress so prevalent in the coastal cities. He knew there were dozens, perhaps hundreds of towns just like this one scattered all over the countryside, each one isolated and distinct from the next. These towns were usually self-sufficient, dependent on their own small farms and herds for sustenance. Their need of commerce was minimal, generally limited to regular shipments of liquor and those commodities only available via industrial production, things like cookware, farm tools, and cloth. Otherwise, the people who lived here were content to remain secluded in their way of life.

As Brommel strolled past a cluster of cottages one morning, he was struck by the scene before him. A woman, past her prime and grown round with age and motherhood, pinned a pair of boy's trousers to a rope extending from the side of her home to the branch of a tree. Several other items already hung there, flapping in the breeze, and several more lay in a basket at the woman's feet. Nearby, half a dozen children of varying ages shouted and chased each other in play. One little boy paused behind the tree and squatted down as if to hide, but his giggles gave him a way. A small girl, Brommel guessed she could not be more than two, toddled up to her brother. She squealed as the boy wrapped his arms around her and swung her around and around. Then, having set her on her feet again, the two ran off hand in hand to join their older siblings in their game.

He glanced back at the woman who was now pinning up a girl's apron. Her face was red and damp with the exertion, but she was smiling. More than that, her eyes watched her children intently, and from her occasional bursts of laughter, he knew she was happy.

Brommel thought of his own cottage back in Partha, a village not much different from Alay-Crevar. He had watched Brielle hang laundry many times, had seen her carry water from the well, sweep the cottage, and perform many other mundane and even arduous tasks. He had even assisted her with them. But had he ever seen that sort of happiness in her face? Brommel let his memory wander through the images strewn through his mind.

Yes, he realized. Yes, he had seen that same smile on her face, but the smile was not always for him. It was for Rylan, their son. And he recalled, with delight, the pleasure that seemed to emanate from her entire being on discovering her current pregnancy. It was a pleasure, a joy, far deeper than Brommel would ever know. Than perhaps any man could know. It was a joy only a mother could know.

Brommel felt a wave of homesickness and the image of the woman and her children grew blurred from the tears welling in his eyes. He quickly pinched them away, then turned back toward the tavern. He had a job to do and the sooner he got it done, the sooner he could go home.

The main room was empty when Brommel arrived. Being late in the morning, Gerard would be out conversing with the other men in the village while they farmed their land or tended their flocks. He still had not figured out just what sort of livelihood was Gerard's. He seemed not to have any job in particular, and yet the townsfolk seemed exceptionally fond of him. Brommel imagined Gerard must have some connection to the Guilde, but as yet neither Gerard nor Jayson nor anyone else had offered so much as a clue about it. It was a curious situation to say the least.

The vacant room felt cold, its thick stone walls shielding it from the sun's warmth outside. Gerard wouldn't light the fire until just before supper.

Brommel headed toward the staircase. Arik was likely up by now waiting for someone to tend to him. They had come here to reestablish Arik's friendship with Jayson, but so far Jayson had managed to avoid Arik completely. It was easy to do since Arik seemed intent on milking his injuries for as long as possible.

A cough from the darkest corner of the room attracted Brommel's attention. He strode across the floor to the spot where Jayson sat at a table, an empty liquor bottle in his hand.

"Boggle," said Jayson in a warbled greeting. "Looking for supper? You're early then. Or if you're looking for breakfast," he continued, indicating the empty room, "you're very, very late."

Brommel did not move, but glared in disgust at the intoxicated half-breed. He thought of the crystal. Surely the Agoran must carry it with him. He probably had it with him at this very moment. Arik had proven ineffective in getting it. He might succeed yet, but it would take days, weeks to win back Jayson's trust let alone to obtain the crystal, and time was not something Brommel wanted to waste.

He glanced over his shoulder to make certain they were alone. His sword, he remembered, was up in his room. He did not carry it with him in the town so as not to arouse suspicion, but he did carry a dagger concealed in his waistband. He discreetly touched it now with his hand, reassuring himself that it would be there when ready.

Using his bare foot, Jayson shoved a chair in Brommel's direction. "Join me if you like. But if you're looking for a drink, I'm afraid I'm all out."

Brommel hesitated a moment, then sat down. He must be certain Jayson had the crystal before he killed him, or at least learn its location. He would have to be prudent.

"How is the girl?" Brommel asked.

"Alive," replied Jayson, "but I can't say she's well. The fever won't break, though the doctor insists it will in time."

"He seems to know what he's doing."

"But what if he's wrong? What if..."

Jayson's voice trailed off. He raised the empty bottle to his lips and tipped it way back. Then finding it dry, he threw it across the room where it shattered against the far wall.

"I'm sorry," said Brommel. The words seemed hollow, however, and he knew they didn't fool the Agoran. He tried to find something more meaningful to say. "It's clear you care for the girl."

"Dianis?" answered Jayson. "I can't stand her. She's obnoxious and arrogant."

"But, I thought—"

"She's a child, and she could die. And Gerard is my friend. No father should lose a child."

The two of them sat there without speaking for several minutes. Suddenly, without any warning, Jayson let out a horrific, animal-like howl. He clenched his hands into fists and hit the table with them with such force that the table threatened to break beneath them. But then Jayson went silent again and buried his face in his arms.

"This is not about Gerard or Dianis, is it?" said Brommel. "Arik told me about your wife, his sister. He told me how their father separated you. You must miss her."

Jayson raised his eyes to Brommel's. His gaze was severe.

"Miss her? I ache for her. She's always there right in front of me, but when I reach for her, she's gone." Jayson grasped his own arms with his clawed fingers and left marks in his skin. "Do you have a wife?" he asked.

"I do," said Brommel.

"And you love her, like I love mine."

"Yes."

"Do you have children?"

The door to the cottage opened. A wave of warm air blew through the room. Brommel glanced over his shoulder and saw the doctor scurrying toward the stairs. A moment later, he had ascended them and vanished into Dianis's room. In his haste, the doctor had failed to notice their presence.

Brommel turned back to Jayson. "I have a son," he said.

"A son?" Jayson grinned and nodded his head. "I, too, have a son."

"Is that so? Arik didn't mention that."

"Why should he? What affection would Arik have for the heir to the throne of Imaness?"

"I thought Arik was the rightful heir."

"He would have been, I suppose," answered Jayson, "if my son were never born. My wife, you see, is Fredric's eldest child, but as a woman she cannot rule. The next in line would naturally be Arik, her younger brother, and so he was until I came along and spoiled it all. Once my son was born, Arik lost his place in line. Don't you see? But that really doesn't matter anyway. Fredric disowned him. He has lost his inheritance altogether."

"And what if Arik should return to Imaness?"

"Well, I can't let that happen, can I? If Arik is willing to depose his own father and betray me, his friend and brother, to what lengths would he go to lay claim to the throne?"

This was far more information than Brommel had expected or wanted to hear. Was Arik really capable of such cruelty, of killing his own nephew—a child—for the crown? He didn't know him well, but he had a hard time reconciling Arik to Jayson's description of him. Still, what did it matter to him what Arik did once he obtained the crystal? All Brommel wanted was to return home.

"You mentioned your wife," said Brommel. He heard the sound of a door upstairs open and close again. Then the sound of steps on the landing. The doctor was no doubt moving from one patient to the next. Brommel put the trivial disruption out of his mind. "When I left home," Brommel continued, conjuring up some lie that would help him achieve his aim, "my Brielle gave me one of her hair ribbons so that I would think of her often. It isn't much, but it means a great deal to me."

Jayson's eyes lost focus momentarily, as if they were seeing something or someone not immediately in front of him. His wife perhaps. His son. Then his focus returned. He reached into a leather sack tied at his waist and removed an object from it.

"My wife gave me something, too," he said. He laid his hand on the table and opened his fingers revealing a shard of pale green crystal.

There it was! The very object for which Brommel had come—only inches away! He could take it now. In a second or two, Jayson would be dead and the crystal would be in his possession.

Brommel slid his hand forward across the table. He did not reach for his dagger, nor did he take the crystal. Instead, he placed his hand on Jayson's shoulder and felt it trembling. He saw the tears glistening in Jayson's eyes a moment before he brushed them away. Then Jayson seemed to gather his senses. He returned the crystal to its pouch and stood up as if to leave.

The moment Brommel had been hoping for had passed.

Brommel remained in his seat. He would not watch Jayson walk away. It was his way of preserving the man's dignity. Somehow he knew that, if their roles were reversed, Jayson would do the same for him.

But Jayson made no move for the door. The muscles in his jaw clenched, and the claws of both sets of fingers slowly extended.

"Hello Arik," he said.

#

The pants and tunic Arik wore were a little too large for his adolescent frame, a gift from Gerard who claimed they would be more comfortable while his wounds healed. The linen bandage wrapped around his chest was visible through the open collar. If it weren't for the sword gripped tightly in Arik's hand, Brommel might have laughed at him.

"I thought you were resting," said Brommel, rising to his feet.

"I heard voices," replied Arik. "You were so intent on your conversation you didn't notice me. What were you talking about?"

There was something in the tone of Arik's voice that made Brommel feel uneasy. Neither he nor Jayson answered.

"I said what were you talking about?!" shouted Arik. He raised his sword and pointed it directly at Jayson's chest. Brommel stepped forward, positioning himself in front of Jayson.

"There is no need to be angry, Arik. Remember why you're here, to make amends."

But the rage in Arik's eyes told Brommel he was beyond appeasing.

"No," said Arik. "I've come for the crystal. I saw him with it just now, Brommel. You saw it. It is just the three of us down here now, and he's unarmed."

The boy was right. They could kill him now and depart immediately. And if they hurried, they could be home in a few days—home to Brielle and Rylan and the baby.

Brommel took his dagger from its sheath. He weighed it in his palm, just as he weighed the choices in his mind.

"Get out of the way, Brommel," said Arik.

Brommel did not move. Jayson, however, did. Stepping to the side so that Brommel no longer stood between them, Jayson faced Arik.

"You are more like your father than I ever realized," said Jayson. "Like him, you have no honor."

With a wicked screech, Arik lunged forward with his sword, but Jayson easily sidestepped the attack so that the blade bit nothing but air.

Jayson's pupils narrowed into dark slits, focusing on Arik. Brommel noticed that though Jayson was indeed unarmed, his claws were out, ready for the kill.

His pride injured, Arik waited not a second before his second attack. But as he thrust his sword, Brommel slashed his dagger across Arik's forearm. Arik screamed out as the sword clattered to the floor.

"What are you doing?" cried Arik, cradling his arm, the same one Jayson had bitten before. The new wound reopened the old. Blood oozed from it and dripped onto the floor.

"I've saved your life," Brommel answered. "Jayson would carve you to pieces!"

Arik glared at Brommel, his eyes wild with rage. "You're a traitor! You could have taken the crystal, but instead you attack me!"

Jayson bared his teeth, revealing a set of jagged canines. "You are the traitor, Arik," he said, with a forced calm. "You would betray me, your father, and everyone closest to you to obtain Dokur's throne. But you only betray yourself. Stop this madness before it's too late, Arik."

Arik seemed to consider Jayson's words, but only for a moment or two. Then, his decision all too evident in his eyes, Arik scooped up his sword and ran for the door. A second later, he was gone.

Brommel sheathed his dagger and turned to Jayson, whose bowed head and hunched shoulders revealed the depth of his disappointment. Brommel wanted to say something to him to console him, but no words seemed adequate.

The silence between them ended with the sound of a horse galloping past the tavern. They both ran out the door and saw the diminishing image of Arik on horseback. Brommel rushed forward to where the second horse lay dying on the ground. The earth beneath the beast was a pool of red mud. Brommel laid his hand on the creature's neck. The horse's breaths came in short gasps.

"Arik's gone to Nauvet-Carum to tell Emir of my betrayal," Brommel told Jayson, who had followed him outside. "He's taken the faster horse and left me with nothing."

"I'll find Gerard," Jayson said. "He'll get us more horses."

Jayson turned and ran. Brommel did not watch him go. He knew Jayson would keep his word and that they would be on their way as soon as possible. Still, he felt more helpless than he had ever felt before.

Beneath his hand, a tremor went through the horse's body. The animal took one last struggling breath, and then went still.

#

Night had fallen hours ago and only a slim wedge of moonlight illuminated the room in which Ivy slept. Tomorrow would be six days since she had arrived in Hestoria, six days wasted due to her carelessness. Her injury could have been avoided if she had only handled things a little differently, she told herself again. The events leading up to her escape played themselves over and over in her mind, but finally she resigned herself to the fact that she had no power to alter the past. She even began to doubt if she could affect the future.

The vision had first come to her many weeks earlier on a night much like this. The day itself had gone as usual. She had tended to her usual chores around Zyll's cottage, milked the goat, and gathered vegetables in the garden. She kept herself busy to keep distracted.

Nearly a year had passed since her father had exiled Jayson and Arik, since she'd stood on the cliffs overlooking the shore of Dokur to watch their ship vanish in the distance. Not long after, she had taken her infant son and gone in search of Zyll to await her husband's return. It was hard not to worry, not to count the days, the hours, the minutes. Despite reassurances from Zyll and her only friend, Arla, Ivy's hope was fading.

"I saw Jayson come home," she told Arla one day in the fields as they gathered lavender and mustard blossoms. "The night my father sent him away, I had a vision. He had returned to Imaness and was looking for me."

Arla had a child of her own, a little girl she carried in a cloth sling over her back. She spent much of her time with Ivanore, preferring her company to that of her husband who drank too much.

Arla gently cradled several swags of lavender in her hands as Ivy tied them with string. "When will he return?" she asked.

"I couldn't tell," answered Ivy. "The visions show me what is to come, but without both crystals, I have no way of knowing when."

They tied another bundle of the blossoms, and Ivy placed them in a cloth pouch she wore around her shoulder. "I only know he will come," she said, though her voice lacked conviction.

That night, Ivy awoke in a cold sweat. She sat up, her body trembling. She knew that something was different, something had happened. Though an ocean separated them, sometimes when she was completely still, she could feel Jayson as though he were lying beside her. Tonight, as she slept, her pulse raced. She was gripped with fear and confusion.

She checked the cradle to reassure herself, then hurried across the cottage floor to rouse Zyll. The older man did not wake easily, but when he did his eyes flew open, instantly alert.

"What is it?" he asked with sincere concern.

"I don't know." She felt flustered, uncertain. "It's Jayson. He's in danger."

Zyll patted Ivy's trembling hands. "My dear, do not be frightened. You said yourself that you've seen him returning."

"I did. But something is wrong. I feel it."

"But you haven't seen it."

"No."

"Have you tried?"

"It's difficult," said Ivy. "Lately, my visions of him have become unclear."

"You must try."

Zyll rose from his cot and went to the mantel from which he removed a copper bowl. He set the bowl on the table and filled it with water from a pitcher. Ivy stood beside him and both gazed onto the still, clear surface.

To divine the future was no simple task. It took great effort to maintain focus long enough to view a vision in its entirety. Using the crystals made it a little easier, but she had broken one of them into two pieces, one of which she had given to Jayson. Tonight she would have to attempt it with a single crystal, the very one she would later leave in Zyll's care when left Imaness.

The water in the bowl was still, its surface undisturbed. Ivy leaned forward until she could see her own reflection in it. This was how Zyll saw his visions, though his were of the past only. Ivy took several deep breaths trying to calm herself. It wouldn't do if she were anxious. She closed her eyes and let her breathing fall into a slower rhythm, and soon her heart met the pace. Only when she knew she was ready did she open her eyes. When she did, however, it was like coming suddenly upon a shocking scene. She jumped back with a gasp, her arms flailing out and knocking the bowl to the floor.

"No! No!" she cried out. She turned as if to run, her survival instinct setting every nerve on edge, but Zyll caught her, grasping her arms in his hands and holding her firmly in front of him.

"What did you see?" he asked.

She shook her head as if doing so would free her mind from the image burned into it. "I saw him," she said, fighting against her own words. "He was in pain! Horrible, agonizing pain!"

Ivy withered into Zyll's embrace and collapsed into tears.

Even now, lying awake in Mikel's house, she felt that same weight of despair. Not since that moment weeks earlier had she been able to chase the dreadful vision from her mind. It had driven her from Imaness, sacrificing everything she had ever known to come to Hestoria to find Jayson. And yet she had done nothing since arriving that she had originally planned. The vision remained the same. No change had been set into motion, and she feared that the longer she delayed the more certain the future would be.

Ivy sat up on the side of her cot. She listened for Mikel's soft snoring from the other room and the howl of an angry wind blowing outside. The pain in her shoulder was still present, though not as sharp as it had been when she had first awoke from her fever. Mikel said it would be weeks before she was fully healed, but Ivy could wait no longer. If she did, she risked losing Jayson forever.

Teak had placed Ivy's clean and folded clothing on a chair in the corner of the room. Ivy dressed in them now. Careful as she was, as she slipped her arm into the sleeve of her blouse, searing pain pulsed through her shoulder. Ignoring it as best as she could, she went to the kitchen next and tied some cheese and bread into a cloth. She would likely need money, but she would not steal from Mikel after he had been so generous to her. She would find some other way to provide for herself when the need arose.

She regretted not saying goodbye to Teak. Over the past few days, they had become good friends, and she did not doubt that she would miss him. She paused at the door a moment and looked about the room. She hoped they would understand.

Ivy opened the door and stepped out into the bitter cold. As she walked farther into the dark night, she did not look back.

#

The night air was far colder and darker than Ivy had anticipated, but that did not stop her from pressing onward. She would have gone even if she had to travel in the worst storm imaginable. Nothing could have prevented her. She was resolute.

Ivy had not had much opportunity to explore Mikel's farm. What she knew of it, she had seen from the porch or through a window and from her visions.

Ivy walked across the dry, bare fields. The earth was soft beneath her feet. Still, she felt every clod and stone through the soles of the deerskin slippers Mikel had given her. Ivy knew this land, though she had never stepped foot on it before. These fields were not the ones where Teak had found her, which lay on the west side of the house. The ones she now crossed lay to the east, bridging the seemingly endless space between the back of Mikel's barn and the forest. In the darkness, the line of distant trees appeared as a black horizon below the vast canvas of deep blue dotted with millions of glimmering jewels.

She continued heading for the trees, knowing that she would find what she needed just before reaching them. Sure enough, after she had walked for half an hour or so, the soft earth of the field came to an abrupt end and Ivy felt the hard, packed dirt of a well-traveled road. This road ran parallel to the forest and followed the edge of Mikel's field, curving out of sight ahead to the left. Ivy glanced over her shoulder across the barren field she had just crossed. If anyone had been awake in the house, if even a candle had been left burning, she might have seen and taken some comfort in it. But the only light was from the stars and shard of moonlight above.

The road, filled with ruts and stones, was uneven, and Ivy stumbled many times along the way. Six miles north of Mikel's farm was a village, a cluster of stone buildings nestled in a narrow valley. These buildings consisted of a grain mill, dairy house, metalsmith shop, a few dozen cottages, and a tavern. Ivy knew the layout of the village as if she had lived there for years. She knew the faces of those who lived there, though she did not know their names. She saw the whole village so clearly in her mind that when she finally reached the waist-high stone wall that surrounded the entire place, she had to stop and steady herself. A feeling of recognition seized her with such a force that it sent her heart pumping.

Most of the village was dark, as well it should be for in the wee hours of morning when she finally arrived. Light emanated from one building, however, its windows golden with candlelight from within. This was the tavern, she knew, and it was there she knew she had to go.

The lobby of the tavern was quite alive with a dozen or more men sitting at the bar downing tankards of ale. These were the local working class stopping by for a drink before starting their day, rugged men whose faces and hands were far older than their years. There was little noise in the place when Ivy entered. This was not the boisterous days' end gathering. No one had come to get drunk, only to dull the senses enough to manage a long day in the field or at the hammer. They were all quite sober and keenly aware of the woman's presence in this sacred place of theirs.

Several of the men glared at her, standing at the door like a lost lamb. Others ignored her, preferring instead to pay heed to the barkeeper filling their glasses. Only one looked on her with any serious interest.

Ivy was glad for the warmth radiating from a small cast-iron stove in the center of the room. It was a pleasant contrast from the bitter cold she had endured for the past few hours. Though her slippers had provided some protection from the sharp stones in the road, they had not shielded her from the cold.

The barkeeper peered at her and said, while wiping a glass with a rag, "Here now, miss, is there something you want?"

Ivy nodded, her mouth dry. The wind and the walk had taken the moisture right out of her. The barkeeper came round the end of the bar carrying the glass in one hand and a bottle of clear liquid in the other.

"You look worn out, miss," he said. "Want a drink?"

She accepted the glass and held it as he filled it. She had not realized until now, as she struggled to keep the glass steady, how weak she felt. She gripped the glass tighter, and a sharp pain crushed her shoulder. She didn't cry out. Instead, she swallowed the liquor down and returned the glass.

"Thank you," she said.

By now most of the men had lost interest in her and returned to their drinks. The barkeeper, however, took Ivy by the elbow and led her to a chair near the stove. Then he pulled up a second chair and sat down on it.

"It's not common to see a woman in here," he said, filling Ivy's glass a second time. "You must have a good reason."

"I'm looking for someone. My husband."

The barkeeper looked over his shoulder at the men lined up along the bar. "I've known all these boys for more'n ten years, but some days we get travelers, though I doubt I could recall one from another."

"You'd remember him if you'd seen him," said Ivy. She finished her second glass and refused a third. "You see, he's only half-human."

"A half-breed?"

"An Agoran half-breed." She said the words loud enough for all to hear. As she expected, the men at the bar shuffled uneasily on their stools. Some swallowed their drinks with added fervor. One man spat on the floor.

The barkeeper's expression showed his contempt, though his treatment of Ivy did not change.

"No miss, there ain't been no Agorans in here. And I ain't seen none in town neither."

Ivy's head started to swim a little from the effects of the liquor. The pain in her shoulder had increased, and now her entire arm throbbed. She tried to stand, but fell back into her chair. The barkeeper grasped her elbow again to steady her.

Ivy laughed a little, though in truth she felt quite ill. She would ask to rent a room, but then she remembered that she had no money. She would have to either return to the farm or find somewhere else to rest.

"He will be coming here," she said earnestly.

"All right, miss," replied the barkeeper. "When, exactly, should I be expecting him?"

"I don't know. I don't know." It was all too much—the visions, the cold, the pain. If she could just lie down for a moment.

"If you wouldn't mind," she continued, "when you see my husband, please leave word with Mikel at the farm a few miles down the road."

"I know Mikel," replied the barkeeper. "Are you staying with him and the boy?"

Ivy heard the question, but could not answer. The room began to swirl as the pain in her shoulder grew unbearable. Ivy closed her eyes and felt as though she were falling into a deep crevice.

"Miss!"

The barkeeper caught Ivy as she fell forward out of her chair. He saw the crimson circle spreading across her back and called to other men in the room. "Help me get her to a room, and Dagen, go fetch the doctor! This girl's hurt!"

Dagen, a portly man with a thick mane of unkempt hair and a crooked nose from having been broken more than once, rose from his spot in the corner of the room. After taking a particularly attentive look at Ivy, he swept past her and hurried out the door. Outside, he mounted his horse and urged it to a gallop, but he did not stop at the doctor's cottage. Instead, he rode straight out of the village, heading east on the road toward Nauvet-Carum.

#

It took less than an hour for Gerard to obtain two horses from a local farmer and to send Jayson and Brommel on their way, but Alay-Crevar was a small town, its residents impoverished. Those who had need used a smaller breed of oxen, which were affordable and strong, but slow moving. What horses they did have were used to pull wagons and not bred for speed. Such were the mounts Jayson and Brommel were given.

Even at their fastest pace, it took them two days to reach the forest's eastern border. Along the way they had stopped only for brief periods to water and rest the horses and to get a little sleep, though neither Jayson nor Brommel slept well. On the last night, overcome with exhaustion and having found shelter beside a fallen tree, both drifted off for several hours. Dark clouds had gathered overhead, threatening a storm, and the air was cold. Just before sunrise the first drops of rain awoke them.

"We should reach my village by tonight," said Brommel, stretching.

"Is there somewhere nearby where you'll be able to stay?" asked Jayson. "Somewhere safe?"

"I plan to leave Partha with my family right away. The darkness will shield our escape. We'll travel north and stay with Brielle's brother. We'll be safe there for now."

"You'll need fresh horses and a wagon for provisions."

"I own a wagon and a horse. As for provisions, Brielle always keeps the pantry well-stocked. We'll be ready to go in no time at all."

They ate a little bit of the stale bread Gerard had hastily packed for them. Brommel spoke again. "And you, Jayson? What will you do? Will you come with us north?"

Jayson considered Brommel's question. The invitation was sincere. Of that he was certain, but now that he understood the Guilde's purpose, he felt compelled to remain with them. Thinking of the Guilde reminded him that he carried the crystal with him even now. Gerard had warned him against taking it with him back to the city, but now that Brommel was an enemy of the Vatéz, Jayson could not in good conscience allow him to travel alone, nor could he leave the crystal behind. He vowed, instead, to protect the crystal at all costs and to do everything in his power to keep it and himself out of Emir's hands.

The task should be an easy one. He would accompany Brommel to his home in Partha, help him prepare for his departure, and see him off. Then Jayson would return to the Guilde at his first opportunity.

A few scattered drops of rain began to fall. In the distance, thunder sounded, or at least they thought it was thunder at first. But as the sound began to swell, the earth beneath their feet trembled.

"What is that?" asked Brommel. The horses were agitated. He went to them and stroked their manes in an effort to calm them. Jayson knelt down, pressing an ear to the ground. Then he stood up and listened. Taking the horses' reins, he led the animals behind a thick wall of bushes. Brommel followed.

The tremor grew stronger, the thunder louder. Brommel and Jayson peered through the brush toward the path they had been traveling. A few minutes passed before a contingent of two dozen mounted soldiers galloped past. Behind them marched a unit of at least fifty soldiers wearing the Ministry's royal blue insignia on their uniforms.

"Emir's soldiers," Brommel whispered to Jayson. "On their way to destroy the Guilde. There is no doubt now. Arik arrived well before us and revealed its location."

Jayson felt sickened at the thought of the slaughter that would ensue. The women and children. Dianis.

"I've got to go back and warn Gerard," he said, already mounting his horse.

"There is no need for that," Brommel told him. "The Guilde has likely already gone. These soldiers will find that they have abandoned the village and moved on. Trust me. The guardians are masters at eluding the Vatéz."

Jayson had not counted on the Guilde moving. If Emir's soldiers could not find them, how would he? Then he recalled that he had one thing Emir lacked—the token. Gerard had explained it to him. And yesterday, when he and Brommel passed by a cemetery at the heart of the forest, Brommel told him of Leo and his daughter, Abby, and how they had provided directions to the Guilde.

Brommel and Jayson waited until the soldiers had passed, and then waited a while longer to be certain no additional soldiers were to follow. Once the path was clear, Brommel and Jayson mounted their horses.

They reached the road to Nauvet-Carum by late afternoon. The horses were weary and hungry. Jayson, too, felt the burden of exhaustion weighing on him and imagined Brommel must feel the same. But their objective was now within reach. Soon they would be in Partha and Brommel would be reunited with his family.

The sun was just setting when Jayson and Brommel emerged from the overgrown path and started down the main road leading to Partha. The city was behind them now. Everything glistened with moisture, the tree leaves, the grass, the stones in the road. Soon they neared the outlying farms surrounding Partha. Jayson smelled the cows and sheep and freshly harvested alfalfa. But then another smell came to him, strong enough to overpower all the others. Smoke—or more specifically, the stench of it left behind after a fire.

At the same moment, Jayson and Brommel noticed the brown haze hovering in the air above Partha and urged their horses to a gallop. Brommel was the first to pass through the village gate, and Jayson followed close behind. The village seemed deserted, the doors and windows to every cottage closed tight. In one yard, a few stray chickens pecked at the ground. If it weren't for the occasional face peeking out from a shutter as they passed, Jayson would have believed Partha to be completely abandoned.

Brommel sped on now, pushing ahead of Jayson whose horse simply could not keep up. But not far from the house with the chickens, Brommel brought his horse to an abrupt halt and dismounted. Jayson watched as Brommel ran forward, shouting.

"Brielle! Rylan!"

Jayson's horse came to a stop beside Brommel's. That was the moment he first saw the ruins. Where once must have stood Brommel's cottage, now lay a pile of blackened stones and ashes.

"Brielle!" shouted Brommel as he darted into the charred wreckage that had been his home. "Brielle, where are you?"

Jayson remained fixed in his saddle, compelled to observe the scene that lay before him. The walls of the cottage remained partially erect, though most of the stones had been toppled. The roof was completely gone except for a single wooden beam that had remained intact. Black and disfigured, one end of the beam lay on the ground with the other end resting in the rubble. Among the stones, Jayson spotted the remains of various household items: a table and chairs, candlesticks, a bed, a baby's cradle.

Still calling for his wife, Brommel dug through the debris with his bare hands. He tossed aside small boulders and broken pieces of furniture. He was searching for something—or someone.

The rain fell steadily now, and Jayson sensed someone approaching. A child came to stand beside him. Then suddenly, the boy darted forward. Running as fast as his tiny legs could go, the boy cried out, "Papa! Papa!"

Brommel stood up, his clothes smeared with dust and ashes. On seeing the boy, Brommel threw open his arms, and the child leapt into Brommel's embrace. Father and son were reunited at last.

Jayson was so rapt in watching Brommel's reunion with his son that he failed to notice the woman until she was standing right beside him. At first he thought it must be Brielle, Brommel's wife. But then, as he looked at her more closely, he knew it couldn't be. This woman was old, at least twice Brommel's age. Her gray hair was fastened in a bun at the nape of her neck, and her shoulders were stooped with age. She wore a faded blue shawl over her shoulders, and her calloused feet were bare.

"What happened here?" Jayson asked the woman.

Her voice was hoarse. She could speak only just above a whisper. "Soldiers from the ministry came last night, just after supper. It took only minutes for the house to be consumed."

Brommel held tight to his son. They spoke to each other, though their words were so soft that Jayson could not make them out.

"They accused Brommel of treason," the woman said. "Brommel has served Emir faithfully for years. It doesn't make sense."

Jayson glanced down at the woman, her face marred by deep creases and folds. "The boy's mother, did she—?" His throat constricted. He couldn't bear to complete the question.

"She saved the boy," she said, her voice trembling, "but the baby girl did not survive. And Brielle—I started to treat her burns, but it did no good. It was the smoke. Poison in the lungs."

"Where is she now?"

The woman pointed a gnarled finger toward the cottage with the chickens in the yard.

Brielle had died, not in the fire, but from breathing the poisoned air. Did Brommel know this? Was that the message his son was telling him now?

Jayson looked back toward the destroyed cottage. Brommel and the little boy held each other, their bodies so tightly pressed together that it was hard to discern where one ended and the other began. Together, they wept, and as the last of the daylight ebbed away, their cries were lost in the sound of the rain.

Continued In . . .

Book Two: BETRAYAL

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**The Crystal Keeper** series is the prequel to **The Celestine Chronicles** , a middle grade high fantasy series that has been called " _Lord of the Rings_ for kids."

# ABOUT THE AUTHOR

LAURISA WHITE REYES

**Laurisa White Reyes** is the author of the Spark Award winning novel _The Storytellers_ and Spark Honor book _Petals_. She lives in Southern California where she teaches English at College of the Canyons.

Website: www.laurisawhitereyes.com

Blog: laurisareyes.blogspot.com 
